^4 
 
 
 (Cornell Hntuerstty Slibrarg 
 
 JItljaca, Nem ^nrk 
 
 WORDSWORTH COLLECTION 
 
 MADE BY 
 
 CYNTHIA MORGAN ST. JOHN 
 ITHACA, N. Y. 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 VICTOR EMANUEL 
 
 CLASS OF 1919 
 1925 
 
PETEAECH'S INKSTAND. 
 
 In the Possession of Miss Bdgewokth, presented to her bt a Ladt. 
 
 By beauty -won from soft Italia's land, 
 Here Cupid, Petrarch's Cupid, takes his stand, 
 Arch suppliant, welcome to thy fav'rite isle. 
 Close thy spread wings, and rest thee here awhile ; 
 Still the true heart with Idndred strains inspire, 
 Breathe all a poet's softness, all his fire ; 
 But if the perjured knight approach this font, 
 Forbid the words to come as they were wont, 
 Forbid the ink to flow, the pen to write, 
 And Bend the false ono Mffl.ed from thy sight. 
 
 Mis3 Edgewoi'th. 
 
THE 
 
 TABLE BOOK; 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM HONE. 
 
 [it^ ^irjgrafamjgs. 
 
 Cuttings with Cuts, facts, fancies, recollections, 
 
 Heads, autographs, views, prose and verse selections. 
 
 Kotes of my musings in a lonely walk, 
 
 My friends' communications, table-talk. 
 
 Notions of books, and things I read or see, 
 
 Events that are, or were, or are to be, 
 
 Fall in my TABLE BOOK— and thence arise 
 
 To please the young, and help divert the wisei 
 
 EVERY SATURDAY. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PUBLISHED FOE WILLIAM HONE, 
 BY HUNT AND CLAEKE, YOEK^STKEET, 
 
 COVENT-GAEDEN. 
 
 ,' V K IC i: I i 
 
 1827. ri M ! >! '■ '• ' I ' 
 
 Dp 
 
 i V 
 

 ci). %■■ 
 
 /^.Goo^. /<^ 
 
PKEFACE. 
 
 On tte close of the Eveet-Day Book, whicli commencecl on New Year's 
 Day, 1825, and ended in the last week of 1826, 1 began this work. 
 
 The only prospectus of the Table Book was the eight versified lines on the 
 title-page. They appeared on New Year's Day, prefixed to the first number ; 
 which, with the successive sheets, to the present date, constitute the volume 
 now in the reader's hands, and the entire of my endeavours during the half 
 year. 
 
 So long as I am enabled, and the public continue to be pleased, the Table 
 Book will be continued. The kind reception of the weekly numbers, and the 
 monthly parts, encourages me to hope that like favour will be extended to the 
 half-yearly volume. Its multifarious contents and the illustrative engravings, 
 tvith the help of the copious index, realize my wish, "to please the young 
 and help divert the wise." Perhaps, if the good old window-seats had not gone 
 out of fashion, it might be called a parlour-window book— a good name for a 
 volume of agreeable reading selected from the book-case, and left lying about 
 for the constant recreation of the family, and the casual amusement of visitors. 
 
 W. HONE. 
 Midsummer, 1827, 
 
THE FRONTISPIECE. 
 
 PETEARCH'S INKSTAND. 
 
 Mrss Edgewortu's lines express her esfi- 
 (iiation of the gem she has the happiness 
 o own. That lady allowed a few casts 
 .rom it in bronze, and a gentleman who 
 possesses one, and who favours the " Table 
 Book" with his approbation, permits its 
 use for a frontispiece to this volume. The 
 engravina; will not be questioned as a deco- 
 ration, and it has some claim to be regarded 
 as an elegant illustration of a miscellany 
 which draws largely on art and literature, 
 and on nature itself, towards its supply. 
 
 " I delight," says Petrarch, " in my pic- 
 tures, t take great pleasure also in images; 
 they come in show more near unto nature 
 than pictures, for they do but appear ; but 
 these are felt to be substantial, and their 
 bodies are more durable. Amongst the 
 Grecians the art of painting was esteemed 
 above all handycrafts, and the chief of all 
 the liberal arts. How great the dignity hath 
 been of statues; and how fervently the study 
 and desire of men have reposed in such 
 pleasures, emperors and kings, and other 
 noble personages, nay, even persons of in- 
 ferior degree, have shown, in their indus- 
 trious keeping of them when obtained." 
 Insistmg on the golden mean, as a rule of 
 happiness, he says, " I possess an amazing 
 collection of books, for attaining this, and 
 every virtue : great is my delight in behold- 
 ing such a treasure.'' He slights persons 
 who collect books " for the pleasure of 
 bo.asting they have them ; who furnish their 
 chambers with what was invented to furnish 
 their minds; and use them no otherwise 
 than they do their Corinthian tables, or 
 their painted tables and images, to look 
 at." lie contemns others who esteem not 
 the true value of books, but the price at 
 vhich they may sell them — " a new prac- 
 tice" (observe it is Petrarch that speaks) 
 " crept in among the rich, whereby they may 
 9.ttain one art more of unruly desire." He 
 repeats, with rivetting force, " I have great 
 plenty of books : wheie such scarcity has 
 been lamented, this is. no small possession ; 
 [ have an inestin.able many of books !'' 
 He was a diligent collector, and a liberal 
 imparter of these treasures. He co-res- 
 jjoiided with Richard de Bury, an illus- 
 trious prelate id' our own country, eminent 
 for his love of learning and learned men, 
 
 and sent many precious vblumps to Eng- 
 land to enrich the bishop's mfAgnihcej.t 
 library. He vividly remarks, " 1 deligh, 
 passionately in my books;" and yet lie who 
 had accumulated them largely, estimated 
 them rightly : he has a saying of books 
 worthy of himself — " a wise man seeketh 
 not quantity but sufficiency.'" 
 
 Petrarch loved the quiet scenes of nature 
 and these can scarcely be observed from a 
 carriage or while riding, and are never 
 enjoyed but on foot ; and to me — on whom 
 that discovery was imposed, and who am 
 sometimes restrained from country walks, 
 by necessity — it was no small pleasure 
 when t read a passage in his " View ol 
 Human Nature," which persuaded me o^ 
 his fondness for the exercise : " A jour- 
 ney on foot hath most pleasant commo 
 dities ; a man may go at his pleasure ; nont 
 shall stay him, none shall carry him beyond 
 his wi>li; none shall trouble him; he hatl 
 but one labour, the labour of nature — tt 
 go-" 
 
 In " The Indicator" there is a paper oi 
 peculiar beauty, by Mr. Leigh Hunt, " on 
 receiving a sprig of myrtle from Vaucluse," 
 with a paragraph suitable to this occasion ■ 
 " We are supposing that all our readers 
 are acquainted with Petrarch. Many it 
 them doubtless know him intimatelv, 
 Should any of them want an introduction 
 to him, how should we speak of him in the 
 gross? "We should say, that he was one 
 of the finest gentlemen and greatest scho- 
 lars that ever lived ; that he was a writer 
 who flourished in Italy in the fourteenth 
 century, at the time when Chaucer was 
 young, during the reigns of our Edwards 
 that he was the greatest light of his aije ; 
 that although so fine a writer himself, and 
 the author of a multitude of works, ar 
 rather because he was both, he took the 
 greatest pains to revive ihe knowledge of 
 the ancient learning, recommending it every 
 where, and copying out la-ge manuscripts 
 with his own hand ; that two great cities, 
 Paris and Rome, contended which should 
 have the honour of crown nof him ; that he 
 was crowned publicly, in the metropolis of 
 the world, with laurel and with myrtle; 
 that he was the friend of Boccaccio the 
 father of Italian prose; and lastly, that his 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 B 
 
 (h 
 
PETRARCIPS INKSTAND. 
 
 Ijtreatest renown neverthejess, as well as the 
 predominant feelings of his existence, arose 
 from the long " love he bore for a lady of, 
 Avignon, the far-famed Laura, whom he 
 fell in love with on the 6th of April, 1327, 
 on a Good Friday ; whom, he rendered 
 illustrious in A multitude of sonnets, which 
 have left a sweet sound and sentiment in 
 the ear of all after lovers ; and who died, 
 still passionately beloved, in the year 1348, 
 on the same day and hour on wliich he first 
 beheld her. Who she was, or why their 
 connection was not closer, remains a mys- 
 tery. But that she was a real person, and 
 that in spite of all her modesty she did not 
 show an insensible countenance to his pas- 
 sion, IS clear from his lon'g-jhaunted imagi- 
 nation, from his own repeated accounts, 
 from all that he wrote, uttered, and thought. 
 One love, and one poet, sufficed to give the 
 whole civilized world a sense of delicacy 
 in desire, of the abundant riches to hi\ 
 found in one single idea, and of the going 
 out of a pan's self to dwell in the soul and 
 happiness of another, which has served to 
 refine the passion for all modern times ; 
 and perhaps will do so, as long as love re- 
 news the world." 
 
 At Vaucluse, or Valchiusa, " a remark- 
 able spot in the old poetical region, of Pro- 
 vence, consisting of a little deep glen of 
 ^reen meadows surrounded with rocks, and 
 containing the fountain of the river Sorgue," 
 Petrarch resided for several years, and 
 composed m it the greater part of his 
 poems. 
 
 The following is a translation by sir 
 William Jones^ of 
 
 AN ODE,^BY PETRARCH, 
 To THE Fountain of Valciuusa 
 
 Ye clear and sparkling^ streams ! 
 
 (Warm'd by the sunny beams) 
 Through whose transparent crystal Laura play'd ; 
 
 Ye boughs that deck the grove. 
 
 Where Spring her chaplets wove. 
 While Laura lay be.ieath tlie quivering shade ; 
 
 Sweet hei-bs I and blushing flowerr ! 
 
 That CTovvn yon vernal bowers. 
 For ever fatal, yet for ever dear ; 
 
 And ye, that heard my siehs 
 
 When first she charm'd my eyes, 
 Eoftrbreathing gales ! my dying accents hear. 
 
 If Heav'n has fix'd my doom. 
 
 That Love must quite coss>ume 
 
 My bursting heart, and close my pyes Itj denth 
 
 Ah I grant this slight request, — 
 
 That here my nm may rest. 
 When to its mansion flies my vital breath. 
 
 This pleasing hope will smooth 
 
 My anxious mind, and soothe 
 The pangs of that inevitable ho^ir ; 
 
 My spirit will not grieve 
 
 Her mortal veil to leave 
 In these calm shades, and this enchantijif howT 
 
 Haply, the guilty maid 
 
 Through yon accustom'd glade 
 To my sad" tomb will take her lonely way 
 
 Where -first her beauty's light 
 
 O'erpower'd my dazzled sight. 
 When lave on this fair border bade me. stray : 
 
 There, sorrowing,, shall she see. 
 
 Beneath an aged tree. 
 Her true, but hapless lover's lowly bier; 
 
 Too late her tender sighs 
 
 Shall melt the pitying skies. 
 And her soft veil shall hide the gushing .tear 
 
 ! well-rerriember'd day. 
 When on yon bank she lay. 
 
 Meek in her pride, and in her rigour mild ; 
 
 The young and blooming fiowers. 
 
 Falling in fragrant showers. 
 Shone on her neck, and on her bosom smil'd' 
 
 Some on her mantle hung. 
 
 Some in her looks were strung. 
 Like orient gems m rings of flaming gold ; 
 
 Soir.e, in a spicy cloud 
 
 Descending, call'd aloud, 
 " Here Love and Youth the reins of empire hold. ' 
 
 1 view'd the heavenly maid : 
 And, rapt m wonder, said — 
 
 " The groves of Eden gave this angel birth , 
 
 Her look, her voice, her smile, 
 .That miglit all Heaven beguile. 
 Wafted my soul above the realms of earth . 
 • The star-bespangled skies 
 
 Were open'd to my eyes ; 
 Sighing I said, " Whence rose this glittering scene ?' 
 
 Since that auspicious hour, 
 
 This bank, and odorous bower. 
 My morning couch, and evening haunt have beez. 
 
 Well mavst thou blus:i, my sung. 
 
 To leavfj Ene rurai tnrong 
 And fly thus artless to my Laura's eat , 
 
 But, were thy poet's fire 
 
 Ardent as his desire. 
 Thou wert a song that Heaven might stoop to hear 
 
 It is within probability to imagine, that 
 the original oi this " ode" may have beeii 
 impiessed on the paper, by Petratch'« peu, 
 £iom the inkstand of the 'rontisv-iece. 
 
 I 
 
THE 
 
 TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Formerly, a " Table Book" was a memo- 
 randum book, on which any thing was 
 graved or written without ink. It is men- 
 tioned by Shakspeare. Polonius, on disclos- 
 ing Ophelia's affection for Hamlet to the 
 king, inquires 
 
 " When I had seen this hot love on. the wing, 
 what might you, 
 
 On- my dear majesty, youv queen liere, think. 
 If i had play'd the desk, or table-book ?" 
 
 Dr. Henry More, a divine, and moralist, 
 of the succeeding century, observes, that 
 " Nature makes clean the tahle-h'ook first, 
 and then portrays upon it.what she pleas- 
 eth." In this sense, it might have been 
 used instead of a tabula rasa, or sheet of 
 blank writing paper, adopted by Locke as 
 an illustration of the human mind in its 
 incipiency. It is figuratively introduced 
 to nearly the, same purpose by Swift : he 
 tells us that 
 
 " Nature's fair table-book, our tender souls. 
 We' scrawl all o'er with old and empty i-ules. 
 Stale memorandums of the schools." 
 
 Dryden says, " Put into your Table-Book 
 whatsoever you judge worthy."* 
 
 I hope I shall not unworthily err, if, in 
 the commencement of a work under this 
 title, I show what a Table Book was 
 
 Table books, or tablet's, of wood, existed 
 before the time of Homer, and among the 
 Jews before' the Christian sera.. The table 
 books of the Romans were nearly like ours, 
 which will be descri'^ed presently; except 
 that the leaves, which were two, three, or 
 more in number, were of wood surfaced 
 with wax. They wrote on theio with a style, 
 one end of which was pointed for that pur- 
 pose, and the other end rounded or flattened, 
 for effacing or scraping out. Styles were 
 made of nearly all the metals, as well as of 
 bone and ivory; they were differently formed, 
 and resembled ornamented skewers ; the 
 common style was iron. More anciently, 
 the leaves of the table book were without 
 wax, and marks were made by the iron 
 style on the bare wood. The Anglo-Saxon 
 style was very handsome. Dr. Pegge was 
 of opinion that the well-known jewel of 
 Alfred, preserved in the Ashraolean 
 museum at Oxford, was the head of the 
 style sent by that king with Gregory's 
 Pastoral to Athelney.f 
 
 A gentleman, whose profound knowledge 
 of domestic antiquities surpasses that of 
 
 • Johnson. 
 
 t Fosbroka's Encyclopaedia ot Antiqaitios. 
 
 preceding antiquaries, and remains unri- 
 valled by his contemporaries, in his " Illus- 
 trations of Shakspeare," notices Hamlet't 
 expression, " My tables, — meet it is I set 
 it down." On that passage he observes, 
 that the Roman practice of writing on wax 
 tablets with a style was continued through 
 the middle ages ; and that specimens ci 
 wooden tables, filled with wax, and con- 
 structed in the fourteenth century, were 
 preserved in several of the monastic libra- 
 ries in France. Some of these consisted of 
 as many as twenty pages, formed into a 
 book by means of parchment bands glued 
 to the backs of tne leaves. He says that 
 in the middle aofes there were table books 
 of ivory, and sometimes, of late, in the form 
 of a small portable book with leaves and 
 clasps ; and he transfers a figure of one of 
 the latter from an old work* to his own . 
 it resembles the common " slate-books" 
 still sold in the stationers' shops. He pre- 
 sumes that to such a table book the arch- 
 bishop of York alludes in the second part 
 of King Henry IV., 
 
 " And therefore will he wipe his tables clean 
 And keep no tell tale to his memory." 
 
 As in the middle ages there were table- 
 books with ivory leaves, this gentleman 
 remarks that, in Chaucer's " Sompnour's 
 Tale," one of the friars is provided with 
 
 " A pair of tables all of iMorj/, 
 And a pointel ypolished fetishly. 
 And wrote alway the names, a.'; he stood. 
 Of alle folk that yave hem any .good." 
 He instances it as remarlf:able, that neither 
 public nor private museums furnished spe- 
 cimens of the table books, common in 
 Shakspeare's time. Fortunately, this ob- 
 servation is no onger applicable. 
 
 A correspondent, understood to be Mr 
 Douce, in Dr. Aikin's " Alheneeum," sub 
 sequently says, " I happen to possess ; 
 table-book of Shakspeare's time. It is t 
 little book, nearly square, being three inches 
 wide and something less than four in lenf,th, 
 bound stoutly in calf, and fastening with 
 four strings of broad, strong, brown tape. 
 The title as follows : ' Writing Tables, with 
 a Kalender for xxiiii yeeres, with sundrie 
 necessarie rules. The Table.- made by 
 Robert Triple. London, Imprinted for the 
 C'ompany of Stationers.' Thr tables are 
 inserted immediately after the almanack. 
 At first sight they appear like what we 
 call asses- skin, the colour being precisely 
 
 * Gesner De rerum fossilium figuris, &c. Tigur. 1685' 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 tlie same, but the leaves are thicker : what- 
 ever smell they may have had is lost, and 
 there IS no gloss upon them. It might be 
 supposed that the gloss has been worn oflF ; 
 but this is not the case, for most of the 
 tables have never been written on. Some 
 of the edi(es being a little worn, show that 
 the middle of the leaf consists of paper; 
 the composition is laid on with great 
 nicety. A silver style was used, which is 
 sheathed in one of the covers, and which 
 produces an impression as distinct, and as 
 easily obliterated as a black-lead pencil. 
 The tables are interleaved with common 
 paper." 
 
 In July, 1808, the date of the preceding 
 communication, I, too, possessed a table 
 'jook, and silver style, of an age as ancient, 
 imd similar to that described ; except that 
 .t had not " a Kalender." Mine was 
 lirought to me by a poor person, who found 
 it in Covent-garden on a market day. 
 There were a few ill-spelt memoranda 
 respecting vegetable matters formed on its 
 leaves with the style. It had two antique 
 slender brass clasps, which v»ere loose ; the 
 ancient binding had ceased from long wear 
 to do its office, and I confided it to Mr. Wills, 
 the almanack publisher in Stationers'-court, 
 for a better cover and a silver clasp. Each 
 being ignorant of what it was, we spoiled 
 " a table-book of Shakspeare's time." 
 
 The most affecting circumstance relating 
 to a table book is in the life of the beau- 
 tiful and unhappy " Lady Jane Grey." 
 " Sir John Gage, constable of the Tower, 
 when he led h-er to execution, desired her 
 to bestow on him some small present, 
 which he might keep as a perpetual memo- 
 rial of her : she gave him her table-book, 
 wherein she had just written three sentences, 
 on seeing her husband's body ; one in 
 Greek, another in Latin, and a third in 
 English. The purport of them was, that 
 human justice was against his body, but 
 the divine mercy would be favourable to 
 .iis soul; and that, if her fault deserved 
 punishment, her youth at least, and her 
 imprudence, were worthy of excuse, and 
 that God and posterity,. she trusted, would 
 show her favour."* 
 
 Having shown what the ancient table 
 book was, it may be expected that I should 
 -ay something about 
 
 My 
 Table Book. 
 The title is to be received in a larger 
 -ense than the obsolete signification : the 
 
 • GJnssarv by Mr. Archd. Nares. 
 
 old table books were for private use— mine 
 is for the public; and the more the public 
 desire it, the more I shall be gratified. I 
 have not the folly to suppose it will pass 
 from my table to every table, but I think that 
 not a single sheet can appear on the table 
 of any family without communicating some 
 information, or affording some diversion. 
 
 On the title-page there are a few lines 
 which briefly, yet adequately, describe the 
 collections in my Table Book : and, as re- 
 gards my own " sayings and doings," the 
 pievailing disposition of my mind is per- 
 haps sufficiently made known through the 
 ■Every- Day Book. In the latter publica- 
 tion, I was inconveniently limited a*; to 
 room; and the labour I had there presciioed 
 •to myself, of commemorating every day. 
 frequently prevented me from topics that 
 would have been more agreeable to my 
 readers than the " two grains of wheat in 
 a bushel of chaff, " which I often consumed 
 my time and spirits in en leavouring to 
 discover — and did not always find. 
 
 In my Table Book, which I hope wili 
 never be out of " season," I take the libert\ 
 to " annihilate both time and space," t( 
 the extent of a few lines or days, and lease 
 and talk, when and where I can, accordiiii. 
 to my humour. Sometimes I present ai 
 offering of " all sorts," simpled from out 
 of the-way and in-the-way books ; and, ai 
 other times, gossip to the public, as to an 
 old friend, diffusely or briefly, as I chance 
 to be more or less in the giving " vein," 
 about a passing event, a work just read, ;' 
 print in my hand, the thing 1 last thoui^hi 
 of, or saw, or heard, or, to be plain, abou 
 " whatever comes uppermost." In shorl 
 my collections and recollections come foitl 
 just as I happen to suppose they may bt 
 most agreeable or serviceable to thosi 
 whom I esteem, or care for, and by whon- 
 I desire to be respected. 
 
 My Table Book is enriched and diver- 
 sified by the contributions of my friends : 
 the teemings of time, and the press, give it 
 novelty ; and what I know of works of art, 
 with something of imagination, and the 
 assistance of artists, enable me to add pic- 
 torial embellishment. My object is tr. 
 blend information with amusement, and 
 utility with diversion. 
 
 My Table Book, therefore, is a series 
 of continually shifting scenes— a kind of 
 literary kaleidoscope, combining popular 
 forms with singular appearances— by which 
 youth and age of all ranks may be amused • 
 and to which, I respectfully trust, many 
 will gladly add something, to imorove it^ 
 yiews. 
 
©ie to t!)e S^to ^ean 
 
 From the Every Day Book; set to Music for the Table Book-, 
 
 By J. K. 
 
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 All hail to the birth of the Year ! See golden-hair'd 
 
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 mounting' his dew - spangled car. Stern Winter con-geals every 
 
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 >«* For the remaining verses tee the Every-Day Book, vol. ti. p. 26 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 €\)t Beto gear. 
 
 HAGMAN-IIEIGH. 
 
 Anciently on new year's day the Ro- 
 mans were accustomed to carry small pre- 
 sents, as new year's gifts, to the senators, 
 under whose protection they were severally 
 placed. In the reigns of the emperors, 
 they flocked in such numbers with valuable 
 ones, that various decrees were made to 
 abolish the custom ; though it always 
 continued among that people. The Romans 
 who settled in Britain, or the families con- 
 nected with them by marriage, introduced 
 these new year's gifts among our forefathers, 
 who got the habit of making presents, even 
 to the magistrates. Some of the fathers of 
 the church wrote against them, as fraught 
 with the greatest abuses, and the magistrates 
 were forced to relinquish them. Besides 
 the well-known anecdote of sir Thomas 
 More, when lord chancellor,* many in- 
 stances might be adduced from old records, 
 of giving a pair of gloves, some with " lin- 
 ings," and others without. Probably fiom 
 thence has been derived the fashion of giv- 
 ing a pair of gloves upon particular occa- 
 sions, as at marriages, funerals, &c. New 
 year's gifts continue to be received and 
 given by all ranks of people, to commemo- 
 rate the sun's return, and the prospect of 
 spring, when the gifts of nature are shared 
 by all. Friends present some small tokens 
 of esteem to each other — husbands to their 
 wives, and parents to their children. The 
 custom keeps up a cheerful and friendly 
 intercourse among acquaintance, and leads 
 to that good-humour and mirth so necessary 
 to the spirits in this dreary season. Chan- 
 dlers send as presents to their customers 
 large mould candles ; grocers give raisins, 
 to make a Christmas pudding, or a pack of 
 cards, to assist in spending agreeably the 
 long evenings. In barbers' shops " thrift- 
 box," as it is called, is put by the appren- 
 tice boys against the wall, and every cus- 
 tomer, according to his inclination, puts 
 something in. Foor children, and old in- 
 firm persons, beg, at the doors of the cha- 
 ritable, a small pittance, which, though 
 collected in small sums, yet, wh€n put 
 together, forms to them a little treasure; 
 so that every heart, in all situations of life, 
 beats with joy at the nativity of his Saviour. 
 
 The Hagman Heigh is an old custom 
 observed in Yorkshire on new year's eve, as 
 appertaining to the season. The keeper of 
 the pinfold goes round the town, attended 
 
 • Evcry-Day Book, i. 9. 
 
 by a rabble at his he°ls, and knocking at 
 certain doors, sings a barbarous song, be- 
 ginning with — 
 
 " To-night it is the new year's eight, to-morro?/' is 
 
 the day ; 
 We are come about for our right and for o'lr ray. 
 As we Ub'd to do in old king Henry's day : 
 Sing* fellows, sing, Hagman Heigh" &c. 
 
 The song always concludes with " wish- 
 ing a merry Christmas and a happy new 
 year." When wood was chiefly used as 
 fuel, in heating ovens at Christmas, this was 
 the most appropriate season for the hagman, 
 or wood-cutter, to remind his customers of 
 his services, and to solicit alms. The word 
 hag is still used in Yorkshire, to signify a 
 wood. The " hagg" opposite to Easby 
 formerly belonged to the abbey, to supply 
 them with fuel. Hagman may be a name 
 compounded from it. Some derive it from 
 the Greek Ayia^»vji, the holy month, when 
 the festivals of the church for our Saviour's 
 birth were celebrated. Formerly, on the 
 last day of the year, the monks and friars 
 used to make a plentiful harvest, by begging 
 from door to door, and reciting a kind of 
 carol, at the -end of every stave of which 
 tliey introduced the words " agia mene," 
 alluding to the birth of Christ. A very 
 different interpretation, however, was given 
 to it by one John Dixon, a Scotch presby- 
 lerlan minister, when holding forth against 
 this custom in one of his sermons at Kelso. 
 " Sirs, do you know what the hagman sig. 
 nifies ? It is the devil to be in the house ; 
 that is the meaning of its Hebrew original."* 
 
 SONNET 
 
 ON TliE NEW YEAR. 
 
 When we look back on hours long past away. 
 And every circumstance of joy, or woe 
 That goes to make this strange beguiling show 
 
 Call'd life, as though it were of yesterday. 
 
 We start to learn our q^uickness of decay. 
 Still flies unwearied Time; — on still we go 
 And whither? — Unto endless weal or woe. 
 
 As we have wrought our parts in this brief play. 
 
 Yet many have I seen whose thin blanched locks 
 But ill became a Head where Folly dwelt. 
 
 Who having past this storm with all its shocks. 
 Had nothing learnt from what they saw or felt: 
 
 Brave spirits ! that can look, with heedless eye. 
 
 On doom unchangeable, and fixt eternity. 
 
 • Clarkson's History of Richmond, cited by a (lor. 
 respondent, A. B. 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ^Intiquitied. 
 
 Westminster Abbey. 
 
 The lollowing letter, written by Horace 
 Walpole, in relation to the toml)s, is curious. 
 
 Dr. , whom he derides, was Dr. Za- 
 
 chary Pearce, dean of Westminster, and 
 editor of Longinus, &c. 
 
 Strawberry-hill, 1761. 
 
 1 heard lately, that Dr. , ? very 
 
 learned personao;e, had consented to let the 
 tomb of Aylmer de Valence, earl of Pem- 
 broke, a very great personage, be removed 
 for Wolfe's monument ; that at first he had 
 objected, but was wrought upon by being 
 told that hight Aylmer was a knight tem- 
 plar, a very wicked set of people as his lord- 
 ship had heard, though he knew nothing of 
 them, as they are not mentioned by Longi- 
 uus. I own I thought this a made story, 
 and wrote to his lordship, expressing my 
 concern that one of the finest and most 
 ancient monuments in the abbey should be 
 removed ; and begging, if it was removed, 
 that he would bestow it on me, who would 
 erect and preserv^e it here. After a fort- 
 night's deliberation, the bishop sent me an 
 answer, civil indeed, and commending my 
 zeal for antiquity! but avowing the story 
 under his own hand. He said, that at first 
 they had taken Pembroke's tomb for a 
 knight templar's; — observe, that not only 
 the man who shows the tombs names it 
 every day, but that there is a draught of it 
 at large in Dart's W^estminster; — that'upon- 
 discovering whose it was, he had been very 
 unwilling to consent to the removal, and at 
 last had obliged Wilton to engage to set it 
 up within ten feet of where it stands at pre- 
 sent. His lordship concluded with congra- 
 tulating me on publishing learned authors 
 at my press. 1 don't wonder that a man 
 who thinks Lucan a learned author, should 
 mistake a tomb in his own cathedral. If I 
 had a mind to be angry, I could complain 
 with reason, — as having paid forty pounds 
 for g-round for my motiier's funeral — that the 
 chapter of Westminster sell their church 
 over and over again : the ancient monu- 
 ments tumble upon one's head through 
 »*>oi, leglect, as one of them did, and killed 
 a man at lady Elizabeth Percy's funeral ; 
 and they erect new waxen dolls of queen 
 Elizabeth, &c. to draw visits and money 
 from the mob. 
 
 Biograpf)iraI iWemoranUa. 
 
 CoMETARY Influence. 
 Brantorae relates, that the duchess of 
 
 Angoul^me, in the .sixteenth century, being 
 awakened during the night, she was sur- 
 prised at an extraordinary brightness whicti 
 illuminated her chamber; apore^iending it 
 to be the fire, she reprimanded her women 
 for having made so large a one; but'thej' 
 assured her it was caused by the linoon. 
 The duchess ordered her curtains to be un- 
 drawn, and discovered that it was a comet 
 which produced this unusual light. " Ah !" 
 exclaimed she, " this is a phenomenon 
 which appears not to persons of common 
 condition. Shut the window, it is a comet, 
 which aribounces ray departure ; I must 
 prepare for death.'' The following morning 
 she sent for her confessor, in the certainty 
 of an approaching dissolution. The phy- 
 sicians assured her that her apprehensions 
 were ill founded and premature. " If I had 
 not," replied she, " seen the signal for 
 death, I could believe it, for I do not feel 
 myself exhausted or peculiarly ill.'' On 
 the third day after this event she expired, 
 the victim of terror. Long after this period 
 all appearances of the celestial bodies, not 
 perfectly comprehended by the multitude, 
 were supposed to indicate the deaths of 
 sovereigns, or revolutions in their govern- 
 ments. 
 
 Two Painters. 
 When the duke d'Aremberg was confined 
 at Antwerp, a person was brought in as a 
 spy, and imprisoned in the same place. 
 The duke observed some slight sketches by 
 his fellow prisoner on the wall, and, con- 
 ceiving they indicated talent, desii-ed Ru- 
 bens, with whom he was intimate, and 
 by whom he 'was visited, to bring with 
 him a pallet and pencils for the painter, who 
 was in custody with him. The materials 
 requisite for painting were given to the 
 artist, who took for his subject a group of 
 soldiers playing at cards in the corner of a 
 prison. When Rubens saw the picture, he 
 cried Out that it was done by Broiiwer, 
 whose works he had often seen, and as 
 often admired. Rubens offered six hundred 
 guineas for it ; the duke would by no means 
 part with it, but presented the painter with 
 a larger sum. Rubens exerted his interest, 
 and obtained the liberty of Biouwer, by 
 becoming his Surety, received him into his 
 house, clothed as well as maintained him, 
 and took pains to make the world acquainted 
 with his merit. But the levity of Brouwer'? 
 temper would not sutfer him long to con- 
 sider his situation any better than a state 
 of confinement; he therefore quitted Ru- 
 bens, and died shortly afterwards, in con- 
 sequence of a dissolute course of life. 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 KEPEESENTATION OF A PAGEANT VEHICLE AND PLAY. 
 
 The state, and reverence, and show, 
 AVere so attractive, folks would go 
 From aU parts, ev'ry year, to see 
 These pageant-plays at Coventry. 
 
 This engraving is from a very curious Pageants or Dramatic Mysteries, anciently 
 print in Mr. Sharp's " Dissertation on the performed at Coventry." 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Coventry is distinguished in the history 
 of the drama, because, under the title of 
 •' Ludus Coventrice" there exists a manu- 
 script volume of most curious early plays, 
 not yet printed, nor likely to be, unless 
 there are sixty persons, at this time suffici- 
 ently concerned for our ancient literature 
 and manners, to encourage a spirited gen- 
 tleman to print a limited number of copies. 
 [f by any accident the manuscript should 
 be destroyed, these plays, the constant 
 theme of literary antiquaries from Dugdale 
 to the present period, will only be known 
 through the partial extracts of writers, who 
 have sometimes inaccurately transcribed 
 from the originals in the British Museum.* 
 
 Mr. Sharp's taste and attainments qua- 
 lifying him for the task, and his residence 
 at Coventry affording him facility of re- 
 search among the muniments of the cor- 
 poration, he has achieved the real labour 
 of drawinfi;- from these and other unexplored 
 sources, a body of highly interesting 
 facts, respecting the vehicles, characters, 
 and dresses of the actors in the pageants or 
 dramatic mysteries anciently performed by 
 the trading companies of that city ; which, 
 together with accounts of municipal enter- 
 tainments of a public nature, form his meri- 
 torious volume. 
 
 Very little has been known respecting 
 the stage " properties," before the rise of 
 Ihe regular drama, and therefore the abun- 
 dant matter of that nature, adduced by this 
 gentleman, is peculiarly valuable. With 
 " The Taylors' and Shearemens' Pagant," 
 complete from the original manuscript, he 
 gives the songs and the original music, 
 engraved on three plates, whicli is eminently 
 remarkable, because it is, perhaps, the only 
 existing specimen of the melodies in the 
 Did Mysteries. There are ten other places 
 in the work; one of them represents the 
 club, or maul, of Pilate, a character in the 
 pageant of the Cappers' company. " By a 
 variety of tntries it appears he had a club 
 or maul, stuffed with wool ; and that the 
 exterior was formed of leather, is authenti- 
 cated by the actual existence of such a 
 club or maul, discovered by the writer of 
 this Dissertation, in an antique chest within 
 the Cappers' chapel, (together with an iron 
 
 • By a notice in Mr Sharp's " Dissertation," he pro- 
 poses to publish the " Coventry Mysteries," with notes 
 and illustrations, in two vols, octavo: 100 copies on 
 royal paper, at three guineas; an.l 25, on imperial 
 paper, at five guineas. Notwithstanding he limits the 
 entire impression to these 125 copies, and will com- 
 mence to print !is soon as the names of sixty subscribers 
 are sent to his publishers, it appears that this small 
 number is not yet complete. The fact is mentioned 
 here, because it will V .reproach to the age if such an 
 overture .s not emDraced. 
 
 cresset, and some fragments of armour,) 
 where it had probably remained ever since 
 the breaking up of the pageant." The 
 subject of the Cappers' pageant was usually 
 the trial and crucifixion of Christ, and the 
 descent into hell. 
 
 The pageant vehicles were high scaffolds 
 with two rooms, a higher and a lower, 
 constructed upon four or six wheels ; in 
 the lower room the performers dressed, 
 and in the higher room they played. Thif, 
 higher room, or rather, as it may be called, 
 the " stage," was all open on the top, that 
 the beholders might hear and see. On thi: 
 day of performance the vehicles were 
 wheeled, by men, from place to place, 
 thioughout the city ; the floor was strewed 
 with rushes ; and to conceal the lower 
 room, wherein tht performers dressed 
 cloths were hung round the vehicle : there 
 is reason to believe that, on these cloths, 
 the subject of the performance was painted 
 or worked in tapestry. The higher room 
 of the Drapers' vehicle was embattled, and 
 ornamented with carved work, and a crest; 
 the Smiths' had vanes, burnished and 
 painted, with streamers flying. 
 
 In an engraving which is royal quarto, 
 the size of tlie work, Mr. Sharp has laud- 
 ably endeavoured to convey a clear idea of 
 the appearance of a pas;e3nt vehicle, and 
 of the architectural appearance of the houses 
 in Coventry, at the time of performing the 
 Mysteries. So much of that engraving as le- 
 presents the vehicle is before the reader on 
 the preceding page. The vehicle, supposed 
 to be of the Smiths' company, is stationed 
 near the Cross in the Cross-cheaping, and 
 the time of action chosen is the period when 
 Pilate, on the charges of Caiphas and Annas, 
 is compelled to give up Christ for execu- 
 tion. Pilate is represented on a throne, 
 or chair of state : beside him stands his son 
 with a scoptre and poll-axe, and beyond 
 the Saviour are the two high priests; the 
 (wo armed figures behind are knights. The 
 pageant cloth bears the symbols of the 
 passion. 
 
 Besides the Coventry Mysteries and other 
 matteis, Mr. Sharp notices those of Chester, 
 and treats largely on the ancient setting oi 
 the watch on Midsummer and St. John's 
 Eve, the corporation giants, morris dancers, 
 minstrelsj.and waites. 
 
 I could not resist the very fitting op- 
 portunity on the opening of the new year, 
 and of the Table Book together, to introduce 
 a memorandum, that so important an ac- 
 cession has accrued to our curious litpra- 
 
THE TABLE B(XJK. 
 
 tiire, as Mr. Sharp's " Dissertation on the 
 Coventry Mysteries." 
 
 Boors. 
 
 " The Thing to a T." 
 A young man, brought up in the city of 
 London to the business of an undertaker, 
 went to Jamaica to better his condition. 
 Business flourished, and he wrote to his 
 father in Bishopsgate-street to send him, 
 with a quantity of blaci< and grey cloth, 
 twenty gross of black Tacks. Unfortu- 
 nately he had omitted the top to hisT, and 
 the order stood twenty gross of black Jacks. 
 His correspondent, on receiving the letter, 
 recollected a man, near Fleet-market, who 
 made quart and pmt tin pots, ornamented 
 with painting, and which were called black 
 Jacks, and to him he gave the order 
 for the twenty gross of hluck Jacks. The 
 maker, surprised, said, l)e had not so many 
 ready, but would endeavour to complete 
 the order ; this was done, and the articles 
 were shipped. The undertaker received 
 them with other consignments, and was 
 astonished at the mistake. A friend, fond 
 of speculation, offered consolation, by pro- 
 posing to purchase the whole at the invoice 
 price. The undertaker, glad to get rid of 
 an article he considered useless in that part 
 of the world, took the offer. His friend 
 immediately advertised for sale a number 
 of fashionable punch vases just arrived from 
 England, and sold 'the jacks, gaining 200 
 per cent. ! 
 
 The young undertaker afterwards dis- 
 coursing upon his father's blunder, was 
 told by his friend, in a jocose strain, to 
 crder a gross of 'Warming -pans, and see 
 whether the well-informed correspondents 
 in London would have the sagacity to con- 
 sider such articles necessary in the latitude 
 of nine degrees north. The young man 
 laughed at the suggestion, but really pilt 
 in practice the joke. He desired his father 
 in his next letter'to send a gross of warm- 
 ing-pans, which actually, and 'to the great 
 surprise of the son, reached the island of 
 Jamaica. What to do with this cargo he 
 knew not. His friend again became a pur- 
 chaser at prime cost, and having knocked 
 off the covers, informed the planters, thjit 
 he had just impoi-ted a number of newly- 
 constructed sugar ladles. The article under 
 that name sold rapidly, and returned a 
 large profit. The parties returned to Eng- 
 land with fortunes, and often told the story 
 of the black jacks and warming-pans over 
 the bottle, adding, that " Nothing is lo-.t in 
 a good market." 
 
 — Give a*. 
 
 Leave to enjoy myself. That place, that does 
 
 Contain my books, the best companions, is 
 
 To me a glorious court, where hourly I 
 
 Converse with the old sages and philosophers; 
 
 And sometimes for variety, I confer 
 
 With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels; 
 
 Calling their victories, if unjustly got. 
 
 Unto a strict account; and in my fancy. 
 
 Deface their ill-placed statues. Can I then 
 
 Part with such constant pleasures, to embrace 
 
 Uncertain vanities? No : be it your care 
 
 To augment a heap of wealth : it shall be mine 
 
 To increase in knowledge. i'letcher 
 
 Imagination. 
 Imagination enriches every thing. A 
 great library contains not only books, but 
 " the assembled souls of all that men held 
 wise." The moon is Homer's and Shak- 
 speare's moon, as well as the one we look 
 at. The sun comes out of his chamber in 
 the east, with a sparkling eye, " rejoicing 
 like a bridegroom." The commonest thing 
 becomes like Aaron's rod, that budded. 
 Pope called up the spirits of the Cabala to 
 wait upon a lock of hair, and justly gave it 
 the honours of a constellation ; for he has 
 hung it, sparkling for ever, in the eyes of 
 posterity. A common meadow is a sorry 
 thing to a ditcher or a coxcomb ; but by the 
 help of its dues from imaijination and the 
 love of nature, the grass brightens for us, 
 the air soothes us, we feel as we did in the 
 daisied hours of childhood. Its verdures, 
 its sheep, its hedge-row elms, — all these, 
 and all else which sight, and sound, and 
 association can give it, are made to furnish 
 a treasure of pleasant thoughts. Even 
 brick and mortar are vivified, as of old at 
 the harp of Orpheus. A metropolis be- 
 comes no longer a mere collection of houses 
 or of trades. It puts on all the grandeur 
 of its history, and its literature ; its tow- 
 ers, and rivers ; its art, and jewellery, and 
 foreign wealth ; its multitude of human 
 beings all intent upon excitement, wise or 
 yet to learn ; the huge and sullen dignity 
 of its canopy of smoke by day; the wide 
 gleam upwards of its lighted lustre at night- 
 time; and the noise of its many chariots, 
 heard, at the same hour, when the wind sets 
 gently towards some quiet suburb. — Leigh 
 Hunt. 
 
 Actors. 
 Madame RoUan, who died in 1786, in 
 the seventy-fifth year of her age, was a 
 principal dancer on Covent-gatden stage in 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 L73I, and followed her profession, by pri- 
 vate teaching, to the last year of lier life. 
 She had so much celebrity in her day, that 
 having one evening sprained her ancle, no 
 less an actor than Quin was ordered by the 
 manager to make an apology to the audi- 
 -•nce for her not appearing in the dance. 
 Quin, who looked upon all dancers as " the 
 mere garnish of the stage," at first de- 
 murred ; but being threatened with a for- 
 feiture, he growlingly came forward, and in 
 his coarse way thus addressed the audience: 
 " Ladies and Gentlemen, 
 " I am desired by the manager to inform 
 /ou, that the dance intended for this night 
 is obliged to be postponed, on account of 
 mademoiselle Rolian having dislocated her 
 incle : I wish it had been her neck.'' 
 
 In Quin's time Hippesley was the Roscius 
 )f low comedy ; he had a large scar on his 
 ;heek, occasioned by being dropped into 
 he fire, by a careless nurse, wlien an in- 
 mt, which gave a very whimsical cast to 
 >is features. Conversing with Quin con- 
 ;erning his son, he told him, he had some 
 h'lughts of bringing him on the stage. 
 ' Oh," replied the cynic, " if that is your 
 ntention. I think it is high time you should 
 lurn hij face," 
 
 On one of the first nights of the opera 
 3f Cymon at Drury-lane theatre, when the 
 late Mr. Vernon began the last air in the 
 burth act, which runs, 
 
 ' Torn from me, torn from me, which way dtd they 
 take her ?" 
 
 a dissatisfied musical critic immediately 
 answered the actor's interrogation in the 
 following words, and to the great astonish- 
 ment of the audience, m the exact tune of 
 the air, 
 
 " Why towards Long-acre, towards Long-acre." 
 
 This unexpected circumstance naturally 
 embarrassed poor Vernon, but in a moment 
 recovering himself, he sung in rejoinder, 
 the following words, instead ofthe author's : 
 
 " Ho, ho, did they so. 
 
 Then I'll soon overtake her, 
 I'll soon overtake her." 
 
 Vernon then precipitately made his exit 
 amidst the plaudits of the whole house. 
 
 ^o\m IBepartmmt 
 
 Potatoes. 
 If potatoes, how much soever frosted, 
 be only carefully excluded from the atmo- 
 jpheric air, and the pit not opened until 
 
 some time after the frost lias entirely sub- 
 sided, they will be found not to have as- 
 tained the slightest injury. This is on 
 account of their not having been exposed 
 to a sudden change, and thawing gradually 
 A person inspecting his potato heaj). 
 which had been covered with turf, fouii 
 them so frozen, that, on being moved, thev 
 rattled like stones : he deemed them irre- 
 coverably lost, and, replacing the turf, lef" 
 them, as he thought, to their fate. lit 
 was not less surprised than pleased, a con 
 siderable time afterwards, when he disco- 
 vered that his potatoes, which he had givei; 
 up for lost, had not suffered the least de- 
 triment, but were, in all respects, remark- 
 ably fine, except a few near the spot whicK 
 'had been uncovered. If farmers keep theii 
 heaps covered till the frost entirely disap 
 pears, they will find their patience ampl\ 
 rewarded. 
 
 Lost Children. 
 The Gresham committee having humanel; 
 provided a means of leading to the discovery 
 of lost or strayed children, the foUowini' 
 is a copy of the bill, issued in consequenc 
 of their regulation : — 
 
 To THE PUSLIC. 
 
 London. 
 
 If persons who may have lost a child, oi 
 found one, in the streets, will go with a 
 written notice to the Royal Exchange, the\ 
 will find boards fixed up near the medicim 
 shop, for the purpose of posting up sucl- 
 notices, (free of expense.) By fixing theii 
 notice at this place, it is probable the 
 child will be restored to its afflicted parent- 
 on the same day it may have been missed 
 The children, of course, are to be taker, 
 care of in the parish where they are found 
 until their homes are discovered. 
 
 From the success which has, within a 
 short time, been found to result from the 
 immediate posting up notices of this sort, 
 there can be little doubt, when the know- 
 ledge of the above-mentioned boards is 
 general, but that many children will be 
 spee'dih/ restored. It is recommended that 
 a bellman be sent round the neighbourhood, 
 as heretofore has been usually done. 
 
 Persons on receivirtg this paper are re- 
 quested to fix It up in their shop-window. 
 or other conspicuoirs place. 
 
 The managers of Spa -fields chapel 
 improving upon the above hint, caused 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 i board to be placed in front of their cl>apel 
 for the same purpose, and printed bills which 
 can be very soon hlled up, describing the 
 child lost or found, in the following 
 forms : — 
 
 Ticket Porters. 
 
 CHILD LOST. 
 
 Sex Age 
 
 N'ame 
 Residence 
 Further particulars 
 
 CUILO rOUND, 
 
 I Sex Age 
 
 May be heard of at 
 1 Further particulars 
 
 The severe affliction many parents suffer 
 by the loss of young children, should in- 
 duce parish officers, and others, in popu- 
 lous neighbourhoods, to adopt a plan so 
 well devised to facilitate the restoration of 
 strayed children. 
 
 Br AN Act of common council of the city 
 of London, Hey gate, mayor, 1823, the 
 ticket porters are not to exceed five hun- 
 dred. 
 
 A ticket porter, when plying or working, 
 is to wear his ticket so as to be plainly 
 seen, under a penalty of 2«i 6rf. for each 
 offence. 
 
 No tick«t porter is to apply for hire in 
 any place but on the stand, appointed by 
 the acts of common council, or within six- 
 yards thereof, under a penalty of 5«. 
 
 FARES OF TICKET-PORTERS: 
 
 
 
 Jbor 
 every 
 half 
 mile 
 
 
 Qr. 
 
 Half 
 
 One 
 
 U 
 
 Two 
 
 i 
 
 Mile. 
 
 Mile. 
 
 Mile. 
 *. d. 
 
 Mile. 
 
 Miles. 
 
 fa ther. 
 
 1 
 
 s. d. 
 
 s. d. 
 
 «. d. 
 
 s. d. 
 
 ». d. 
 
 For any Package, Letter, 8tc. not ex- 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ceedmg56 lbs ... 
 
 4 
 
 6 
 
 9 
 
 V 
 
 1 6 
 
 6 
 
 Above 36 lbs. and not exceeding 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 112 lbs 
 
 6 
 
 9 
 
 I 
 
 1 6' 
 
 2 
 
 9 
 
 Above 112 lbs. and not exceeding 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 168 lbs 
 
 8 
 
 1 
 
 1 6 
 
 2 
 
 2- 6 
 
 1 
 
 For every parcel above 14 lbs. which they may have to bring back, they are 
 allowed half the above fares. 
 
 A ticket porter not to take more than one 
 )b at a time, penalty 2s. 6rf. 
 
 Seven, or more, rulers of the society, to 
 onstitute a court. 
 
 The governor of the society, with the 
 ■ ourt of rulers, to make regulations, and 
 ainex reasonable penalties for the breach 
 'hereof, not exceeding 20s. for each offence, 
 ir three months' suspension- They may dis- 
 charge porters who persist in breach of 
 .heir orders. 
 
 The court of rulers to hear and determine 
 complaints in absence of the governor. 
 
 Any porter charging more than his re- 
 gular fare, finable on conviction to the 
 extent of 20s., by the governor, or the court 
 of rulers. 
 
 Persons employing any one within the 
 city, except their own servants or ticket 
 porters, are liable to be p'roset;uted. 
 
 Oliver Cromwell. 
 
 The following is an extract from one of' 
 
 Richard' Symons's Pocket-books, preserved 
 
 amongst the Harleitin MSS. in the British 
 
 Vluseum, No. 991. " At the marriage of 
 
 his daughter to Rich, in Nov. 1657, the 
 lord protector threw about sack-posset 
 among all the ladyes to soyle their rich 
 cloaths, which they tooke as a favour, and 
 also wett sweetmeats; and daubed all the 
 stooles where 'hey were to sit with wett 
 sweetmeats; and pulled off Rich his pe- 
 ruque, and would have thrown it into the 
 fire, but did not, yet he sate upon it.'' 
 
 Old Women. 
 De Foe remarks in his " Protestant 
 Monastery," that " If any whimsical oi 
 ridiculous story is told, 'tis of an Old Wo- 
 man. If any person is awkward at his 
 business or any thing else, he is called an 
 Old Woman forsooth. Those were brave 
 days for young people, when they could 
 swear the old ones out of their lives, and 
 get a woman hanged or burnt only for 
 being a little too old — and, as a warning 
 to all ancient persons, who should dare to 
 live longer than the young ones think con- 
 venient." 
 
 Duel with a Bag. 
 Two gentlemen, one a Spaniard, and 
 the other a German, who were recom- 
 
 IJ 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 mended, by their birth and services, to 
 the emperor Maximilian II., both courted 
 his daughter, the fair Helene Schar- 
 fequiiin, in marriage. This prince, after 
 a long delay, one day informed them, 
 that esteeming them equally, and not being 
 able to bestow a preference, he should 
 leave it to the force and address of the 
 claimants to decide the question. He did 
 not mean, however, to risk, the loss of one 
 or the other, or perhaps of both. He 
 could not, therefore, permit them to en- 
 counter with offensive weapons, but had 
 ordered a large bag to be produced. It 
 was his decree, that whichever succeeded 
 m putting his rival into this bag should 
 obtain the hand of his daughter. This 
 singular encounter between the two gen- 
 tlemen took place in the face of the whole 
 court. The contest lasted for more than an 
 liour. At length the Spaniard yielded, and 
 the German, Khberhard, baron de Talbert, 
 having planted his rival in the bag, took it 
 upon his back, and very gallantly laid it at 
 the fee: of his mistress, whom he espoused 
 the next day. 
 
 Such is the story, as gravely told by M. 
 de St. Foix. It is impossible to say what 
 the feelings of a successful combatant in a 
 duel may be, on his having passed a small 
 sword through the body, or a bullet through 
 the thorax, of his antagonist ; but might 
 he not feel quite as elated, and more con- 
 >joled, on having put is adversary " into a 
 hatr ? " 
 
 " A New Matrimokial Plan." 
 This is the title of a bill printed and dis- 
 .ributed four or five years ago, and now 
 before me, advertising " an establishment 
 where persons of all classes,-who are anxious 
 to sweeten life, by repairing to the altar of 
 Hymen, have an opportunity of meeting 
 with proper partners." The " plan" says, 
 " their personal attendance is not abso- 
 lutely necessary, a statement of facts is all 
 that is required at first." The method is 
 simply this, for the parties to become sub- 
 icribers, the amount to be regulated ac- 
 lording to circumstances, and that they 
 ,hould be arranged in classes in the fol- 
 lowing order, viz. 
 
 " Ladies. 
 ' 1st Class. I am twenty years of 'age, 
 heiress to an estate iii the county 
 of Essex of the value of 30,000/., 
 well educated, and of domestic 
 habits ; of an agreeable, Hvely dis- 
 position and genteel figure. Re- 
 ligion that of my future husband. 
 
 " 2d Class. I am thirty years of age, a 
 widow, in the grocery line in 
 London — have children ; ol 
 
 middle stature, full made, fair 
 complexion and hair, tempei 
 agreeable, worth 3,000/. 
 
 '* 3d Class. I am tall and thin, a little 
 lame in the hip, of a lively dispo- 
 sition, conversable, twenty years 
 of age, live with my father, who, 
 if I marry with his consent, will 
 give me 1,000/. 
 
 "■4tbClass. I am twenty years of age ; mild 
 disposition and manners; allow- 
 ed to be personable. 
 
 "5th«Class. I am sixty years of as^e ; in- 
 come limited ; active and rathei 
 agreeable. 
 
 " Gentlemen. 
 " 1st. Class. A young gentleman with dark 
 eyes and hair ; stout made ; well 
 educated ; hc-ive an estate of 500/. 
 per annum in the county of Kent ; 
 besides 10,000/. in the three per 
 cent consolidated annuities ; ani 
 of an affable disposition, and very 
 affectionate. 
 '* 2d 'Class. I am forty years of age, tail 
 and slender, fair complexion and 
 hair, well tempered andofsobei 
 habits, have a situation in llu 
 Excise of 300/. per annum, and a 
 small estate in Wales of the an- 
 nual value of 150/. 
 " 3d Class. A tradesman in the city of 
 Bristol, in a ready-money busi- 
 ness, turning 150/. per week, at 
 a profit of 10/. per cent., pretty 
 well tempered, lively, and fond 
 of home. 
 " 4th Class. I am fifty-eight years of age ; 
 a widower, without incumbrance; 
 retired from business upon a 
 small income ; healthy constitu- 
 tion ; and of domestic habits. 
 " 5th Class. I am twenty-five years of age : 
 a mechanic, of sober habits ; in- 
 dustrious, and of respectable con- 
 nections. 
 " It is presumed that the public will not 
 find any difiiculty in describing themselves; 
 if they sliculd, they will have the assistance 
 of the managers, who will be in attendance 
 at the office. No. 5, Great St. Helen's, 
 Bishopgate-street, on Mondays, Wednes- 
 days, and Fridays, between the hours ol 
 eleven and three o'clock. — Please to in- 
 quire for Mr. Jameson, up one pair of 
 stairs. All letters to be post paid. 
 
 " The subscribers are to be furnisheJ 
 
 11 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 with a list of descriptions, and when one 
 occurs likely to suit, the parties may cor- 
 respond ; and if mutuHlly approved, the 
 interview may be afterwards arranged. 
 Further particulars may be had as above." 
 Such a strange device in our own time, 
 for catching would-be lovers, seems incredi- 
 ble, and yet here is the printed plan, with 
 the name and address of the match-making 
 gentleman you are to inquire for " up one 
 pair of stairs.'' 
 
 Copograpl^ical iHemorautia. 
 
 Clerical Longevity. 
 
 The following is an authentic account, 
 from the " Antiquarian Repertory," of the 
 incumbents of a vicarage near Bridgenorth 
 in Shropshire. Its annual revenue, till the 
 death of the last incumbent here mentioned, 
 was not more than about seventy pounds 
 per annum, although it is a very large and 
 populous parish, contaitiing at least twenty 
 hamlets or townships, and is scarcely any 
 where less than four or five miles in dia- 
 meter. By a peculiar idiom in that coun- 
 try, the inhabitants of this large district are 
 .«aid to live "in Worfield-home :" and the 
 adjacent, or not far distant, parishes (each 
 of them containing, in like manner, many 
 townships, or hamlets) are called Claverly, 
 or Clarely-home, Tatnall-home, Womburn- 
 home, or, as the termmating word is every 
 where pronounced in that neighbourhood, 
 '* whome." 
 
 "A list of the vicars of Worfield in the 
 diocese of Lichfield and Coventry, and in the 
 county of Salop, from 1564 to 1763, viz. 
 
 " Demerick, vicar, last popish priest, con- 
 formed during the six first years of Eliza- 
 beth. He died 1564. 
 
 Barney, vicar 44 years ; died 1608. 
 
 Barney, vicar 56 years; died 1664. 
 
 Hancocks, vicar 42 years; died 1707. 
 
 Adamson, vicar 56 years : died 1763. 
 Only 4 vicars in 199 years." 
 
 Spelling for a Wake. 
 Proclamation was made a few years ago, 
 at Tewkesbury, from a written paper, of 
 which the following is a copy : — 
 
 " Hobnail's WaKe — This his to give 
 notis on Tusday next — a Hat to be playd 
 at bac sord fore. Two Belts to be tuseld 
 fore. A plum cack to be gump in bag's 
 fowr. A pond of backer to be bold for, 
 and a showl to danc lot by vvimen." 
 
 THE BEAUTIES OF SOMERSET. 
 
 A ballad; 
 I'm a Zummer^etzhire man, 
 Zhew me better if you can, 
 
 In the North, Zouth, Kast, or Wftat; 
 I waz born in Taunton Dean, 
 Of all places ever seen 
 
 The richest and the best. Old BALLAD. 
 
 TuLe, AUey Croher. 
 
 That Britain's like a precious gem 
 
 Set in the silver ocean, 
 Our Shakspeare sung, and none condemn 
 
 Whilst most approve the notion, — 
 But various parts, we now declare. 
 Shine forth in various splendour. 
 And those bright beams that shine most fair, 
 The western portions render; — 
 
 O the counties, the matchless westeni couotiej, 
 Bjit far the best. 
 Of all the rest. 
 Is Somerset for ever. 
 For come wiUi me, and we'll survey 
 
 Our hills and V allies over. 
 Our vales, where clear brooks bubbling stray 
 
 Through meads of blooming clover ; 
 Our hills, that rise in giant pride. 
 
 With hollow dells between them. 
 Whose sable forests, spreading wide. 
 Enrapture all who 've seen them: 
 O the counties, &c. 
 
 How eould I here forgetful be 
 
 Of all your scenes romantic. 
 Our rugged rocks, our swelling sea. 
 
 Where foams the wild Atlantic! 
 There's not an Eden known to men 
 
 That claims such admiration. 
 At lovely Culbone's peaceful glen, 
 
 The Tempe of the nation ; 
 O the counties, &c. 
 
 To name each beauty in my rhyme 
 
 Would prove a vain endeavour, 
 I'll therefore sing that cloudless ciime 
 
 Where Summer sets for ever ; 
 Where ever dwells the Age of Gold 
 
 In fertile vales and sunny. 
 Which, like the promis'd land of old, 
 
 O'erflows with milk and honey ; 
 O the counties, &c. 
 
 But 1 to crown my county's worth. 
 
 What all the rest surpasses. 
 There's not a spot in all the earth 
 
 Can boast such lovely lasses ; 
 There's not a spot beneath the sttu 
 
 Where hearts are open'd widnr. 
 Then let us toast them every otus- 
 
 In bowls of native cider; 
 O tha counties, &e. 
 
 12 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 WitntW- 
 
 Clndftft-'Baj) 
 
 A NEW Hygrometer. 
 
 A new instrument to measure the de- 
 grees of moisture m the atmosphere, of 
 which the following is a description, was 
 invented by M. Baptist Lendi, of St. Gall : 
 
 In a white flint bottle is suspended a 
 piece of metal, about the size of a hazle 
 nut, which not only looks extremely beau- 
 tiful, and contributes- to the ornament of a 
 room, but likewise predicts every possible 
 change of weather twelve or fourteen hours 
 before it occurs. As soon as the metal is 
 suspended in the bottle with water, it 
 begins to increase in. bulk, and in ten or 
 tweWe days forms an admirable pyramid, 
 which resembles polished brass ; and it 
 undergoes several changes, till it has at- 
 tained its full dimensions. In rainy wea- 
 ther, this pyramid is constantly covered 
 with pearly drops of water; in case of 
 thunder or hail, it will change to the finest 
 red, and throw out rays ; in case of wind 
 or fog, it will appear dull and spotted ; 
 and previously to snow, it will look quite 
 muddy. If placed in a moderate tempera- 
 ture, it will require no other trouble than 
 to pour out a common tumbler full of 
 water, and to put in the same quantity of 
 fresh. For the first few days it must not 
 be shaken. 
 
 Calico Compaky. 
 A red kitten was sent to the house of a 
 linen-draper in the city ; and, on departing 
 from the maternal basket, the following 
 lines were written : — 
 
 The Red Kitten. 
 
 O the red red kitten is sent a^vaj. 
 No more on parlour hearth to play ; 
 He must live in the draper's house. 
 And chase the rat, and catch the moase. 
 And all day long in silence go 
 Through bales of cotton ai.d calico. 
 
 After the king of Kngland fam'd. 
 The red red kitten was Rufus nam'd. 
 And as king Rufus sported through 
 Thicket and brake of the Forest New, 
 The red red kitten Rnfus so 
 Shall jump about the calico. 
 
 But as king Rufus chis'd the deer. 
 And hunted the forest far and near. 
 Until as he watch'd the jumpy squirrel, 
 . He was shot by Walter Tyrrel ; 
 So, it Fate shall his death ordam. 
 Shall kitten Rufus by dogs be slam. 
 And end his thrice three lives of woe 
 
 SONNET 
 
 TO A PRETTY GIKL IN A PASTKY-COdTv'a 
 
 SHOP. 
 Sweet Maid, for thou art maid of many sweats. 
 
 Behind thy counter, lo ! I see thee standing, 
 Gaz'd a.t by wanton wand'rers in the streets. 
 
 While cakes, to cakes, thy pretty Jist is handing. 
 Light as a ;)i{^ appears thy every motion, 
 
 Yet thy replies I've heard are sometimes tart ; 
 I deem thee a preserve, yet I're a notion 
 
 That warm as brandled cherries is thy heart. 
 Then be not to thy lover like an ice. 
 
 Nor sour as raspberry vinegar lo one 
 Who owns thee for a sugar-plum so nice. 
 
 Nicer than comfit, syllabub, or bun. 
 I loTE thee more than all the girls so natty, 
 I do, indeed, my sweet, my savoury Patty. 
 
 " Holly Wight " at Brough. 
 For the Table Booh. 
 
 The ancient custom of carrying the 
 " holly tree" on Twelfth Night, at Brough 
 in Westmoreland, is represented in the ac- 
 companying engraving. 
 
 Formerly the " Holly-tree" at Biotigh was 
 really " holly," but ash being abundant, 
 the latter is now. substituted There are 
 two head inns in the town, which provide 
 for the ceremony alternately, though the 
 good townspeople mostly lend their assist- 
 ance in preparing the tree, to every branch 
 of which they fasten a torch. About eight 
 o'clock in the eveninsf, it is taken to a con- 
 venient part of the town, where the torches 
 are lighted, the town band accompanying 
 and playing till all is completed, when 
 it is removed to the lower end of the town ; 
 and, after divers salutes and huzzas from 
 the spectators, is carried up and down the 
 town, in stately procession, usually by a 
 person of renowned strength, named Joseph 
 Ling. The band march behind it, play- 
 ing their instruments, and stopping every 
 time they reach the town bridge, and the 
 cross, where the " holly" is again greeted 
 with shouts of applause. Many of the in- 
 habitants carry lighted branches and flam- 
 beaus ; and rockets, squibs, &c. are dis- 
 charged on the joyful occasion. After the 
 tree is thus carried, and the torcnes are 
 sufficiently burnt, it is placed in the middle 
 of the town, when it is again cheered by 
 the surrounding populace, and is afterwards 
 thrown among them. They eagerly watch 
 for this opportunity ; and, clinging to each 
 end of the tree, endeavour to carry it away 
 to the inn they are contending for, where 
 they are allowed their usual quantum of 
 
 yd 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 CARRYING THE " HOLLY TREE" AT BROUGII, WESTMORELAND. 
 
 To every brancli a torch they tie, 
 
 To every torch a lignt ijpply, 
 
 At each new light send forth huzzas 
 
 Till all the tree is in a blize ; 
 
 And then bear it flaming through the toivu, 
 
 With minstrelsy, and. rockets tlirowr. 
 
 ale and spirits, an'l pass a " merry night," 
 'j>.'hicli seldom breaks up before two in the 
 Tnorninjj. 
 
 Althonsfli the origin of this usapje is lost, 
 and no tradition exiits by which it can be 
 traced, yet it may not be a strained surmise 
 to derive it from the cliurch ceremony of 
 the day when branches of trees were carried 
 in procession to decorate the altars, in com- 
 memoration of the offerings of the Magi, 
 whose names are handed down to us as 
 Melchior, Caspar, and Balthasar, the pa- 
 trons of travellers. In catholic countries, 
 flambeaus and torches always abound in 
 their ceremonies ; and persons residing in 
 tlie streets through which they pass, testify 
 iheir zeal and piety by providing flambeaus 
 fit their own expense, and bringing them 
 '.iffhted to the doors of iheir houses. 
 ^ W.H.TL 
 
 J^ote 
 
 Communications for the Tnhlc Book adriressod to 
 me, in a parcel, or under cover, to the care of ihe pal> 
 lishcrs, will be gladly received. 
 
 Notices to Correspondents will appear ot the 
 wrappers of the monthly ])arts onli/. 
 
 The Table Book, therefore, after the present ^neet, 
 will be printed continuously, without matter of this 
 kind, or the intervention of temporary titles, nn| lev 
 sant to the eye, when the work comes to be bound in 
 volumes. 
 
 Lastly, because this is the last opportunity of the 
 kind >n my power, I beg to add that some vaiuable 
 papers which could not be included in the Evcry-Datj 
 Book, will appear in the Table Book. 
 
 Moreover Lastly, I earnestly solicit the immedlTt" 
 activity of my friends, to oblige and serve me. by 
 sen-ding any thing, and evert/ thing they can collect oi 
 recollect, which they may suppose at all likely to mi- 
 dtjr mv Table Booh instructive, or diverting. 
 
 W. Hon a. 
 
 14 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 EMIGRATION OF THE DEER FROM CEANBOURN CHASE, 1826. 
 
 The genial years increase the timid herd 
 Till wood and pasture yield a scant supply ; 
 
 Then troop the deer, as at a signal word, 
 And in long lines o'er barren downs they hie. 
 
 In search what food far vallies may aflFord — 
 Less fearing man, their ancient enemy. 
 
 Than in their native chase to starv-e and die. 
 
 15 
 
 C 
 
THE TABLE BOaK. 
 
 Trie (leer of Cianbonrn chase usually 
 average about ten thousand in number. In 
 the winter of 1826, they were presumed to 
 amount to from twelve to fifteen thousand. 
 This increase is ascribed to the unusual 
 mildness of recent winters, and the conse- 
 quent absence of injuries which the anisnals 
 are subject to from severe weather. 
 
 In the month of November, a great 
 number of deer from the woods and pas- 
 itures of the Chase, between Gunvile and 
 Ash more, crossed the narrow downs on the 
 ^western -side, and descended into the adja- 
 cent par-ts of the vale of Blackmore in 
 quest of subsistence. There v was a large 
 increase in the number kbout twelve years 
 preceding, till the continued deficiency of 
 food occasioned a mortality. Very soon 
 afterwards, however, they again increased 
 and emigrated for food to the vallies, as in 
 the present instance. At the former period, 
 the greater part were not allowed or were 
 unable to return. 
 
 The tendency of deer to breed beyond 
 the means of support, afforded by parks 
 and other places wherein they are kept, 
 has been usually regulated by converting 
 them into venison. This is clearly moie 
 humane than suffering the herds so to en- 
 large, that there is scarcely for " every one 
 a mouthful!, and no one a bellyful!." It is 
 also better to pay a good price for good 
 venison in season, than to have poor and 
 cheap venison from the surplus of starving 
 animals " killed ofi" in mercy to the re- 
 mainder, or in compliance with the wishes 
 of landholders whose grounds they invade 
 in tlieir extremity. 
 
 The emigration of the deer from Cran- 
 bourn Chase suggests, that as such cases 
 arise in winter, their venison may be be- 
 stowed with advantage on labourers, who 
 abound more in children than in the means 
 of providing for them; and thus the sur- 
 plus of the forest-bieed be applied to the 
 I support and comfort of impoverished hu- 
 man lieings. 
 
 Craubourn. 
 
 Cranbourn is a market town and parish in 
 the hundred of Cranbourn, Dorsetshire, about 
 12 miles south-west from Salisbury, and 93 
 from London. According to the last census, 
 it contains 367 houses and 1823 inhabitants, 
 of whom 104 are returned as being em- 
 ployed in trade. The parish includes a 
 circuit of 40 miles, and the town is plea- 
 santly situated in a fine champaign country 
 at the north-east extremity of the county, 
 near Cranbourn Chase, which extends 
 
 almost to Salisbury. Its market is on a 
 Thursday, it has a cattle market in the 
 spring, and its fairs are on St. Bartholomew's 
 and St. Nicholas' days. It is the capital of 
 the hundred to which it gives its name, and 
 is a vicarage valued in the king's books at 
 £6. 13*. 4(i. It is a place of high antiquity, 
 famous in the Saxon and Norman times for 
 Its monastery, its chase, and its lords. The 
 monastery belonged to the Benedictines, of 
 which the church at the west end of the 
 town was the priory.* 
 
 Affray in the Chase. 
 On the night of the 16th of December, 
 1780, a severe battle was fought between 
 the keepers and deer-stealers on Chettle 
 Common, in Bursey-stool Walk. The deer- 
 stealers had assembled at Pimpeme, and 
 were headed by one Blandford, a sergeant 
 of dragoons, a native of Pimperne, then 
 /quartered at Blandford. They came in the 
 night in disguise, armed with deadly offen- 
 sive weapons called swindgels, resembling 
 flails to thresh corn. They attacked the 
 •keepers, who were nearly equal in number, 
 but had no weapons but sticks and short 
 hangers. The first blow was struck by the 
 leader of the gang, it broke a knee-cap of 
 the s outest man in the chase, which dis- 
 abled him fr m joining in the combat, and 
 lamed him for ever. Another keeper, from 
 a blow with a swindgel, which broke three 
 ribs, died some time after. The remaining 
 -keepers closed in upon their opponents 
 with tlieir hangers, and one of the dra- 
 goon's hands was severed from the arm, 
 just above the wrist, and fell on the ground ; 
 the others were also dreadfully cut and 
 wounded, and oblisjed to surrender. Bland- 
 ford's arm was tightly bound with a list 
 garter to prevent its bleeding, and he was 
 carried to the lodge. The Rev. William 
 Chafin, the author of " Anecdotes respect- 
 ing Cranbourn Chase," says, " I saw 
 him there the next day, and his hand 
 in the window : as soon as he was well 
 enough to be removed, he was committed, 
 witlr his companions, to Dorchester gaol. 
 The hand was buried in Pimperne church- 
 yard, and, as reported, with the ho- 
 nours of war. Several of these offenders 
 were labourers, daily employed by Mr. 
 Beckford, and had, the preceding day 
 dined in his servants' hall, and from thenc? 
 went to join a confederacy to rob theii 
 master." They were all tried, found guilty 
 and condemned to be transported for seven 
 years; but, in consideration of their great 
 
 -» Hutchins's Dorset. Capper. 
 
 16 
 
TABLE BOOK. 
 
 suffering from their wounds in prison, the 
 humane judge, sir Richard Perryn, commu- 
 ted the punishment to confinement for an 
 indefinite term. The soldier was not dis- 
 missed from his majesty's service, but suf- 
 fered to retire upon half-pay, or pension ; 
 and set up a shop in London, which he 
 denoted a game-factor's. He dispersed 
 hand-bills in the public places, in ©rder to 
 get customers, and put one into Mr. Gha- 
 fin's hand in the arch-way leading into 
 Lincoln's-inn-square. '*,! immediately re- 
 cognised him," says Mr. Chafin, " as he 
 did me ; and he said, that if I would deal 
 with him, he would use me well, for he 
 had, in times past, had many hares and 
 pheasants of mme ; and he had the assur- 
 ance to ask me, if I did not thint it a good 
 breeding-season for game l" 
 
 Buck-hunting. 
 
 Btick-hunUng, in former times,. was much 
 more followed, and held in much greater 
 repute, than new. From letters in Mr. 
 Chafin's possession, dated in June and July 
 1681, he infers, that the sOmmers then were 
 much holler than in the greater part of the 
 last century. The time of meeting ,at 
 Cranbourn Chase in those days seems in- 
 variably to have been at four o'clock in the 
 evening ; it ^was the custom of the sports- 
 men to lake a slight repast at two o'clock, 
 and to dine at the most fashionable hours 
 of the present day. Mr. Chafin deemtd 
 hunting in an evening-well-judged, and ad- 
 vantageous every way. The deer were at 
 that time upon their legs, and more easily 
 found; they were empty, and more able to 
 run, and to show spoil; and as the evening 
 advanced, and the dew fe", the scent gra- 
 dually improved, and the cool air enabled 
 the horses and the hounds to recover their 
 wind, and go through their work without 
 injury; whereas just the reverse of this 
 would be the hunting late in a morning. 
 What has been mentioned is peculiar to 
 Buck-hunting only. 
 
 , Ste^-hunting is in some measure a sum- 
 mer amusement also; but that chase is 
 generally much too long to be ventured on 
 in an evening. It would. carry the sports- 
 man too far distant from iheir homes. It 
 IS absolutely necessary, therefore, in pur- 
 suing the stag, to have the whole day before 
 them. 
 
 i It was customary, in the last century, 
 for sportsmen addicted to the sport of 
 Buck-hunting, and who regularly followed 
 it, to meet every season on the 2'.nh day of 
 
 I .\iay, king Charles's restoration, with oak- 
 
 boughs in their hats or caps, to-shew thelf 
 loyalty, (velvet caps were chiefly worn ia 
 those days, even by the ladies,) and to 
 hunt young male deer, in order to enter the 
 young hounds, and to stoop them , to theit 
 right game, and to get the older ones in 
 wind and exercise,, preparatory to the com- 
 mencement of the buck-killir\g season. 
 
 This practice was termed " blooding; the 
 hounds;" and the young deer killed were 
 called " blooding-deer," and their venison 
 was deemed fit for an epicure. It was re- 
 ported, that an hind quarter of this sort of 
 venison, which had been thoroughly hunted, 
 was once placed on the table before the 
 celebrated Mr. Quin, at Bath, who declared 
 it to be the greatest luxury he ever met 
 with, and ale very heartily of it. But this 
 taste seems not to have been peculiar to 
 Mr. Quin; for, persons of high rank joined 
 in the opinion: and even judges, when on 
 their circuits, indulged in the same luxury. 
 
 The following is an extract from a stew- 
 ard's old accompl-book, found in the noble 
 old mansion of Orchard Portman, near 
 Taunton, in Somerseis.iire •. 
 
 "lOtn August 
 1680. 
 Delivered Sr William, in the 
 higher Orial, going a hunting 
 with the Judges £2. Os. Od." 
 
 From hence, therefore, it appears, that 
 in those days buck-huntiiig, for there could 
 be no otherikind of hunting meant, was in 
 so much repute, and so much delighted in, 
 that even the judges could not refrain from 
 partaking in it when on their circuits; and 
 it seems that they chose to hunt their own 
 venison, which they annually received from 
 Orchard park at the time of the assizes. 
 "J cannot but deem them good judges," 
 says Mr. Chafin, " for preferring hunted 
 venison to that which had been shot." 
 
 Other Sports of Cranbourn Chase. 
 
 Besides buck-hunting, which certainly 
 was the principal one, the chase afforded 
 other rural amusements to our ancestors in 
 former days. " I am well aware," Mr. 
 Chafin says, in preparing some notices of 
 them, " that there arc many young persons 
 who are very indifferent and care little 
 about what was practised by their ancestors, 
 or how they amused themselves; they are 
 looking forward, and do not choose to look 
 back : but there may be some not so indif- 
 ferent, and to whom a relation of the sports 
 of the field in the last century may not be 
 " These sports^ in addition 
 
 17 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 to hunting, were hawking, falconry, and 
 cocking. 
 
 Packs of liounds were always kept in 
 Ihe neighbourhood of the chase, and hunted 
 there in the proper seasons. There were 
 three sorts of animals of chase besides deer, 
 VIZ. foxes, hares, and mertincats: the race 
 of the latter are nearly extinct ; their skins 
 were too valuable for them to be suffered 
 to exist. At that time no hounds were 
 kept and used for any particular sort of 
 game except the buck-hounds, but they 
 hunted casually the first that cai;ne in their 
 way. 
 
 First Pack of Fox-hounds. 
 The first real steady pack of fox-hounds 
 established in the western part of England 
 was by Thomas Fownes, Esq. of Stepleton, 
 in Dorsetshire, about 1730. They were as 
 handsome, and fully as complete in every 
 respect, as any of the most celebrated packs 
 of the present day. The owner wias obliged 
 to dispose of them, and theywere sold to 
 Mr. Bowes, in Yorkshire, the father of the 
 late lady Strathmore, at an immense price. 
 They were taken into Yorkshire by their 
 own attendants, and, after having been 
 viewed and much admired in their kennel, 
 a day was fixed for making trial of them 
 in tlie field, to meet at a famous hare-cover 
 near. When the huntsman came with his 
 hounds in the morning, he discovered a 
 great number of sportsmen, who were riding 
 in the cover, and whipping the furzes as for 
 a hare ; he therefore halted, and informed 
 Mr. Bowes that he was unwilling to throw 
 off his hounds until the .gentlemen had re- 
 tired, and ceased the slapping of whips, to 
 which his hounds were not pccustomed, 
 and he would engage to find a fox in a few 
 minutes if there was one there. The gen- 
 tlemen sportsmen having obeyed the orders 
 given by Mr. Bowes, the huntsman, taking 
 the wind of the cover, threw off his hounds, 
 which immediately began to feather, and 
 soon got upon a drag into the cover, and 
 up to the fox's kennel, which went oflT close 
 before them, and, after a severe burst over 
 a fine country, was killed, to the great sa- 
 tisfaction of the whole party. They then 
 returned to the same cover, not one half of 
 it having been drawn, and very soon found 
 a second fox, exactly in the same manner 
 ab before, which broke cover immediately 
 over the same fine country : but the chase 
 was much longer ; and in the course of it, 
 the fox made its way to a nobleman's park. 
 It had been customary to stop hounds be- 
 fore thev could enter it, but the best-mount- 
 
 ed sportsmen attempted to stay the Dorset- 
 shire hounds in vain. The dogs topped the 
 highest fences, dashed through herds of 
 deer and a number of hares, without taking 
 the least notice ofitlem ; and ran in to their 
 fox, and killed hitn- some miles beyond the 
 park. It was the unanimous opinion of 
 the whole hunt, that it was the finest run 
 ever known in that country. A collection 
 of field-money was made for the huntsman 
 much beyond his expectations; and he re- 
 ' turned to Stepleton in belter spirits than he 
 left it. 
 
 Before this pack -was r-aised in Dorset- 
 shire, the hounds that hunted Cranbourn 
 'Ghase, hunted all the animals promis- 
 cuously, except the deer, from which they 
 were necessarily kept steady, otherwise they 
 would not have been suffered to hunt in the 
 chase at all. 
 
 Origin of Cranbourn Chase. 
 This royal chase, always called "The 
 King's Chase," in the lapse of ages came 
 into possession of an earl of Salisbury. It 
 is certain that after one of its eight distinct 
 walks, called Fernditch Walk, was sold to 
 the earl of Pembroke, the entire remainder 
 of the chase was alienated to lord Ashley, 
 afterwards earl of Shaftesbury. Alderholt 
 Walk was the largest and most extensive 
 in the whole Chase ; it lies in the three 
 counties of .Hants, Wilts, and Dorset; but 
 the lodge .and its appurtenances is in the 
 parish of Cranbourn, and all the Chase 
 courts are held at the manor-house there, 
 where was also a prison for offenders 
 against the Chase laws. Lord Shaftesbury 
 deputed rangers in the different walks in 
 the year 1670, and afterwards dismember^ 
 ing it, (though according to old records, it 
 appears to have been dismembered long 
 before,) by destroying Aldeiholt Walk ; he 
 sold the remainder to Mr. Freke, of Shro« 
 ton, in Dorsetshire, from whom it lineally 
 descended to the present possessor, lord 
 Rivers. 
 
 Accounts of 'Cranbourn Chase can be 
 traced to the sera whenking John, or some 
 other royal personage, had a hunting-seat 
 at Tollard Royal, in the county of Wilts. 
 Hence the name of" royal" to that parish 
 was certainly derived. There are vestiges 
 in and about the old palace, which clearly 
 evince that it was once a royal habitation 
 and It still bears the name of " King John's 
 House." There are large cypress trees 
 growing before the house, the relics of 
 grand terraces may be easily traced, ana 
 
 18 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 the remains of a park to which some of 
 them lead. A gate at the end of the park 
 at the entrance of the Royal Chase, now 
 called " Alarm Gate," was the place pro- 
 bably where the horn was blown to call the 
 keepers to their duty in attending their 
 lord in his sports. There is also a venera- 
 ble old wych-elm tree, on the Chase side 
 of the " Alarm Gate," under which lord 
 Arundel, the possessor of ToUard Royal, 
 holds a court annually, on the first Monday 
 in the month of September. A view of the 
 mansion in its piesent state, is given in the 
 " Gentleman's Magazine" for September 
 1811. 
 
 Mr. Stiutt, the indefatigable historian 
 of the " Sports and. Pastimes of the People 
 of England," says o^ Barley-break: " The 
 excellency of this sport seems to have con- 
 sisted in running well, but I know not 
 its properties." Beyond this Mr, Strutt 
 ; merely cites Dr. Johnson's quotation of 
 two lines from sir Philip Sidney, as an au- 
 thority for the word. Johnson, limited to a 
 meie dictionary explanation, calls it "a 
 kind of rural play ; a trial of swiftness." 
 
 Sidney, in his description of the rural 
 courtship of Urania by Strephon, conveys a 
 sufficient idea of " Barley-break." The 
 shepherd seeks the society of his mistress 
 wherever he thinks it likely to find her. 
 
 Nay ev'n unto her home he oft would go. 
 Where bold and hurtless many play he tries ; 
 
 Her parents liking well it should be so. 
 For simple goodness shined in his eyes : 
 
 Then did he make her laugh in spite of woe 
 So as good thoughts of him in all arise ; 
 
 While into none doubt ofhis love did sink. 
 
 For not himself to be in love did think. 
 
 This " sad shepherd " held himself to- 
 wards Urania according to the usual cus- 
 tom and manner of lovers in such cases. 
 
 For glad desire, his late embosom'd guest, 
 Yet but a babe, with milk of sight he nurst: 
 
 Desire the more he suckt, more sought the breast 
 Like dropsy-folk, still drink to be athirst; 
 
 Till one fair ev'n an hour ere sun did rest. 
 Who then in Lion's cave did enter first. 
 
 By neighbors pray'd, she Avent abroad thereby 
 
 At Barley-brcah her sweet swift foot to try 
 
 Never the earth on his round shoulders bare 
 A maid train'd up from higher low degree. 
 
 That in her doings better could compare 
 Mirth wi»h respect, fev!- words with courtesie, 
 
 A careless comeliness with comely care, 
 belf-piard with mildness, sport with maiesty 
 
 Which made her yield to deck tliis shepherd's band* 
 And still, believe me, Strephon was at hand. 
 
 Then couples three be straight allotted there. 
 They of both ends the middle two do fiy ; 
 
 The two that in raid-place. Hell,* called were, 
 Must strive with waiting foo^ ar^d watching eye, 
 
 To catch of them, and them to Hell to bear. 
 That they, as well as they. Hell may supply 
 
 Like some which seek to salve their blotted name 
 
 With other's blot, till all do taste of shame. 
 
 There you may sec, soon as the middle two 
 Do coupled towards either couple make. 
 
 They false and fearful do their hands undo. 
 
 Brother his brother, friend doth his friend forsake, 
 
 Heeding himself, cares not how fellow do. 
 But of a stranger mutual help doth take : 
 
 As perjured cowards in adversity, 
 
 With sight of fear, from friends to fremVdf doth fly, 
 
 The game being played out with divers 
 adventurers 
 
 All to seconi- Barley-hreai again are bent. 
 
 During the second game, Strephon wa< 
 chased by Urania. 
 
 Strephon so chased did seem in milk to swim ; 
 
 He ran, but ran with eye o'er shoulder cast, 
 Wore marking her, than how himself did go. 
 
 Like Numid's lions by the hunters chased. 
 Though they do fly, yet backwardly do glow 
 
 With proud aspect, disdaining greater haste : 
 What rage in them, that love in him did show ; 
 But God gives them' instinct the man to shun, 
 And he by \a.w o( Barley-break must run. 
 
 Urania caught Strephon, and he was 
 sent by the rules of' the sport to the con- 
 demned place, with a shepherdess, named 
 Nous, who affirmed 
 
 -it was no right, for his default, 
 
 Who would be caught, that she should go — 
 But so she must. And now the third assault 
 Of Barley-break. 
 
 Strephon, in this third game, pursues 
 Urania ; Klaius, his rival suitor, suddenly 
 interposed. 
 
 For with pretence from Strephon herto guard. 
 He met her full, but full of warefulness. 
 
 With in-bow'd bosom well for her prepared. 
 When Strephon cursing his own backwardness 
 
 Came to her back, and so, with double ward, 
 Imprison'd her, who both them did txissess 
 
 As heart-bound slaves. 
 
 * It may be doubted whether in the rude simplicity 
 of ancient times, this word in the game of Barley-breaiC 
 was applied in the same manner that it would be in 
 
 + j'rcin«6,Cobsolete,'^ strange, foreign. .^«/i. CoTrnpt- 
 ed from/rcmd, which, in Saxon and Gothic, signified a 
 stranger, or an tnemy. Nares. 
 
 19 
 
TiiE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Her race did not her beauty's beams augment. 
 
 For they were ever in the best degree. 
 But yet a setting forth it some way lent. 
 
 As rubies lustre when they rubbed be • 
 The dainty dew on face and body went. 
 
 As on sweit flovrers, when morning's drops we see : 
 Her breath then short, seem'd loth from home to 
 
 pass, 
 WTilch more it mored, the more it sweeter was. 
 
 Hkppyj happy! if they so might bide 
 
 To see their eyes, withi how true humbleness. 
 They looked down 40 triumphorer pride j 
 With how sweet blame she chid their sanoiness— 
 
 Till she brake from their arms^ 
 
 And farewelling ths Bdck, did homeward wend^ 
 And so. that even, the Bdrlitf*break4id end. 
 
 This game is mentioned by Burton, in 
 bis "Anatomy of Melancholy," as one of 
 our rural sports, and by several of the 
 poets, with more or less of description, 
 though by none so fully as Sidney, in the- 
 first eclogue of the " Arcadia," from whence- 
 the preceding passages are taken. 
 
 The late Mr. Giffordj in a note on Mas- 
 singer, chiefly from the "Arcadia," de- 
 scribes Barley-break thus : " It was played 
 by six people, (three of each sex-f) who were 
 coupled by lot. A p^iece of ground' was 
 then chosen, and divided into three com- 
 partments, of which the middle one was 
 called hell. It was the object of' the couple 
 condemned to this division to catch the 
 others, who advanced from the two ex- 
 tremities ; in which case a change of situa- 
 tion took place, and hell was filled by the 
 couple who were excluded by preoccupa- 
 tion from the other places : in this eattkmg, 
 however, there was some difficulty, as, by v 
 the regulations of the game, the middle 
 couple were not to separate before they 
 had succeeded, while the others might 
 Dreak hands whenever they found them- 
 selves hard pressed.; When all had been 
 taken in turn, the last couple were said to 
 be in helli ^ndhhe gameended."^ 
 
 Within memory, a game called' Barley- 
 break has been played' among stacks of 
 corn^ in Yorkshire, with some variation from 
 the Scottish game mentioned presently. In 
 Yorkshire, also, there was another form 
 of'it, more resembling that in the "Arca- 
 dia," which was played in open ground. 
 The childish game of " Tag " seems derived 
 from it. There was a "tig," or "tag," 
 whose touch made a prisoner, in the York- 
 shire game. 
 
 Babla-bkeikis. 
 In Scotland there is a game nearly the 
 same in denomination as "Barley-break," 
 
 though differently played. It is termeo 
 " Barla-breikis," or " Barley-bracks." Dr. 
 Jamieson says it is generally played by 
 young people, in a corn-yard about the 
 stacks; and hence called Barla-bracks, 
 " One stack is fixed as the dule or goal , 
 and one person is appointed to catch the 
 rest of the company, who run out from the 
 dule. He does not leave it till they are all 
 out of his sight. Then he sets out to catch 
 them. Any one who is taken, cannot run 
 out again with his former associates, being 
 accounted a prisoner, but is obliged to 
 assist his captor in pursuing the rest, 
 When all are taken, the game is finished ; 
 and he who is first taken, is bound to act 
 as catcher in the next game. Tins inno- 
 cent sport seems to be almost entirely for- 
 gotten in the south of Scotland. It is also 
 falling into desuetude in the nor'.h."* 
 
 Plate Tax. 
 An order was made in the house of lords 
 in May, 1776, " that the commissioners of 
 his majesty's excise do write circular letters 
 to all such persons whom they have reason 
 to suspect to hdLve plate, as also to those who 
 have not paid regularly the duty on the 
 same." In consequence of this order, the 
 accountant-general for household plate sent 
 to the celebrated John Wesley a copy of 
 the order. John's answer was laconic :— 
 "Str, 
 " I have ^«^o silver tea-spoons in Lon- 
 don, and two at Bristol. This is all the 
 plate which I have at present ; and I shall 
 not buy any more while so many round me 
 want bread. I am. Sir, 
 
 " You'F' most humble servant, 
 
 "John Wesley.' 
 
 The Dial. 
 
 This shadow on the dial's face. 
 That steals, from day^to diy; 
 
 With slow, unseen, unceasing pace. 
 
 Moments, and months, and years away 
 
 This shadow, which in everyclime, 
 Since light and motion first tiegan. 
 
 Hath held its course sublime; 
 What is it ? — Mortal man ! ' 
 
 It is the scythe of Time. 
 ^A shadow only to the eyei 
 It levels aU beneath the sky^ 
 
 * Mr. ArchdeaMn'Niw'AQloMArri 
 
 20 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 MOCK FUNERAL OF A BATH CHAIRMAN. 
 
 A chainnao late '& axhairtnan dead, 
 And to his grare, by chairman sped. 
 They wake him, asithey march him through". 
 The streets-of Bath,4o public view. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Bath. 
 Sir, — I beg leave to transmit for your use 
 the following^ attempt at description of an 
 old and singular custom, perfoimed by the 
 chairman of this my native city, which 
 perhaps you are not altogether a stranger 
 to, and v/hich is still kept up among them as 
 often as an opportunity permits for its per- 
 formance. Its origin I have not been able 
 to trace, but its authenticity you may rely 
 on, as it is too often seen to be forgotten 
 by your Bath readers. I have also ac- 
 companied it with the above imperfect 
 sketch, as a further illustration of their 
 •nanner of burving the "dead," alias, ex- 
 
 posing a drunkard of their fraternity. The 
 following is the manner in which the " ob 
 s^quies " to the intoxicated are performed 
 If a chairman, known to have been 
 "dead" dinink over night, does not ap- 
 pear on his^ station before ten o'clock on 
 the succeeding morning, the " undertaker," 
 Ansrltce, his partner, proceeds, with such a 
 number of attendants as will suffice for the 
 ceremony, to the house of the late unfor- 
 tunate. If he is found in bed, as is usually 
 the case, from the effects of his sacrifice tf) 
 the "jolly God;'' they pull him out of his 
 nest, hardly permitting him to dress, ar d 
 place him on the " bier," — a chainnrn ;» 
 horse, — and, throwing a, coat over him 
 
 21 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 w^hich they designate a " pall," they per- 
 ambulate the circuit of his station in the 
 Ibllowing order : — 
 
 1. The sexton — a man tolling a small 
 nand-beli. 
 
 2. Two mutes — each with a black stock- 
 ing on a stick. 
 
 3. The torch bearer — a man carrying a 
 lighted lantern. 
 
 4. The " corpse " borne on the " hearse," 
 carried by two chairmen, covered with the 
 aforesaid pail. 
 
 The procession is closed by the " mourw- 
 ers" following after, two and two ; as many 
 joining as choose, from the station to which 
 the drunkard belongs. 
 
 After exposing him in this manner to 
 the gaze of the admiring crowd that throng 
 about, they proceed to the public-house he 
 has been in the habit of using, where his 
 " wake " is celebrated in joviality and 
 mii'th, with a gallon of ale at his expense. 
 It often happens that each will contribute 
 a? trifle towards a further prolongation of 
 the carousal, to entrap others into the same 
 deadly snare ; and the day is spent in bait- 
 ing for the chances of the next morning, as 
 none are exempt who are not at their post 
 before the prescribed hour. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 W. G. 
 
 »tlham (giffortr, esiq. 
 
 On Sunday morning, the 3lst of Decem- 
 ber, 1826, at twenty minutes before one 
 o'clock, died, " at his house in James- 
 street, Buckingham-gate, in the seventy- 
 first year of his age, William Giflbrd, Esq., 
 author of the ' Baviad and Maeviad,' trans- 
 lator of ' Juvenal and Persius/ and editor 
 of the ' Quarterly Review,' from its com- 
 mencement down to the beginning of the 
 year just past. To the translation of ' Ju- 
 venal ' is prefixed a memoir of himself, 
 which is perhaps as modest and pleasant a 
 piece of autobiography as ever was writ- 
 ten." — The Times, January 1, 1827. 
 
 Inteuestikg 
 
 ;iBemou- of Mv- (§ifforlr. 
 
 By Himself — verbatim. 
 
 I am about to enter on a very uninteresting 
 subject : but all my friends tell me that it is 
 ii'^cessary to account for the long delay of the 
 following work ; and I can only do it by ad- 
 vert:ng to the circumstances of my life. Will 
 this be accepted as an apology.!* 
 
 I know but liltlft of my familw and that little 
 
 is not very precise ; My great-grandfather (tha 
 most remote of it, that I ever recollect to have 
 heard mentioned) possessed considerable pro- 
 perty at Halsbiiry, a parish in the neighbour- j 
 hood of Ashburton ; but whether acquired or in- 
 herited, I never thought of asking, and do not 
 know. I 
 
 He was probably a native of Devonshire, for 
 there he spent the last years of his life ; spent 
 them, too, in some sort of consideration, for Mr. 
 T. (a very respectable surgeon of Ashburton) 
 loved to repeat to me, when I first grew into 
 notice, that he had frequently hunted with his 
 hounds.* 
 
 My grandfather was on ill terms with him : I 
 believe, not without sufficient reason, for he was 
 extravagant and dissipated. My father never 
 mentioned his name, but my mother would 
 sometimes tell me that he had ruined the family. 
 That he spent much, 1 know ; but I am incline;! 
 to think, that his undutiful conduct occasioned 
 my great-grandfather to bequeath a considerable 
 part of his property from him 
 
 My father, I fear, revenged in some measure 
 the cause o-f my great-grandfather. He was, as 
 1 have heard my mother say, " a very wild 
 young man, who could be kept to nothing." He 
 was sent to the grammar-school at Exeler ; from 
 which he made his escape, and entered on 
 board a man of war. He was reclaimed from 
 this situation by my grandfather, and left his 
 school a second time, to wander in some vaga- 
 bond society.-]- He was now probably given up ; 
 (or he was, on his return from this notable ad- 
 venture, reduced to article him?elf to a plumber 
 and glazier, wiih whom he luckily staid long 
 enough to learn the business. I suppose his 
 father was now dead, for he became possessed 
 of tw^o small estates, married my mother, J (the 
 daughter of a carpenter at Ashburton,) and 
 thought himself rich enough to set up for him- 
 self; which he did, with some credit, at South 
 Molton. Why he chose to fix there, I never in- 
 quired ; but 1 learned from my mother, that after 
 a residence of four or five years, he thoughtlessly 
 engaged in a dangerous froliL-, which drove 
 him once more to sea: this was an attempt to 
 excite a riot in a Methodist chapel ; for which 
 his companions were prosecuted, and he fled. 
 
 My father was a good seaman, and was soon 
 made second in command in the Lyon, a large 
 armed transport in the service of government 
 while my mother (then with child of me) re- 
 turned to her native place, Ashburton, where 1 
 was born, in April, 1756. 
 
 • The matter is of no consefiTience — no, not even to 
 myself. From niy family I derived nothing but a. name 
 whi'h is more, perhaps, than I shall leave: but Cto 
 check the sneers of rude vulgarity) that family -waa 
 among the most ancient and respectable of this part of 
 the country, and, not more than three generations frbm 
 the present, was counted among the wealthiest. ««t», 
 
 t He had f^one with Bamfylde Moor Carew, tken as 
 old man. 
 
 J Her niaulen name was Elizabeth Caia. Mr fathci's 
 christian name was Kdward. 
 
 22 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The resources of my mother were very scanty. 
 They arose from the rent of three or four small 
 fields, which yet reinaineil unsold. With these, 
 nowever, she did what she could for me ; and as 
 soon as I was old enough to be trusted out of her 
 sight, sent me to a schoolmistress of the name of 
 Parret, from whom I learneil in due time to .cad. 
 I cannot boast much of my acquisitions at this 
 school; they consisted merely of the contents of 
 the "Child's Spelling Book:" but from my 
 mother, who had stored up the literature of a 
 country town, which, about half a century ago, 
 amounted to little more than what was dissemi- 
 nated by itinerant ballad-singers, or rather, 
 readers, I had acquired much curious knowledge 
 of Catskin, and the Golden Bull, and the B oody 
 Gardener, and many other histories equally in- 
 structive and amusing. 
 
 My father returned fiom sea in 1764. He 
 had been at the siege of the Havannah ; and 
 though he received more than a hundred pounds 
 for prize money, and his wages were consider- 
 aule ; yet, as he had not acquired any strict 
 iuibits of economy, he brought home but a tri- 
 fling sum. The little property yet left was there- 
 fore turned into money ; a trifle more was got 
 by agreeing to renounce all future pretensions to 
 an estate at Totness ;* and with tliis my father 
 set up a second time as a glazier and hou;<e 
 painter. I was now about eight years old, and 
 was put to the freeschool, (kept by Hugh Smer- 
 don,) to learn to read, and write and cipher. 
 Here I continued about three years, making a 
 most wretched prouress, when my father fell sick 
 and died. He had not acquired wisdom from 
 his misfortunes, but contmued wasting his time 
 in unprofitable pursuits, to the great detriment 
 of his business. He loved drink for the sake of 
 society, and to this he fell a martyr; dying of 
 a decayed and ruined constitution before he was 
 ^orty. The town's-people thought him a shrewd 
 and sensible man, and regretted his death. As 
 for me, I never greatly loved him ; I had not 
 grown up with him ; and he was too prone to 
 repulse my little advances to familiarity, with 
 Coldness, or anger. He liad certainly some 
 reason to be displeased with me, for I learned 
 little at school, and nothing at home, although he 
 would now and then attempt to give me some 
 insight into his business. As impressions of any 
 kind are not very strong at the age of eleven or 
 twelvp, I did not long feel his '.oss ; nor was it a 
 subject of much sorrow to me, that my mother 
 was doubtful of her ability to continue me at 
 school, though I had by this time acquired a 
 love for reading. 
 
 I never knew in what circumstances my mother 
 was left : most probably they were inadequate *o 
 her support, without some kind of exertion, espe- 
 cially as she was now burthened with a second 
 child about six or eight months old. Untortu- 
 
 • This consisted of several houses, which had been 
 thoughtlessly sutFered to fall into decay, and of which 
 tbe rents had been so long unrlniined, that they could 
 Uoi iiojr beiecovered u.iless by an expensive litigation 
 
 nateiy she determined tc prosecute my father's 
 business ; for which purpose she engaged a 
 couple of journeymen, who, finding her ig-aorant 
 of every part of it, wasted her property, and em- 
 bezzled her money. What the consequence of 
 this double fraud would have l>een, there was no 
 opportunity of knowing, as, in somewhat less 
 than a twelvemonth, my poor mother toUowed 
 my father to the grave. She was an excellent 
 woman, bore my father's infirmities with patience 
 and good humour, loved her children deaily, and 
 died at last, exhausted with anxiety and grief 
 more on their account than her own. 
 
 1 was not quite thirteen when this happened , 
 my little brother was hardly two ; and we had 
 not a relation nor a friend in the world. Every 
 thing that was left, was seized by a person of the 
 name of Garble, for money advanced to my 
 mother. It may be supposed that 1 could not 
 dispute the justice of his claims ; and as no one 
 else interfered, he was sufl'ered ;o do as he liked. 
 My little brother was sent to the alms-house, 
 whither his nurse followed him out ot pure affec- 
 tion : and I was taken to the house of the person 
 I have just mentioned, who was also my god- 
 father. Respect for the opinion of the town 
 (which, whether correct or not, was, that he had 
 amply repaid himself by the sale of my mother's 
 effects) induced him to send nie again to school, 
 where I was more diligent than before, and more 
 successful. I grew fond of arithmetic, and my 
 master began to distinguish me ; but these 
 golden days were over in less than three months 
 Carlile sickened at tne expense ; and. as the 
 people were now indifferent to my fate, he 
 looked round for an opportunity of ridding him- 
 self of a useless charge. He had previously 
 attempted to engage me in the drudgery oi 
 husbandry. I drove the plough for one day to 
 gratify him ; but 1 left it with a firm resolution 
 to do so no more, and in despite of his threats, 
 and proniises, adhered to my determination. In 
 this, I was guided no less by necessity than will 
 During my father's life, in attempting to clamber 
 up a table, I had fallen backward, and drawn it 
 after me : its edge fell upon my breast, and I 
 nevei recovered the effects of the blow ; oi 
 which 1 was made extremely sensible on any 
 extraordinary exertion. Ploughing, therefore, 
 was out of 'he question, and, as I have already 
 said, I utterly refused to follow it. 
 
 As 1 coulo write and cipher, (as the phrase 
 is.) Carlile next thought of sending me lO New - , 
 foundland, to assist in a storehouse. For this 
 purpose he negotiated with a Mr. Holdsworthy ^ 
 of Dartmouth, who agreed to fit me out. I left 
 Ashburton with little expectation of seeing it 
 again, and indeed with little care, and rode with 
 my godi'athPT to the dwelling of Mr. Holds- ' 
 wortnv. On seeing mc, this great man observed 
 with a look, of pity and contempt, that I was 
 " too small," and sent me away sufficiently 
 mortified. I expected to be very ill received by 
 my godfather, but he said nothing. He dia 
 not however choose to lake me back himself, 
 but sent me in the passage-boat to Totness. from 
 
 23 
 
TIIK TABLE BOOK 
 
 whence I w»s to walk home. On the passage, 
 tlie boat was driven by a midnight storm on the 
 rocks, and I escaped almost by miracle. 
 
 My godfather had now humbler view? for me, 
 and I had lit le heart to resist any thing. He 
 proposed to send me on board one of the Tor- 
 bay fishing-boats ; I ventured, however, to '•e- 
 tnonstrate against this, and the m'atter was com 
 promised by my consenting to go" on board a' 
 coaster. A coaster was speedily found for me 
 at Brixham, and thither 1 went when little more ■ 
 *.h in thirteen. 
 
 My master, whose name was Full, though a 
 gross and ignorant, was not an-' ill-natured, 
 man ; at le ist, not to me : and my mistress used 
 me with unvarying kindness , moved perhaps by 
 my weakness and tender years. In return, I 
 did what I could to requite her, and my good 
 will was not overlooked. 
 
 Our vessel was not very large, nor our crew 
 very numerous. On ore? inary occasions, such as 
 short trips to Dartmouth, Pl\ mouth, &c. it con- 
 sisted onlv of my master, an apprentice nearly 
 out of his time, and myself : when we had to go 
 ftirtiier, to Portsmouth for example, an additional 
 hand was 4iired forthe voyage. 
 
 In this vessel (the-T-vo Brothers) I continued 
 nearly a tweh'emonth ; and here I got acquaint- 
 ed with nautical terms, and contracted a love 
 for the sea, which a bpse of tliirty years has 
 but little diminished. 
 
 It will be easily conceived that my life was a 
 Me of hardship. I was not only a "shipboy on 
 the high and giddy mast," but also in-the cabin, 
 where every menial office fell to my- lot : yet if 
 I was restless- and discontente:!, 1 can safely 
 say, it was not so much on account of this, as of 
 my being precKi'led from all possibility of read- 
 in^'- ; as my master did not possess, nor do I 
 recollect seeing during the whole time of my 
 abode with hhn, a single book of any descrip- 
 tion, except the Coasting Pilot. 
 
 As my lot' seemed to be cast, however, I was 
 hot negligent" in seeking such information as 
 promised to be useful ; and I therefore fre- 
 quented, at my leisure hours, such vessels as 
 dropt into Torbay. Oft' attempting to get on 
 board one of these, which I did at midnight, I 
 missed my footing, and fell into the sea. The 
 floating away of the boat alarmed the man on 
 deck, who came to the ship's side just in time 
 to see me sink. He immediately threw out 
 several ropes, one of which providentially (for I 
 was unconscious of it) intaWfled itself about me, 
 and I was drawn up to the surface, till a boat 
 could be got round. Th& usual methods were 
 taken to recover me, and I awoke in bed the 
 next morning; remembering nothing but the 
 horror I felt, when ^ k'st'fcund myself unable 
 to crv out fofassistati -je. 
 
 This was not my only ,»soape, but I forbearto 
 speak of them. An esrapa of another kind was 
 now preparing for me, wli^ch deserves all my 
 notice, as it was decisive if my future fate. 
 
 On Christmas day (177l "^ i" was surprised by 
 ft tnos«3;;e from my godfather, saying that heh.id 
 
 sent a man and horse to bring me to A hburton , 
 and desiring me to set out without delay. My 
 master, as well as myself, supposed it was to 
 spend the holydays there ; and he iherefoie 
 made no objection to my going. We were, 
 however, both mistaken 
 
 Since I had lived at Brixham, T had broken 
 off all connection with Asliburton. I had no re- 
 lation there but my poor brother,* who was yet 
 too young for any kind of correspondence ; and 
 the conduct of my godfather towards me, did 
 not intitle him to any portion of my gratitude, or 
 kmd remembrance. I lived therefore in a sort 
 of sullen independence on all I had formeriv 
 known, and tho ight without regret of being 
 abandoned by every one to my fate. But I had 
 not bdcn overlooked. The women of Brixham, 
 who travelled to Ashburton twice a week with 
 fish',' and who had known my parents, did not 
 see^-me without kind concern, lunning about ihe 
 beach in a ragged jacket and trousers. Tliey 
 mentioned this to the people of Ashburton, and 
 never without commiserating my change of con- 
 dition. This tale, often repeated, awakened at 
 length the pity of their auditors, and, as the next 
 step,' their resentment against the man who had 
 rediiced me to such a slate of wretchedness. In 
 a large town, this would have had little effect ; 
 but in a place like Ashburton, where every re- 
 port speedily beconnesthe common property of 
 all the inhabitants, it raised a murmur which my 
 godfather found himself either unable or unwill- 
 ing to encounter : he therefore determined to 
 recall me ; which he could easily do, as I wanted 
 some months of fourteen, and was not yet 
 bound. 
 
 All this, I learned on my arrival ; and my 
 heart, which had been cruelly shut up, now 
 opened to kinder sentiments, and fairer views. 
 
 After the holydays I retu ned to my darling 
 pursuit, arithmetic : my progress was now so 
 rapid, that in a few months I was at the head of 
 the school, and qualified to assist my master 
 (Mr. E. Furlong) on any extraordinary emer- 
 gency. As he usually gave me a trifle on those 
 occasions, it raised a thought in me, that by en- 
 gaging with him as a regular assistant, and 
 undertaking the instruction of a few evening 
 scholars, I might, w'^ a little additional aid, be 
 enabled to support myself. God knows, my 
 
 • Of my brother here introduced for the last time, I 
 must yet say a few words. He was literally. 
 
 The child of misery baptized in tears ; 
 and the short passage of his life did not belie the 
 melancholy presage of his infancy. When he was seven 
 yenrs old, the parish bound him out to a husbandman 
 of the name of Lemin, with whom he endured incredi 
 ble hardships, which i had it nor in my power to alle 
 vlate. At nine years of age he broke his thig'h, and 1 ! 
 took that opportuni-ty to teach him to read and write. 
 When-imy own situation was improved. I persuaded him. 
 to try the sea ; he dfd so ; and was taken on board the 
 E^mont, oa condition that his master shonld receive, 
 his wagfes. The time wasfnow fast approaching when 
 1 coTild serve him, but he was doomed to know no 
 faVoiirable change jf fortune: he fell sick, and died at 
 Cork; i 
 
 24. 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 L 
 
 ideas of support at this time were of no very 
 extravagant nature. I had, besides, another ob- 
 ject in view. Mr. Hugh Snierdon (my first 
 master) was now grown old and infirm'; it 
 seemed unlikely that he should hold out above 
 three or four years ; and I fondly flattered my- 
 self that, notwithstanding my youth, I might 
 possibly be appointed to succeed him. I was in 
 my fifteenth year, when I built these castles : a 
 storm, however, was collecting, which unex- 
 pectedly burst upon me, and swept them' all 
 away. 
 
 On mentioning my little plan to Carlile, he 
 treated it with the utmost contempt; and told 
 me, in his turn, that as I had'iearned enough, 
 and more than enough, at school, he must be 
 considered as having fairly discharged his duty; 
 (so, indeed, he had;) he added, that he had 
 been negotiating with his cousin, a shoemaicer 
 of some respectability, who had liberallyagreed 
 to take me without a fee, as an apprentice. I 
 was so shocked at this intelligence, that I did 
 not remonstrate ; but went in suUenness- and 
 silence to my new master, to whom I was soon 
 after bound,* till I should attain the age of 
 twenty-one. 
 
 The fatnily consisted of four journeymen, two 
 sons about my own age, and an apprentice some- 
 what older. In these there was nothing re- 
 markable; but my master himself was the 
 strangest creature ! — He was a Presbyterian, 
 whose reading was entirely confined to the 
 small tracts published on the Exeter Contro- 
 versy. As these (at least his portion of them) 
 were all on one side, he entertained no doubt 
 of their infallibility, and being noisy anddisputa- 
 cious, was sure to silence his opponents ; and be- 
 came, in consequence of it, int lerably arrogant 
 and conceited. He was not, however, indebted 
 solely to his knowledge of the subject for his tri- 
 umph : he was possessed of Fenning's Dictionary, 
 and he madeamostsirgularuse ofit. His custom 
 was 'o fix on any word in common use, and then 
 to get by heart the synonym, -or periphrasis by ■ 
 which it was explained in the book; thi? he 
 constantly substitued for the simple term, and 
 as his opponents were commonly ignorant of his^ 
 m.eaning, his victory was complete. 
 
 With such a man I was not likely t& add 
 mnch to my stock of knowledge, small as it was; 
 and, indeed, nothing could weH be s.naller At 
 this period, I hal read iiotlling but a black letter 
 romance, called Parismus and Parismenus, and 
 a few loose magazines which my mother had 
 brought from South Molton. With the Bible, 
 indeed, I was well acquainted ; it was the 
 favourite study of my grandmother, and reading 
 it frequently with her, had impressed it strongly 
 on my mind ; these then, with the Imitation of 
 Thomas k Kempis, which I used to read to my 
 mother on her death-bed, constituted the whole 
 of my literary acquisitions. 
 
 As I hated my new profession with a perfect 
 
 • My inilenture. whien now lieg before me, is dated 
 th« litofJaouary, 177^. 
 
 hatred, T made no progress in it ; and was con- 
 sequently little regarded in the family, of which 
 I sunk by degrees into the common drudge : 
 thisdid not much disquiet me, for my spirits 
 were now humbled. I did not however quite 
 resign th'e hope of one day succeeding to Mr. 
 Hugh Smerdon, and therefore secretly prose- 
 cuted my favourite study, at every interval of 
 leisure. 
 
 These intervals were not very frequent; and 
 when the use I made of the.n was found out, 
 they were rendered still less so. I could not 
 guess the motives for tliis at first ; but at length 
 I discovered that my master destined his young- 
 est son for the situation to which I aspired. 
 
 I possessed at tliis time but one book in the 
 world : it was a treatise on algebra, given to me 
 by a young woman, who had found it in a 
 lodging-house. I considered it as a treasure ; 
 but it was-a treasure locked up ; for it supposed 
 the reader to be well acquainted with simple 
 equation, and I knew nothing of the matter. 
 My master's son had purchased Fenning's Intro- 
 duction : this was precisely what I wanted ; but 
 he carefully concealed it from me, and I was 
 imlebted to chance alone for stumbling upon his 
 hiding-place. I sat up for' the greatest part of 
 several nights successively, and, Defore he sus- 
 pected that his treatise was discovered, had 
 completely mastered it. I could now enter 
 upon my own ; and that carried me pretty far 
 into the science. 
 
 This was not done"without difRculty. I had 
 not a farthing on earth, nor a friend to give me 
 one : pen,. itA, and paper, therefore, (in de- 
 spite of the flippant remark of Lord Orford,) 
 were, for the most part, as completely out o( m\ 
 reach, as a crown and sceptre. There was in- 
 deed a resource ; but the utmost caution and 
 secrecy we:e necessary in applying to it. I 
 beat out pieces of leather as smooth as possible 
 an<d wrought my problems cm them with a ' 
 blunted awl : fur the rest, my memory was ' 
 tenacious, and I could multipily and divide by it, i 
 to a great extent. | 
 
 Hitherto I had not so much as dreamed of 
 poetry : indeed I scarcely-^ knew it by name ; ■ 
 and, whatever may be said of the force of na- 
 ture, T certainly never '' lisp'd in numbers." I 
 recollect the occasion of my first attempt : it is, * 
 like all the rest of my non-adventures, of so un- 
 important a n-ature, that I should blush to call 
 the atiention of the idlest reader to it, but for 
 the reason alleged in the introductory para- 
 graph. A person, whose name escapes me, had 
 undertaken tO'paint a sign for an ale-house : it 
 was to have been a lion, but the unfortunate 
 artist produced a dog. On this awkward affair, ' 
 one of' my acquaintance wrote a copy of what 
 we called verse : I liked it ; but fancied 1 
 could compose something more to the purpose: 
 I made the experiment, and by the unanimous 
 suffrage of my shopmales was allowed to have, 
 succeeded. Notwithstanding this encour.ige- 
 ment, I thought no more of- versev'^till auo4heT 
 uccurreiiccj as..triliiiig a* the former; AiraraMil 
 
 25 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 me with a fresh subject : and thus I went on, 
 till I had got together about a dozen of tliem. 
 Certainly, nothing on earth was ever so deplor- 
 able : such as tliey were, however, they were 
 talked of in my little circle, and I was some- 
 cinies invited to repeat them, even out of it. 1 
 never committed a line to paper for two reasons; 
 first, because I had no paper ; and secondly — 
 perhaps I might be excused from going fur- 
 the^ ; but in truth I was afraid, as my master 
 had already threatened me, for inadvertently 
 bitching the name of one of his customers into a 
 rhyme. 
 
 The repetitions of which I speak were always 
 attended with applause, and sometimes with 
 favours more .substantial: little collections were 
 now and then made, and I have received six- 
 pence in an evening/ To one who nad long 
 ived in the absolute want of money, such a re- 
 source seemed a Peruvian mine: I furnished 
 myself by degrees with paper, &c., and what 
 was of more importance, with books of geome- 
 try, and of the higher branches of algebra, 
 which I cautiously concealed. Poetry, even at 
 this time, was no amusement of mine : it was 
 subservient to other purposes ; and I only had 
 recourse to it, when I wanted money for my ma- 
 thematical pursuits. 
 
 But the clouds were gathering fast. My 
 master's anger was raised to a terril)le pitch, by 
 mv indifference to his concerns, and still more 
 by the reports which were daily brought to him 
 of my presumptuous attempts at versification. 
 I was required to give up my papers, and when 
 1 refused, my garret was searched, and my 
 little hoard of books discovered and removed, 
 and all future repetitions prohibited in the 
 strictest manner. 
 
 This was a very severe stroke, and I felt it 
 most sensibly ; it was followed by another se- 
 verer still ; a stroke which crushed the hopes I 
 had so long and so fondly cherished, and re- 
 signed me at once to despair. Mr. Hugh 
 Smerdon, on whose succession I iiad calculated, 
 (lied, and w.as succeeded by a person not much 
 older than myself, and certainly not so well 
 qualified for the situation. 
 
 1 look back on that part of my life which im- 
 mediately followed this event, with little satis- 
 faction ; it Was a period of gloom, and savage 
 unsociability : by degrees I sunk into a kind of 
 coporeal torpor; or, if roused into aciivity by 
 the spirit of youth, wasted the exertion in sple- 
 T.etic and vexatious tricks, which alienated the 
 few acquaintances whom compassion had yet 
 left me. So I crept on in silent discontent, 
 unfriended and unpitied ; indignant at the pre- 
 sent, caieless of the future, an object at once of 
 apprehension and dislike. 
 
 From this state of abjectness I was raised by 
 « young woman of my own class. She was a 
 neighbour ; and whenever I took my solitary 
 walk, with my Wolfius in my pocket, she usu- 
 ally came to the door, and by a smile, or a short 
 question, put in the fiiendliest manner, endea- 
 voured to solicit my attention. My heart had 
 
 been long shut to kindness, but the sentiment 
 was not dead in me : it revived at the lirst en- 
 couraging word ; and the gratitude I felt for it. 
 was the first pleasing sensation which I had 
 ventured to entertain for many dreary months. 
 
 Together with gratitude, hope, and other pas- 
 sions still more enlivening, took place of that 
 uncomfortable gloominess which so lately pos- 
 sessed me : I returned to my companions, and 
 by every winning art in my power, strove to 
 make them forget my former repulsive ways. 
 In this I was not unsuccessful; I recovered 
 their good will, and by degrees grew to be 
 somewhat of a favourite. 
 
 My master still murmured, for the business of 
 the shop went on no better than before : I com- 
 forted myself, however, with the reflection that 
 my apprenticeship was drawing to a conclusion, 
 when I determined to renounce the employment 
 for ever, and io open a private school. 
 
 In this humble and obscure state, poor be- 
 yond the common lot, yet flattering my ambi- 
 tion with day-dreams, which, perhaps, would 
 never have been realized, I was found in the 
 twentieth year of my age by Mr. William 
 (Jookesley, a name never to be pronounced by 
 me without veneration. The lamentable dog- 
 gerel which I have already mentioned, and 
 which had passed from moulh to mouth among 
 people of my own degree, had by some accident 
 or other reached his ear, and given him a cu 
 riosity to inquire after the author. 
 
 It was my good fortune to interest his be- 
 nevolence. My little history was not untinctur- 
 ed with melancholy, and I laid it fairly before 
 him : his first care was to console ; his second, 
 which he cherished to the last moment of his 
 existence, was to relieve and support me. 
 
 Mr. Cookesley was not rich : his eminence 
 in his profession, which was that of a surgeon, 
 procured him, indeed, much employment ; but 
 in a country town, men of science are net the 
 most liberally rewarded : he had, besides, a very 
 numerous family, which left him little for the 
 purposes of geiieral benevolence : that little, 
 however, was cheerfully bestowed, and bis ac- 
 tivity and zeal were always at hand to supply 
 the deficiencies of his fortune. 
 
 On examining into the nature of my literary 
 attainments, he found them absolutely nothing: 
 he heard, however, with equal surprise and 
 pleasure, that amidst the grossest ignorance of 
 books, I had made a very considerable progress 
 in the mathematics. He engaged me to enter 
 into the details of this affair , and when he 
 learned that I had made it in circumstances of 
 peculiar discouragement, he became more 
 warmly interested in my favour, as he now saw 
 a possibility of serving me. 
 
 The plan that occurred to him was naturally 
 that which had so often suggested itself to me. 
 There were indeed several obstacles to be over- 
 come ; I had eighteen months yet to serve ; mv 
 handwriting was bad, and my language very in- 
 correct ; but nothing could slacken trie zeal oi 
 this e.xcellent man ; he procured a few of Qiy 
 
 2G 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 poor attempts at rhyme, dispersed them among^st 
 his friends and acquaintance, and when my 
 name was become somewhat familiar to them, 
 set on foot a subsc-ription for my relief. I still 
 preserve the original paper; its title was not 
 very magnificent, though it exceeded the most 
 sanguine wishes of my heart : it ran thus, " A 
 Subscription for purchasing the remainder of 
 the time of Will am GifFord, and for enabling 
 him to improve himself in Writing and English 
 Grammar." Few contributed more than five 
 sniliing."!, and none went beyond ten-and-six- 
 Dence : enough, however, was collected to free 
 me from my apprenticeship,* and to maintain 
 me for a few montiis, during which I assiduously 
 attended the Rev. Thomas Smerdon. 
 
 At the expiration of this period, it was found 
 that my progress (for 1 will speak the truth in 
 modesty) had been more considerable than my 
 patrons expected : I had also written in the in- 
 terim several little pieces of poetry, less rugged, 
 I suppose, than my former ones, and certainly 
 with fewer anomalies of language. 'My precep- 
 tor, too, spoke favourably of me ; and my bene- 
 factor, who was now become my father and my 
 friend, had little difficulty in persuading my pa- 
 trons to renew their donations, and to continue 
 me at school for another year. Such liberality 
 was not lost upon me ; I grew anxious to make 
 the best return in my power, and I redoubled 
 my diligence. Now, that I asn sunk into indo- 
 lence, I look back with some degree of scep- 
 ticism to the exertions of that period. 
 
 In two years ami two months from the day of 
 my emancipation, I was pronounced by Mr. 
 Smerdon, fit for the University. TSe plan of 
 opening a writing school httd been abandoned 
 almost from the first ; and Mr. Cookesley look- 
 ed round for some one who had interest enough 
 to procure me some little office at Oxford. This 
 person, who was soon found, was Thomas Tay- 
 lor, Esq. of Denbury,. a gentleman to whom I 
 had already been indebted for much liberal and 
 friendly support. He procured me the place of 
 Bib. Lect. at Exeter College ; and ti.is, with 
 such occasional as^■^ista^lce from the country as 
 Mr. Cookesley undertook to provide, was thought 
 sufficient to enable me to live, at least, till I had 
 taken a degree. 
 
 During my attendance on Mr. Smerdon I had 
 written, as I observed beftxre, sevend tuneful 
 trifles, some as exercises, others vohintarily, 
 (for poetry wa.s now become my delight,) and 
 not a few at the desire of my friends.f Wh-en 
 
 • The tuin my master received was six pounds. 
 
 ■)• As I have republished one of oiirold poets, it may 
 '■>e allowable to mention that my predilection for the 
 Jrama began at an early period. Before I left school, 
 I had written two tragedies, the Oracle and the Italian. 
 
 My qualifications for tliis branch of the art may be 
 easily appreciated; and, indeed, 1 cannot think of them 
 mahout a smile. — These rhapsodies were placed by 
 my indulgent friend, who thcight well of them, in the 
 hands of two respectable genJemen, who undertook to 
 
 convey them to the manager of : I am ignorant 
 
 of their fate. The death of Mr. Cookesley broke every 
 libk of my connection with themajoritj of my subscri- 
 
 I became capable, however, of reading Latin 
 and Greek with some degree of facility, that 
 gentleman employed all my leisure hours in 
 translations from the classics ; and indeed 1 
 scarcely know a single school-book, of which I 
 did not render some portion into English verse. 
 Among others, Juvenal engaged my attention, 
 or rather my master's, and 1 translated the tenth 
 Satire for a holyday task. Mr. Smerdon was 
 much pleased with this, (I was not undelighted 
 with it myselt,) and as I was now become fond 
 of the author, he easily persuaded me to pro- 
 ceed with him ; and 1 translated in succession 
 the third, the fourth the twelfth, and, I think, 
 the eighth Satires. As I had no end in view 
 but that of giving a teinporary satisfaction to 
 my benefactors, I thought little more of these, 
 than of many other things of Ihe same nature, 
 which I wrote from time to time, and of which 
 I never copied a single line. 
 
 On my removing to Exeter College, however, 
 my friend, ever attentive to my concerns, advised 
 me to copy my translation of the tenth Satire, 
 and present it, on my arrival, to the Rev. Ur. 
 Stinton, (afterwards Rector,) to who:n Mr. Ta} - 
 lor had given me an introductory letter : [ did 
 so, and it was kindly received. Thus encou 
 raged, I took up the first and second Satires, (I 
 mention them m the order they were translated,) 
 when my friend, who had sedulously watched 
 my progress, first started the idea of going 
 througii the whole, and publishing it by sub- 
 scription, as a scheme for increasing mj means 
 of subsistence. iTo this I readily acceded, and 
 finished the thirteenth, eleventh, and fifteenil' 
 Satires : the remainder were the work of a 
 much later period. 
 
 When I had got thus far, we thought it a fii 
 time to mention our design; it was very gene- 
 rally approved of by my friends ; and on the 
 first of January, 1781, the subscription was 
 opened by Mr. Cookesley at Asbburton, and by 
 myself at Exeter College. [ 
 
 So bold an undertaking so precipitately an- 
 nounced, will give the reader,.! fear, a higher 
 opinion of my conceit than of my talents ; nei- 
 ther the one nor the other, how ever, had the 
 smallest concern with the business, which origi- 
 nated solely in ignorance : 1 wrote verses with , 
 great facility, and I was simple enough tc 
 imagine that little more was necessary for a I 
 translator of Juvenal ! I was not, indeed, un- ' 
 conscious of my inaccuracies : I knew thai they j 
 were numerous, and tliat I had need of some 
 friendly eye to point them out, and some judi- 
 cious hand to rectify or remove them : but for 
 these, as well as for every thing else, 1 looked 
 to Mt. Cookesley, and that worthy man, with 
 his usual alacrity of kindness, undertook the 
 laborious task of revising the whole translation. 
 My friend was no great Latinist, perhaps I was 
 the better of the two ; but he had taste 
 
 bers, and when subsequent events enabled me tc renew 
 them, I was ashamed to inquire after what wa« most 
 probably unworthy of concern. 
 
 27 
 
rflE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 'udgment, which T wanted. What advantages a heartfelt pleasure in mentioning this in 
 might have been ultimately derived fjom tbem, gence of my college: it could aiise from nothing 
 there was unhappily no opportunity of ascertain- but the liberal desire inherent, I think, in tin 
 ing, as it pleased the Almighty to call him to members of both our Universities, to encourage 
 
 himself by a sudden deatli, before we had quite every thing'that bears even the most distant re* 
 
 finished the first Satire. He died with a letter semblance to talents; for I had no claims on 
 
 of mine, unopened, in his hands. them from any particular exertions. 
 
 This event, which took place on the 15th, of The lapse of many months had now soothed 
 January, 1781, afflicted me beyond measure.* and tranquillized my mind, and 1 once more re- 
 I was not only deprived of a most faithful and (turned to the translation, to which a wish to 
 affectionate friend, but of a zealous and ever serve a young man surrounded with difficulties 
 active protector, on whom I -confidently relied had induced a number of respeclable characters 
 for support: the sums that were still necessary to set their names ; but alas, what a rnortifica- 
 for me, he always collected ; and it was to b* tion ! 1 now discovered, for the first time that 
 feared that the assistance which was not solicited my own inexperience, and the advice of my too 
 with warmth, would insensibly cease to be af- too partial friend, had engaged me in a work 
 forded. for the due execution of which mv literary at- 
 In many instances this was actualij' the case : tainments were by no means sufficient. Errors 
 the desertion, however, was not general ; and I and misconceptions appeared in every pao-e. J 
 was encouraged to hope, by the unexpected 'had, perhaps, caught something of the spirit of 
 friendship of Servington Savery, a gentleman Juvenal, but his meaning had frequently escaped 
 who voluntarily istood forth as my patron, and -me, and I saw the necessity of a long and pain- 
 watched over my interests with kindness and ful revision, which would cairy me far beyond 
 attention, the period fixed for the appearance of the vo- 
 Some time before Mr Cookesley's death, we lume. Alarmed at the prospect 1 instantly 
 had agreed that it would be proper to deli\er resolved (if not wisely, yet I trust honestly ) to 
 out, with the terms of subscription, a specimen renounce the pubiitation for the present, 
 of the manner in which the translation was In pursuance of this resolution, 1 wrote to my 
 executed. t To obviate any idea of selection, a friend in the country, (the Rev. Servington Sa- 
 sheet Wis accordingly taken from thp beginning very,) requestingthim to return the subscription 
 of the first Satire. My friend died while it was money in bis hands to the subscribers. He did 
 in the press not approve of my plan; nevertheJess he pro- 
 After a few melancholy weeks, I resumed the mised, in a letter, which now lies before me to 
 translation ; but found myself utterly incapable comply with it; and, in a subsequent one added 
 of proceeding. I had been so accustomed to that he hud already begun to do so. 
 connect the name of Mr. Cookesley with every For myself, I also made -several repayments- 
 part of it, and I laboured with such delight in and trusted a sum of money to make others 
 the hope of giving him pleasure, that now, when with a fellow collegian, who, not long alter fell 
 he appeared to have left me in the midst of my by his own hands in the presence of his father, 
 enterprise, and I was abandoned to my own But there were still some whose abode could not 
 
 efforts, I seemed to be engaged in a hopeless 
 struggle, without motive or end : and his idea, 
 which was perpetually recurring to me, brought 
 such bitter anguish with it, that I shut up the 
 work with feelings bordering on distraction. 
 
 be discovered, and others, on whom to press the 
 taking back of eight shillings would neither be 
 decent nor respectful : even from these I ventured 
 to flatter myself that Ishould find pardon, wlien 
 on some future day 1 should present them with 
 
 To relieve my mind, I had recourse to other the Work, (which I was still secretly determined 
 pursuits. I endeavoured to become more infi- to complete,) rendered more worthy of their 
 mately acquainted with the classics, and to patronage, and increased by notes which I now 
 acquire some of the modern languages: by per- 
 mission too, or ra her recommendation, of the 
 Rector and Fellows, I also undertook the care of 
 a few pupils: this removed much of my anxiety 
 resoecting ray future means of support, I have 
 
 perceived to be absolutely necessary, to more 
 than double its proposed size. 
 
 In the leisure of a country residence, I ima- 
 gined that this might be done in two years: 
 peihaps I was not too sanguine: the experi- 
 ment, however, was not made, for about i,his 
 • I began tl is unadorned narrative on the 15th of ^'"'^ .^ circumstance happened, which changed 
 Jinuary. 1801: twenty years have therefore elapsed "'.V Views, and indeed my whole system of life, 
 since I lost ray henefacLor and ray friend. In the in- I had contracted an acquaintance with a ner 
 
 lerval I have wept a thousand tunes at the recolleption son of tho name ,if i i *^ 
 
 of his goodness; I yet cherish his memory with tilial " , "*!"^ °* , recommended to my 
 
 respect; and at this distant period, my heart sinks particular notice by a gentleman of Devonshire, 
 within me at every repetition of his name. whom I was proud of an opportunity to oblige, 
 
 "' '-^ -.. j......u...„j. .V yy^jg person's residence at Oxford was not long" 
 
 and when he returned to town I maintained a 
 correspondence with him by letters. At his 
 particular request, these were enclosed in covers, 
 and sent to Lord Grosvenor- one day I inad- 
 vertently omitted the direction, and his l.wiishij. 
 
 + Many of these papers were distributed; the terms, 
 "vhich I extract from one of them, were these: " The 
 work shaU be printed in quarto, (without notes,) and 
 be delivered to the Subscribers in the month of Decem- 
 ber next. 
 
 " Tbe price will be sixteen shillings in boards, half 
 to be paid at the time ol subscribing, the remainder on 
 ieiivery of the Vook " 
 
 28 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 necessarily supposing the letter to be meant for 
 himsell, opened and read it. There was some- 
 thing in it which attracted his notice ; and when 
 he gave it to my friend, he had the curiosity to 
 inquire about nis correspondent at Oxford ; and, 
 upon the answer he received, the kindness to 
 desire that he might be brought to see him upon 
 his coming to town : to this circumstance, purely 
 accidental on all sides, and to this alone, I owe 
 my introduction to that nobleman. 
 
 On my first visit, he asked me what friends I 
 had, and what were my prospects in life; and I 
 told him that I had no friends, and no prospects 
 of any kind. He said no more ; but when I 
 called to take leave, previous to returning to 
 college, I found that this simple exposure of my 
 cir umstances had sunk deep into his mind. At 
 parting, he informed me that he charged himself 
 with my present support, and future establish- 
 ment ; and that till this last could be effected to 
 my wish, I should come and reside with him. 
 'I'hese were not words, of course : they were 
 more than fulfilled in every point. I did go, and 
 reside with him ; and I experienced a warm and 
 cordial reception, a kind arid aflfectionate esteem, 
 thatbas known neithei diminution nor interrup- 
 tion from that hour to this,, a period of twenty 
 years 1* 
 
 In his lordship's house I proceeded with .Tu- 
 venal, till 1 was called upon to accompany his 
 son (one of the most amiable and accomplished 
 young noblemen that this country, fertile in such 
 characters, could ever botist) to the continent. 
 With him, in two successive tours, I spent many 
 years ; years of wh ch the remembrance will 
 always be dear to me, from the recollection' that 
 a friendship was then contracted, which time 
 and a more intimate knowledge of each other, 
 have mellowed into a regard that forms at once 
 the pride and happiness of my life. 
 
 It is long since I have been returned and 
 settled in the bosom of competence and peace ; 
 my translation frequently engaged my thoughts, 
 but I had lost the ardour and the confidence of 
 youth, and was seriously doubtful of my abilities 
 to do it justice. I htjre wished a thousand 
 times that I could decline it altogether; but the 
 ever- recurring idea that there were people of 
 the description already mentioned, who had just 
 and foicible claims on me for the due perform- 
 ance of my engagement, forbad the thought ; 
 and I slowly proceeded towards the completion 
 of a work in which I should never have engaged, 
 had my friend's inexperience, or my own, suf- 
 
 * I have a melancholy sitisfaction in renorJing that 
 this revered friend and patron lived to witness my 
 grateful acknowledgement of his kindness. He siar- 
 vived the appearance of the translation but a very few 
 days, and I paid the last sad duty to his memory, by 
 attending his remains to the grave. To mo — this la- 
 borious work has not been happy: the same disastrous 
 event that marked its commencement, has embittered 
 its conclusion; and frequently forced r.pon my recol- 
 lection the calamity of the rebuilder of Jericlio, " He 
 laid the foundation thereof in Abiram, his first born, 
 and set "P the gates thereof in his youngest son, Se- 
 gub." ISOfi. 
 
 fered us to suspect for a moment the labour, and 
 the talents of more than one kind, absolutely 
 necessary to its success in any tolerable degree. 
 Such as I could make it, it is now before ths 
 public. 
 
 majora canamus. 
 
 End of ihe Memoir. 
 
 Mr. GiiFORD. 
 
 Having attained an university education 
 'by private benevolence, and arrived at noble 
 and powerful patronage by a circumstance 
 purely accidental Mr. Giflford possessed 
 advantages which few in humble life dare 
 *hope, and fewer aspire to achieve. He 
 .improved his learned leisure and patrician 
 aid, till, in 1802, he published his transla- 
 tion of Juvenal, with a dedication to earl 
 Grosvenor, and the preceding memoir. In 
 1806, the work ariived to a second edition, 
 and in 1 817 to a third ; to the latter he an- 
 'Jiexed a translation of the Satires of Per- 
 bius, which he likewise dedicated to ear! 
 Grosvenor, with " admiration of his talents 
 and virtues." He had previously distin- 
 guished himself by the " Baviad and Mue. 
 viad," a satire unsparin-fi^ly severe on certain 
 fashionable poetry and characters of the 
 day; and which may perhaps be referred 
 to as the best specimen of his powers and 
 inclination. He edited the plays of Mas- 
 singer, and the works of Ben Jonson, whom 
 he ably and successfully defended fron. 
 charges of illiberal disposition towards 
 Shakspeare, and calumnies of a personal 
 nature, which had been repeated and in- 
 creased by successive coramenlators. He 
 lived to see his edition of Ford's works 
 through the press, and Shirley's works were 
 nearly completed by the pi inter before he 
 died. 
 
 When the " Quarterly Eeview " was 
 projected, Mr. Gifford was selected as best 
 qualified to conduct the new journal, and 
 he remained its editor till within two years 
 preceding his death. Besides the private 
 emoluments of his pen, Mr. Gifford bad 
 six hundred pounds a year as a comptroUei 
 of the lottery, and a salary of three hun- 
 dred pounds as paymaster of the band of 
 gentlemen-pensioners. 
 
 To his friend, Dr. Ireland, the dean of 
 Westminster, who was the depositary o< 
 Mr. Gifford's wishes in his last moments, 
 he addressed, daring their early career, the 
 
 t^ 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 follov/ing imitation of the " Otium DLvos 
 Kogat " of Horace. — " I transcribe it," says 
 Mr. Gifford, " for the press, with mingled 
 sensations of gratitude and delight, at the 
 favourable change of circumstances which 
 we have both experienced since it was 
 written." 
 
 Wolfe rush'd on death in manhood's bloom, 
 Paulet crept slowly to the tomb ; 
 
 Here breath, there fame was given : 
 And that wise Power who weighs oiir lives, 
 l^yconf.ras. and by pros, contrives 
 
 To iieep the balance even. 
 
 To thee she gave two piercing eyes, 
 A body, juit of Tydeus' size, 
 
 A judgment sound, and clear ; 
 A mind with various science fraught, 
 A liberal soul, a threadbare coat. 
 
 And forty pounds a year. 
 
 To me, one eye, not over good ; 
 
 Two sides, that, to their cost, have stood 
 
 A ten years' hectic cough ; 
 Aches, stitches, all the numerous ills 
 That swell the dev'lish doctors' bills. 
 
 And sweep poor mortals off. 
 
 A coat more bare than thine; a soul 
 Ttiat spurns the crowd's malign oontroul ; 
 
 A fix'd contempt of wrong ; 
 Spirits above afHiction's pow'r. 
 And skill to charm the lonelyihonr 
 
 With no inglorious song. 
 
 d^mntana* 
 
 Advertisement. 
 
 The foUowintr is a literal copy of an 
 English card, circulated by the master of 
 an hotel, at Ghent ; — 
 
 " Mr. Dewit, in the Golden Apple, out 
 of the Bruges Gate at Ghent, has the 
 honour to prevent the Persons who would 
 come at his house, that they shall find there 
 always good and spacious Lodging, a Table 
 served at their taste. Wine of any quality, 
 ect. Besides he hires Horses and Chaises, 
 which shall be of a great conveniency for 
 the Travellers ; the Bark of Bruges depart 
 and arrives every day before his door. He 
 dares flatter himself that they siiall be 
 satisfied, as well with the cheapness ot 
 the price, as with the cares such an esta- 
 blishment requires." 
 
 Capital for Banking. 
 
 A nobleman's footman in Hampshire, to 
 whom two years' wages were due, de- 
 
 manded the sum from his master, and gave 
 notice that he would quit his place. The 
 master inquired the reason of the man's 
 precipitancy, who told his lordship, " that 
 he and a fellow-servant were about to set | 
 up a couittry bank, and they wanted the 
 wages for a capital!" 
 
 March or Intellect. 
 
 In " Tlie Times," a few days since, ap- 
 peared the following advertisement : — " To 
 School Assistants. — Wanted, a respect- 
 able gentleman of good character, capable 
 of teaching the classics as far as Homer, 
 and Virgil. Apply, &c. &c. A day or 
 two a,fter the above had appeared, the gen- 
 tleman to whom application was to be 
 made received a letter as follows : — " Sir — 
 With reference to an advertisement which 
 ivere inserted in The Times newspaper a 
 few days sinct, respecting a school assist- 
 ant, I beg to state thet I should be happy 
 to fill that situation ; but as most of my 
 freiids reside in London, and not knowing 
 how far Homer and Virgil is from town, I 
 beg to state that I should not like to engage 
 to teach the classics farther than Hammer- 
 smith or Turnham Green, or at the very ut- 
 most distance, farther than Brentford, 
 floating your reply, I am. Sir, &c. &c. 
 
 " John Sparks." 
 
 The schoolmaster, judging of the clas- 
 sical abililies of this "youth of promise," 
 by the wisdom displayed in his letter, con- 
 sidered him too dull a^park for the situa- 
 tion, and his letter remained unanswered. 
 (This puts us in mind of a person who once 
 advertised for a " strong' coal heaver," and 
 a poor man calling upon him the day after, 
 saying, " he had not got such a thing as a 
 ' strong- coal heaver,' but he had brougU 
 a ^strong coal scuttle,' made of the best 
 iron ; and if that would answer the purpose, 
 he should have it a bargain.") — 'Times, \s\ 
 January, 1827 
 
 MissiwNG A Styue. 
 
 Soon after the publication of Miss Bur- 
 ney's novel, called " Cecilia," a young lady 
 was found reading it. After the general 
 topics of praise were exhausted, she was 
 asked whether she did not greatly admire 
 the style ? Reviewing the incidents in her 
 memory, she replied, " The style? the 
 style ? — Oh 1 sir, I am not come to that 
 vetr 
 
 oJ 
 
I, that do bring the news. " 
 
 Slialipeare, 
 
 Our calling, however the vulgar may deem, 
 "Was of old, both on high anil below, in estosm ; 
 E'en the gods were to much curiosity given, 
 For Hermes was only the Nev,'sman of heaven. 
 Hence with wings to his cap, and his staff, and his heels, 
 He depictured appears, which our myst'ry reveals, 
 Tliat riewa flies like wind, to raise sorrow or laushter, 
 A» hile leaning on Time, Truth comes heavily after. 
 
 A'eivsmen's Verses, 1747. 
 
 The newsman is a "lone person." His All the year rounrl, and every day in the 
 
 ousiness, and he, are distinct from all other year, the newsman must rise soon after four 
 occupations, and people. o'clock, and be at the newspaper offices to 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 31 
 
 D 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 procure a few of the first morning pa- 
 pers allotted to him, at extra charges, for 
 particular orders, and despatch them by the 
 " early coaches." Afterwards, he has to wait 
 for his share of the " regular " publicalion 
 of each paper, and he allots these as well 
 as he can among some of the most urgent of 
 his town orders. The next publication at 
 a later hour is devoted to his remaining 
 customers ; and he sends off his boys wiih 
 different portions according to the supply 
 he successively receives. Notices frequently 
 and necessarily printed in different papers, 
 of the hour of final publication the pre- 
 ceding day, guard the interests of the news- 
 paper proprietors from the sluggishness of 
 the indolent, and quicken the diligent 
 newsman. Yet, however skilful his arrange- 
 ments may be, they are subject to unlooked 
 for accidents. The late arrival of foreign 
 journals, a parliamentary debate unexpect- 
 edly protracted, or an article of importance 
 in one paper exclusively, retard the print- 
 ing and defer the newsman. His patieirce, 
 well-worn before he gets his " lust papers," 
 must be continued during the whole period 
 he is occupied in delivering them. The 
 sheet is sometimes half snatched before he 
 can draw it from his wrapper ; he is often 
 chid for delay when he should have been 
 praised for speed ; his excuse, " ^11 the 
 papers were late this mornin;:;,'' is better 
 heard than adnaitted, for neither giver nor 
 receiver has time to par-ley ; and before he 
 gets home to dinner, he hears at one house 
 that " Master has waited for the paper these 
 two hours ;" at another, " Master's gone 
 out, and says if you can't brrng the paper 
 earlier, he won't have it all ;" and some 
 ill-conditioned " master," perchance, leaves 
 positive orders, " Don't take it in, but t^ll 
 the man to bring the bill ; and I'll pay it 
 and have done with him." 
 
 Besides buyers, ever-y newsman has read- 
 ers at so much each paper per hour. One 
 class stipulates for a journal always at 
 breakfast ; another, that it is to be deli- 
 vered exactly at such a time ; a third, at 
 any time, so that it is left the full hour; and 
 amoirg all of these there are malecontents, 
 who permit nothing of " time or circum- 
 stance" to interfere with their personal con- 
 venience. Though the newsman delivers, 
 and allows the use of his paper, and fetches 
 it, for a stipend not half equal to the lowest 
 paid porter's price for letter-carrying in 
 London, yet he finds some, with whom he 
 covenanted, objecting, when it is called for, 
 — " I've not had my breakfast," — " The 
 paper did not come at the proper time," — 
 " I've not had leisure to look at it yet," — 
 
 " It has not been left an hour," — or any 
 other pretence equally futile or untrue, 
 which, were he to allow, would prevent him 
 from serving his readers in rotation, or at 
 all. If he can get all his morning papers 
 from these customers by four o'clock, he is 
 a happy man. 
 
 Soon after three in the afternoon, the 
 newsman and some of his boys must be at 
 the offices of the evening papers ; but be- 
 fore he can obtain his requisite numbers, 
 he must wait till the newsmen of the Royal 
 Exchange have received theirs, for the 
 use of the merchants on 'Change. Some 
 of the first he gets are hurried off to coffee- 
 house and tavern keepers. When he has 
 procured his full quantity, he supplies the 
 remainder of his town customers. These 
 disposed of, then comes the hasty folding 
 and directing of his reserves for the coun- 
 try, and the forwarding of them to thf> 
 post-office in Lombard-street, or in parcels 
 for the mails, and to other coach-officer. 
 Ti.e Gazette nights, every Tuesday and 
 Friday, add to his labours, — the publi- 
 cation of second and third editions of the 
 evening papers is a super-addition. On 
 what he calls a " regular day," he istor.n- 
 nate if he find himself settled within his 
 own door by seven o'clock, after fifteen 
 hours of runnifig to and fro. It is now 
 only that he can review the business of the 
 day, enter his fresh orders, ascertain how 
 many of each paper he will require on the 
 morrow, arrange his accounts, provide for 
 the money he may have occasion for, eat 
 the only quiet meal he could reckon upon 
 since that of the evening before, and " steal 
 a few hours from the night" for needful 
 rest, before he rises the next morning to a 
 day of the like incessant occupation : and 
 thus from Monday to Saturday he labours 
 every day. 
 
 The newsman desires no work but his 
 own to prove " Sunday no Sabbath ;" for 
 on him and his brethren devolves the cir- 
 culation of upwards of fifty thousand Sun- 
 day papers in the course of the forenoon. 
 His Sunday dinner is the only meal he can 
 ensure with his family, and the short re- 
 mainder of the day the only time he can 
 enjoy in their society with certainty, or 
 extract something from, for more serious 
 duties or social converse. 
 
 The newsm.an's is an out-of-door busi- 
 ness at all seasons, and his life is measured 
 out to unceasing toil. In all weathers, 
 hail, rain, wind, and snow, he is daily con- 
 strained to the way and the fare of a way- 
 faringman. He walks, or rather runs, to dis- 
 tribute information concerning all sorts c; 
 
THE TABLE BOOR. 
 
 ciicumstances and persons, except his own. 
 He is unable to allow himself, or others, time 
 for intimacy, and therefore, unless he had 
 formed friendships before he took to his ser- 
 vitude, he has not the chance of cultivating 
 them, save with persons of the same calling. 
 He may be said to have been divorced, and 
 to live " separate and apart " from society 
 'n general ; for, though he mixes with every 
 body, it is only for a few hurried moments, 
 and as strangers do in a crowd. 
 
 Cowper's familiar description of a news- 
 paper, with its multiform intelligence, and 
 the pleasure of reading it in the country, 
 never tires, and in this place is to the pur- 
 pose. 
 
 This folio of four pages, happy work I 
 Which not ev'n critics criticise; that holds 
 Inquisitive Attention, wWle I read, 
 Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair. 
 Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break. 
 What is it. but a map of busy life. 
 Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns? 
 Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks. 
 Births, deaths, and marriages 
 
 The grand debate. 
 
 The popular harangue, the tart reply. 
 The logic, and the wisdom, and tlie wit, 
 And the loud laugh- 
 
 Cat'racts of declamation thunder here ; 
 
 There forests of no meaning spread the page, 
 
 In which all comprehension wanders lost; 
 
 While fields of pleasantry amuse us there. 
 
 With merry descants on a nation's woes. 
 
 The rest appears a wilderness of strange 
 
 But gay confusion ; roses for the cheeks, 
 
 And lilies for th: brows of faded age, 
 
 Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, 
 
 Heav'n, earth, and ocean , plunder'd of their sweets, 
 
 Nectareous essences, Olympian dews. 
 
 Sermons, and city feasts, and fav'rite airs, 
 
 iEthereal journies, submarine exploits, 
 
 And Katerfelto, with his hair an end 
 
 At his own wonders, wand'ring for his bread.- 
 
 'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreit, 
 To peep at such a world; to see the stir 
 Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ; 
 To hear the roar she sends through all her gates. 
 At a safe distance, where the dying sound 
 Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjured ear. 
 Thus sitting, and surveying thus, at ease. 
 The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced 
 To some secure and more than mortal height. 
 That lib'rates and exempts us from them all. 
 
 This is an agreeable and true picture , 
 and, with like felicity, the poet paints the 
 bearer of the newspaper. 
 
 Hark! 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge. 
 That with its wearisome but needful length 
 Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon 
 Sees her nnwrinkled face reflected bright; — 
 He comee, the herald of a noisv world. 
 
 With spatter'd' boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen loofcr 
 
 News from all nations lumb'ring at his back. 
 
 True to his charge, the close pack'd load behind 
 
 Yet careless what he brings, his one concern 
 
 Is to conduct it to the destin'd inn ; 
 
 And, having dropp'd th' expected bag, pass on. 
 
 He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, 
 
 Cold and' yet cheerful : messenger of grief 
 
 Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some ; 
 
 To hira indiif'rent whether grief or joy. 
 
 Methinks, as I have always thought, that 
 Cowper here missed the expression of a 
 kind feeling, and rather tends to raise an 
 ungenerous sentiment towards this poor 
 fellow. As the bearer of intelligence, oi 
 which he is ignorant, why should it be 
 
 " To him indifTrent whether gnef or joy ?" 
 
 If "cold, and yet cheerful," he has at- 
 tained 10 the " practical philosophy " o^ 
 bearing ills with patience. He is a fiozen 
 creature that " whistles," and therefore 
 called " light-hearted wretch." The poet 
 refrains to "look with a gentle eye upon 
 this wretch" but, having obtained the 
 newspaper, determines to enjoy himself, 
 and cries 
 
 Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast. 
 Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round. 
 And, while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn 
 Throws up a steamy column, and the cups. 
 That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each. 
 So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in. 
 
 This done, and the bard surrounded with 
 means of enjoyment, he directs his sole 
 attentio'A to the newspaper, nor spares a 
 thought in behalf of the wayworn messen- 
 ger, nor bids him " God speed !" on hie 
 further forlorn journey through the wintry 
 blast. 
 
 In London scarcely any one knows the 
 newsman but a newsman. His customers 
 know him least of all. Some of them 
 seem almost ignorant that he has like 
 " senses, affections, passions," with them- 
 selves, or is " subject to the same diseases, 
 healed by the same means, warmed and 
 cooled by the same winter and summer." 
 They are indiiferent to him in exact ratio 
 to their attachment to what he " serves " 
 them with. Their regard is for the news- 
 paper, and not the newsman. Should he 
 succeed in his occupation, they do not 
 hear of it : if he fail, they do not care for 
 it. If he dies, the servant receives the 
 paper from his successor, and says, -.vher 
 she carries it up stairs, " If you please, the 
 newsman's dead :" they scarcely ask where 
 he lived, or his fall occasions a pun — " We 
 always said he was, and now we have 
 
 33 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 proof that he is, the late newsman." They 
 are almost as unconcerned as if he had bean 
 the postman. 
 
 Once a year, a printed " copy of verses " 
 reminds every newspaper reader that the 
 hand that bore it is open to a small boon. 
 " The Newsman's Address to his Customers, 
 1826," deploringly adverts to the general 
 distress, patriotically predicts better times, 
 and seasonably intimates, that in the height 
 of annual festivities he, too, has a heart 
 capable of joy. 
 
 " although the muse complains 
 
 And sine;* of woes in melancholy strains, 
 Yet Hope, at last, strikes up her trembling wires. 
 And bids Despair forsake your glowing fires. 
 While, as in olden time, Heaven's gifts you share. 
 And Englishmen enjoy their ChnStrnas fare , 
 While at the social board friend joins with friend. 
 And smiles and jokes and salutations blend, 
 Your Newsman wishes to be sooialtoo, 
 And would enjoy the opening year with you : 
 Grant him your annual gift, he will not fail 
 To drink your health once more with Christmas ale : 
 Long may you live to share your Christmas cheer, 
 And he still wish you many a happy year I" 
 
 The losses and crosses to which news- 
 men are subject, and the minutiae of their 
 laborious life, would form an instructi\e 
 volume. As a class of able men of busi- 
 ness, their importance is established by ex- 
 cellent regulations, adapted to their inter- 
 ests and well-being; and their numerous 
 society includes many individuals of high 
 intelligence, integrity, and opulence. 
 
 C{)e IBrama. 
 
 License for enacting a Play. 
 To the Editor. 
 Sir,^As many of your readers may not 
 have had an opportunity of knowing the 
 form and ma-nner in which dramatic repre- 
 sentations were permitted, by the Master 
 of the Revels, upon the restoration of the 
 Stuarts, I submit a transcript of a licence 
 in my possession. It refers to a drama, call- 
 ed " Noah's Flood," apparently not re- 
 curded in any dramatic history. It is 
 true, Isaac Reed, in the " Biographia Dra- 
 matica," 1782, vol.ii. p. 255, cites " Noah's 
 Flood, or the Destruction of the World, 
 an ojjera, 1679, 4to ," and ascribes it to 
 " Edward Ecclestone," but it is question- 
 able whether this was the " play " for 
 which the license below was obtained, as 
 Reed, or perhaps George Steevens, the 
 commentator, who assisted the former con- 
 
 siderably in the compilation of tnat work, 
 as it appeared in 1782, expressly entitles it 
 " an opera." 
 
 Reed states his inability to furnish any 
 particulars of Ecclestone, and his continua- 
 tor, Mr. Stephen Jones, has not added a 
 single word. Ecclestone was a comedian, 
 though I cannot immediately cite my au- 
 thority. His opera of " Noah's Flood, *" 
 which is excessively scarce, is said, by 
 Reed, to be " of the same nature with Dry. 
 den's ' State of Innocence,' but falls infi . 
 nitely short of the merit of that poem." 
 This may be readily believed ; for we arg 
 informed that the unhappy bookseller, to 
 prevent the whole impression rotting or 
 his shelves, again obtruded it for public 
 patronage, with a new title, " The Cata- 
 clasm, or General Delug^e of the World,'' 
 1684, 4to. ; and again as " The Deluge, or 
 Destruction of the World," 1691, 4to., with 
 the addition of sculptures These attempts 
 probably exhausted the stock on hand, as, 
 some years afterwards, it was reprinted in 
 12mo., with the title of " Noah's Flood, or 
 the History of the General Deluge," 1714 
 Many plays were reprinted by Meares, 
 Feales, and others, at the commencement 
 of the last century, as stock-plays ; and 
 Reed's assertion, that this was an imposi- 
 tion, is correct, so far as it came forth as a 
 new production, the preface stating that 
 the author was unknown. 
 
 The license alluded to is on a square 
 piece of parchment, eleven inches high, by 
 thirteen wide. The office seal, red wax, 
 covered by a piece of white paper, is en- 
 graved in one of the volumes of George 
 Chalmers's " Apology for the Believers of 
 the Shakspeare Papers." 
 
 The License. 
 
 " To all Mayors Sherriffs Justices of the 
 Peace Bayliffs Constables Headboroughs, 
 and all other his Maties. Officers, true 
 Leigmen & loueing Subiects, & to euery 
 of them greeting. Know yee that wheras 
 George Bayley of London Musitioner de- 
 sires of me a Placard to make Shew of a 
 Play called Noah's fflood wth other Seue- 
 rall Scenes. These are therfore by vertue 
 of his Maties. Lettrs. Patients made oner 
 vnto me vnder the great Seale of England 
 to licence & allow the said George Bayley 
 wth eight Servants wch are of "his Com- 
 pany to make shew of the said Pls^y called 
 Noah's flood wth other Scenes requireing 
 you and euery of you m his Maties Name 
 to pmitt & Suffer the said Persons to shew 
 the said Play called Noahs flood, and to 
 be aiding & assisting them & euery of them 
 
 34 
 
TIIE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 if any wrong or iniury be offered vnto him 
 or any of them Provided that he and they 
 doe not act any thing offensiue against ye 
 lawes of God or of the Land, and that he 
 & they doe make shew of tlie s-aid Noah's 
 flood at lawful! times wth Exception of the 
 Lords Day or any other Day m the time 
 of Devine Service, or on any other day 
 prohibited by Proclamation or other law- 
 full Authority. And this Licence to con- 
 'tinue for a year and noe longre from the 
 day of the date hearof and to Serue through- 
 out the Kingdome of England Scotland & 
 Ireland & all other his Maties. Territories 
 & Dominions the said Geo. Bayly haueing 
 giuen me security for his good behauiour 
 that hee doe not intrench vpon the lawes 
 of the land. Giuen at his Maties. Office of 
 the Revills vnder my hand Sc Seale of the 
 said Office the fowerteenth day of Aprill 
 one thousand six hundred sixty and two & 
 in the fowerteenth year of the raigne of o'r 
 Soueraigne Lord Charles ye Second by the 
 grace of God of England Scotland ffrance 
 and Ireland King Defender of the faith &c. 
 
 J. POYNTZ. 
 
 A marginal memorandum, below the seal, 
 contains a direction to the persons named 
 in this license, thus : — 
 
 " You are to allow him either Town hall 
 Guild hall Schoole house or some other con- 
 venient place for his use & to continue in 
 any one place for ye space of fforty 
 Daies." 
 
 The above transcript is literal in every 
 respect : and trusting that it may be deem- 
 ed worthy insertion, 
 
 I am, Sir, &c. 
 
 Will o' the Whisp. 
 
 The identical seal of the office of the 
 Revels, mentioned in the preceding letter, 
 was engraven on wood, and is now in the 
 possession of Francis Douce, Esq. F. S. A. 
 
 THOMAS AIRAY, 
 
 The Grassington Manager and his 
 Theatrical Company, Craven, York- 
 shire. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 " Nothing like this in London!" 
 
 John Reeve in Peregrine Protens. 
 
 At this season, every thing appears dull 
 and lifeless in the neighbourhood of my 
 favourite mountain village. In my younger 
 days it was otherwise. Christmas was then 
 
 a festival, enlivened oy a round of innocent 
 amusements, which the present enlightened 
 age has pronounced superstitious or trifling. 
 Formerly we had a theatre, at this season, 
 and perhaps a few particulars relating to 
 may not be uninteresting. 
 
 Gentle reader ! should you ever visit 
 Skipton-in-Craven, go on the market-day, 
 and stand opposite to the vicarage-house in 
 the High-street ; there you will see a cart 
 with this inscription, " Thomas Airay, 
 Grassington and Skipton carrier." Keep 
 your eye on that cart, and about the hour 
 of three in the afternoon you will behold 
 approach the owner, a little, fat, old man, 
 with reddish whiskers and a jolly face, that 
 Listen or John Pi,eeve would not be ashamed 
 to possess. In that countenance a mere 
 tyro in physiognomy may discover a roguish 
 slyness, a latent archness, a hidden mine of 
 fun and good humour. Then when Airay 
 walks, mark his stately gait, and tell me if 
 it does not proclaim that he has worn the 
 sock and buskin, and trod the Thespian- 
 floor : he was the manager of the Grassing- 
 ton theatre — the " Delawang" of Craven. 
 
 I fancy some rigid moralist bestowing a 
 cold glance on poor Tom, and saying to 
 hmiself, " Ah, old man, this comes of 
 acting; had you, in your youth, followed 
 some industrious pursuit, nor joined ap. 
 idle strolling company, instead of now 
 being a country carrier, you might have 
 been blessed with a comfortable indepen- 
 dence !" Think not so harshly of Airay ; 
 though not the manager of a patent theatre, 
 nor of one " by royal authority," he nevei 
 was a stroller, nor an associate with vaga 
 bonds, nor did he ever, during his theatrical 
 career, quake under the terrors of magjs. 
 terial harshness, or fear the vagrant act. 
 
 No idle, worthless, wandering man was he. 
 
 But in the dales, of honest parents bred, 
 Train'd to a life of honest industry. 
 
 He with the lark in summer left his bed, 
 
 Thro' the sweet calm, by morning twilight shed, 
 Walking to labour by that cheerful song. 
 
 And, making a pure pleasure of a tread. 
 When winter came with nights so dark and long, 
 'Twas his, with mimic art, to amuse a village throng i 
 
 Tom Airay 's sole theatre was at Grass- 
 ington ; and that was only " open for the 
 season " — for a few weeks in the depth oi 
 winter, when the inclemency of the weather, 
 which in these mountainous parts is very 
 severe, rendered the agricultural occupa- 
 tions of himself and companions impossi- 
 ble to be pursued. Tbey chose rf.*her to 
 earn a scanty pittance by acting, xh 'n to 
 tiouble their neighbours for eleem-ouvnary 
 support. 
 
 35 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 TVie corps dramatiqne of Tom Airay 
 consisted chiefly of youn^ men, (they had 
 no actresses,) who moved in the same line 
 of life as the manager, and whose characters 
 were equally respectable with his, which was 
 always unassailable ; for, setting aside our 
 hero's occasionally getting tipsy at some of 
 the neighbouring feasts, nothing can be 
 said against him. He is a worthy member 
 ■of society, has brought up a large family 
 respectably, and, if report speak truth, has 
 realized about a thousand pounds. 
 
 Few of Tom Airay's company are living, 
 and the names of many have escaped me. 
 
 There was honest Peter W , whose face 
 
 peeped from behind the green curtain like 
 the full moon. He was accounted a bit of 
 a wag : ever foremost in mischief, he, more 
 than once, almost blew up the sta^e by gun- 
 powder, half sulTocated the audience by 
 assafoetida, and was wont to put hot cin- 
 ders in the boots of his associates. He 
 has " left the mimic scene to die indeed," 
 and sleeps peacefully under the beautiful 
 lime-trees of Kirby Malhamdale church- 
 yard, undisturbed by the murmur of that 
 mountain stream, which, rippling over its 
 •pebbly channel, hymns, as it were, his re- 
 quiem. Then there was Isaac G , the 
 
 nddler and comic singer : he exists no longer. 
 There was Waddilove, and Frankland of 
 Hetton, and Bill Cliff, the Skipton poet 
 and bailiff — all dead ! There were, also, 
 the Hetheringtons, and Jack Solomon the 
 besom maker, and Tommy Summersgill the 
 
 barber and clock maker, and Jack ' L 
 
 the politician of Threshfield, who regarded 
 John Wilkes as his tutelary saint, and settled 
 in the Illinois, from whence he occasionally 
 sends a letter to his old friends, informing 
 them what a paltry country England is, 
 what a paradise the new world is, and how 
 superior the American rivers are to those 
 
 ":That through our rallies run 
 
 Singing and dancing in the gleams 
 Of summer's cloudless sun." 
 
 Besides these, there were fifteen or six- 
 teen others from Ar-ncliffe, Litton, Coniston, 
 Kilnsay, and the other romantic villages 
 that enliven our heath-clad hills. 
 
 The " Grassington theatre," or rather 
 "playhouse," for it never received a loftier 
 appellation, where (to borrow the phraseolo- 
 gy of the Coburg) our worthies received their 
 " nightly acclamations of applause," has 
 been pulled down, but I will endeavour to 
 describe it. It was an old limestone^' lathe,' 
 tne Craven word for barn,with huge folding- 
 doors, one containing a smaller one, through 
 which the audience was admitted to the pit 
 
 and gallery, for there were no boxes. Yet 
 on particular occasions, such as when the 
 duke of Devonshire or earl of Thanet good- 
 naturedly deigned to patronise the perform- 
 ances, a " box" was fitted up, by railing ofl 
 a part of the pit, and covering it, by way 
 of distinction, with brown paper, painted 
 to represent drapery. The prices were, 
 pit sixpence, and gallery threepence. I be- 
 lieve they had no half price. The stage 
 was lighted by five or six halfpenny can- 
 dles, and the decorations, considering the 
 poverty of the company, were tolerable. 
 The scenery was respectable ; and though 
 sometimes, by sad mishap, the sun or moon 
 would take fire, and expose the tallow can- 
 dle behind it, was very well mana^red — 
 frequently better than at houses of loftier 
 pretension. The dresses, as far as material 
 went, were good ; though not always in 
 character. An outlaw of the forest of 
 Arden sometimes appeared in the guise of 
 a Craven waggoner, and the holy friar, 
 " whose vesper bell is the bowl, ding dong," 
 would wear a bob wig, cocked hat, and the 
 surplice of a modern church dis^nitary 
 These slight discrepancies passed unre- 
 garded by the audience; the majority did 
 not observe them, and the few who did 
 were silent; there were no prying editors 
 to criticise and report. The audience was 
 always numerous, (no empty benches there) 
 and respectable people oiten formed a por- 
 tion. I have known the village lawyer, the 
 parson of the parish, and the doctor com- 
 fortably seated together, laughing heartily 
 at Tom Airay strutting as Lady Randolph, 
 his huge Yorkshire clogs peeping from 
 beneath a £;own too short to conceal his 
 corduroy breeches, and murdering his words 
 in a manner that might have provoked 
 Fenning and Bailey from their graves, to 
 break the manager's head with their weighty 
 publications. AH the actors had a bad 
 pronunciation. Cicero was called Kikkero, 
 (.which, by the by, is probably the correct 
 one;) Africa was called Afryka, fatigued 
 yvas fattygewed, and pageantry was always 
 cMed ■ paggyantry. Well do I remember 
 Airay exclaiming, " What pump, vfhsitpag- 
 gyantry is there here !" and, on another 
 occasion, saying, "' Te damons o' deeth come 
 sattle my swurd !" The company would 
 have spoken better, hadthey not, on meeting 
 with a ''dictionary word," applied for in- 
 formation' to an old schoolmaster, who con- 
 stantly misled them, and taught thei> to 
 pronounce in the most barbarous mode he 
 could devise ; yet such was the awe where- 
 with they were accustomed to regard this 
 dogmatical personage, and the profound 
 
 36 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 respect they paid to his abilities, that they 
 received his deceiving; tricks witli thankful- 
 ness. One of them is too good to be 
 omitted : Airay, in some play or farce, 
 happened to meet with this stage direction, 
 " they sit down and play a game at piquet ;" 
 the manager did not understand the term 
 " piquet," and the whole of the corps dra- 
 inati(]ue were equally ia;noraut — as a dernier 
 ressort, application was made to their old 
 friend, the knight of the birch, who in- 
 structed them that " piquet" was the French 
 word for pie-cut, and what they had to do 
 was to make a large pie, and sit round a 
 table and eat it ; and this, on the perform- 
 ance of the piece, they actually did, to the 
 great amusement of the few who were ac- 
 quainted with the joke. When Tom was 
 informed of the trick, he wittily denomi- 
 nated it a substantial one. 
 
 The plays usually performed at Grassing- 
 ton were of the regular drama, the produc- 
 tions of Shakspeare, Dryden, Otway, or 
 Lillo. George Barnwell has many a time 
 caused the Craven maids to forget " Tur- 
 pin," and " Nevison,'' and bloody squires, 
 and weep at the shocking catastrophe of 
 the grocer's apprentice. Melodramas were 
 unknown to them, and happy had it been 
 for the dramatic talent of this country if 
 tliey had remained unknown elsewhere ; 
 for since these innovations, mastiff dogs, 
 monkeys, and polichinellos have followed 
 in rapid succession, and what monstrum 
 horreudum will next be introduced, is dith- 
 cult to conceive. We may say, 
 
 " Alas, for the drama, its day has gone by." 
 
 At the time of Airay's giory, had the 
 word melodrama been whispered in his ear, 
 he would probably have inquired what sort 
 of a beast it was, what country it came 
 from, and whether one was in the tower? — 
 Grassington being too poor to support a 
 printer, the play-bills were written, and by 
 way of making the performances better 
 known, the parish bellman was daily em- 
 ployed to cry the play in a couplet com- 
 posed by the manager. I only remember 
 one. 
 
 Guy in his youth, our play we call. 
 At six to the hay-mow* hie ye all I 
 
 This not only apprized the inhabitants of 
 the play for the evening, but frequently the 
 novelty of the mode induced a passing 
 stranger to honour the house with his pre- 
 
 • In Craven, the hay is not stacked as in the south. 
 but housed in barns, which from tbi* custom art e»U«d 
 haf-mowi* 
 
 sence. It was also preferable to pr.^nting', 
 for that was an expense the proceeds of the 
 house could not alTord. 
 
 While thus hastily sketching the pecu- 
 liarities of Airay and his associates, it 
 would be unjust not to state in conclusion, 
 that their performances were always of a 
 moral character; if any indelicate senti- 
 ment or expression occurred in their plays, 
 it was omitted ; nothing was uttered that 
 could raise a blush on the female cheek. 
 Nor were the audiences less moral than the 
 manager : not an instance can be recorded 
 of riot or indecency. In these respects, Tom 
 Airay's theatre might serve as a model to the 
 patent houses in town, wherein it is to be 
 feared the original intent of the stage, that 
 of improving the mind by inculcating morali- 
 ty, is perverted. Whenever Airay takes a re- 
 trospective glance at his theatrical manage- 
 ment, he can do it with pleasure ; for never 
 did he pander to a depraved appetite, or ren- 
 der his barn a spot wherein the vicious 
 would covet to congregate. 
 
 T. Q. M. 
 
 Hiterarp ^obeltp. 
 
 " Thf, Sybil's Leaves, or a Peep into 
 Futurity, published by Ackermann, Strand, 
 and Lupton Relfe, Cornhill," consist of sixty 
 lithographic verses onas many cards,in a case 
 bearing an engraved representation of a 
 party in high humour consulting the cards. 
 Thirty of them are designed for ladies, 
 and as many for gentlemen : a lady is 
 to hold the gentleman's pack, and vice 
 versa. From these packs, each lady or 
 gentleman wishing to have " the most im- 
 portant points infallibly predicted " is to 
 draw a card. 
 
 The idea of telling fortunes at home is 
 very pleasant ; and the variety of " the Sy- 
 bil's Leaves" assists to as frequent oppor- 
 tunities of re-consultation as the most 
 inveterate craver can desire A lady con- 
 demned by one of the leaves to " wither 
 on the virgin thorn," on turning over a new 
 leaf may chance to be assured of a delightful 
 reverse; and by a like easy process, a 
 " disappointed gentleman'' become, at 
 last, a " happy man." 
 
 37 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE ANCIENT RIVER FLEET AT CLERKENWELL. 
 
 Lo ! hither Fleet-brook came, in former times call'd the Fleet-ru'<?r, 
 Which navies once rode on, in present times hidden for ever. 
 Save where water-cresses and sedge mark its oozing and creeping, 
 In yonder old meadows, from whence it lags slowly — as weeping 
 Its present misgivings, and obsolete use, and renown — 
 And bearing its burdens of shame and abuse into town, 
 On meeting the buildings sinks into the earth, nor aspires 
 To decent-eyed people, till forced to the Thames at Blackfri'rs. 
 
 In i825, this was the first open view 
 nearest London of the ancient River Fleet: 
 it was taken during the building of the 
 high-arched walls connected with the 
 House of Correction, Cold-bath-fields, close 
 to which prison the river ran, as here seen. 
 At that time, the newly-erected walls 
 communicated a peculiarly picturesque 
 effect to the stream flowing within 
 their confines. It arrived thither from 
 Bagnigge-wells, on its wav to a covered 
 channel, whereby it passej between Turn- 
 mill-street, and again emerging, crosses 
 Chick-lane, now called West-street, near 
 Field-lane, at the back of which it runs on^ 
 and continues under Holborn-bridge, Fleet- 
 market, and Bridge-street, till it reaches 
 
 the Thames, close to the stairs on the west 
 side of Blackfriars-bridge. The bridge, 
 whereby boys cross the stream in the 
 engraving, is a large iron pipe for convey- 
 ing water fiom the New River Company's 
 works, to supply the houses in Grays- inn- 
 lane. A few years ago, the New River 
 water wa-s conducted across this valley 
 through wooden pipes. Since the drawing 
 was made, the Fleet has been diverted 
 from the old bed represented in the print, 
 through a large barrel drain, into the course 
 just mentioned, near Turnmill-street. This 
 notice of the deviation, and especially the 
 last appearance of the river in its immemo- 
 rial channel, may be of interest, because 
 the Fleftl is the oniy ancient stream running 
 
 88 
 
TIIE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 nto London which is not yet wholly lost 
 to sight. 
 
 The River Fleet at its source, in a field 
 3n the London side of the Hampstead 
 ponds, is merely a sedgy ditchling, scarcely 
 half a step across, and "winds its sinuosi- 
 ties along,"' with little increase of width 
 or depth, to the road from the Mother Red 
 Cap to Kentish Town, beneath which road 
 ifc passes through the pastures to Camden 
 Town ; and in one of these pastures, the 
 canal, running through the Tunnel at Pen 
 lonviUe to the City-road, is conveyed over 
 it by an arch, p'rom this place its width 
 increases, till it reaches towards the west 
 side of the road leading from Pancras 
 Workhouse to Kentish Town. In the rear 
 of the houses on that side of the road, it 
 becomes a brook, washing the edge of tlie 
 g:irden in front of tl^e premises late the 
 stereotype-fnundery and printing-offices of 
 Mr. Andrew Wilson, which stand back 
 from the road ; and, cascading down behind 
 the lower road-side houses, it reaches the 
 Klephant and Castle, in front of which it 
 tunnels to Battle-bridge, and there levels 
 out to the eye, and luns sluggishly to Bag- 
 nigge-wells, where it is at its greatest 
 width, which is about twelve feet across ; 
 from thence it narrows to the House of Cor- 
 rection, and widens again near Turnmill- 
 street, and goes to the Thames, as above 
 described. 
 
 In a parliament held at Carlile, in 3.5 Ed- 
 ward I., 1307, Henry Lacy earl of Lincoln 
 complained that, in former times, the course 
 of water running under Holborn-bridge and 
 Fleet-bridge into the Thames, had been of 
 such breadth and depth that ten or twelve 
 ships at once, " navies with merchandise," 
 were wont to come to Fleet-bridge, and 
 some of them to Holborn-bridge; yet that, 
 oy filth of the tanners and others, and by 
 raising of wharfs, and especially by a diver- 
 sion of the water in the first year of king- 
 John, 1200, by them of the New Temple, 
 for their mills without Baynard's Castle, 
 and by other impediments, the course was 
 decayed, and ships could not enter as they 
 were u^ed. On the prayer of the earl, the 
 constable of the Tower, with the mayor and 
 sheriffs of London, were directed to take 
 with them honest and discreet men to in- 
 quire into the former state of the river, 
 to leave nothing that might hurt or stop it, 
 and to restore it to its wonted condition. 
 Upon this, the river was cleansed, the mills 
 were removed, and other means taken for 
 the preservation of the course; but it was 
 not brought to its old depth and breadth, 
 and therefore it was no longer termed a 
 
 river, but a brook, called Tutne-mill or 
 TremiU Brook, because mills were erected 
 on it. 
 
 After this, it was cleansed several times , 
 and particularly in 1502, the wiiole course 
 of Fleet Dike, as it was then called, was 
 scoured down to the Thames, so that 
 boats with fish and fuel were rowed to 
 Fleet-bridge and Holborn-bridge. 
 
 In 1589, by authority of the common 
 council of London, a thousand marks were 
 collected to draw several of the springs at 
 Hampstead-heath into one head, for the 
 service of the City with fresh water where 
 wanted, and in order that by such " a fol- 
 lower," as it was termed, the charmel of 
 the brook should be scoured into the 
 Thames. After much money spent, the 
 efil'ect was not obtained, and in Siow's tir/je, 
 by means of continual encroachments on 
 the banks, and the tlirowing of soil into the 
 stream, it became worse clogged than 
 ever.* 
 
 After the Fire of London, the channel 
 was made navigable for barges to come up, 
 by the assistance of the tide from the 
 Thames, as far as Holborr-bridge, where 
 the Fleet, otherwise Turnmill-brook, fell 
 into this, the wider channel ; which had 
 sides built of stone and brick, with ware- 
 houses on each side, running under the 
 street, and used for the laying in of coals, 
 and other commodities. This channel had 
 five feet water, at the lowest tide, at Hol- 
 born-bridge, the wharfs on each side the 
 channel were thirty feet broad, and rails oi 
 oak were placed along the sides of the 
 ditch to prevent people from falling inio it 
 at night. There were four bridges of Port- 
 land stone over it ; namely, at Bridewell, 
 Fleet-street, Fleet-lane, and Holborn. 
 
 When the citizens proposed to erect a 
 mansion-house for their lord mayor, they 
 fixed on Stocks-market, where the Man- 
 sion-house now stands, for its site, and 
 proposed to arch the Fleet-ditch, from 
 Holborn to Fleet-street, and to remove that 
 market to the ground they would gain by 
 that measure. In 1733, therefore, they re- 
 presented to the House of Commons, that 
 although after the Fire of London the chan- 
 nel of the Fleet had been made navigable 
 from the Thames to Holborn-bridge, yet 
 the profits from the navigation had not an- 
 swered the charge ; that the part from 
 Fleet-bridge to Holborn-bridge, instead oi 
 being -jseful to trade, had become choked 
 with mud, and was therefore a nutsance, 
 and that several persons had lost their lives 
 
 • Stow's Suirev. 
 
 39 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 by falling into it. For these and other 
 causes assigned, an act passed, vesting the 
 fee simple of the site referred to in the 
 corporation for ever, on condition that 
 drains should be made through the channel, 
 and that no buildings on it should exceed 
 fifteen feet in height. The ditch was ac- 
 cordinarly arched over from Holborn to 
 Fleet-bridge, where the present obelisk in 
 Bridge-street now stands, and Fleet-market 
 was erected on the arched ground, and 
 opened with the business of Stocks-market, 
 on the 30th of September, 1737. 
 
 In 1765, the build mg of Blackfriars- 
 bridge rendered it requisite to arch over the 
 remainder, from Fleet-bridge to the Thames; 
 yet a small part remained an open dock 
 for a considerable time, owing to the obsti- 
 nate persistence of a private proprietor.* 
 
 Previous to the first arching of the Fleet, 
 Pope, in " The Dunciad," imagined the 
 votaries of Dulness diving and sporting in 
 Fleet-ditch, which he then called 
 
 The K-'.iig of dytes ! than whom no sluice of mud 
 With deeper sable blots the silver flood. 
 
 " I recollect," says Pennant, " the present 
 noble approach to Blackfriars-bridge, the 
 well-built opening of Chatham-place, a 
 muddy and genuine ditch." It has of late 
 been rendered a convenient and capacious 
 <ewer. 
 
 During the digging of Fleet-ditch, in 
 1676, with a view to its improvement after 
 the Fire of London, between the Fleet- 
 prison and Holborn-bridge, at the depth of 
 fifteen feet, several Roman utensils were 
 discovered ; and, a little lower, a great 
 quantity of Roman coins, of silver, copper, 
 brass, and various other metals, but none 
 of gold ; and at Holborn-brii'ge, two brass 
 lares, or household gods, of the Romans, 
 about four inches in length, were dug out ; 
 one a Ceres, and the other a Bacchus. The 
 great quantity of coins, induces a presump- 
 tion that they were thrown into this river 
 by the Roman inhabitants of the city, on 
 the entry of Boadicea, with hei army of en- 
 gaged Britons, who slaughtered their con- 
 niierors, without distinction of age or sex. 
 Here also were found arrow-heads, spur- 
 rowels of a hand's breadth, keys, daggers, 
 scales, seals with the proprietors' names in 
 Saxon characters, ship counters with Saxon 
 characters, and a considerable number of 
 medals, crosses, and crucifixes, of a more 
 recent age.f 
 
 • Noorthonclc. 
 f Maitland. Pennant. 
 
 Sometime before the year 1714, Mr 
 John Conyers, an apothecary in Fleet- 
 street, who made it his chief business to 
 collect antiquities, which about that time 
 were daily found in and about London, as 
 he was digging in a field near the Fleet 
 not far from Battle-bridge, discovered the 
 body of an elephant, conjectured to have 
 been killed there, by the Britons, in fight 
 with the Romans ; for, not far from the 
 spot, was found an ancient British spear, 
 the head of flint fastened into a shaft of 
 good length.* From this elephant, the 
 public-house near the spot where it was 
 discovered, called the Elephant and Castle, 
 derives its sign. 
 
 There are no memorials of the extent to 
 which the river Fleet was anciently naviga- 
 ble, though, according to tradition, an 
 anchor was found in it as high up as the 
 Elephant and Castle, which is immediately 
 opposite Pancras workhouse, and at the 
 corner of the road leading from thence to 
 Kentish-town. Until within these few 
 years, it gave motion to flour and flatting 
 mills at the back of Field-lane, near Hol- 
 born .+ 
 
 That the Fleet was once a very service- 
 able stream there can be no doubt, from 
 what Slow relates. The level of the ground 
 is favourable to the presumption, that its 
 current widened and deepened for naviga- 
 ble purposes to a considerable extent in 
 the valley between the Bagnigge-wells- 
 road and Gray's-inn, and that it might have 
 had accessions to its waters from other 
 sources, besides that in the vicinity of 
 Hampstead. Stow speaks of it under the 
 name of the " River of Jf'eh, in the west 
 part of the citie, and of old so called of the 
 fVds ;" and he tells of its running from 
 the moor near the north corner of the wall 
 of Cripplegate postern. This assertion, 
 which relates to the reign of William the 
 Conqueror, is controverted by Maitland, 
 who imagines " great inattention" on tlie 
 part of the old chronicler. It is rather to 
 be apprehended, that Maitland was less an 
 antiquary than an inconsiderate compiler. 
 The drainage of the city has effaced proofs 
 of many appearances which Stow relates 
 as existing in his own time, but which there 
 is abundant testimony of a different nature 
 to corroborate; and, notwithstanding Mait- 
 land's objection, there is sufficient reason to 
 apprehend that the river of Wells and the 
 Fleet river united and flowed, in the same 
 channel, to the Thames. 
 
 • Letter from Bagford to Hearne. 
 + Nelson'* History of Islington, 
 
 40 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Sanuarp* 
 
 Copt!5raj3l)p. 
 
 If you are ill at this season, there is no 
 occasion to send for the doctor — only stop 
 eating. Indeed, upon general principles, 
 it seems to ine to be a mistake for people, 
 every time there is any little thing the mat- 
 ter with them, to be running in such haste 
 for the " doctor ;" because, if you are going 
 to die, a doctor can't help you ; and if you 
 are not — there is no occasion for him * 
 
 Angling in Janua-ry. 
 
 Dark is the ever-flowing stream. 
 
 And snow falls on the lake ; 
 For now the noontide sunny beam 
 
 Scarce pierces bower and brake ; 
 And flood, or envious frost, destroys 
 A portion of the angler's joys. 
 
 Yet still we'll talk of sports gone by. 
 
 Of triumphs we have won. 
 Of waters we ae;ain shall try. 
 
 When sparkling- in the sun ; 
 or favourite haunts, by mead or dell. 
 Haunts which the fisher loves so welL 
 
 Of stately Thames, of gentle Lea, 
 
 The merry monarch's seat; 
 Of Ditton's stream, of Avon's brae, 
 
 Or Mitchan/s mild retreat; 
 Of waters by the meer or mill. 
 And all that tries the angler's skill. 
 
 Annals of Sporting. 
 
 Plough Monday. 
 
 The first Monday after'Twelfth-day is so 
 denominated, and it is the ploughman's 
 holyday. 
 
 Of late years at this season, in the 
 islands of Scilly, the young people exercise a 
 sort of gallantry called " goose-dancing." 
 The maidens are dressed up for young 
 men, and the young men for maidens ; 
 and, thus disguised, they visit their neigh- 
 bours in companies, -where they dance, and 
 make jokes upon what has happened in the 
 island ; and every one is humorously 
 " told their own," without offence being 
 taken. By this sort of sport, according to 
 yearly custom and toleration, there is a 
 spirit of wit and drollery kept up among 
 the people. The music and dancing done, 
 they are treated with liquor, and then they 
 go to the next house of entertainrnent.-|- 
 
 * Monthly Magaeine, January, 1827. 
 t Stnitt'« Sports, SOf. 
 
 WiLLY-HowE, Yorkshire. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 There is an artificial mount, by the side 
 of the road leading from North Burton to 
 Wold Newton, near Bridlington, in York- 
 shire, called " Wil!y-howe," much exceed- 
 ing in size the generality of our " hov/s,' 
 of which I have often heard the most pre- 
 posterous stories related. A cavity or divi- 
 sion on the summit is pointed out as owino 
 its origin to the following circumstance ; — 
 A person having intimation of a large 
 chest of gold being buried therein, dug 
 away the earth until it appeared in sight ; 
 he then had a train of horses, extending 
 upwards of a quarter of a mile, attached to 
 it by strong iron traces ; by these means he 
 was just on the point of accomplishing his 
 purpose, when he exclaimed — 
 
 " Hop Perry, prow Mark, 
 
 Whether God's will or not, 'Vv'e'U have this ark." 
 
 He, however, had no sooner pronounced 
 this awful blasphemy, than all the traces 
 broke, and the chest sunk still deeper in the 
 hill, where it yet remains, all his futi-.re 
 efforts to obtain it being in vain. 
 
 The inhabitants of the neighbourhood 
 also speak of the place being peopled with 
 fairies, and tell of the many extraordinary 
 feats which tiiis diminutive r=ice has per- 
 formed. A fairy once told a m.in. to whom 
 it appears she was particularly attached, it 
 he went to the top of " Willy-howe " every 
 morning, he would find a guinea ; this 
 information, however, was given under the 
 injunction that he should not make the cir- 
 cumstance known to any other person. 
 For some time he continued his visit, and 
 always successfully; but at length, like our 
 first parents, he broke the great command- 
 ment, and, by taking with him another 
 person, not merely suffered the loss of the 
 usual guinea, but met with a severe punish- 
 ment from the fairies for his presumption. 
 Many more are the tales which abound 
 here, and which almost seem to have made 
 this a consecrated spot ; but how they 
 could at first originate,is somewhat singular. 
 
 That " Hows," " Carnedds," and " Bar- 
 rows," are sepulchral, we can scarcely en- 
 tertain a doubt, since in all that have been 
 examined, human bones, rings, and other 
 remains have been' discovered. From the 
 coins and urns found in some of them, they 
 have been supposed the burial-places of 
 Roman generals. " But as hydrotaphia, 
 or urn-burial, was the custom among the 
 Romans, and interment the practice of the 
 
 41 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Britons, it is reasonable to conjecture, 
 where such insignia are discovered, the 
 tumuli are the sepulchres of some British 
 chieftains, who fell in the Roman service.' 
 The size of each tumulus was in proportion 
 to the rank and respect of the deceased ; 
 and the labour requisite to its formation 
 was considerably lessened by the number 
 employed, each inferior soldier bein^r 
 obliged to contribute a certain quantum to 
 the general heap. That the one of which 
 we are speaking is the resting-place of a 
 great personage may be easily inferred, 
 from its magnitude ; its name also indi- 
 cates the same thing, " Willy-howe," 
 being the hill of many, or the hill made by 
 many: for in Gibson's Camden we find 
 " IVilly and Fill among the English 
 Saxons, as I'iele at this day among the 
 Germans, signified many. So IFillielmns, 
 the defender of many. JFilfred, peace to 
 many." Supposing then a distinguished 
 British chieftain, who fell in the imperial 
 service, to have been here interred, we may 
 readily imagine that the Romans and 
 Britons would endeavour to stimulate their 
 own party by making his merits appear as 
 conspicuous as possible ;- and to impress 
 an awe and a dread on the feelings of their 
 enemies, they would not hesitate to pi'ac- 
 tise what we may call a pardonable fi-aud, 
 in a pretension that the fairies were his 
 friends, and continued to work miracles at 
 his tomb. At the first glance, this idea 
 may seem to require a stretch of fancy, but 
 we can more readily reconcile it when we 
 consider how firm was the belief that was 
 placed in miracles ; how prevalent the love 
 that existed, in those dark ages of igno- 
 rance and superstition, to whatever bore 
 that character; and how ready the Romans, 
 with their superior sagacity, would be to 
 avail themselves of it. The Saxons, when 
 they became possessed of the country, 
 would hear many strange tales, which a 
 species of bigoted or unacc untable attach- 
 ment to the marvellous would cause to be 
 handed down from generation to genera- 
 tion, each magnifying the first wonder, 
 until they reached the clirnax, whence they 
 are now so fast descending. Thus may 
 probably have arisen the princip-al feature 
 in the history of their origin. 
 
 This mode of sepulluie appears to be 
 very ancient, and that it was very general 
 is sufficiently demonstrated by the hills yet 
 remaining in distant parts of the world. 
 Dr. Clarice, who noticed their existence in 
 Siberia and Russian-Tartary, thinks the 
 practice is alluded to in the Old Testament 
 in these passages : " They raised a great 
 
 heap of stones on Achan •" " and raised 
 a great heap of stones on the king of Ai ;" 
 " they laid a heap of stones on Absalom.'* 
 In the interior of South Africa, the Rev. 
 J. Campbell " found a large heap of small 
 stones, which had been raised by each pas- 
 senger adding a stone to the heap ; it was 
 intended as a monument of respect to the 
 memory of a king, from a remote nation, 
 who was killed in the vicinity, and whose 
 head and hands were interred in that 
 spot." 
 
 The number of these mounds in our own 
 country is very considcable ; and I trust 
 they will remain the everlasting monu- 
 ments of their own existence. Their greatest 
 enemy is an idle curiosity, that cannot be 
 satisfied with what antiquaries relate con- 
 cerning such as have been examined, but, 
 with a vain arrogance, assumes the power 
 of digging though them at pleasure. For 
 my own part, I must confess, I should like 
 to be a witness of what they contain, yet I 
 would hold them sacred, so far as not to 
 have them touched with the rude hand of 
 Ignorance. Wl.enever l approach these 
 venerable relics,- my mind is carried back 
 to the time when they were young ; since 
 then, I consider what years have rolled 
 overyears, what generatiO' s ha>e followed 
 generation^, and feel an interest I'eculiarly 
 and delicately solemn, in the fate of those 
 v/hose dust is here mingled with its kin- 
 dred dust. 
 
 T. C. 
 
 Bridlington. 
 
 Horn Church in Essex. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 In reply to the inquiry by Ignotus, in the 
 Every-Day Book, vol. ii. p. 1650, respect- 
 ing the origin of aflaxing horns to a church 
 in Essex, I find much ambiguity on the 
 subject, and beg leave to refer to that ex- 
 cellent work, " Newcourt's Repertorium,'' 
 vol. ii. p. 3'-6, who observes, on the au- 
 thority of Weaver, " The inhabitants here 
 say, by tradition, that this church, dedicated 
 to St. Andrew, was built by a female con- 
 vert, to expiate for her former sins, and that 
 it was called Hore-church at first, till by a 
 certain king, but by whom they are uncer- 
 tain, who rode that way, it was called 
 Horned-church, who caused those horns to 
 be put out at the east end of it." 
 
 The vane, on the top of the spire, is also 
 in the form of an ox's head, with the horns. 
 " The hospital had neither college nor com- 
 mon seal." **Y 
 
 42 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Cudtomg. 
 
 iilamter^. 
 
 The present Boar's Head Carol. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Mr. Editor, — In reading your account of 
 the '• Boar's Head Carol," in your Everif" 
 Day Book, vol. i. p. 1619, I find the old 
 carol, but not the words of the carol as 
 sung at present in Queen's CoUes^e, Ox- 
 ford, on Christmas-day. As I think it pos- 
 sible you may never have seen them, I 
 now send you a copy as they were sung, 
 or, more properly, chanted, in the hall of 
 Queen's, on Christmas-day, 1810, at which 
 time I was a member of the college, and 
 assisted at the chant. 
 
 A boar's head in hand bear I, 
 Bedeck'd with bays and ro-iemary; 
 And I pray you, my masters, be merry, 
 Quot estis in convivio. — 
 
 Caput apri defero, 
 
 Reddens laudes Domino. 
 
 Theboar's head, as I understand. 
 Is the rarest dish in all this land; 
 And when bedeck'd with a gay garland 
 Let us servire cantico. — 
 Caput apri, he. 
 
 Our steward hath provided this. 
 In honour of the King of bliss : 
 VAich on this day to be served is 
 In reginensi atrio. — 
 Caput apri, &c. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 A QUONDAM QUEENSMAN 
 
 Beating the Lapstone. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 There is a custom of " beating the lap- 
 stone," the day after Christmas, at Nettle- 
 ton, near Burton. The shoemakers beat 
 the lapstone at the houses of ai; water- 
 drmkers, in consequence of a neighbour, 
 Thomas Stickler, who had not tasted malt 
 liquor for twenty years, having bf.en made 
 ripsy by drinking only a half pint of ale 
 at his shoemaker's, at Christmas. When he 
 JOt home, he tottered into his house, and 
 his good dame said, " John, where have 
 you been? — why, you are in liquor?" — 
 " No, I am not," hiccnped John, " I've 
 only fell over the laps-toiie, and that has 
 beaten my leg, so as I can't walk quite 
 right," Hence the annual practical joke — 
 " beating the lapstone." 
 
 Gambling-houses a Century ago. 
 
 From " The London Mercury " of January 13, 1721-2. 
 
 There are, it seems, in the parish of 
 Covent-garden, twenty-two such houses, 
 some of which clear sometimes 100/., and 
 seldom less than 40/. a night. They have 
 their proper officers, both civil and military, 
 with salaries proportionable to their respec- 
 tive degrees, and the importance they are 
 of in the service, viz. 
 
 A commisxioner, or commis, who is al- 
 ways a proprietor of the gaming-house: he 
 looks in once a night, and the week's ac- 
 count is audited by him and two others of 
 tlie proprietors. 
 
 A director, who superintends the room. 
 The operator, the dealer at faro. 
 Croupees two, who watch the card, and 
 gather the money for the bank. 
 
 A puff, one who has money given him 
 to play, in order to decoy others. 
 
 A clerk, who is a check upon the puff, to 
 see that he sinks none of that money. — A 
 sonib is a puff of a lower rank, and has half 
 the salary of a puff. 
 
 A fasher, one who sits by to swear how 
 often he has seen the bank stript. 
 A dunner, waiters. 
 Ati attorney, or solicitor. 
 A coflaiii, one who is to fight any man 
 that is peevish or out of humour at the loss 
 of his money. 
 
 An usher, who takes care that the porter, 
 or grenadier at the door, suffers none to come 
 in but those he knows. 
 
 A porter, who, at most of the gaming- 
 houses, is a soldier hired for that purpose. 
 
 A ru7t7ie'; to get intelligence of all the 
 meetings of the justices of the peace, and 
 when the constables go upon the search. 
 
 Any link-boy, coachman, chairman, 
 drawer, or other person, who gives notice 
 of the constables being upon the search, 
 has half a guinea. 
 
 (J^miuana* 
 
 Taste. 
 
 Taste is the discriminating talisman, en^ 
 abling its owner to see at once the real 
 merits of persons and tmngs, to ascertair. 
 at a glance the true from the false, and to 
 decide rightly on the value of individuals. 
 
 Nothing escapes him who walks the woild 
 with his eyes touched by this ointment; 
 they are open to all around him — to admire, 
 
 43 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 or to condemn — to gaze with rapture, or to 
 turn away with disgust, where another shall 
 pass and see nothing to excite the slightest 
 emotion. The fair creation of nature, and 
 the works of man afford him a wide fieid of 
 continual gratification. The brook, brawl- 
 ing over its bed of rocks or pebbles, half 
 concealed by the overhanging bushes that 
 fringe its banks — or the great river flowing, 
 in unperturbed majesty, through a wide vale 
 of peace and plenty, or forcing its passage 
 through a lofty range of opposing hills — 
 the gentle knoll, and the towering moun- 
 tain — the rocky dell, and the awful preci- 
 pice — the young plantation, and the vene- 
 rable forest, are alike to him objects of 
 interest and of admiration. 
 
 So in the works of man, a foot-bridge, 
 thrown across a torrent, may be in it as 
 gratifying to the man of taste as the finest 
 arch, or most wonderful chain-bridgfe in 
 the world; and 'a cottage of the humblest 
 order may be so beautifully situated, so 
 neatly kept, and so tastefully adorned 
 with woodbme and jessamine, as to call 
 forth his admiration equally with the 
 princely residence of the British landholder, , 
 in all its pride of position, and splendour 
 of architecture. 
 
 In short, this faculty is applicable to 
 every object; and he who finds any thing 
 too lofty or too humble for his admiration, 
 does not possess it. It is exercised in the 
 every-day affairs of life as much as in the 
 higher arts and sciences. — Monthly Maga- 
 zine. 
 
 Two Ravens, abroad. 
 
 On the quay at Nimeguen, in the United 
 Provinces, tivo ravens are kept at the pub- 
 lic expense ; they live in a roomy apart- 
 ment, with a large wooden cage before it, 
 which serves them for a balcony. These 
 birds are feasted every day with the choic- 
 est fowls, with as much exactness as if they 
 were for a gentleman's table. The privi- 
 leges of the city were granted origmally 
 upon the observance of this strange custom, 
 which is continued to this day. 
 
 Two Ravens, at home. 
 
 In a MS. of the late Rev. Mr. Gough, 
 of Shrewsbury, it is related, that one Tho- 
 mas Elkes, of Middle, in Shropshire, bemg 
 guardian to his eldest brother's child, who 
 was young, and stood in his way to a con- 
 siderable estate, hired a poor boy to entice 
 him into a corn field to gather flowers, and 
 
 meeting them, sent the poor boy home, 
 took his nephew in his arms, and carried 
 him to a pond at the other end of the field, 
 into which he put the child, and there left 
 him. The child being missed, and inquiry 
 made after him, Elkes fled, and took the 
 road to London ; the neighbours sent two 
 horsemen in pursuit of him, who passing 
 along the road near South Mims, in Hert- 
 fordshire, saw two ravens sitting on acock 
 of hay making an unusual noise, and pull- 
 ing the hay about with their beaks, on 
 which they went to the place, and found 
 Elkes asleep under the hay. He said, that 
 these two ravens had followed him fioin 
 the time he did the fact. He was brought 
 to Shrewsbury, tried, condemned, and hung 
 in chains on Knockinheath. 
 
 The last Tree of the Forest. 
 
 Whisper, thou tree, thou lonely tree. 
 
 One, wheie a thousand stooa! 
 Well might proud tales be told by thee. 
 
 Last of the solemn wood 1 
 
 Dwells there no voice amidst thy boughs, 
 
 With leaves yet darkly green? 
 Stillness is round, and noontide glows — 
 
 Tell us what thou hast seen ! 
 
 " I have seen the forest-shadows lie 
 
 Where now men reap the corn ; 
 I have seen the kingly chase rush by, 
 
 Through the deep glades at morn. 
 
 " With the glance of many a gallant spear. 
 
 And the wave of many a plume, 
 And the bounding of a hundred deer 
 
 It hath lit the woodland's gloom. 
 
 " I have seen the knight and his train ride past, 
 
 With his banner borne on high ; 
 O'er all my leaves there was brightness cast 
 
 From his gleamy panoply. 
 
 " The pilgrim at my feet hath laid 
 His palm-branch 'midst the flowers. 
 
 And told his beads, and meekly pray'd. 
 Kneeling at vesper-hours. 
 
 " And the merry men of wild and glen. 
 
 In the green array they wore. 
 Have feasted here with the red wine's cheer, 
 
 And the hucter-songs of yore. 
 
 " And the minstrel, resting in my shade. 
 
 Hath made the forest ring 
 With the lordly tales of the higli crusade, 
 
 Once loved by chief and king. 
 
 " Bat now the noble forms are gone, 
 
 That walk'd the earth of old ; 
 The soft wind hath a mournful tone. 
 
 The sunny tight looks lold. 
 
 44 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 *• There is no glory left us now 
 
 Like the glory with the dead : — 
 I would that where they slumber low, 
 
 My latest leaves were shed." 
 
 Oh ! thou dark tree, thou lonely tree. 
 
 That mournest for the past I 
 A peasant's home in thy shade I see, 
 
 Embower'd from every blast. 
 
 A lovely and a mirthful sound 
 
 Of laughter meets mine ear ; 
 For the poor man's children sport around 
 
 On the turf, with nought tc fear. 
 
 And roses lend that cabin's wall 
 
 A happy summer-glow. 
 And the open door stands free to all. 
 
 For it recks not of a foe. 
 
 And the village-bells are on the breeze 
 
 That stirs thy leaf, dark tree! — 
 — How can I mourn, amidst things like these. 
 
 For the stormy past with thee ? 
 
 F H. New Muntlily Magazine. 
 
 Bread Seals. 
 
 Miss Polly Baker, 
 
 Towards the end of 1 777, the abbe Raynal 
 calling on Dr. Franklin found, in conripany 
 with the doctor, their common fiiend, Silas 
 Deane. " Ah ! monsieur I'abbe," said 
 Deane, " we were just talking of you and 
 your works. Do you know that you have 
 been very ill served by some of those people 
 who have undertaken to give you informa- 
 tion on American affairs?" The abbe re- 
 sisted this attack with some warmth; and 
 Deane supported it by citing a variety of 
 passages from Raynal's works, which he 
 alleged to be uicorrect. At last they came 
 to the anecdote of " Polly Baker," on which 
 the abbe had displayed a great deal of 
 pathos and sentiment.- " Now here," says 
 Deane, " is a tale in which there is not one 
 word of truth." Raynal fiied at this, and 
 asserted that he had taken it from an au- 
 thentic memoir received from America. 
 Franklin, who had amused himself hitherto 
 with listening to the dispute of his friends, 
 at length interposed, " My dear abbe," 
 said he, " shall I tell you the truth? When 
 I was a young man, and rather more 
 thoughtless than is becoming at our present 
 time of life, I was employed in writing for 
 a newspaper; and, as it sometimes hap- 
 pened that I wanted genuine materials to 
 fill up my page, I occasionally drew on the 
 stores of my imagination for a tale which 
 might pass current as a reality --now this 
 very anecdote ot Polly Baker was one of 
 my inventions." 
 
 The new conundrum of " breat pats " 
 as the ladies call the epigrammatic ira 
 impressors that their work-boxes are always 
 full of now, pleases me mightily. Nothing 
 could be more stupid than the old style oi 
 affiche — an initial — carefully engraved in a 
 hand always perfectly unintelligible ; or a 
 crest — necessarily out of its place, nine 
 times in ten, in female correspondence — 
 because nothing could be more un-" ger- 
 mane " than a " bloody dagger" alarm- 
 ing every body it met, on the outside of 
 an order for minikin pins ! or a " fiery 
 dragon," threatening a French mantua- 
 maker for some undue degree of tightness 
 in the fitting of the sleeve ! and then the 
 same emblem, recurr.ng through the wliole 
 letter-writing of a life, became tedious. But 
 now every lady has a selection of axioms 
 (in flower and water) always by her, suit- 
 ed to different occasions.' As, "Though 
 lost to sight, to memory dear !" — wiu.'i 
 she writes to a friend who has lately hau 
 his eye poked out. " Though absent, un- 
 forgotten !" — to a female correspondent, 
 whom she has not written to for perhaps 
 the three last (twopenny) posts ; or, " you.s 
 le meritez !" with the figure of a " rose " — 
 emblematic of every thing beautiful — 
 when she writes to a lover. It was receiving 
 a note with this last seal to it that put the 
 subject of seals into my mind; and I have 
 some notion of getting one engraved with the 
 same motto, " Vous le meritez," only with 
 the personification of a horseivhip under it, 
 instead of a "rose'' — for peculiar occa- 
 sions. And perhaps a second would not 
 do amiss, with the same emblfvn, only with 
 the motto, " Tk l' auras .'" as a sort of co- 
 rollary upon the first, in cases of emer- 
 gency ! At all events, I patronise the sys- 
 tem of a variety of "posies;" because 
 wiiere the inside of a letter is likely to be 
 stupid, it gives you the chance of a joke 
 upon the out. — Monthly Magazine 
 
 Bleeding for our Countrv. 
 
 It is related of a Lord Radnor in Chester- 
 field's time, that, with many good qualities, 
 and no inconsiderable share of learning, he 
 had a strong desire of being thought skilful 
 in physic, and was very expert in bleeding. 
 Lord Chesterfield knew his foible, and on a 
 ])articular occt^sion, wanting his vote, came 
 to him, and, after having conversed upon 
 indifferent matters, complained of the head- 
 ache, and desired his lordship to feel his 
 pul&e Lord Radnor immediately advised 
 
 45 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 him to lose blood. Chesterfield compliment- 
 ed his lordship on his chirutgical skill, and 
 begged him to try his lancet upon him. 
 ■' A propos," said lord Chesterfield, after 
 the operation, " do you go to the house to- 
 day ?'• Lord Radnor answered, " I did 
 not intend to go, not being sufficiently in- 
 formed of the question which is to be 
 dpbated ; but you, that have considered it, 
 which side will you be of?" — The wily earl 
 easily directed his judgment, carried him to 
 the honsp, and got iiira to vote as he pleased. 
 Lord Chesterfield used to say, that none of 
 his friends had been as patriotic as himself, 
 for he had " lost his blood for the good of 
 his country." 
 
 A Village New Year, 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 '•'Almack's" may be charming, — an as- 
 sembly at the " Crown and Anchor," and a 
 hop of country quality at the annual " Race 
 Hall," or a niore popular " set to" at a 
 fashionable watering-plrice, may delight — 
 but a lady of city or town cannot conceive 
 the emotions enjoyed by a party collected 
 in the village to see the " old year'' out and 
 the "new jear" in. At this time, the 
 "country dance" is of the first importance 
 to the young and old, yet not till the week 
 has been occupied by abundant provisions 
 of moat, fruit tarts, and mince pics, which, 
 with made wines, ales, and spirits, are, like 
 the blocks for fuel, p'.led in store for all 
 partakers, gentle and simple. Extra best 
 beds, stabling, and hay, are made ready, — 
 fine celery dug, — the china service and pew- 
 ter plates examined, — in short, want and 
 wiih are anticipated, nothing is omitted, 
 but every effort used to give proofs of ge- 
 nuine hospitality. This year, if there is to 
 be war in Portugal, many widowed hearts 
 and orphan spirits may be diverted from, not 
 to, a scene which is witnessed in places 
 where peace and plenty abound. However, 
 I will not be at war by conjecture, but sup- 
 pose much of the milk of huincn kindness 
 to be shared with these who look at the 
 sunny side of things. 
 
 After tea, at which the civilities of the 
 most gallant of the young assist to lighten 
 the task of the hostess, the fiddler is an- 
 nounced, the " country dance" begins, and 
 the lasses are all alive ; their eyes seem lus- 
 trous and their animal spirits rise to the 
 zero of harmonious and beautiful attraction. 
 
 The choosing of partners and tunes witli fa- 
 vourite figures is highly considered. Old 
 folks who have a leg left and are desirous 
 of repeating the step (though not so light; 
 of fifty years back, join the dance; and the 
 floor, whether of stone or wood, is swept to 
 notes till feet are tired. This is pursued 
 till suppertime at ten o'clock. Meantime, 
 the " band" (called " waits" in London) is 
 playing before the doors of the great neigh- 
 bours, and regaled with beer, and chine, 
 and pies ; the village " college youths" are 
 tuning the handbells, and the admirers oi 
 the " steeple chase" loiter about the church- 
 yard to hear the clock strike twelve, And 
 startle the air by high mettle sounds. Me- 
 thodist and Moravian dissenters assemble 
 at their places of worslnp to watch out the 
 old year, and continue to " watch" till four 
 or five in the new year's morning. Vil- 
 lagers, otherwise disposed, follow the church 
 plan, and commemorate the vigils in the 
 old un reformed way. After a sumptuous 
 supper, — at which some maiden's heart i.-> 
 endangered by the roguish eye, or the salutt 
 end squeeze by stealth, dancing is resumed 
 and, according to custom, a change o' 
 partners takes place, often to the joy and 
 disappointment of love and lovers. At 
 every rest — the fiddler makes a squeaking 
 of the strings — this is called kiss 'em .' a 
 practice well understood by the tulip fan- 
 ciers. The pipes, tobacco, and substantials 
 are on the qui vive, by the elders in another 
 part of the house, and the pint goes often 
 to the cellar. 
 
 As the clock strikes a quarter to twelve, 
 a bumper is given to the " old friend," 
 standing, with three farewells ! and while 
 the church bells strike out the departure ot 
 his existence, another bumper is pledged to 
 the " new infant," with three standing hip, 
 hip, hip — huvzas ! It is further customaiv 
 for the dance to continue all this time, that 
 the union of the years should be cemented 
 by friendly intercourse. Feasting and 
 merriment are carried on until four or five 
 o'clock, when, as the works of the kitchen 
 have not been relaxed, a pile of sugar toast 
 is prepared, and every guest must partake 
 of its sweetness, and praise it too, before 
 separation. Headaches, lassitude, and pale- 
 ness, are thought little of, pleasure sup- 
 presses the sigh, and the spirit of joy keeps 
 the undulations of care in proper subjec- 
 tion — Happy times these ! — Joyful opportu- 
 nities borrowed out of youth to be repaid 
 by ripened memory ! — snatched, as it were, 
 from the wings of Time to be written on his 
 brow with wrinkles hereafter. 
 
 R P. 
 
 46 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE LAST LIKENESS OF THE DUKE OF YORK. 
 (NOW riEST ENGSAVED.) 
 
 From the Bust by Behnes, executed for His Royal Highness in 1826. 
 
 In the rude block aspiring talent sees 
 Its patron's face, and hews it out with ease ; 
 Ere fail'd the royal breath, the marble breath'd. 
 And lives to be by gratitude enwreath'd. 
 
 Towards the close of the year 1825, the 
 duke of "fork commenced to sit for this bust 
 at his late residence in the Stable-yard, St. 
 James's ; and, in the summer of 1826, con- 
 tinued to give sittings, till its final comple- 
 tion, at the artist's house, in Dean street, 
 Soho. The marble was then removed, 
 lor exhibition, to the Royal Academy, 
 and from thence sent home to his royal 
 highness, at Rutland-house The duke 
 
 and his royal sister, the princess Sophia, 
 were equally delighted with the true and 
 spirited likeness, and gratified by its pos- 
 session, as a work of art. 
 
 The duke of York, on giving his order.« 
 to Mr. Behnes, left entirely to him the 
 arrangement of the figure. With grea 
 judgment, and 'n reference to his roya 
 hignness's distinguished station, ttie artist 
 has placed armour on the body, and thrown 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 47 
 
 E 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 b. military c'loak over the shoulders. This 
 radicious combination of costume imparts 
 simplicity and breadth to the bust, and 
 assists the manly dignity of the head. The 
 duke's fine open features bear the frank and 
 good-natured expression tliey constantly 
 wore in life : the resemblance bemg minutely 
 faithful, is as just to his royal highness's 
 exalted and benevolent character, as it is 
 creditable to Mr. Behnes's execution. Tha 
 Dresent engraving is a hasty sketch of its 
 general appearance. His royal highness 
 kindly permitted Mr. Behnes to take casts 
 from the sculpture. Of the many, there- 
 fore, who experienced the duke of York's 
 friendship or favour, any one who desires 
 to hold his royal highness's person in re- 
 membrance, has an opportunity of obtaining 
 a fac-simile of the original bust, which is as 
 large as life. 
 
 Mr. Behnes was the last artist to whom 
 the duke sat, and, consequently, this is his 
 'ast likeness. The marble was in the pos- 
 session of his royal highness during his long 
 illness, and to the moment of his death, in 
 Arlington-street. Its final destination will 
 be appropriated by those to whom he was 
 most attached, and on whom the disposition 
 of such a memorial necessarily devolves. 
 
 To the ample accounts of the duke of 
 York in the different journals, the Table 
 Book brings together a few particulars 
 omitted to be collected, preceded by a few 
 notices respecting his royal highness's title, 
 a correct list of all the dukes of York from 
 their origin, and, first, with an interesting 
 paper by a gentleman who favoured the 
 Every-Day Book with some valuable gene- 
 alogical communications. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE'S DUKES of YORK, &c. 
 For the Table Book. 
 The elastic buoyancy of spirits, joined 
 with the rare affability of disposition, which 
 prominently marked the character of the 
 prince \vho«e recent loss we deplore, ren- 
 dered him the enthusiastic admirer and 
 steady supporter of the English stage. I 
 hope I shall not be taken to task for allud- 
 ing to a trifling coincidence, on recalling to 
 recollection how largely the mighty master 
 of this department, our immortal Shak- 
 speare, has drawn upon his royal highness's 
 illustrious predecessors in title, in those un- 
 Tivalied dramatic sketches which unite the 
 iorce of genius with the simplicity of 
 nature, whilst they impart to the strictly 
 accurate annals of our national history 
 
 some of the mosi vivid illumirations which 
 blaze through the records of our nationa. 
 eloquence. 
 
 The touches of a master-hand giving 
 vent to the emanations of a mighty mind 
 are, perhaps, no where more palpably 
 traced, than throughout those scenes of the 
 historical play of Richard II., where Ed- 
 mund of Langley, duke of York, (son of 
 king Edward III-,) struggles mentally be- 
 tween sentiments of allegiance to his weak 
 and misguided sovereign on the one hand, 
 and, on the other hand, his sense of his other 
 nephew Bolingbroke's grievous wrongs, 
 and the injuries inflicted on his country by 
 a system of favouritism, profusion, and op- 
 pression. 
 
 Equal skill and feeling are displayed in 
 the delineation of his son Rutland's devot- 
 ed attachment to his dethroned benefactor, 
 and the adroit detection, at a critical mo- 
 ment, of the conspiracy, into which he had 
 entered for Richard's restoration. 
 
 In the subsequent play of Henry V., 
 (perhaps the most heart-stirring of this in- 
 teresting series,) we learn how nobly this 
 very Rutland (who had succeeded his 
 father, Edmund of Langley, as duke of 
 York) repaid Henry IV. '« generous and 
 unconditional pardon, by his heroic con- 
 duct in the glorious field of Agincourt, 
 where he sealed his devotion to his king 
 and country with his blood. 
 
 Shaksjieare has rendered familiar to us 
 the intricate plans of deep-laid policy, and 
 the stormy scenes of domestic desolation, 
 through which his nephew and successor, 
 Richard, the next duke of York, obtained 
 a glimpse of that throne, to which, accord- 
 ing to strictness, he was legitimately enti- 
 tled just before 
 
 "York overloo'k'd the t:vTD of York." 
 
 The licentious indulgence, the hard- 
 hearted selfishness, the reckless cruelty, 
 which history indelibly stamps as the cha- 
 racteristics of his son and successor, Ed- 
 ward, who shortly afterwards seated him- 
 self firmly on the throne, are presented to 
 us in colours equally vivid and authentic. 
 The interestingly pathetic detail of the 
 premature extinction in infancy of his 
 second son, prince Richard, whom he had 
 invested with the title of York, is brought 
 before our eyes in the tragedy of Richard 
 III., with a forcible skill and a plaintive 
 energy, which set the proudest eflbrts of 
 preceding or following dramatic writers at 
 defiance. 
 
 To "bluff' king Hal," (who, during the 
 lifetime of his elder brother, Arthur, p'rince 
 
 48 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 I)f Wales, had next bone this exclusively 
 royal title of duke of "York,) ample justice 
 IS rendered, in every print of view, in that 
 production, as emineit for its gorgeous 
 paoeantry as for its subdued interest, in 
 whicii most of our elder readers must have 
 been sufficiently fortunate to witness the 
 transcendant merits of Mrs. Siddons, as 
 Queen Catherine, surpassing even her own 
 accustomed excellence. 
 
 Had, contrary to the wonted career of 
 the triumph of human intellect,, a Sliak- 
 speare enraptured and adorned the next 
 generation, what studies would not the 
 characters and fates of the martyred Charles 
 I., and his misguided son, James II., have 
 afforded to his contemplation. Both these 
 sovereigns during the lives of their respec- 
 tive elder orothers, bore the title of duke of 
 York. 
 
 The counties of York and Lancaster are 
 the only two in England from which the 
 titles conferred have been exclusively en- 
 joyed by princes of the blood royal. It 
 maybe safely asserted, that neither of these 
 designations has ever illustrated an indivi- 
 dual, who was not either son, brother, 
 e^randson, or nephew of the sovereign of 
 this realm. 
 
 liichard, duke of York, killed at the 
 battle of Wakefield, may, at first sight, 
 ttrike the --pader as an exception to this 
 assertion, he being only cousin to Henry 
 VI.; but we ought to bear in mind, that 
 this Richard was himself entitled to that 
 hrone, of which his eldest son shortly after- 
 wards obtained possession, under the title 
 of Edward IV. 
 
 By the treaty of Westphalia, concluded 
 at Munster, in 1648, which put an end to 
 the memorable war that desolated the 
 fairest portion of the civilized world during 
 thirty years, it was stipulated that the 
 bishopric of Osnaburgh, then secularized, 
 should be alternately possessed by a prince 
 of the catholic house of Bavaria, and the 
 protestant house of Brunswick Lunen- 
 burgh. It is somewhat remarkable, on the 
 score of dates, that the Bavarian family 
 enjoyed but one presentation between the 
 death nf Ernest Augustus, duke of York, 
 in 1728, and the presentation of his great, 
 great, great nephew, the lamented prince 
 whose loss, in 1827, is so deeply and justly 
 deplored. 
 
 W. P. 
 
 British throne, there is a name in the 
 genealogy of the Guelphs eonraected with- 
 the title of York. 
 
 Until the time of Gibbon, the learned 
 were inclined to ascribe to Azo, the great 
 patriarch of the house of Este, a direct 
 male descent from Charlemagne: the bril- 
 liant result of this able investigator's re- 
 searches prove, in Azo's behalf, four cer- 
 tain lineal ascents, and two others, highly 
 probable, 
 
 " from the pure well of Italian uudefiled." 
 
 OTHO, EARL OF YORK. 
 
 More than five centuries before a prince 
 of the house of Brunswick sat on the 
 
 Azo, marquis or lord of Tuscany, mar- 
 ried Cunegunda, a daughter of a Guelph, 
 who was also sister of a Guelph, and heir- 
 ess of the last Guelph. The issue of this 
 alliance was Guelph I., who, at a time be- 
 fore titles were well settled, was either 
 duke or count of Altdorff. He was suc- 
 ceeded by his son, Henry the Black, who 
 married Wolfhildis, heiress of Lunenburgh, 
 and other possessions on the Elbe, which 
 dc-scended to their son, Henry the Proud, 
 who wedded Gertrude, the heiress of Sax- 
 ony, Brunswick, and Hanover. These 
 large domains centered in their eldest 
 son, Henry the Lion, who married Maud, 
 daughter of Henry IL, king of England, 
 and, in the conflicts of the times, lost all 
 his possessions, except his allodial territo- 
 ries of Lunenburgh, Brunswick, and Hano- 
 ver. The youngest son of this marriage 
 was William of Wirichester, or Longsword, 
 from whom descended the dukes of Bruns- 
 wick and Lunenburgh, in Germany, pro- 
 genitors to the house of Hanover. His 
 elder brother, Otho, is said to have borne 
 the title of York. 
 
 This Otho, duke of Saxony, the eldest 
 son of Henry the Lion, and Maud, was 
 afterwards emperor of Germany ; but pre- 
 vious to attaining the imperial dignity, he 
 was created earl of York by Richard I., king 
 Cif England, who, according to some authori- 
 ties, subsequently exchanged with Otho, 
 and gave him the earldom of Poictou for 
 that of York. Otlio's relation to this king- 
 dom, as earl of York, and grandson of 
 Henry 11., is as interesting as his fortunes 
 were remarkable. 
 
 The emperor, Henry VI., having died, 
 and left his son, Frederick, an infant three 
 months old, to the care of his brother 
 Philip, duke of Suabia ; the minority of 
 Frederick tempted pope Innocent to divest 
 the house of Suabia of the imperial crown, 
 and he prevailed on certain piincesto elect 
 Otho, of Saxony, emperor: other princes 
 reelected the infant P>ederick. The con- 
 tention continued between the rival candi- 
 
 49 
 
THE lA BLE BOOR. 
 
 dates, With repeated elections. Otho, by 
 flattering the clergy, obtained himself to be 
 crowned at Hume, and assumed the title of 
 Otho IV. ; but some of his followers having 
 been killed by the Roman citizens he me- 
 ditated revenge, and instead of returning to 
 Germany, reconquered certain possessions 
 usurped from the empire by the pope. For 
 this violence Otho was excommunicated 
 by the holy father, who turned his influ- 
 ence in behalf of the youthful Frederick, 
 and procured him to be elected emperor 
 instead. Otho had a quarrel with Philip 
 Augustus, king of France, respecting an old 
 wager between them. Philip, neither be- 
 lieving nor wishing that Otho could attain 
 the imperial dignity, had wagered the best 
 city in his kingdom against whichever he 
 should select of Otho's baggage horses, if 
 he carried his point. After Otho had 
 achieved it, he seriously demanded the city 
 of Paris from Philip, who quite as seriously 
 refused to deliver up his capital. War 
 ensued, and in the decisive battle of 
 Bovines, called the " battle of the spurs," 
 from the number of knights who perished, 
 Philip defeated Otho at the head of two 
 hundred thousand Germans. The imperial 
 dragon, which the Germans, in their wars, 
 were accustomed to plant on a great armed 
 chariot with a guard chosen from the 
 flower of the army, fell into the hands of 
 the victors, and the emperor himself barely 
 escaped at the hazard of his life. This 
 battle was fought in August, 1215 ; and 
 Otho, completely vanquished, retreated 
 upon his devotions, and died in 1218, 
 without issue.* 
 
 The wager, in its consequences so dis- 
 astrous to the Germans, and so illustrious 
 to the French arms, was made with Philip 
 while Otho was passing througli France on 
 his way from the court of Engiuiid. Col- 
 lectors of " engraved British portraits," and 
 the portraits of persons who " come into 
 England," should look to this. How many 
 illustrated " Grangers " are there with a 
 poitrait of Otho IV., earl of York? 
 
 THE DUKES OF YORK. 
 I. 
 
 Edmund Plantagenet, surnamed De 
 Langley, from his birth-place, fifth son of 
 king Edward III., was first created earl of 
 Cambridge by his father, and afterwards 
 created duke of York by his nephew, 
 Richard II. He was much influenced by 
 
 • Hist, of House of Austria Rapin. Fa vine. 
 
 his brother, the duke of Gloucester; and 
 an historian of the period calls him " a soft 
 prince." It is certain that he had few stir- 
 ring qualities, and that passive virtues were 
 not valued in an age when they were o* 
 little service to contending parties. Ir 
 1402, three years after the accession of 
 Henry IV., he died at his manor of Lang- 
 ley, and was interred in the priory there. 
 
 11. 
 
 Edward Plantagenet, second duke of 
 York, was son of the first duke, grandson 
 to Edward III., and great uncle to Henry 
 v., by whose side he valiantly fought and 
 perished, in the field of Agincourt, October 
 25, 1415. 
 
 III. 
 
 Richard Plantagenet, third duke of York, 
 nephew of the second duke, and son of 
 Richard earl of Cambridge, who was exe- 
 cuted for treason against Henry V., was 
 restored to his paternal honours by Henry 
 VI., and allowed to succeed to his uncle's 
 inheritance. As he was one of the most 
 illustrious by descent, so he became one of 
 the most powerful subjects through his 
 dignities and alliances. After the death oi 
 the duke of Bedford, the celebrated regent 
 of France, he was appointed to succeed 
 him, and with the assistance of the valorous 
 lord Talbot, afterwards earl of Shrewsbury, 
 maintained a footing in the French territo- 
 ries upwards of five years. The incapacity 
 of Henry VI. incited him to urge his claim 
 to the crown of England in right of his 
 mother, through whom he descended from 
 Philippa, oniy daughter of the duke of 
 Clarence, second son to Edward III. ; 
 whereas the king descended from the 
 duke of Lancaster, third son of that mo- 
 narch. The duke's superiority of descent, his 
 valour and mildness in various high em- 
 ployments, and his immense possessions, 
 derived through numerous successions, gave 
 him influence with the nobility, and pro- 
 cured him formidable connections. He 
 levied war against the king, and without 
 material loss slew about five thousand of 
 the royal forces at St. Alban's, on the 2'<.'d 
 of May, 1452. This was the first blood 
 spilt in the fierce and fatal quarrel between 
 the rival houses of York and Lancaster, 
 which lasted thirty years, was signalized by 
 twelve pitched battles, cost the lives of 
 eighty princes of the blood, and almost 
 annihilated the ancient nobility of England 
 After this battle, the duke's irresolutiot'l, and 
 the heroism of Margaret, queen of Henrv 
 VI., caused a susper-sion of hostilities 
 
 50 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The leaders on both sides assented to meet 
 in London, and be solemnly reconciled. 
 The duke of T[!ork led the queen in solemn 
 procession to St. Paul's, and the chiefs of 
 one party marched hand in hand with the 
 ciuefs of the other. It was a public de- 
 monstration of peace, with secret mutual 
 distrust; and an accident aroused the slum- 
 bering strife. One of the king's retinue in- 
 sulted one of the earl of Warwick's; their 
 companions fought, and both parties in 
 every county flew to arms. The battle of 
 Bloreheath, in Staffordshire, 23d Septem- 
 ber, 1459, was won by the Lancastrians. 
 At the battle of Northampton, 10th July, 
 1560, the Yorkists had the victory, and the 
 king was taken prisoner. A parliament, 
 summoned in the king's name, met at 
 Westminster, which the duke of York at- 
 tended; and, had he then seated himself on 
 the throne in the House of Lords, the 
 deadly feud might have been ended by his 
 being proclaimed king ; but his coolness and 
 moderation intimidated his friends, and en- 
 couraged his enemies. His personal cou- 
 rage was undoubted, but he was deficient 
 in political courage. The parliament de- 
 liberated, and though they declared the 
 duke's title indefeasible, yet they decided 
 that Henry should retain the crown during 
 life. They provided, however, that till the 
 king's decease the government should be 
 administered by the duke, as the true and 
 lawful heir of the monarchy ; and in this 
 arrangement Richard acquiesced. Mean- 
 while, queen Margaret, with her infant son, 
 appealed to the barons of the north against 
 the settlement in the south, and collected 
 an army with astonishing celerity. The 
 duke of York hastened with five thousand 
 troops to quell what he imagined to be the 
 beginning of an insurrection, and found, 
 near Wakefield, a force of twenty thousand 
 men. He threw himself into Sandal castle, 
 but with characteristic bravery, imagining 
 he should be disgraced by remaining be- 
 tween walls in fear of a female, he descended 
 mto the plain of Wakefield on the 24th of 
 December, and gave battle to the queen, 
 who largely outnumbering his little army, 
 defeated and slew him; and his son, the 
 earl of Rutland, an innocent youth of seven- 
 teen, having been taken prisoner, was mur- 
 dered in cold blood by the lord de Clifford. 
 Margaret caused the duke's head to be cut 
 off, and fixed on the gates of the city of 
 York, with a paper crown on it in derision 
 of his claim. He perished in the fiftieth 
 year of his age, worthy of a better fate. 
 IV. 
 Edward Plantagenet, fourth duke of 
 
 York, eldest son of the last, prosecuted his 
 father's pretensions, and defeated the earl 
 of Pembroke, half brother to Henry VI., 
 at Mortimer's Cross, in Herefordshire. 
 Shortly afterwards, queen Margaret ad- 
 vanced upon London, and gained a victory 
 over the Yorkists under the earl of War- 
 wick, at the second battle of St. Alban's, 
 and, at the same time, regained possession 
 of the person of her weak husband. Pressed 
 by the Yorkists, she retreated to the north 
 and the youthful duke, remarkable for 
 beauty of person, bravery, affability, and' 
 every popular quality, entered the capital 
 amidst the acclamations of tlie citizens. 
 Elated by his success, he resolved to openly 
 insist on his claim, and treat his adversaries 
 as rebels and traitors. On the 3d of March, 
 1460, he caused his army to muster in St. 
 John's Fields, Clerkenwell ;: and after an 
 harangue to the multitude surrounding his 
 soldiery, the tumultuary crowd were asked 
 whether they would have Henry of Lan- 
 caster, or Edward, eldest son of the late 
 duke of York,, for king. Their " sweet 
 voices" were for the latter; and this show 
 of popular election was ratified by a great 
 number of bishops, lords, magistrates, and 
 other persons of distinction, assembled for 
 that purpose at Baynard's Castle. On the 
 morrow, the duke went to St. Paul's and 
 offered, and had Te Deum sung, and was 
 with great royalty conveyed to Westmin- 
 ster, and there in the great hall sat in the 
 king's seat, with St. Edward's sceptre in 
 his hand. On the 29th of March, 1461, he 
 fought the fierce and bloody battle of Tow 
 ton, wherein he issued orders to give no 
 quarter, and there were above thirty-six 
 thousand slain. This slaughter confirmed 
 him king of England, and he reigned up- 
 wards of twenty years under the title oi 
 Edward IV., defiling his fame and power 
 by effetninacy and cruelty. The title or 
 York merged in the royal dignity. 
 
 Richard Plantagenet, of Shrewsbury, 
 fifth diuVe o{ York, son of Edward IV^, was 
 murdered in the tower while young, with 
 his elder brother, Edward V., by order of 
 their uncle, the duke of Gloucester, after- 
 wards Richard III. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Henry Tudor, sixth duke of York, was 
 so created by his father Henry VII., whom 
 he succeeded as king, under the title of 
 Henry VIII., and stained our annals with 
 heartless crimes. 
 
 51 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 VIL 
 
 Charles Stuart, seventh duke of York, 
 was second son of James I., by whom he 
 was created to that titte in 1604, and whom 
 he succeeded in the throne as Charles I. 
 
 vTir. 
 
 James Stuart, a younger son of Charles T., 
 was the eighth duke of York. While bear- 
 ing this title during the reign of his brother 
 Charles II., he manifested great personal 
 courage as a naval commander, in several 
 actions with the Dutch. Under the title of 
 James II., he incompetently tilled the 
 throne and weakly abdicated it. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Ernest Augustus Guelph, ninth duke of 
 fork, duke of Albany, earl of Ulster, and 
 bishop of Osnaburgh, was brother to George 
 Lewis Guelph, elector of Hanover, and 
 king of England as George I., by letttrs 
 from whom, in 1716, he was dignified as 
 above, and died in 1 728, unmarried. 
 
 X. 
 
 Edward Augustus, tenth duke of York, 
 ■hike of Albany, and e»rl of Ulster, was 
 ■iecood son of Frederick prince of Wales, 
 ind brother to king George III., by whom 
 ae was created to those titles. He died at 
 Monaco, in Italy, September 17, 1767, un- 
 married. 
 
 XI. 
 THE LATE DUKE OF YORK. 
 
 Frederick, eleventh Duke of York, was 
 orother of His Majesty King George IV., 
 and second son of his late Majesty King 
 George III , by whom he was advanced to 
 the dignities of Duke of the Kingdom of 
 Great Britain, and of Earl of the Kingdom 
 of Ireland, by the titles of Duke of York 
 and of Albany in Great Britain, and of Earl 
 of Ulster in Ireland, and presented to the 
 Bishopric of Osnaburgh. His Royal 
 Highness was Commander-in-Chief of all 
 the Land Forces of the United Kingdom, 
 Colonel of the First Regiment of Foot 
 Guards, Colonel-in-chief of the 60th Regi- 
 ment of Infantry, Officiating Grand Master 
 of the Order of the Bath, High Steward of 
 New Windsor, Warden and Keeper of the 
 New Forest Hampshire, Knight of the 
 Garter, Knight of the Order of the Holy 
 Ghost in France, of the Black Eagle in 
 Russia, the Red Eagle in Prussia, of St. 
 Maria Theresa in Austria, of Charles III. 
 in Spain, Doctor of Civil Law, and Fellow 
 ot the Royal Society. 
 
 The late duke of York was born on the 
 
 16th of August, 1763; he died on the 5th 
 of January," 1827. A ^ew miscellaneous 
 memoranda are extracted from journals o< 
 the dates they refer to. 
 
 The duke of York was sent to Germany 
 to finish his education. On the 1st of 
 August, 1787, his royal highness, after 
 having been only five days on the road from 
 Hanover to Calais, embarked at that port, 
 on board a common packet-boat, for Eng- 
 land, and arrived at Dover the same after- 
 noon. He was at St. James's-palace the 
 following day by half-past twelve o'clock; 
 and, on the arrival of the prince of Wales 
 at Carlton-house, he was visited by the 
 duke, after an absence of four years, which, 
 far from cooling, had increased ihe affection 
 of the royal brothers. 
 
 On the 20th of December, in the same 
 year, a grand masonic lodge was held at 
 the Star and Garter in Pall-mall. The 
 duke of Cumberland as grand-master, the 
 prince of Wales, and the duke of York, were 
 in the new uniform of the Britannic-lodse, 
 and the duke of York received another de- 
 gree in masonry ; he had some time before 
 been initiated in the first mysteries of the 
 brotherhood. 
 
 On the 5th of February, 17^8, the duke 
 of York appeared in the Court of King's 
 Bench, and was sworn to ^ive evidence 
 before the grand jury of Middlesex, on an 
 indictment for fraud, in sending a letter to 
 his royal highness, purporting to be a letter 
 from captain Morris, requesting the loan of 
 forty pounds. The grand jury found the in- 
 dictment, and the prisoner, whose name 
 does not appear, was brought into court by 
 the keeper of Tothill-fields Bridewell, and 
 pleaded not guilty, whereupon he was re- 
 manded, and the indictment appointed to 
 be tried in the sittings after the following 
 term ; but there is no account of the triaf 
 having been had. 
 
 In December of the same year, the duke 
 ordered two hundred and sixty sacks Oi 
 coals to be distributed among the families 
 of the married men of his regiment, and 
 the same to be continued during the seve- 
 rity of the weather. 
 
 In 1788, pending the great question of 
 the regency, it was contended on that side 
 of the House of Commons from whence 
 
 52 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 extension of royal prerogative was least ex- 
 pected, that from the moment parliament was 
 made acquainted with the king's incapacity, 
 a right attached to the prince of Wales to 
 exercise the regal functions, in the name of 
 iiis father. On the 15th of December, the 
 duke of York rose in the House of Lords, 
 and a profound silence ensued. His royal 
 highness said, that though perfectly unused 
 as he was to speak in a public assembly, 
 vet he could not refrain from offering his 
 sentiments to their lordships on a subject 
 in which the dearest interests of the country 
 were involved. He said, he entirely agreed 
 with the noble lords who had expressed 
 their wishes to avoid any question wliich 
 tended to induce a discussion on the rights 
 of the prince. Tiie fact was plain, that no 
 such chiim of right had been made on tlie 
 part of the prince; and he was confident 
 that his royal highness understood too well 
 the sacred principles which seated the house 
 of Brunswick on the throne of Great Bri- 
 tain, ever to assume or exercise any power, 
 ^e his claim ivhat it might, not derived from 
 the will of the people, expressed by their 
 representatives and their lordships in parlia- 
 ment assembled. On this ground his royal 
 highness said, that he must be permitted to 
 hope that the wisdom and moderation of all 
 considerate men, at a moment when temper 
 and unanimity were so peculiarly necessary, 
 on account of the dreadful calamity winch 
 every description of persons must in com- 
 mon lament, but which he more par- 
 ticularly felt, would make them wish to 
 avoid pressing a decision, wliich certainly 
 was not necesf;ary to the great object ex- 
 pected from parliament, and which must be 
 most painful in the discussion to a family 
 already sufficiently agitated and afflicted. 
 His royal highness concluded with saying, 
 that these were the sentiments of an honest 
 heart, equally influenced by duty and affec- 
 tion to his royal father, and attachment to 
 the constitutional rights of his subjects ; 
 and that he was confident, if his royal bro- 
 ther were to address them in his place as a 
 peer of the realm, that these were the senti- 
 ments which he would distinctly avow. 
 
 His majesty in council having declared 
 his consent, under the great seal, to a con- 
 tract of matrimony between his royal high- 
 ness the duke of York and her royal high- 
 ness the princess Frederique Charlotte 
 Ulrique Catherine of Prussia, eldest daugh- 
 ter of the king of Prussia, on the 29lh of Sep- 
 tember, 1791, the marriage ceremony was 
 performed at Berlin. About six o'clock 
 in the afternoon all the persons of the blood 
 
 royal assembled in gala, in the apartments 
 of the dowager queen, where the diamond 
 crown was put on the head of princess 
 Frederica. The generals, ministers, ambas- 
 sadors, and the high nobility, assembled in 
 the white hall. At seven o'clock, the duke of 
 York, preceded by the gentlemen of the 
 chamber, and the court officers of state, led 
 the princess his spouse, whose train was 
 carried by four ladies of the court, through 
 all the paiade apartments; after them went 
 the king, with the queen dowager, prince 
 Lewis of Piussia, with the reigning queen, 
 and others of the royal family to the white 
 hall, where a canopy was erected of crimson 
 velvet, and also a crimson velvet sofa fur 
 the marriage ceremony. The royal couple 
 placed themselves under the canopy, before 
 the sofa, the royal family stood round 
 them, and the upper counsellor of the con- 
 sistory, Mr. Sack, made a speech in German. 
 This being over, rings were exchanged ; and 
 the illustrious couple, kneeling on the 
 sofa, were married according to the rites 
 of the reformed church. The whole ended 
 with a prayer. Twelve guns, placed in the 
 garden, fired three rounds, and the bene- 
 diction was given. The new-married couple 
 then received the congratulations of the 
 royal family, and returned in the same 
 manner to the apartments, where the royal 
 family, and all persons present, sat down 
 to card-tables ; after which, the whol^ 
 court, the high nobility, and the ambassa- 
 dors, sat down to supper, at six tables. 
 The first was placed under a canopy of 
 crimson velvet, and the victuals served in 
 gold dishes and plates. The other five 
 tables, at which sat the generals, ministers, 
 ambassadors, all the officers of the court, 
 and the high nobility, were served in other 
 apartments. 
 
 During supper, music continued playing 
 in the galleries of the first hall, which im- 
 mediately began when the company entered 
 the hall. At the dessert, the royal table 
 was served with a beautiful set of china, 
 made in the Berlin manufactory. Supper 
 being over, the whole assembly repaired to 
 the white hall, where the trumpet, timbrel, 
 and other music were playing ; and the/am- 
 beau dance was begun, at \<'hich the minis- 
 ters of state carried the torches. With this 
 ended the festivity. The ceremony of the 
 re-marriage of the duke and duchess ot 
 York took place at the Queen's Palace, 
 London, on the 23d of November. 
 
 The duchess of York died on the 6th ol 
 August, 1820. 
 
 53 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The Dance of Torches. 
 
 As a note of illustration on this dance at 
 the Prussian nuptials of the duke and 
 duchess of York, reference may be had to 
 a sliglu mention of tlie same observance on 
 the marriage of the prince royal of Prussia 
 with tlie princess of Bavaria, in the Every- 
 Day Book, vol. i. p. 1551. Since that 
 irticle, 1 find moie descriptive particulars 
 if it in a letter from baion Bielfeld, 
 jjiving an account of the marriage of the 
 prince of Prussia with the princess of 
 Brunswick Wolfenbiittle, at Berlin, in 1742. 
 The baron was present at the ceremonial. 
 
 " A% soon as their majesties rose from 
 table, the whole company returned into the 
 white hall ; from whence the altar was re- 
 moved, and the room was illuminated with 
 fresh wax lights. Ihe musicians were 
 placed on a stage of solid silver. Six lieu- 
 tenant generals, and six ministers of state, 
 stood, each with a white wax torch in his 
 hand, ready to be lighted, in conformity to 
 a ceremony used in the German courts 
 an these occasions, which is called ' the 
 dance of torches,' in allusion to the torch 
 of ll)men. This dance was opened by the 
 new married pi'inceand princess, who made 
 the tour cf the hall, saluting the king and 
 the company. Before them went the minis- 
 ters and the generals, two and two, with 
 iheir lighted torches. The princess then 
 gave her hand to the king, and the prince 
 to the queen ; the king gave his hand to 
 tiie queen mother, and the reigning queen 
 to prince Henry; and in this manner all 
 the princes and princesses that were pre- 
 sent, one after the other, and according to 
 heir rank, led up the dance, making the 
 our of the hall, almost in the step of the 
 Polognese. The novelty of this perform- 
 ince, and the sublime quality of the per- 
 'brmers, made it in some degree agreeable. 
 ■Jiheiwise the extreme gravity of the dance 
 Itself, with the continual round and forma) 
 )ace of the dancers, the frequent going out 
 .f the torches, and the clangour of the 
 iiumpets that rent the ear, all these I say 
 •lade it too much resemble the dance of 
 he Sarmates, those ancient inhabitants of 
 he prodigious woods of this country." 
 
 On the 7th of June, 1794, about four 
 .('clock in the morning, a fire broke out at 
 .he duke of York's palace at Oatlands. It 
 be»an in the kitchen, and Avas occasioned 
 Dv a beam which projected into the chim- 
 ney, and communicated to the roof. His 
 "oval higbness's armoury was in tliat wing 
 .^fthe building where the fire commenced, 
 
 in which forty pounds of gunpowder lein^ 
 deposited, a number of most curioui war- 
 like instruments, which his royal highness 
 had collected on the continent, were de- 
 stroyed. Many of the guns and other 
 weapons were presented from the king 
 of Prussia, and German officers of dis- 
 tinction, and to each piece was attached its 
 history. By the seasonable exertions of iht 
 neighbourhood, the flames were prevented 
 from spreading to the main part of the 
 building. The duchess was at Oatlands at 
 the time, and beheld the conflagration from 
 her sleeping apartment, in the centre of the 
 mansion, from which the flames were pre- 
 vented communicating by destroying agate- 
 way, over the wing that adjoined to the 
 house. Her royal highness gave her orders 
 with perfect composure, directed abundant 
 refreshment to the people who were extin- 
 guishing the flames, and then retired to the 
 rooms of the servants at the stables, which 
 are considerably detached from the palace. 
 His majesty rode over from Windsor-castle 
 to visit her royal highness, and staid witii 
 her a considerable time. 
 
 On the 8th of .April, 1808, whilst the 
 duke of York was riding for an airing alonj^ 
 the King's-road towards Fulham, a drover's 
 dog crossed, and barked in fiont of the 
 horse. The animal, suddenly rearing, fell 
 backwards, with the duke under him ; and 
 the horse rising, with the duke's foot in the 
 stirrup, dragged him along, and did him 
 further injury. When extricated, the duke, 
 with great cheerfulness, denied he was 
 much hurt, yet two of his ribs were broken, 
 the back of his head and face contused, and 
 one of his legs and arms much bruised. A 
 gentleman in a hack chaise immediately 
 alighted, and the duke was conveyed in it 
 to Yoik-lio»ise, Piccadilly, where his royal 
 highness was put to bed, and in due time 
 recovered to the performance of his active 
 duties. 
 
 On the 6th of August, 1815, the duke of 
 York, on coming out of a shower-bath, at 
 Oatlands, fell, from the slippery state of the 
 oilcloth, and broke the large bone of his 
 left aim, half way between the shoulder 
 and the elbow-joint. His royal higbness's 
 excellert constitution at that lime assisted 
 the surgeons, and in a fortnight he age in 
 attended to business. 
 
 On the 11th of October, in the same 
 year, his royal higbness's library, at his 
 
 54 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 orfice m the Horse-guards consisting of the 
 best military authors, and a \ery extensive 
 collection of maps, were removed to his 
 new library (late her majesty's) in the 
 Green-park. The assemblage is the most 
 perfect collection of works on military 
 affairs in the kingdom. 
 
 It appears, from the report of the com- 
 missioners of woods, forests, and land 
 revenues, in 1816, that the duke of York 
 purchased of the commissioners the follow- 
 ing estates: 1. The manor of Byfieet and 
 Weybridge, with Byfleet or Weybridge- 
 paik, and a capital messuage and offices, 
 and other messuages a.id buildings there. 
 2. The manor of Walton Leigh, and divers 
 messuages and lands therein. 3. A capital 
 messuag-e called Brooklands, with offices, 
 gardens, and several parcels of land, situat- 
 ed at Weybridge. 4. A farm-house, and 
 divers lands, called Brooklands-farm, at 
 Weybridge. 5. A messuage and lands, 
 called Childs, near Weybtidge. 6. Two 
 rabbit-warrens within the manor of Byfleet 
 and Weybridge. To this property was to 
 be added all lands and premises allotted to 
 the preceding by virtue of any act of enclo- 
 sure. The sale was made to his royal 
 highness in May, 1809, at the price of 
 £74,459. 3*.; but the money was permitted 
 to remain at the interest of 34 per cent, till 
 the 10th of June. 1815, when the principal 
 and interest (amountinsf, after the deduc- 
 tion of property-tax, and of the rents, which, 
 during the interval, had been paid to the 
 crown, to £85,1 35. 5s. 9d.) were paid into 
 the Bank of England, to the account of the 
 commissioners for the new street. His 
 royal highness also purchased about twenty 
 acres of land in Walton, at the price of 
 £1294. 2*. 3d. 
 
 While the duke was in his last illness, 
 members on both sides of the House of 
 Commons bore spontaneous testimony to 
 his royal highness's impartial administration 
 of his high office as commander-in-chief; 
 and united in one general expression, that 
 no political distinction ever interfered to 
 prevent the promotion of a deserving officer. 
 
 A statement in bishop Watson's Me- 
 moirs, is a tribute to his royal highness's 
 reputation. 
 
 " On the marriage of my son in August, 
 1805, I wrote," says the bishop, " to the 
 duke of York, requesting his royal high- 
 ness to give him his protection. I felt a 
 consciousness of having, through life, che- 
 rished a warm attachment to the house of 
 
 Brunswick, and to those principles which 
 had placed it on the throne, and of having 
 on all occasions acted an independent and 
 honourable part towards the governniCnt of 
 the country, and I therefore thought myself 
 justified in concluding my letter in the fol- 
 lowing terms : — ' 1 know not in what esti- 
 mation your royal highness may hold my 
 repeated endeavours, in moments of dan- 
 ger, to support the religion and the consti- 
 tution of the country ; but if I am fortunate 
 enough to have any merit with you on that 
 score, I earnestly request your protection 
 for my son I am a bad courtier, and know 
 little of the manner of soliciting favours 
 through the intervention of others, but I 
 feel that I shall never know how to forget 
 them, when done to myself; and, under 
 that consciousness, I beg leave to submit 
 myself 
 
 * Your Royal Highness's 
 
 ' Most grateful servant, 
 
 ' R. Landaff. 
 " I received a very obliging answer by the 
 return of the post, and in about two months 
 my son was promoted, without purchase, 
 from a majority to a lieutenant-colonelcy 
 in the Third Dragoon Guards. After hav- 
 ing experienced, for above twenty-four 
 years, the neglect of his majesty's ministers, 
 I received great satisfaction from this at- 
 tention of his son, and shall carry with me 
 to my grave a most grateful memory of his 
 goodness. I could not at the time forbear 
 expressing my acknowledgment in the 
 following letter, nor can I now forbear in- 
 serting it in these anecdotes. The whole 
 transaction will do his royal highness no 
 discredit with posterity, and I shall ever 
 consider it as an honourable testimony of 
 his approbation of my public conduct. 
 
 ' Calgarth Park, Nov. 9, 1805.' 
 
 ■ ' Do, my lord of Canterbury, 
 
 But one good turn, and he's your friend for ever.' 
 
 ' Thus Shakspeare makes Henry VIH. 
 speak of Cranmer ; and from the bottom of 
 my heart, I humbly entreat your royal 
 highness to believe, that the sentiment is 
 as ajiplicable to the bishop of Landaff as it 
 was to Cranmer. 
 
 ' The bis dat qui cito dat has been most 
 kindly thought of in this promotion of my 
 sou ; and I know not which is most dear 
 to my feelings, the matter of the obligation, 
 or the noble manner of its being conferred. 
 I sincerely hope your royal highness will 
 pardon this my intrusion, in thus expressing 
 my most grateful acknowledgments for 
 them both 
 
 *R. Landaff.' " 
 
 f>5 
 
THE TABLE BOOK, 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 D^AR SiK, 
 
 It is not unknown to you, that about 
 sixteen years since I published " Speci- 
 mens of English Dramatic Poets, who 
 lived about the Time of Sliakspeare." For 
 the scarcer Plays I had recouise to the 
 Collection bequeathed to the British Mu- 
 seum by Mr. Garrick. But my time was 
 out short, and my subsequent leisure has 
 discovered in it a treasure rich and ex- 
 haustless beyond what I then imagined. 
 In it is to be Ibund almost every production 
 in the shape of a Play that has appeared in 
 print, from the time of the old Mysteries 
 and Moralities to the days of Crown and 
 D'Urfey. Imagine the luxury to one like 
 me, who, above every other form of Poetry, 
 have ever preferred the Dramatic, of sitting 
 in the princely apartments, for such they 
 are, of poor condemned Montagu House, 
 vvriich I predict will not speedily be fol- 
 lowed by a handsomer, and culling at will 
 the flower of some thousand Dramas. It is 
 like having the range of a Nobleman's Li- 
 jbrary, with the Librarian to your friend. 
 Nothing can exceed the courteousness and 
 attentions of the Gentleman who has the 
 chief direction of the Reading Rooms here; 
 and you have scarce to ask for a volume, 
 before it is laid befoie yoa. If the occa- 
 sional Extracts, which I have been tempted 
 to bring away, may find an appropriate 
 place in your Table Book, some of them 
 are weekly at your service. By those who 
 remember the " Specimens," these must be 
 considered as mere after-gleanings, supple- 
 mentary to that work, only comprising a 
 longer oeriod. You must be content with 
 sometimes a scene, sometimes a song; a 
 speech, or passage, or a poetical image, as 
 they happen to strike me. I read without 
 order of time ; I am a poor hand at dates ; 
 and for any biography of the Dramatists, 
 I must rtifer to writers who are more skil- 
 ful in such matters. My business is with 
 their poetry only. 
 
 Your well-wisher, 
 
 C. Lamb. 
 
 January, 27, 1827. 
 
 (Warrick M^^^- 
 
 No. L 
 [From '• iving John and Matilda," a Tra- 
 gedy by Robert Davenport, acted in 
 165LJ 
 
 John, not being able to bring Matilda, 
 the chaste daughter of the old Baron Fitz- 
 water, to compliance with his wishes 
 causes her to be poisoned in a nunnery. 
 
 Scene. John. The Barons : they being 
 as yet ignorant of the murder, and 
 having just come to composition with 
 the King after tedious wars. Matilda' 
 hearse is brought in by Hubert. 
 
 John. Hubert, interpret this apparition. 
 
 Hubert. Behold, sir, 
 A sad-writ Tragedy, so feelingly 
 Jjanguaged, and cast; with such a crafty cruelty 
 Contrived, and acted; that wild sa rages 
 Would weep to lay their ears to, and (admiring 
 To see themselves outdone) they would conceive 
 Their wildness mildness to this deed, and call 
 Men more than savage, themselves rational. 
 And thou. Fitzwater, reflect upon thy name* 
 And turn the Son of Tears. Oh, forget 
 That Cupid ever spent a dart upon thee ; 
 That Hymen ever coupled thee ; or that ever 
 The hasty, happy, willing messenger 
 Told thee thou had'st a daughter. OK look here 
 Look here. King John, and with a trembling eye 
 Read your sad act, Matilda's tragedy. 
 
 Barons. Matilda ! 
 
 Fitzwater. By the laboring soul of a much-icjuied 
 man. 
 It is my child Matilda! 
 
 Bruce. Sweet niece ! 
 
 Leicester. Chaste soul ! 
 
 John. Do I stir, Chester ? 
 Good Oxford, do 1 move ? stand I not still 
 To watch when the griev'd friends of wrong"d Matilda 
 Will with a thousand stabs turn me to dust. 
 That in a thousand prayers they might be happy? 
 Will no one do it? then give a mourner room, 
 A man of tears. Oh immaculate Matilda, 
 These shed but sailing heat-drops, misling showers 
 The faint dews of a doubtful April morning; 
 But from mine eyes ship-sinking cataracts. 
 Whole clouds of waters, wealthy exhalations. 
 Shall fall into the sea of my affliction. 
 Till it amaze the mourners. 
 
 Hubert . Unmatch'd Matilda ; 
 Celestial soldier, that kept a fort of chastity 
 'Gainst all temptations. 
 
 Fitzivater. Not to be a Queen, 
 Would she break her chaste vow. Truth crowns your 
 
 reed ; 
 Vnmatch'd Matilda was her name indeed. 
 
 * Fitzwater r son of water. A striking instance of 
 the compatibility of the serious pun with tlie expression 
 of the profoundest sorrows. Grief, as well as joy, finds 
 ease in thus playing with a word Old John of Gaunt 
 in Shakspeare thus descants on his name : " Gaunt, and 
 gaunt indeed;" to a long string of conceits, which no 
 one has ever yet felt as ridiculous. The poet Wither 
 thus, in a mournful review of the declining estate ol 
 his family, says with deepest nature; — 
 
 The very name of Wither shows decay. 
 
 56 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 . chn. tase into your spirit-piercitiE praise 
 My scene of sorrow. ! lave well-clad woes, 
 t'athetic epithets to illiistraie passion, 
 Vnd steal true tears so sweetly from all these, 
 ihall touch the soul, and at once oierce and please. 
 
 IPeruses the Motto and Emblems on the hearse. | 
 ■' To Piety and Puritv" — and " Lillies mix'd with 
 
 Roses" — 
 How well you have apparell'd woe ! this Pendant, 
 To Piely and Purity directed. 
 Insinuates a chaste soul m a clean body. 
 Virtue's white Virgin, Chastity's red Martyr 
 Suffer me then witti this well-suited wreath 
 To make our griefs ingenious. Let all be dumb 
 Whilst the king speaks her Kpicedium. 
 
 Chester. His very soul speaks sorrow. 
 
 Oxford. And it becomes him sweetly. 
 
 John. Hail Maid and Martyr I lo on thy breast. 
 Devotion's altar, chaste Truth's nest, 
 I offer (as my guilt imposes) 
 Thy merit's laurel, Lillies and Reses 
 Lillies, intimating plain 
 Thy immaculate life, stuck with no stain 
 Roses red and sweet, to tell 
 How sweet red sacrifices smell. 
 Hang round then, as you walk about this hearse. 
 The songs of holy hearts, sweet virtuous v-erse. 
 
 Fitzwatar. Bring Persian silks, to deck 'her monu- 
 ment ; 
 
 John. Arabian spices, quick'ning by their scent ; 
 
 Fitzwater. Numidiau marble, to preserve her praise, 
 
 John. CorinUiian ivory, her shape to praise ; 
 
 Fitzwater. And write in gold upon it. In this breast 
 Virtue sate mistress. Passion but a guest. 
 
 John. Virtue is sweet; and, since griefs bitter be. 
 Strew her with roses, and give rue to me. 
 
 Bruce. My noble brother, I've lost a wife and son ;* 
 You a sweet daughter. Look on the king's peuitenc-. 
 His promise for the public peace. Prefer 
 A public benefit. t When it shail please. 
 Let Heaven question him. Let us secure 
 And quit the land of Lewis.J 
 
 Fitzwater. Do any thing , 
 Do all things that are honorable; and the Great King 
 Make you a good king, sir! and when your »oui 
 Shall at any time reflect upon your follies. 
 Good King Jolin, weep, weep very heartily ; 
 It will become you sweetly. At your eyes 
 Vour sin stole in ; there pay your sacririce. 
 
 John. Back unto Dunmovv Abbey. There we'll pa) 
 To sweet Matilda's memory, and her sufferings, 
 A monthly obsecjuy, which (sweet'ned by 
 The wealthy woes of a tear-tronbled eye) 
 Shall by those sharp afflictions of my face 
 Court mercy, and make grief arrive at grace. 
 
 • Also cruelly slain by the poisoning Jolin. 
 
 (• i. e. of peace ; \vhich this monstrous act of John's 
 •n this plav comes to counteract, in the same way as 
 the disnovered Death of Prince Arthur is like to break 
 the composition of the King with his Barons in Shak- 
 «peare's Play. 
 
 t The Dauphin of France, whom they had called in, 
 as ir Shakiipeare's Play 
 
 Simq. 
 Matilda, now go taKe thy bed 
 In the dark dwellings of the dead ; 
 And rise in the great waking day 
 Sweet as incence, fresh as May. 
 
 Rest there, chaste soul, fix'd in thy proper sphere. 
 
 Amongst Heaven's fair ones ; all are fair ones there. 
 
 Rest there, chaste soul, whilst we here troubled sav ; 
 
 Time gives us griefs, Death takes our joys away. 
 
 This scene has much passirn and poetrx 
 in it, if I mistake not. The last words oi 
 Fitzwater are an instance of noble tempe- 
 rament; but to understand him, the clia- 
 racter throughout of this mad, merry, feel- 
 ing, insensible-seeming lord, should be 
 read. That the venomous John could have 
 even counterfeited repentance so well, is 
 out of nature; but supposing the possi- 
 bility, nothing is truer than the way in 
 which it is managed. These old play- 
 wrights invested their bad characters with 
 notions oF good, which could by no pos 
 sibility have coexisted with their actions 
 Without a soul of goodness in himself, hov 
 could Shakspeare's" Richard the Third havr 
 lit upon those sweet phiases and induce 
 ments by which he attempts to win ovei 
 the dowager queen to let him wed her 
 daughter. It is not Nature's nature, but 
 Imagination's substituted nature, which 
 does almost as well in a fiction, 
 (To be continued.) 
 
 ILitrrature. 
 
 Glances at New Books on my Table. 
 
 "Constable's Miscellany of original 
 and selected Pn/jlications" is proposed to 
 consist of various works on important and 
 popular subjects, with the view of supply- 
 ing certain chasms in the existing stock of 
 useful knowledge; and each author or sub- 
 ject is to be kept separate, so as to enable 
 purchasers to acquire all the numbers, oi 
 volumes, of each book, distinct from the 
 others. The undertaking commenced in 
 the first week of the new year, 1827, with the 
 first number of Captain Basil Halls voyage 
 to Loo-Choo, and the complete volume o 
 that work was published ;vt the same tima 
 
 " Eakly Metrical T att.s, including thi 
 Histori/ of Sir Egeir, Sir Gryme, and Sii 
 Grny-Steill.'" Edinb. 1826. sm. 8vo. 9.v. 
 (175 copies printed.) The most remarkable 
 poem in this elegant volume is the rart 
 Scottish romance, named in the title-page, 
 which, accordinsj to its present editor 
 " would seem, along with the poems oi sir 
 
 57 
 
THE TABLE iiUUK. 
 
 David Lindsay, and the histories of Robert 
 the Bruce, and of sir William Wallnce, to 
 iiave formed the standard productions of 
 the vernacular literature of the country." 
 In proof of this he adduces several au- 
 thorities ; " and yet it is remarkable enough, 
 that every ancient copy should have hitherto 
 eluded the most active and unremitting 
 research." The earliest printed edition is 
 presumed to have issued fiom the press of 
 Thomas Bassandyne, " the first printer of 
 the sacred Scriptures in Scotland." An 
 inventory of his goods, dated 18th October, 
 1577, contains an item of three hundred 
 " Gray Steillis," valued at the " pece \id. 
 summa £vii. \. o." Its editor would 
 willingly give the sum-total of these three 
 hundred copies for " one of the said Graij- 
 Sfeillis, -were he so fortunate as to meet 
 with it." He instances subsequent editions, 
 but the only copy he could discover was 
 printed at Aberdeen in 1711, by James 
 Nicol, printer to the town and university ; 
 and respecting this, which, though of so 
 recent date, is at present unique, " the 
 editor's best acknowledgments are due to 
 his friend, Mr. Douce, for the kind manner 
 m which he favoured him with the loan of 
 the volume, for the purpose of repub- 
 lication." On the 17th of April, 1497, when 
 ■lames IV. was at Stirling : there is an entry 
 in the treasurer's accounts, " Item, that 
 samyn day to twa Sachelaris that .^ang- Gray 
 Steil to the King, ix,s." In MS. collec- 
 tions made at Aberdeen in 1627, called a 
 " Booke for the Lute," by Robert Gordon, 
 is the air of " Gray-Steel ;" and a satirical 
 poem in Scottish rhyme on the marquis of 
 Argyle, printed in 1686, is "appointed to 
 be sung according to the tune of old Gray 
 Steel." These evidences that the poem 
 was sung, manifest its popularity. There 
 are conjectures as to who the person de- 
 nominated Sir Gray Steel really was, but 
 the point is undetermined. 
 
 In this volume there are thirteen poems. 
 1. Sir Gray-Steill above spoken of 2. 
 The Tales of the Priests of Pcblis, wherein 
 the three priests of Peebles, having met to 
 regale on St. Bride's day, agree, each in 
 turn, to relate a story. 3. Ane Godl e 
 Dreame, by lady Culross. 4. History of 
 a Lord and his three Sons, much resembling 
 the story of Fortunatus. 5. The Ring of 
 the Roy Robert, the printed copies of 
 which have been modernized and cor- 
 rupted. 6. King Estmere, an old romantic 
 tali,'. 7. The Battle of Harlaiv, considered 
 by its present editor "as the original of 
 father a numerous class of Scotish histo- 
 rical ballads." 8. Lichtoun's Dreme, 
 
 printed for the fust time fVom the Ban- 
 natyne MS. 1568. 9. The Murning 
 Maiden, a poem " written in the Augustan 
 age of Scotish poetry." 10. The Epistill 
 of the Hermeit of Jlareit, a satire on the 
 Grey Friers, by Alexander earl of Glencairn. 
 11. Roswall and Lillian, a " pleasant his- 
 tory," (chanted even of late in Edinburgh,) 
 from the earliest edition discovered, printed 
 in 1603, of which the only copy known is 
 in the Advocates' Library, from the Rox- 
 burghe sale. 12. Poem by Glassinberry, 
 a name for the first time introduced into 
 the list of early Scotish poets, and the 
 poem itself printed from " Gray's MS." 
 13. Sir John Barleycorn, from a stall-copy 
 printed in 1781, with a few corrections, 
 concerning which piece it is remarked, that 
 Burns's version " cannot be said to have 
 greatly improved it." There is a vignette 
 to this ballad, " designed and etched by 
 the ingenious young aitist, W. Geikie," of 
 Edinburgh, from whence I taKC the liberty 
 to cut^ figure, not for the purpose of convey- 
 ing an idea of this " Allan-a-Maut,'' who 
 is surrounded with like " good ' company 
 by Mr. Geikie's meritorious pencil, but tt-. 
 extend the knowledge of Mr. Geikie's name, 
 who is perfectly unknown to me, except 
 through the single print 1 refer to, which 
 compels me to express warm admiration of 
 his correct feeling, and assured talent. 
 
 Besides Mr. Geikie's beautiful etching, 
 there is a frontispiece by W. H. Lizars 
 from a design by Mr. C. Kirkpatrick 
 Sharpe, and a portrait of Alexander earl OT 
 Eglintoune 1670, also by Mr. Lizars, from 
 a curiously illuminated parchment in th 
 possession of the present earl. 
 
 1 
 
 58 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 SAYING NOT MEANING. 
 
 By William Basil Wake. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Two gentlemen their appetite had fed. 
 
 When, opening his toothpick-case, one said, 
 
 " It was not until lately that I kne\v 
 
 That anchovies on terra firraa grew." 
 
 " Grew 1" cried the other, " yes, they grow, indeed. 
 
 Like other fish, but not upon the land; 
 Yon might as well say grapes grow on a reed, 
 Or in the Strand 1" 
 
 " Why, sir," retum'd the irritated other, 
 " My brother. 
 When at Calcutta, 
 Beheld them boni fide growing; 
 
 He wouldn't utter 
 A lie for love or money, sir; so in 
 This matter you are thoroughly mistaken." 
 " Nonsense, sir ! nonsense ! I can give no credit 
 To the assertion — none e'er saw or read it; 
 
 Your brother, like his evidence, should be shaken.' 
 
 " Be shaken, sir '. let me observe, you are 
 
 Perverse — in short — " 
 " Sir," said the other, sucking his cigar. 
 And tlieu his port — 
 ■' If you will say impossibles are tme. 
 
 You may affirm just any thing you please — 
 That swans are quadrupeds, and lions blue. 
 
 And elephants inhabit Stilton cheese ! 
 Only you m "--rfi me to believe 
 
 vVhafs propagate- ..lerely to deceive." 
 
 • Then you force me to say, sir, you're a fool," 
 
 Return'd the bragger. 
 fjanguage like this no man can suffer cool ; 
 It made the listener stagg"r ; 
 So, thunder-stricken, he at once repiiel, 
 
 " The traveli t":^ 
 Who had the impudence to tell it you." 
 " Zounds ! then d'ye mean to swear before my fai-e 
 That anchovies don't grow like cloves and mace ?" 
 " 1 do !" 
 
 Disputants often after hot debates 
 Leave the contention as they fomd it — bone, 
 
 .Vnd take to duelling, or thumping tetes ; 
 Thinking, by strength of artery, to atone 
 
 For strength of argument; and he who winces 
 
 From force cf words, with force of arms convinces ! 
 
 With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint. 
 Seconds, and smelling-bottles, and forebodmg. 
 Our friends advanced ; and now portentous loading 
 Their hearts already loaded) serv'd to show 
 
 it might be better they shook hands— but no ; 
 When each opines himself, though frighten'd, right. 
 Each is, in courtesy, oblig'd to tight ! 
 
 Vnd they did fight : from six full measured paces 
 The unbeliever pull'd his trigger first; 
 
 And 'taring, from the braggart's ugly faces, 
 The whizzing lead had whizz'd it.s very worst. 
 
 Ran up, and with a duelistic tear, 
 
 (His ire evanishing like morning TBponrs.j 
 
 'i'oiind him possess'd of one remaining ear, 
 
 Who, in a manner sudden and uncouth. 
 
 Had given, not lent, the other ear to truth: 
 
 For, while the surgeon was applying lint. 
 
 He, wriggling, cried — " The deuce is in't — 
 
 Sirl I meant — capers!" 
 
 Cl)aracttr£J. 
 
 THE OLD GENTLEMAN. 
 
 Our old gentleman, in order to be ex- 
 clusively himself, must be either a widower 
 or a bachelor. Suppose the former. We 
 do not mention his precise age, which would 
 be invidious; — nor whether he wears his 
 own hair or a wig ; which would be want' 
 ing in universality. If a wig, it is a com- 
 promise between the more modern scratch 
 and the departed glory of the toupee. II 
 his own hair, it is white, in spite of his 
 favourite grandson, who used to tiet on the 
 chair behind him, and pull the silver hairs 
 out, ten years ago. If he is bald at top, 
 the hair-dresser, hovering and breathing 
 about him like a second youth, takes care 
 to give the bald place as much powder as 
 the covered; in order that he may convey, 
 to the sensorium within, a pleasing indis- 
 tinctness of idea respecting the exact limits 
 of skin and hair. He is very clean and 
 neat ; and in warm weather is proud o( 
 opening his waistcoat half way down, and 
 letting so much of his frill be seen ; in 
 order to show his hardiness as well as taste. 
 His WHtch and shirt-buttons are of the 
 best ; and he does not care if he has two 
 rings on a finger. If his watch ever failed 
 him at the club or coffee-house, he would 
 take a walk every day to the nearest clock 
 of good character, purely to keep it riuht. 
 He has a cane at home, but seldom uses it, 
 on finding it out of fashion with his elderly 
 juniors. He has a small cocked hat for 
 gala days, which he lifts higher from his 
 head than the round one, when made a bow 
 to. In his pockets are two handkerchiefs, 
 (one for the neck at night-time,) his spec- 
 tacles, and his pocket-book. The pocket- 
 book, among other thing?, contains a re- 
 ceipt for a cough, and some verses cut out 
 of an odd sheet of an old magazine, on the 
 lovely duchess of A., beginning — 
 
 When beauteous Mira walks the plain. 
 
 He intends this for a common-place book 
 which he keeps, consisting of passages in 
 verse and prose cut out of newspapers and 
 magazines, and pasted in columns ; somf 
 
 59 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 of tlK.rn rather s^ay. His principal other 
 books are Shakspeaie's Plays and Milton's 
 Paradise Lost; the Spectator, the History 
 of England ; the works of Lady M. W. 
 Montas;ue, Pope, and Churchill; Middle- 
 ton's Geogiaphy, the Gentleman's Maga- 
 zine; Sir John Sinclair on Longevity; 
 several plays with portraits in character; 
 Account of Elizabeth Canning, Memoirs 
 of George Ann Bellamy, Poetical Amuse- 
 ments at Bath-Easton, Blair's Works, Ele- 
 gant Extracts; Junius as originally pub- 
 lished; a few pamphlets on the American 
 War and Lord George Gordon, &c. and 
 one on the French Revolution. In his 
 sitting rooms are some engravings from 
 Hogarth and Sir Joshua; an engraved por- 
 trait of the Marquis of Granby ; ditto of 
 M. le Comte de Grasse surrendering to 
 Admiral Rodney ; a humorous piece after 
 Penny ; and a portrait of himself, painted 
 by Sir Joshua. His wife's portrait is in his 
 chamber, looking upon his bed. She is a 
 little girl, stepping forward with a smile 
 and a pointed toe, as if going to dance. 
 He lost her when she was sixty. 
 
 The Old Gentleman is an early riser, 
 because he intends to live at least twenty 
 years longer. He continues to take tea for 
 breakfast, in spite of what is said against 
 its nervous effects ; having been satisfied 
 on that point some years ago by Dr. John- 
 son's criticism on Hanway, and a great 
 liking for tea previously. His china cups 
 and saucers have been broken since his 
 wife's death, all but one, which is religi- 
 ously kept for his use. He passes his 
 morning in walking or riding, looking in at 
 auctions, looking after his India bonds or 
 some such money securities, furthering 
 some subscription set on foot by his excel- 
 It^nt friend sir John, or cheapening a new 
 old print for his portfolio. He also hears 
 of the newspapers ; not caiing to see them 
 till after dinner at the coffee-house. He 
 may also cheapen a fish or so ; the fish- 
 monger soliciting his doubting eye as he 
 passes, with a profound bow of recognition. 
 He eats a pear before dinner. 
 
 His dinner at the coffee-house is served 
 up to him at the accustomed hour, in the 
 old accustomed way, and by the accustomed 
 waiter. If William did not bring it, the 
 fish would be sure to be stale, and the flesh 
 new. He eats no tart; or if he ventures 
 on a little, takes cheese with it. You might 
 a> soon attempt to persuade him out of his 
 se.'.ses, as that cheese is not good for diges- 
 tion. He takes port; and if he has drank 
 more than usual, and m a more private 
 place, may be induced by some respectful 
 
 inquiries respecting the old style of music, 
 to sing a song composed by Mr. Oswald or 
 Mr, Lampe, such as — 
 
 Chloe, by that borrowed kiss, 
 or 
 
 Come, gentle god of soft repose ; 
 
 or his wife's favourite ballad, beginning — 
 
 At Upton on the Hill 
 There lived a happy pair. 
 
 Of course, no such exploit can take place 
 in the coffee-room ; but he will canvass the 
 theory of that matter there with you, or 
 discuss the weather, or the markets, or the 
 theatres, or the merits of " my lord North" 
 or " my lord Rockingham ;'' for he rarely 
 says simply, lord; it is generally "my 
 lord," trippiirgly and genteelly off the 
 tongue. If alone after dinner, his great 
 delight is the newspaper; whi^h he pre- 
 pares to read by wiping his spectacles, 
 carefully adjusting them on his eyes, and 
 drawing the candle close to him, so as to 
 stand sideways betwixt his ocular aim and 
 the small type. He then holds the paper at 
 arm's length, and dropping his eyelids half 
 down and his mouth half open, takes cog- 
 nizance of the day's information. If he 
 leaves off, it is only when the door is open- 
 ed by a new comer, or when he sus[)ects 
 somebody is over-anxious to get the paper 
 out of his hand. On these occasions, h<^ 
 gives an important hem I or so; and re- 
 sumes. 
 
 In the evening, our Old Gentleman is 
 fond of going to the theatre, or of having a 
 jjaiiie of cards. If he enjoy the latter at 
 his own house or lodgings, he likes to play 
 with some friends whom he has known for 
 m.any years; but an elderly stranger may 
 be introduced, if quiet and scientific; and 
 the privilege is extended to younger men 
 of letters ; who, if ill players, are good 
 losers. Not that he is a miser; but to win 
 money at cards is like proving his victory 
 by getting the baggage ; and to win of a 
 younger man is a substitute for his not 
 being able to beat him at rackets. He 
 breaks up early, whether at home or 
 abroad. 
 
 At the theatre, he likes a front row in the 
 pit. He comes early, if he can do so with- 
 out getting into a squeeze, and sits patiently 
 waiting for the drawing up of the curtain, 
 with his hands placidly lying one over the 
 other on the top of his stick. He gene- 
 rously admires some of the best performers 
 but thinks them far inferior to Garrick 
 Woodward, and Clive. During splendid 
 scenes, he is anxious that the little boy 
 should see. 
 
 to 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 He has been induced to look in atVaux- 
 hall again, but likes it still less than he did 
 years back, and cannot bear it in comparison 
 with llanelagh. He thinks every thing 
 looks poor, flaring, and jaded. " Ah !" 
 says he, with a sort of trinmjjhant sigh, 
 " Ranelagh was a noble place ! Such taste, 
 such elegance, such beauty ! There was the 
 duchess of A. the finest woman in England, 
 sir; and Mrs. L., a mighty fine creature; 
 and lady Susan what's her name, that had 
 that unfortunate affair with sir Charles. 
 Sir, they came swimming by you like the 
 wans." 
 
 The Old Gentleman is very particular in 
 having his slippers ready for him at the fire, 
 when he comes home. He is also extremely 
 choice in his snufF, and delights to get a 
 fresh box-full at Ghddon's, in King-street, in 
 his way to the theatre. His box is a curiosity 
 fiom India. He calls favourite young ladies 
 by their Christian names, however slightly 
 acquainted with them ; and has a privilege 
 also of saluting all brides, mothers, and 
 indeed every species of lady on the least 
 holiday occasion. If the husband for in- 
 stance has met with a piece of luck, lie 
 instantly moves forward, and gravely kisses 
 ihe wife on the cheek. The wife then says, 
 ■' My niece, sir, fiom the country ;" and he 
 kisses the niece. The niece, seeing her 
 cousin biting her lips at the joke, says, 
 " My cousin Harriet, sir;" and he kisses 
 the cousin. He never recollects such wea- 
 iher, except during the great frost, or when 
 he rode down with Jack Skrimshire to New- 
 market, lie grows young again in his little 
 grand-children, especially the one which he 
 thinks most like himself; which is the 
 handsomest. Yet he likes best perhaps the 
 one most resembling his wife; and will sit 
 with him on his lap, holding his hand in 
 silence, for a quarter of an hour together. 
 He plays most tricks with the former, and 
 makes him sneeze. He asks little boys in 
 general who was the father of Zebedee's 
 children. If his grandsons are at schotd, 
 he often goes to see them ; and makes them 
 blush by tellmg the master or the upper- 
 scholars, that they are fine boys, and of a 
 precocious genius. He is much struck 
 when an old acquaintance dies, but adds 
 that he lived too fast; and thst poor Bob 
 was a sad dog in his youth; " a very sad 
 dop-, sir, mightily set upon a short life and 
 a merry one.'' 
 
 When he gets very old indeed, he will 
 sit for whole evenings, and say little or 
 nothing; but informs you, that there is 
 Mrs. Jones (the housekeeper)^ — "She'll 
 talk." — Indicator. 
 
 A HAPPY MEETING. 
 
 And doth not a meeting like this make amends 
 
 For all the long years I've been wand'ring away, 
 To see thus around me my youth's early friends, 
 
 As smiling and kind as in tliat happy day ! 
 Ttiough haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine 
 
 The snow-fall of time may be stealing — what thet 
 Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine, 
 
 We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again. 
 
 What soften'd remembrances come o'er the heart. 
 
 In gazing on those we've been lost to so long ! 
 The sorrows, the joys, of which once thev were part 
 
 Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng 
 As letters some hand hath invisibly traced. 
 
 When held to the flame will steal out on the sight, 
 So many a feeling, that long seem'd effaced. 
 
 The warmtli of a meeting like this brings to light. 
 
 And thus, as in memory's bark, we shall glide 
 
 To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew, 
 Tho' oft we may see, looking down on the tide. 
 
 The wreck of full many a hope shining througli — 
 Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers 
 
 1'hatonce made a garden of all the gay shore, 
 Deceiv'd for a moment, we'll think them still ours. 
 
 And breath the fresh air of life's morning once more 
 
 So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most. 
 
 Is all we can have of the few we hold dear ; 
 And oft even joy is unheeded and lost, 
 
 For want of some heart that could echo it near. 
 Ah 1 well may we hope, when this short life is gone, 
 
 To meet in some world of more permanent bliss. 
 For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hast'ning on. 
 
 Is all we enjoy of each other in this. 
 
 But come — the more rare such delights to the heart. 
 
 The more we should welcome, and bless them th( 
 more — 
 They're ours when we meet — they're lost when we part 
 
 Jjike birds that bring summer, and fly when 'tis o'er 
 Tlius circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we drink. 
 
 Let Sympathy pledge us, thro' pleasure thro' pain, 
 That fast as a feeling but touches on« link, 
 
 Her magic shall send it direct through the chain. 
 
 Lines to his Cousin 
 
 UN THE NEW YEAR, 
 
 By a Westminster Boy. 
 
 Time rolls away! another year 
 
 Has rolled off with him ; hence 'tis ulea' 
 
 His lordship keeps his carnage • 
 A single man, no doubt; — and thus 
 Enjoys himself without the fuss 
 
 And great expense of marriage. 
 
 His whe-il still rolls (and like the nvrer 
 ■Which Hoi ace mentions) still for ever 
 Vulvitur et vubctur. 
 
 tu 
 
THE TABLK BOOK 
 
 In earn yon run apainst him; place 
 iour fleetest fiUv in thn rane,— 
 Here s ten to one he'll beat her. 
 
 Of all he sees, he takes a tithe. 
 
 With that tremendous sweeping scy he, 
 
 VVhich he keeps always going ; 
 While every step he takes, alas 1 
 Too plainly proves that^^sA is ijrass. 
 
 When he sets out a mowing. 
 
 And though his hungry ravenous maw 
 
 U crammed with food, both dress'd and raw, 
 
 Vl\ wager any betting, 
 His appetite has ever been 
 Just ''ke his scythe, sharp-set and keen. 
 
 Which never wanted whetting. 
 
 Could you but see the m'ghty treat 
 Prepared, when he sits down to eat 
 
 His breakfast or his dinner, — ah. 
 Not vegetable — flesh, — alooe, 
 but timber, houses, iron, sto.ie, 
 
 He eats the very china. 
 
 When maidens pray that he will spare 
 Their teeth, complexion, or their hair, 
 
 Alas I he'll never hear 'e.ii ; 
 Orey locks and wrinkles ho'irly show, 
 What Ovid told us years a^o, 
 
 Ut Tcmpus edax rerum I 
 
 In vain, my dearest girl, you choos« 
 (Your face to wash) Olympic dews ; 
 
 Id vain you paint or rouge it ; 
 He'll play such havoc with your you'h, 
 ihat ten years hence you'll say with trcth 
 
 Ah Kdward I — Tempus fugit I 
 
 The glass he carries in his hand 
 Has ruin in each grain of sand ; 
 
 But what I most deplore is, 
 He breaks the links of friendship's chain. 
 And barters youthful love for gain : 
 
 Uh, Tempora 1 oh. Mores 1 
 
 One sole exception you shall find, 
 ( Unius generis of its kind,) 
 
 Wlierever fate may steer us; 
 Tho' wide his universal range. 
 Time has no power the heart to cliange 
 
 Of your Amicus Verus. 
 
 Bath Herald. 
 
 GERMAN UNIVERSITIES. 
 
 Germany, which embraces a population 
 of thirty-six millions of people, has twenty- 
 two universities. The following table con- 
 tains their names according to the order of 
 their foundation, and the number of pro- 
 cessors and students: 
 
 Univeriities, 
 
 Prague. . 
 Vienna. . 
 Heidelberg 
 Warsbourg 
 Leipsig . , 
 Rostock . , 
 Fribourg. , 
 Griefswald. 
 Bale . . . . 
 Tubingen . 
 Marbourg . 
 Kcenisberg. 
 Jena . . . . 
 Giessen . . 
 Kiel . . . . 
 Halle . . . 
 Breslau . . 
 GcEtteni.:en. 
 Erlansren. . 
 Landshut . 
 Berlin . . . 
 Bonn. . . . 
 
 Of this number six belong to Prussia, three 
 to Bavaria, two to the Austrian States, two 
 to the Grand Duchy of Baden, two to the 
 Electorate of Hesse-Cassel, and one to each 
 of the following states— Saxony, Wurtein- 
 berg, Denmark, Hanover, the Grand 
 Duchies of Mecklenbergh-Schweren and of 
 Saxe- Weimar, and Switzerland. The total 
 number of professors is 1055, embracing 
 not only the ordinary and extraordinary pro- 
 fessors, but also the private lecturers, whose 
 courses of reading are announced in the 
 half-yearly programmes. Catholic Ger- 
 many, which reckons nineteen millions of 
 inhabitants, has only six universities; whiie 
 Protestant Germany, for seventeen riiilllons 
 of nih.abitants, has seventeen. Of the stu- 
 dents there are 149 for every 250,000 in 
 the Piotestant states, while there are only 
 6» for the same number in the Catholic 
 states. It must, however, be mentioned, 
 that this estimate does not take in those 
 Catholic ecclesiastics who do not pursue 
 their studies in the universities, but in 
 private seminaries.— The universities of 
 Paderborn and Munster, both beloncjing to 
 Prussia, and which had only two faculties, 
 those of theology and philosophy, were 
 suppressed; the first in 181 B, and the 
 second m 1819; but that of Munster has 
 been reestablished, with the three faculties 
 of theology, philosophy, and medicine 
 
 (J2 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 €OLLEY GIBBER'S YOUNGEST DAUGIiTELL 
 
 Last of her sire in do age — she was used 
 
 By hiin, as children use a fav'rite toy; 
 
 Indiilg'd, neglected, fondled, and abus'd, 
 
 As quick affection or capricious joy, 
 Or sudden humour of dislike dictated : 
 
 Thoughtlessly rear'd, she led a thoughtless I'fe.; 
 A nd she so well beloved became most hated : 
 A helpless mother, and a wife unblest, 
 
 She pass'd precocious womanhood in strife ; 
 Or, in strange hiding-places, without rest ; 
 
 Or, wand'ring in disquietude for bread : 
 Her fathei's curse— himself first cause of all 
 That caused his ban — sunk her in deeper thrall, 
 
 Stifling her heart, till sorrow and herself were dea 
 
 "THELTFBOFM[lS.Cri\.RLOTrE CUVRKB, 
 
 youngest daughter of CoUev Cibbn, E q., 
 written hy herself," is a carious a irracive 
 of remarkable vicissitudes. She dedicates 
 it to herself, and apdj concludes her dedi- 
 cation by sayini^, " Permit me, ma.lan, to 
 subscribe myself, for the fiuure, what I 
 ought to have been some years ago, your 
 
 real friend, aui humble servant, Ciiab- 
 
 LOTTB CEIA.RKE." 
 
 In the "Introduction '' to the recent re- 
 print of this singular work, it is well 
 observed, that "her Life will serve to sh )w 
 what very straui^e creatures may exist, and 
 the endless diversity of habits, tastes, and 
 inclinations, which may spriag up spoa- 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 63 
 
 F 
 
THE TABLE BOOK- 
 
 t-dneously, liKe weeds, in the hot-bed of 
 corrupt civilization." She was born when 
 Mrs. Gibber was forty-five years old, and 
 when both her father and mother had 
 ceased to expect an addition to their family : 
 the result was that Charlotte Gibber was a 
 spoiled child. She married Mr. Richard 
 Charke, an eminent violin player, of disso- 
 lute habits ; and, after a course of levities, 
 consequent upon the early recklessness of 
 her parents, she was repudiated by her 
 father. When she wrote her life, she was 
 in great penury : it was publislied in eight 
 numbers, at three-pence each. In the last, 
 which appeared on the 19th of April, 1 755, 
 she feelingly deplores the failure of her 
 att-empts to obtain forgiveness of her father, 
 and says, " I cannot recollect any crime I 
 have been guilty of that is unpardonable." 
 After intimating a design to open an orato- 
 rical academy, for the instruction of persons 
 going on the stage, she mentions her inten- 
 tion to publish " Mr. Uumont's history, 
 the first number of which will shortly make 
 its appearance.'' This was a novel she was 
 then writing, which a bookseller treated 
 with her for, in company with Mr. Samuel 
 "(Vhyte of Dublin, who thus describes her 
 distressed situation : — 
 
 ' Gibber the elder had a daughter named 
 Charlotte, who also took to the stage ; her 
 subsequent life was one continued series 
 of misfortune, afflictions, and distress, which 
 jhe sometimes contrived a little to alleviate 
 •^y the productions of her pen. About the 
 vear 1 755, she had worked up a novel for 
 'he press, which the writer accompanied 
 his friend the bookseller to hear read ; she 
 was at this time a widow, having been 
 married to one Charke a musician, long 
 iince dead. Her habitation was a wretched 
 thatched hovel, situated on the way to 
 Islington in the purlieus of ClerkenweH 
 Bridewell, not very distant from the New 
 Hiver Head, where at that time it was usual 
 for the scavengers to leave the cleansings 
 of the streets, &c. The night preceding 
 a heavy tain had fallen, which rendered 
 this extraordinary seat of the muses almost 
 inaccessible, so that in our approach we 
 got our white stockings enveloped with mud 
 up to the very calves, which furnished an 
 appearance much in the present fashionable 
 style of half-boots. We knocked at the 
 door, (not attempting to pul' the latch 
 ^irino',) which was opened by a tall, meagre, 
 ragged ligure, with a blue apron, indicating, 
 what else we might have doubted, the 
 feminine gender, — a perfect model foi the 
 copper captain's tattered landlady ; that 
 drplorable exhibition of the fair sex, in the 
 
 comedy of Rule-a-Wife. She with a torpio 
 voice and hungry smile desired us to 
 walk in. The first object that presented 
 itself was a dresser, clean, it must be con- 
 fessed, and furnished with three or foui 
 coarse delf plates, two brown platters, and 
 underneath an earthen pipkin and a black 
 pitcher with a snip out of it. To the right 
 we perceived and bowed to the mistress ol 
 the mansion sitting on a maimed chair 
 under the mantle-piece, by a fire, merely 
 sufficient to put us in mind of starving. Ou 
 one hob sat a monkey, which by way ol 
 welcome chattered at our going in ; on the 
 other a tabby cat, of melancholy aspect ! 
 and at our author's feet on the flounce of 
 her dingy petticoat reclined a dog, almost 
 a skeleton ! he raised his shagged head, and, 
 eagerly staring with his bleared eyes, sa- 
 luted us with a snarl. ' Have done, Fidele I 
 these are friends.' The tone of her voice 
 was not harsh ; it had something in it 
 humbled and disconsolate; a mingled effort 
 of authority and pleasure. — Poor soul ! few 
 were her visitors of that description — no 
 wonder the creature barked !. — A magpie 
 perched on the top ring of her chair, not an 
 uncomely ornament ! and on her lap was 
 placed a mutilated pair of bellows, the pipe 
 was gone, an advantage in their present 
 office, they served as a succedaneum for a 
 writing-desk, on which lay displayed her 
 hopes and treasure, the manuscript of hei 
 novel. Her ink-stand was a broken tea- 
 cup, the pen worn to a stump ; she had 
 but one ! a rough deal board with three 
 hobbling supporters was brought for our 
 convenience, on which, without farther 
 ceremony, we contrived to sit down and 
 entered upon businc'^s : — the work was read, 
 remarks made, alterations agreed to, and 
 thirty guineas demanded for the copy. The 
 squalid handmaiden, who had been an at- 
 tentive listener, stretched forward her tawny 
 length of neck with an eye of anxious ex 
 pectation ! — The bookseller offered five ! — 
 Our authoress did not appear hurt ; disap- 
 pointment? had rendered her mind callous: 
 however, some altercation ensued. Thi'- 
 was the writer's first initiation into the 
 mysteries of bibliopolism and the state ol 
 authorcraft. He, seeing both sides perti- 
 nacious, at length interposed, and at his 
 instance the wary haberdasher of literature 
 dnubled his first proposal, with this saving 
 proviso, that }:is friend present would pay 
 a moiety and run one half the risk ; which 
 was agrted to. Thus matters were accom 
 modated, seemingly to the satisfaction o! 
 all parties; the lady's original stipulation 
 of fifty copies for herself being previouslj 
 
 64 
 
THE TABLE BOUK. 
 
 acceded to. Such is the story of the once- 
 admired daughter of CoUey Gibber, Poet 
 Laureate and patentee of Drury-lane, who 
 was born in affluence and educated with 
 care and tenderness, her servants in livery, 
 and a splendid equipage at her command, 
 with swarms of time-serving sycophants 
 officiously buzzing in her train ; yet, un- 
 mindful of her advantages and improvident 
 in her pursuits, she finished the career of 
 her miserable existence on a dunghill."* 
 
 Mr. Whyte's account of the " read- 
 ing the manuscript," a subject worthy 
 of Wilkie's pencil, is designed to be 
 illustrated by the engraving at the head 
 of this article. Of Mrs. Charke, after that 
 interview^ nothing further is known, except 
 that she kept a public-house, at Islington, 
 and is said to have died on the 6th of 
 April, 1760.t Her brother Theophilus was 
 wrecked, and perished on his way to Dublin, 
 in October, 1758; her father died on the 
 1 2th of December, in the year preceding. 
 Her singular " Narrative " is printed ver- 
 batim in the seventh volume of " Auto- 
 biography," with the life of the late " Mary 
 Robinson," who was also an actress, and 
 also wrote her own " Memoirs." 
 
 AN INEDITED BALLAD. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Dear Sir, — A friend of mine, who resided 
 for some years on the borders, used to 
 amuse himself by collecting old ballads, 
 printed on halfpenny sheets, and hawked 
 up and down by itinerant minstrels. In 
 his common-place book I found one, en- 
 titled "The Outlandish Knight," evidently, 
 from the style, of considerable antiquity, 
 which appears to have escaped the notice 
 of Percy, and other collectors. Since then 
 I have met with a printed one, from the 
 popular press of Mr. Pitts, the six-yards- 
 for-a-penny song-publisher, who informs 
 me that he has printed it " ever since he 
 was a printer, and that Mr, Marshall, his 
 predecessor, printed it before him." The 
 ballad has not improved by circulating 
 amongst Mr. Pitts's friends ; for the heroine, 
 who has no name given her in my friend's 
 copy, is in Mr. Pitt's's called " Polly ;" and 
 there are expressions contra bonos mores. 
 These I have expunged ; and, to render the 
 ballad more complete, added a few stanzas, 
 wherein 1 have endeavoured to preserve 
 
 the simplicity of the original, of which I 
 doubt if a correct copy could now be ob- 
 tained. As it is, it is at the service of your 
 Table Book. 
 
 The hero of the ballad appears to be 
 of somewhat the same class as the hero oi 
 the German ballad, the "Water King'' 
 and in some particulars resembles the. 
 ballad of the " Overcourteous Knight," in 
 Percy's Reliques. 
 
 I am, dear sir, &c. 
 
 Grange-road, Bermondsey, Jan. 8, 1827, 
 
 The OuTLANmsH Knight, 
 
 -" Six go true. 
 
 * Whyto's Collection of Poems, second edition , 
 I Dublin, 1792. 
 I iog Dram. 
 
 The seventh askew." 
 
 Der Freischutt Travestie. 
 
 An outlandish knight from the north lands came, 
 
 And he came a wooing to me , 
 He told me he'd take me unto the north lands, 
 
 And I should his fair bride be. 
 
 A broad, broad shield did this strange knight wield, 
 
 Whereon did the red-cross shine. 
 Yet never, I ween^ had that strange knight been 
 
 In the fields of Palestine. 
 
 And out and spake this strange knight, 
 
 This knight of the north countrie, 
 O, maiden fair, with the raven hair. 
 
 Thou shalt at my bidding be. 
 
 Thy sire he is from home, ladye. 
 
 For he hath a journey gone. 
 And his shaggy blood-hound is sleeping sound. 
 
 Beside the postern stone. 
 
 Go, bring me some of thy father's gold. 
 
 And some of thy mother's fee, 
 And steeds twain of the best, in the stalls that rest 
 
 Where they stand thirty and three. 
 
 She mounted her on her milk-white steed. 
 
 And he on a dapple grey, 
 And they forward did ride, till they reaeh'd the sea-sWe 
 
 Three hours before it was day. 
 
 Then out and spake this strange knight. 
 
 This knight of the north countri'?, 
 0, maiden fair, with the raven harr. 
 
 Do thou at my bidding be. 
 
 Alight thee, maid, from thy milk-white steed, 
 
 And deliver it unto me ; 
 Six maids have I drown'd, where the billows sovmJ, 
 
 All I the peventh one thou shalt be. 
 
 lii.t first |iaO off thy kirtle fine. 
 
 And deli\ei it unto me; 
 '.riiy kti tie (i) green is too rich, I weoa. 
 
 To nil ii the salt, salt sea. 
 
 65 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 I'ull o£f. pull off thy silken slioon, 
 
 And deliver them unto me ; 
 Methinks that they are too fine and gay 
 
 To rot in the salt, salt sea. 
 
 Pull off, pull off thy bonnie green plaid. 
 
 That float* in the breeze so free ; 
 It is woven fine with the silver twine, 
 
 And comely it is to see. 
 
 If I must pull off my bonnie green plaid, 
 
 O turn thy back to me ; 
 And gaze on the sun which has just begun 
 
 To peer o'er the salt, salt sea. 
 
 He turn'd his back on the damoselle 
 
 And gaz'd on the bright sunbeam — 
 She grasp'd him tight with her arms so white. 
 
 And plung'd him into the stream. 
 
 Lie there, sir knight, thou false-hearted wight, 
 
 Lie there instead of me ; 
 Six damsels fair thou hast drown'd there, 
 
 But the seventh has drowned thee. 
 
 That ocean wave was the false one's grave. 
 
 For he sunk right hastily ; 
 Though with dying voice faint, he pray'd tO'his saint. 
 
 And utter'd an Ave Marie. 
 
 No mass was said for that false knight dead. 
 
 No convent bell did toll ; 
 But he went to his rest, unshriv'd and unble;rt — 
 
 Heaven's mercy on his soul! 
 
 She mounted her on her dapple-grey steed. 
 
 And led the steed milk-white ; 
 She rode till she reach'd her father's hall. 
 
 Three hours before the night. 
 
 The parrot, hung in the lattice so high. 
 
 To the lady then did say. 
 Some ruffian, 1 fear, has led thee from home, 
 
 Fcr thou hast been long away. 
 
 Do not prattle, my pretty bird. 
 
 Do not tell tales of me ; 
 ^.nd thy cage shall be made of the :glittering gold. 
 
 Instead of the greenwood tree. 
 
 The earl as he sat in his turret high. 
 
 On hearing the parrot did say. 
 What ails thee, what ails theei-my pretty bird ? 
 
 Thou hast prattled the live-long day. 
 
 Well may I prattle, the parrot replied. 
 
 And call, brave earl, on thee ; 
 For the cat has well nigh reach'd the lattice so high, 
 
 And her eyes are fix'd on me. 
 
 iVell turn'd, well turn'd, my pretty bird, 
 
 WeU turn'd, well turn'd for me ; 
 Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold. 
 
 Instead of thegreenwood tree. 
 
 PRIDE AND GOOD- WILL. 
 
 It is related of a certain class of Frencl; 
 nobility, who, in their winter residence a; 
 Aix, were objects of dislike from theii 
 arrogance and self-importance, that they 
 •were beloved and esteemed for their kind- 
 ness and benevolence by the dependant.- 
 around {heir chateaus in the country. Many 
 instances might be cited to show that the 
 respect paid them was no more than they 
 deserved ; and one is particularly strik- 
 ing : — 
 
 A seigneur, when he resided in the 
 country, used to distribute among the wo- 
 men and children, and the old men whi 
 were unable to work in the field, raw wool, 
 and flax, which they spun and wove into 
 cloth or stuff at their pleasure : every week 
 they were paid wages according to the 
 quantity of work done, and had a fresh 
 supply of raw materials whenever it was 
 wanted. At the end of the year, a general 
 feast was given by the seiii^'neur to the 
 whole village, when all who had been 
 occupied in spinning and vv'eaving brought 
 in tiieir work, and a prize of a hundred 
 Ijvres was given to each person who had 
 spun the best skein, and woven the best 
 web. They had a dinner in a field adjoin- 
 ing to the chateau, at which the seigneur 
 himself presided, and on each side of him 
 sat those who had gained the prizes. The 
 evening was concluded with a dance. The 
 victors, besides the hundred livres, had 
 their work given them : the rest were allow- 
 ed to purchase theirs at a very moderate 
 price, and the money resulting from it was 
 laid by to distribute among any persons ot 
 the village who wanted relief on account of 
 sickness, or who had sufl'ered from unavoid- 
 able accident, either in their persons or 
 property. At the death of this excellent 
 man, who unfortunately left no immediate 
 heirs to follow his good example, the vil- 
 lage presented a scene of the bitterest 
 lamentation and distress : the peasants as- 
 sembled round the body, and it was almost 
 forced away from them for interment. 
 They brousjht their shuttles, their distaffs, 
 their skeins of thread and worsted, their 
 pieces of linen and stuff, and strewed them 
 upon his grave, saying that now they had 
 lost their patron and benefactor, they couJd 
 no longer be of use to them. If this man 
 felt the pride of conscious superiority, it 
 was scarcely to be condemned when accom- 
 panied with such laudable exertions to 
 render himself, through that superiority, a 
 benefactor to society.* 
 
 * Miss Flumtree. 
 
 QQ 
 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 0nvvitk ^lapss. 
 
 No. II. 
 
 [From the " Parliament of Bees," a 
 Masque, by John Day, printed 1607. 
 Whether this smp;ular production, in 
 which the Characters are all Bees, was 
 ever acted, I have no information to 
 determine. It is at least as capable of 
 representation, as we can conceive the 
 " Birds " of Aristophanes to have 
 been.] 
 
 Ulania, a female Bee, confesses her pas- 
 sion for Meletus, who loves Arethusa. 
 
 not a village Fly, nor meadow Bee, 
 
 ITiat traSicks daily on tlie neighbour plain, 
 
 But will report, how all the Winged Train 
 
 Have sued to me for Love ; when we have flown 
 
 In swarms out to discover fields new blown. 
 
 Happy was he could find the forward'st tree, 
 
 And cull the choicest blossoms out for me; 
 
 Of all their labours they allow'd me some 
 
 And (like my champions) mann'd me out, and home : 
 
 Yet loved I none of them. Philon, a Bee 
 
 Well-skill'd in verse and amorous poetry. 
 
 As we have sate at work, both of one Rose,* 
 
 Has humm'd sweet Canzons, both in verse and prost, 
 
 Which I ne'er minded. Astrophel, a Bee 
 
 (Although not so poetical as he) 
 
 Yet in his full invention quick and ripe. 
 
 In summer evenings, on his well-timed pipa. 
 
 Upon a woodbine blossom in the sun, 
 
 (Our hive being clean-swept, and our day's work done) , 
 
 Would play me twenty several tunes ; yet I 
 
 Nor minded Astrophel, nor his melody. 
 
 Then there's Aranlter, for whose love fair Leade 
 
 (That prettv Bee) flies up and down the mead 
 
 With rivers in her eyes ; without deserving 
 
 Sent me trim Acorn bowls of his own carving. 
 
 To drink May dews and mead in. Yet none of these, 
 
 My hive-born Playfellows and fellow Bees, 
 
 Could I afi'ect, until this strange Bee came ; 
 
 And him I love with such an ardent flame, 
 
 Discretion cannot quench. — 
 
 He labours and tolls. 
 Extracts more honey out of barren soils 
 Than twenty lazy Drones. I have heard my Father, 
 Steward of the Hive, profess that he had rather 
 Lose half the Swarm than him. If a Bee, poor or weak. 
 Grows faint on his way, or by misfortune break 
 A wing or leg against a twig ; alive. 
 Or dead, he'll bring into the Master's Hive 
 Him and his burthen. But the other day. 
 On the next plain there grew a fatal fray 
 
 • Prettily pilfered from the sweet passage in the 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, where Helena recounts tr 
 Hermia their school-days' friendship: 
 
 We, Hermia, like two artificial Gods, 
 Created with our needles both one flower. 
 Both on one sampler, sitting on one cnsbion. 
 
 Betwixt the Wasps and us ; the wind grew nigh. 
 
 And a rough storm raged so impetuously. 
 
 Our Bees could scarce keep wing; then fell such rain 
 
 It made our Colony forsake the plain. 
 
 And fly to garrison : yet still He stood, 
 
 And 'gainst the whole swarm made his party good , 
 
 And at each blow he gave, cried out His Vow, 
 
 His Vow, and Arethusa I — On each bough 
 
 And tender blossom he engraves her name 
 
 With his sharp sting. To Arethusa's fame 
 
 He consecrates his actions ; all his worth 
 
 Is only spent to character her forth. 
 
 On damask roses, and the leaves of pines, 
 
 I have seen him write such amorous moving lines 
 
 In Arethusa's praise, as my poor heart 
 
 Has, when I read them, envied her desert ; 
 
 And wept and sigh'd to think that he should be 
 
 To her so constant, yet not pity me. 
 
 Porrex, Vice Roy of Bees under King 
 Oberon, describes his large prerogative. 
 
 To Us (who, warranted by Oberon's love. 
 
 Write Ourself Master Bee'), both field and grove. 
 
 Garden and orchard, lawns and flowery meads, 
 
 (Where the amorous wind plays with the golden heads 
 
 Of wanton cowslips, daisies in their prime. 
 
 Sin-loving marigolds ; the blossom'd thyme, 
 
 Tlie biue-vein'd violets and the damask rose ; 
 
 The stately lily. Mistress of all those) ; 
 
 Are allow' 'I and giv'n, by Oberon's free areed, 
 
 Paetore for me, and all my swarms to feed. 
 
 — the doings, 
 
 The births, the wars, the wooings, 
 of these pretty little winged creatures 
 are with continued liveliness portrayed 
 throughout the whole of this curious 
 old Drama, in words which Bees would 
 talk with, could they talk; the very air 
 seems replete with humming and buzzing 
 melodies, while we read them. Surely 
 Bees were never so be-rhymed before. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 BSiosrapftiral Jilnnorantia. 
 
 John Scot, a Fasting Fanatic 
 
 In the year 1539, there lived in Scotland 
 one John Scot, no way commended for his 
 learning, for he had none, nor for his good 
 Qualities, which were as few. This man, 
 being overthrown in a suit of law, and 
 knowing himself unable to pay that wherein 
 he was adjudg-ed, took sanctuary in the 
 abbey of Holy rood-house; where, out of 
 discontent, he abstained from all meat and 
 drink, by the space of thirty or forty days 
 together. 
 
 Fame having spiead this abroad, th 
 
 67 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 king would have it put to trial, and to that 
 effect shut him up in a private room within 
 the castle of Edinburgh, whereunto no 
 man had access. He caused a little water 
 and bread to be set by him, which he was 
 round not to have diminished in the end of 
 thirty days and two. Upon this he was 
 dismissed, and, after a short time, he went 
 io Home, where he gave the like ,proof of 
 !>is fasting to pope Clement VII.; from 
 whence he went to Venice, carrying with 
 him a testimony of his long fasting under 
 the pope's seal : and there also he gave the 
 like proof thereof. After long time, return- 
 ing into England, he went up into the 
 pulpit in St. Paul's Church-yard, where he 
 s^ave forth many speeches against the 
 •livorce of king Henry VIII. from his queen 
 Katherine, inveighing bitterly against him 
 for his defection from the see of Rome ; 
 whereupon he was thrust into prison, where 
 he continued fasting for the space of fifty 
 days : what his end was I read not. — Spots- 
 wood, S^c. 
 
 Hart the Astrologer. 
 There lived in Houndsditch, about the 
 year 1632, one Alexander Hart, who had 
 been a soldier formerly, a comely old man, 
 of good aspect, he professed questionary 
 astrology and a little of physic ; his greatest 
 ikill was to elect young gentlemen fit times 
 to play at dice, that they might win or get 
 money. Lilly relates that " he went unto 
 him for resolutions for three questions at 
 several times, and he erred in every one." 
 He says, that to speak soberly of him he 
 was but a cheat, as appeared suddenly 
 ifter ; for a rustical fellow of the city, 
 desirous of knowledge, contracted with 
 Hart, to assist for a conference with a 
 spirit, and paid him twenty pounds of thirty 
 pounds the contract. At last, after many 
 delays, and no spirit appearing, nor money 
 returned, the young man indicted him for a 
 cheat at the Old Bailey in London. The 
 ),ury fcund the bill, and at the hearing of 
 the cause this jest happened : some of the 
 bench inquired what Hart did ? " He sat 
 like an alderman in his gown," quoth the 
 fellow; at which th* court fell into a laugh- 
 ter, most of the court being aldermen. He 
 was to have been set upon the pillory for 
 this cheat; but Joh\i Taylor the water 
 poet being his great friend, got the lord 
 chief justice Richardson to bail him, ere he 
 stood upon the pillory, and so Hart fled 
 presently into Holland, where he ended bis 
 davs.* 
 
 • Autibio(rap''T' vol- >*• lolly's Lite. 
 
 REV. THOMAS COOKE. 
 
 The verses at the end of the following 
 letter may excuse the insertion of a query, 
 which would otherwise be out of place in a 
 publication not designed to be a channel 
 of inquiry. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — I should feel much obliged, if the 
 Table Book can supply some account of a 
 clergyman of the name of Thomas Cooke, 
 who, it is supposed, resided in Shropshire, 
 and was the author of a very beautiful 
 poem, in folio, (published by subscription, 
 about ninety years since,) entitled " The 
 Immortality of the Soul." I have a verv 
 imperfect copy of this work, and am de 
 sirous of ascertaining, from any of your 
 multifarious readers, whether or not the 
 poem ever became public, and where it is 
 probable I could obtain a glimpse of a per- 
 fect impression. Mine has no title-page, 
 and about one moiety of the work has 
 been destroyed by the sacrilegious hands of 
 some worthless animal on two legs ! 
 
 The list of subscribers plainly proves 
 that Mr. Cooke must have been a man oi 
 good family, and exalted conections. Oi> 
 one of the blank leaves in my copy, the 
 following lines appear, written by Mr. 
 Cooke himself; and, considering the tram- 
 mels by which he was confined, I think the 
 verses are not without merit ; at any rate, 
 the subject of them appears to have been a 
 beautiful creature. 
 
 By giving this article a place in the 
 Table Book, you will much oblige 
 
 Your subscriber and admirer, 
 G. J. D 
 Islington-green. 
 
 An Acrostic 
 
 On a most beautiful and accomplislieo 
 young Lady. London, 1748. 
 
 M eekoess — good-tiumoir — each trauscendent grace 
 
 I s seen conspicuous on thy joyous face ; 
 
 S weet's the carnation to the rambling bee, 
 
 S o art thon. Chablotte 1 always sweet to me ! 
 
 C an anght compare successfully with those 
 
 H igh beauties which thy countenance compose, 
 
 A 11 doubly heighten'd by that gentle mind. 
 
 B enown'd on earth, and prais'd by ev'ry wind? 
 
 L OT'd object 1 no — then let it be thy eare 
 
 O f fawning friends, at all times, to beware— 
 
 T o shun this world's delusions and disguise, 
 
 T he knave's soft speeches, and the flatt'rer"* lies. 
 
 £ Ateenting rirtue, and dit carding vice I 
 
 68 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 (J o where I may, howe'er remote the clime, 
 vV bere'er my feet may stray, thy charms sublime, 
 t Uustrious maid ! approv'd and prais'd by all, 
 Xj ike some enchantment shall my soul enthrall— 
 (> ight ev'ry path — illuminate my mind — 
 [ nspire my pen with sentiments refin'd — 
 A nd teach my tongue on this fond pray'r to dwell, 
 ' M ay Heav'n preserve the maid it loves so well!" 
 
 Thomas CooRE. 
 
 Varieties;. 
 
 CURIOUS PLAY BILL. 
 
 The following remarkable theatrical an- 
 nouncement is a mixed appeal of vanity 
 ind poverty to the taste and feelings of the 
 .iihabitants of a town in Sussex. 
 fCopy.J 
 
 At the old theatre in East Grinstead, on 
 Saturday, May, 1758, will be represented 
 (by particular desire, and for the benefit of 
 ■Vlrs. P.) the deep and affecting Tragedy 
 of Theodosius, or the Force of Love, with 
 magnificent scenes, dresses, &c. 
 
 Varanes, by Mr. P., who will strive, as 
 far as possible, to support the character of 
 this fiery Persian Prince, in which he was 
 so much admired and applauded at Hast- 
 mgs, Arundel, Petworth, Midworth, Lewes, 
 &c. 
 
 Theodosius, by a young gentleman from 
 the University of Oxford, who never ap- 
 peared on any stage. 
 
 Athenais, by Mrs. P. Though her pre- 
 sent condition will not permit her to wait 
 on gentlemen and ladies out of the town 
 with tickets, she hopes, as on former occa- 
 sions, for their liberality and support. 
 
 Nothing- in Italy can exceed the altar, in 
 the first scene of the play. Nevertheless, 
 should any of the Nobility or Gentry wish 
 to see it ornamented with flowers, the 
 bearer will bring away as many as they 
 slioose to favour him with. 
 
 As the coronation of Athenais, to be in- 
 troduced in the fifth act, contains a number 
 of personages, more than sufficient to fill 
 all the dressing-rooms, &c., it is hoped no 
 gentlemen and ladies will be offended at 
 being refused admission beiiind the scenes. 
 
 N. B. The great yard dog, that made 
 so much noise on Thursday night, during 
 the last act of King Richard the Third, 
 will be sent to a neighbour's over the way; 
 and on account of the prodigious demand 
 for places, part of the stable will be laid 
 into the boxes on one side, and the granary 
 be open for the same purpose on the other. 
 rival Res.* 
 
 It's never too iate to mend 
 
 At Chester, in the beginning of the yeai 
 1790, a reputable farmer, on the evening of 
 a market-day, called at the shop of Mr. 
 Poole, bookseller, and, desiring to speak 
 with him at the door, put a shillinjr into 
 his hand, telling him, " he had owed it to 
 him many years." The latter asked, for 
 what? To which the farmer replied, that 
 " When a boy, in buying a book-almanac 
 at his shop, he had stolen another — the re- 
 flection of which had frequently given him 
 much uneasiness." If any one who sees 
 this ever wronged his neighbour, let him be 
 encouraged by the courage of the farmer oi 
 Chester, to make reparation in like maimer, 
 and so make clean his conscience. 
 
 Conscience. 
 
 -There is no power in holy men. 
 
 Is'or charm in prayer — nor purifying form 
 Of penitence — nor outward look — nor fast — 
 Kor agony — nor, greater than all these. 
 The innate tortures of that deep despair. 
 Which is remorse without the fear of hell. 
 But all in all sufficient to itself 
 Would make a hell of heaven — can exorcise 
 From out the unbounded spirit, the quick sense 
 Of its own sins, wrongs, sufferance, and revenge 
 L'pon itself; there is no future pang 
 Can deal that justice on the self-condemn'd 
 He deals on his own soul. Byron. 
 
 Epitaph by Dr. Lowth, late bishop ol 
 London, on a monument in the church oi 
 Cudesden, Oxfordshire, to the memory oi 
 his daughter, translated from the Latin :— 
 
 Dear as thou didst in modest worth excel. 
 
 More dear than in a daughter's name — farewell! 
 
 Farewell, dear Mary — but the hour is nigh 
 
 When, if I'm worthy, we shall meet on high : 
 
 Then shall I say, triumphant from the tomb, 
 
 " Gome, to thy father's arms, dear Mary, came T' 
 
 INSCRIPTION 
 
 From the book at Rigi, in Switzerland. 
 
 Nine weary up-hill miles we sped 
 
 The setting sun to see ; 
 Sulky and grim he went to bed. 
 
 Sulky and grim went we. 
 
 Seven sleepless hours we past, aod (ben. 
 
 The rising sun to see, 
 Sulky and grim we rose again. 
 
 Sulky aad grim rose he. 
 
 Roaden't Life of Mrs Siddons. 
 
 m 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ANTIQUAEIAN HALL, alias WILL. WILL-BE-SO^ OF LYNN- 
 
 A goose-herd m the fen-landsi next, he 
 
 Be-doctor'd Norfolk cows ; much vext, he 
 
 Turn'd bookseller, and poetaster. 
 
 And was a tolerable master 
 
 Of title-pages, but his rhymes 
 
 Were shocking, at the best of times. 
 
 However, he was very honest. 
 
 And now, poor fellow, he is — " non est." 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 William Hall, or as he used to style 
 himself, " Antiquarian Hall," " Will. Will- 
 We-so," and " Low-Fen-Bill-Hall," or, as he 
 was more generaUy termed by the public, 
 " Oil Hall," died at Lynn, in Norfolk, on 
 the 24th of January, 1825. From some 
 curious autobiographical sketches in rhyme, 
 published by himself, in the decline of life, 
 it appears that he was born on June 1, O. S. 
 1748, at Willow Booth, a small island in 
 ihe fens of Lincolnshire, near Heckington 
 Ease, in the parish of South Kyme. 
 
 " Kyme, God knows. 
 Where no corn grows, 
 Nothing but a little hay ; 
 
 And the water comes. 
 And takes it all away." 
 
 His ancestors on the father's side were 
 ail " fen slodgers," having lived there for 
 many generations ; his mother was 
 
 " a half Yorkshire 
 
 The other half was Heckington, 
 Vulvar a ulace as and one.' 
 
 When about four) ears old, he narrowly 
 escaped drowning ; for, in his own words, 
 he 
 
 " overstretching took a slip, 
 
 And popp'd beneath a merchant's ship ;* 
 No soul at hand but me and mother; 
 Not could I call for one or other." 
 She, however, at the hazard of her own hie, 
 succeeded in saving her son's. At eleven 
 years old, he went to school, in Brothertoft 
 chapel, for about six months, in which time 
 be derived all the education he ever re- 
 ceived. His love of reading was so great, 
 that as soon as he could manage a gunning- 
 boat, he used to employ his Sundays either 
 in seeking for water-birds' eggs, or to 
 
 " shouve the boat 
 
 A catching fish, to make a gi-oat. 
 And sometimes with a snare or hook ; 
 Well, what was't for? — to bny a book, 
 Propensity so in him lay." 
 
 Before he arrived at man's estate, be lost 
 his mother, and soon afterwards his fathei 
 
 • A roal-liehter. 
 
 70 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 married again Will, himself, on arriving 
 at man's estate, married " Suke Holmes," 
 and became a " gozzard," or gooseherd ; 
 that is, a keeper and breeder of geese, for 
 which the fens were, at that time, famous 
 throughout the kingdom, supplying the 
 London markets with fowls, and the ware- 
 houses with feathers and quills. In these 
 parts, the small leathers- are plucked from 
 the live i^^eese five times a year, at Lady-tide, 
 Midsummer, Lammas, Michaelmas, and 
 Martinmas, and the larger feathers an 1 
 quills are pulled twice. Goslings even are 
 not spared, for it is thought that early 
 plucking tends to increase the succeeding 
 feathers. It is said that the mere plucking 
 hurts the fowl very little, as the owners ate 
 caieful not to pull until the feathers are 
 ripe : those plucked after the geese are 
 dead, are affirmed not to be so good. The 
 number of geese kept by Will, must have 
 been very great, for his " brood geese," 
 alone, required five coombs of corn for 
 daily consumption. 
 
 The inundations to which the fens were 
 then liable, from breaches, or overflowing 
 of the banks, overwhelmed him with ditKcu!.- 
 cies, and rumed his prospects. 
 
 '■' The poor old geese away were fioated, 
 Till some hig;h lands got lit'rally ooatnd ; 
 Nor did most peasants Ihink it diity 
 Them to preserve, but made their boo'y ; 
 And these who were ' not worth a goose,' 
 Cn other people's liv'd profuse." 
 After many vicissitudes and changes of 
 residence, he settled at Marshland, in Nor- 
 folk, where his wife practised phlebotomy 
 and midwifery, while he officiated as an 
 auctioneeer, cowleech, &c. &c. Indeed he 
 appeared to have been almost bred to the 
 doctoring profession, for his own mother 
 was 
 
 " a good' cow-dbctor. 
 
 And always doctor'd all her own. 
 Being cowleech both in flesh and bone." 
 
 His mother-in-law was no less skilful, 
 for in Will.'s words 
 
 ' She in live stock had took her cans. 
 And of recipes had ample share. 
 Which I retain unto this day." 
 
 His father-in-law was an equally eminent 
 practitioner; when, says Will., 
 
 " I married Sukey Holmes, her father 
 Did more than them put altogether. 
 Imparted all his skill to me, 
 Karrier, cowleech, and surgery. 
 All which he practised with success." 
 
 Will, tells of a remarkable and surprismg 
 accident, wliich clossd his career as a cow- 
 leech. 
 
 " The rheumatism, (dreadful charm. 
 Had fix'd so close in my left arm. 
 So violent throbb'd, that without stroUo 
 To touch — it absolutely broke 1 
 Went with a spring, made a report. 
 And hence in cowleech spoil'd my sport ; 
 Remain'd so tender, weak, and sore, 
 I never dare attempt it more." 
 
 Thus disqualified, he removed to Lynr 
 and opening a shop in Ferry-street, com- 
 menced his operations as a purchaser and 
 vender of old books,. odds and ends, and 
 old articles of various- descriptions; from 
 whence he obtained the popular appella- 
 tion of " Old Hall." On a board over the 
 door, he designated this shop the 
 
 " Antiquarian Eibrain," 
 
 and thus quaintly announced his establish 
 ment to the public : 
 
 " In Lynn, Ferry-street, 
 
 Where, should a stranger set his feet. 
 Just cast an eye, read ' Artiquary I' 
 Turn in, and but one hour tarry. 
 Depend upon't, to his surprise, sir. 
 He would turn out somewhat the wiser." 
 
 He had great opportunity to indulge in 
 " Bibliomania," for he acquired an exten- 
 s^ive collection of scarce, curious, and valu- 
 able books,, and became, in fact, the only 
 dealer in " old literature " at Lynn. He 
 versified on almost every occasion that 
 seemed opportune for giving himself and 
 his verses publicity ; and, in one of his 
 rhyming advertisements, he alphabetised 
 the names of ancient and modern authors, 
 by way of catalogue. In addition to hi>! 
 bookselling business, he continued to prac- 
 tise as an auctioneer. He regularly kept 
 a book-stall, &c. in Lynn Tuesday-market, 
 from whence he occasionally knocked down 
 his articifes to the best bidder ; and he an- 
 nounced his sales in his usual whimsical 
 style. His hand-bill,. on one of these occa- 
 sionSj runs thus-: 
 
 " Lynn, 19th September, 1810. 
 
 " First Tuesday in the next October, 
 Now do not doubt but we'll be sober I 
 If Providence permits us action. 
 You may depend upon 
 
 AN AUCTION, 
 
 At the stall 
 That's occupied by WILLIAM HALL. 
 To enumerate a task would be. 
 So best way is to come and see ; 
 But not to come too vague an errant. 
 We'll give a sketch which we will warrant. 
 
 " About one hundred books, in due lots. 
 And pretty near the game in shoe-lasts : 
 
 71 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 No conTersation strike the mind. 
 But of the lowest, vulgar kind ; 
 Five miles from either church or sch;>jj. 
 No coming there, but cross a pool ; 
 Kept twenty years upon that station. 
 With only six months' education 
 Traverse the scene, then weigh it well. 
 Say, could you better write or spell t" 
 
 One extracf, in prose, is an example ot 
 the disposition and powers of his almost 
 untutored mind, viz. 
 
 " No animation without generation seems 
 a standing axiom in philosophy : but upor 
 ■tasting the berry of a plant greatly resem 
 blin^ brooklime, but with a narrower leaf, 
 I found it attended with a loose fulsome- 
 ness, very different from any thing I had 
 ever tasted ; and on splitting one of them 
 with my nail, out sprang a fluttering mag- 
 got, which put me upon minute examina- 
 tion. The result of which was, that every 
 berry, according to its degree of maturity, 
 and " make a book," under the title of contained a proportionate maggot, up to 
 " The Low Fen Journal," to comprise " a the full ripe shell, where a door was plainly 
 chain of Incidents relating to the State of discerned, and the insect had taken its 
 the Fens, from the earliest Account to the flight. I have ever since carefully inspected 
 present Time." As a specimen of the work the herb, and the result is always the same, 
 he published, in the summer of 1812, an viz. if you split ten thousand of the berries, 
 octavo pamphlet of twenty-four pages, you discover nothing but an animated germ, 
 called a " Sketch of Local History," by It grows in shallow water, and is frequently 
 " If^ill. Will-be-so," announcing 
 
 Coatt, waistcoata, breechet, shining buttont. 
 Perhaps ten thousand leather cuttings. 
 Sold at per pouod, your lot but ask it. 
 Shall be weigh'd to you in a basket ; 
 Some lots of tools, to make a try oB, 
 About one hundred weight o'' iron ; 
 Scnlcs, earthenware, ann-chairs, a tea-urn. 
 Tea-chests, a herring-tub, and so on ; 
 With various more, that's our intention, 
 Which are too tedious here to mention. 
 
 " N. B. To undeceive, 'fore you come nigher. 
 The duty charg'd upon the buyer ; 
 And, should we find we're not perplext. 
 We'll keep it up the Tuesday next." 
 
 During repeated visits to his surviving 
 relatives in his native fens, he observed the 
 altered appearance of the scene from the 
 improved method of drainage. It had be- 
 come like " another world," and he re- 
 solved 
 
 • " to try 
 
 His talent for posterity ;" 
 
 accompanied with the water plantain. It; 
 berry is about the size of a red currant, and 
 comes on progressively, after the manner 
 of juniper in the berry: the germ is first 
 discoverable about the middle of July, and 
 This curious pamphlet of odds and ends continues till the frost subdues it. And my 
 u prose and rhyme, without order or ar- conjectures lead me to say, that one luxu- 
 rangement, contained a " caution to the rious plant shall be the mother of many 
 
 " If two hundred subscribers will give in their aid. 
 The whole of this journal is meant to be laid 
 Under public view." 
 
 buyer." 
 
 " Let any read that will not soil or rend it, 
 
 But should they ask to borrow, pray don't lend it I 
 
 Advise them, ' Oo and but/ ;' 'twill better suit 
 
 My purpose; and with you prevent dispute. 
 
 With me a maxim 'tis, he that won't buy 
 
 Joes seldom well regard his neighbour's property; 
 
 And did you chew the hit, so much as I do 
 
 From lending books, I think 'twould make you shy too." 
 
 In the course of the tract, he presented 
 to " the critics " the following admonitory 
 address. 
 
 " Pray, sirs, consider, had you been 
 Bred where whole winters nothing's seen- 
 But naked flood for miles and miles, 
 Except a boat the eye beguiles ; 
 Or coots, in clouds, by buzzards teaz'd. 
 Your ear with seeming thunder seiz'd 
 From rais'd decoy, — there ducks on'ftigirt, 
 Bt tens of thousands darken light; 
 None to assist in greateit need, 
 Parsnti) out very br^ly '^ead- 
 
 scores of flies. I call it the Jly berry 
 plant." 
 
 Thus far the " Sketch." He seems to 
 have caught the notion of his " Low Fen 
 Journal" from a former fen genius, whose 
 works are become of great price, though it 
 must be acknowledged, more for their 
 quaintness and rarity, than their intrinsic 
 merit. Will, refers to him in the following 
 apologetical lines. 
 
 " Well, on the earth he knows of none. 
 With a full turn just like his mind ; 
 
 Nor only one that's dead and gone. 
 Whose genius stood as his inclin'd : 
 
 No doubt the public wish to know it, 
 
 John Taylor, call'd the water pott. 
 
 Who near two centuries ago 
 
 Wrote much such nonsense as I dOv" 
 
 The sale of the " Sketch" not answering 
 his expectations, no further symptoms ol 
 the " Journal " made their aopearance at 
 that time. 
 
 72 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 In the summer of 1815, after forty-three 
 years' practice as an auctioneer, he an- 
 nounced his retirement by the following 
 laconic farewell. 
 
 " Kap Sknior's given it up at last, 
 
 With thanks for ev'ry favour past ; 
 
 Alias ' Antiquarian Hall' 
 
 Will never more be heard to brawl ; 
 
 As auctioneer no more will lie, 
 
 Bnt's thrown his wicked hammer by. 
 
 Should you prefer him to appraise. 
 
 He's licensed for future days; 
 
 Or still employ him on commission. 
 
 He'll always treat on fair condition. 
 
 For goods brought to him at his stand. 
 
 Or at your home, to sell by hand ; 
 
 Or shoald you want his pen's assistance. 
 
 He'll wait on you at any distance. 
 
 To lot, collect, in place of clerk. 
 
 Or prevent moving goods i' th' dark; 
 
 In short, for help or counsel's aid. 
 
 You need not of him be afraid." 
 
 The harvest of 1816 proved wet and un- 
 favourable, and he thought " it almost ex- 
 -eeded anv thing; in his memory ;" where- 
 :ore tne woria was favoured with " Reflec- 
 -■.ons upon Times, and Times and Times ! 
 or a more than Sixty Years' Tour of the 
 Mind," by " Low-FeJi-BUl-Hall." This 
 was an octavo pamphlet of sixteen pages, 
 in prose, quite as confused as his other 
 productions, " transmittiiig to posterity," 
 as the results of sixty years' experience, 
 that " the frequency of thunderstorms in 
 the spring," — " the repeated appearance of 
 water-spouts," — " an innumerable quantity 
 of black snails," — " an unusual number of 
 field mice," — and " the great many snakes 
 to be seen about," are certain " indications 
 of a wet harvest " To these observations, 
 intermmgled with digression upon digres- 
 sion, he prefixed as one of the mottoes, an 
 extremely appropriate quotation from Deut. 
 c. 32. v. 29, " O that they were wise, that 
 they understood this !" 
 
 In the spring of 1818, when in his 
 seventieth year, or, as he says, " David's 
 gage being near complete," he determined 
 on an attempt to publish his '* Low Fen 
 Journal," in numbers ; the first of which 
 he thus announced : 
 
 " A Lincolnshire rais'd medley pie. 
 An original miscellany. 
 Not meant as canting, puzzling mysteyy. 
 But for a general true Fen HisToa?, 
 Such as desiga'd some time ago. 
 By him 'yclept H^ill. frill-be-so ; 
 Here's Number ONE for publication, 
 If meet the public's approbation. 
 
 Low-Fen-Bill-Hall his word engagei 
 To send about two hundred pages, 
 • Collected by his gleaning pains, 
 
 Mix'd with the fruit of his own brains •" 
 This specimen of the work was as un 
 intelligible as the before-mentioned intro 
 ductory " Sketch,'' partaking of the .sam^ 
 autobiographical, historical, and religious 
 character, with acrostic, elegiac, obituarian 
 and other extraneous pieces in prose and 
 rhyme. His life had been passed in vicis 
 situde and hardship, " oft' pining for a bit 
 of bread ;'' and from experience, he was 
 "well adapted to 
 
 ■ " tell. 
 
 To whom most extra lots befell ; 
 Who liv'd for months on stage of planks. 
 Midst captain Flood's most swelling pranks. 
 Five miles from any food to have. 
 Yea often risk'd a wat'ry giave;" 
 
 yet his facts and style were so incongruous 
 that speaking of the " Sketch,'' he says, 
 when he 
 
 - " sent it out. 
 
 Good lack I to know what 'twas about ? 
 
 He might as well have sent it muzzled. 
 
 For half the folks seem'd really puzzled. 
 
 Soliciting for patronage. 
 
 He might have spent near half an age; 
 
 From all endeavours undertook. 
 
 He could not get it to a book." 
 
 Though the only " historical" part of the 
 first number of his " Fen Journal," in 
 twenty-four pages, consisted of prosaic 
 fragments of his grandfather's " poaching," 
 his mother's " groaning," his father's "fish- 
 ing," and his own "conjectures;" yet he 
 tells the pubhc, that 
 
 " Protected by kind Providence, 
 
 I mean in less than twelve months hence, 
 
 Push'd by no very common sense. 
 
 To give six times as much as here is. 
 
 And hope there's none will think it dear is, 
 
 Consid'ring th' matter rather queer is." 
 
 In prosecution of his intentions, No. 2 
 shortly followed ; and, as it was alike hete- 
 rogeneous and unintelligible, he says he 
 had " caught the Swiftiania, in running 
 digression on digression," with as many 
 whimseys as " Peter, Martin, and John 
 had in twisting their father's will.'' He ex- 
 pected ihat'this " gallimaufry " and himseli 
 would be consecrated to posterity, for he 
 says, 
 
 " 'Ti8 not for lucre that I write. 
 But something lasting, — to indite 
 What may redound to purpose ^ood. 
 ("If hap'ly can be nnderstood ;) 
 And. as time passes o'er bis s'Jii^es 
 Transmit my mind to future ages." 
 
 73 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 On concluding his seccnd number, he 
 " gratefully ackiiowlefises the liberality of 
 his subscribers, and is apprehensive the 
 Interlope will find a very partial acceptance; 
 but it being so congenial an interlude to 
 the improvement of Low Fen and Billing' 
 hay Dale manners, to be hereafter shown, 
 he hopes it will not be considered detri- 
 mental, should his work continue." Such, 
 however, was not the case, for his literary 
 project terminated : unforeseen events re- 
 duced his finances, and he had not 
 
 Enough, to keep his harp in tune." 
 
 The care of a large family of orphan 
 grandchildren, in indigent circumstances, 
 having devolved upon him, he became per- 
 plexed with extreme difficulties, and again 
 experienced the truth of his own observa- 
 tion, that 
 
 " If two steps forward, oft' three back, 
 Through life had been hi» constant track." 
 
 Attracted by th€ " bodies of divinity," 
 and other theological works, which his 
 " antiquarian library" contained, his atten- 
 tion was particularly directed to the funda- 
 mental truths of religion, and the doctrines 
 of " the various denominations of the 
 Christian world." The result was, that 
 without joining any, he imbibed such por- 
 tions of the tenets of each sect, that his 
 opinions on this subject were as singular as 
 on every other. Above all sectaries, yet 
 not entirely agreeing even with them, he 
 " loved and venerated " the " Moravians or 
 UnitedBrethren,"for their meek,ui(»assuming 
 demeanour, their ceaseless perseverance in 
 propagating the gospel, and their bound- 
 less love towards the whole human race. 
 Of his own particular notions, he tSus says, 
 
 If I on doctrines have fight view. 
 Here's this for me, and iliat for you ; 
 Another gives my neighbour comfort, 
 A stranger comes with one of some son . 
 When after candid scrutinizing, 
 We find them equally worth prizing; 
 'Cause all in gospel love imparted, 
 Nor is there any one perverted i 
 Only as they may seem unlike. 
 Nor can on other's fancy strike : 
 Whereas from due conformity, 
 O ! what a spread of harmony. 
 Each with each, bearing and forbearing. 
 All wishing for a better heanng. 
 Would in due time, then full improve 
 Into one family of love : 
 Instead of shyness on each other, 
 M*' fellow-christian, sister, brother 
 
 And each in candour thus impart. 
 You have ray fellowship and heart ; 
 Let this but be the root o' th' sense, 
 Jesus the Christ, my confidence. 
 As given in the Father's love, 
 No other system I approve." 
 
 After a short illness, towards the con- 
 clusion of his seventy-eighth year, death 
 closed his mortal career. Notwithstanding 
 his eccentricity, he was " devoid of guile," 
 plain and sincere in all transactions, and 
 his memory is universally respected. — 
 " Peace to his ashes " — (to use his own 
 expressions,) 
 
 ** Let all the World say worst they can. 
 He vras an upright, honest man." 
 
 WBmttv. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 WiNTEE ! I love thee, for thou com'st to me 
 
 Laden with joys congenial to my mind. 
 Books that with bards and solitude agree. 
 
 And all tliose virtues which adorn mankind. 
 What though the meadows, and the neighb'ring hills. 
 
 That rear their cloudy summits in the skies — 
 What though the woodland brooks, and lowland rills, 
 
 That charm'd our ears, and gratified our eyes. 
 In thy forlorn habiliments appear ? 
 
 What though the zephyrs of the summer tide, 
 And all the softer beauties of the year 
 
 Are fled and gone, kind Heav'n has not denied 
 Our books and studies, music, conv ui, 
 
 And ev'ning parties for our r, , i 
 
 And these suffice, for seasons snatch'd away. 
 Till Spring leads forth the .slowly-length'ning day. 
 
 B. W. R. 
 
 A WINTER'S DAY. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 The horizontal sun, like an orb of molten 
 gold, casts " a dim religious light" upon 
 the surpliced world : the beams, reflected 
 from the dazzling snow, fall upon the 
 purple mists, which extend round the earth 
 like a zone, and in the midst the planet 
 Appears a fixed stud, surpassing the ruby in 
 brilliancy. 
 
 Now trees and shrubs are borne down 
 with sparkling congelations, and the coral 
 clusters of the hawthorn and holly are more 
 splendid, and offer a cold conserve to the 
 wandering schoolboy. The huntsman is 
 seen riding to covert in his scarlet hvery, 
 the gunner is heard at intervals in the up- 
 lands, and the courser comes galloping 
 down the hill side, with his hounds in full 
 
 14 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 chase before him. The farmer's boy, who 
 IS forced from his warm bed, to milk cows 
 111 a cold meadow, complains it's a " burn- 
 ing" shame that he should be obliged to go 
 starving by himself, while " their wench" 
 has nothing else to do but make a fire, and 
 boil the tea-kettle. Now, Mrs. Jeremy 
 Bellclack, properly so called, inasmuch as 
 ■ he unmentionables are amongst her pecu- 
 liar attributes, waked by the mail-coach 
 horn, sounding an Introit to the day, orders 
 her husband, poor fellow, to "just get up 
 and look what sort of a morning it is ;" 
 and he, shivering at the bare idea, afi'ects to 
 be fast asleep, till a second summons, ac- 
 companied by the contact of his wife's 
 heavy hand, obliges him to paddle across 
 the ice-cold plaster floor; and the trees and 
 church-steeples, stars, spears, and saws, 
 which form an elegant tapestry over the 
 windows, seem to authorize the excuse that 
 he " can't see," while, shivering over the 
 dressing-table, he pours a stream of visible 
 breath on the frozen pane. 
 
 After breakfast, Dicky, " with shining 
 morning face," appears in the street, on 
 his way to school, with his Latin grammar 
 in one hand, and a slice of bread and but- 
 ter in the other, to either of which he pays 
 his devoirs, and " slides and looks, and 
 slides and looks," all the way till he arrives 
 at " the house of bondage," when his fin- 
 gers are so benumbed, that he is obliged to 
 warm his slate, and even then they refuse 
 to cast up figures, " of their own accord." 
 In another part of the school, Joe Lazy finds 
 it "so 'nation cold," that he is quite unable 
 to learn the two first lines of his lesson, — 
 and he plays at " cocks and dollars" with 
 Jem Slack in u corner. The master 
 stands before the fire, like the Colossus of 
 Hhodes, all the morning, to the utter dis- 
 comfiture of the boys, who grumble at the 
 monopoly, and secretly tell one another, 
 that they pay for the fire, and ought to have 
 the benefit of it. At length he says, " You 
 may go, boys ;" whereupon ensues such a 
 pattering of feet, shutting of boxes, and 
 Scrambling for hats, as beats Milton's 
 " busy hum of men" all to nothing, till they 
 reach their wonted slide in the yard, where 
 they suddenly stop on discovering that 
 " that skinny old creature. Bet Fifty, the 
 cook," has bestrewed it from end to end 
 with sand and cinders. Frost-stricken as 
 it were, they stare at one another, and look 
 unnutterable things at the aforesaid " skin- 
 ny old creature;" till Jack Turbulent, ring- 
 leader-general of all their riots and rebel- 
 lions, execrates " old Betty, cook," with 
 he fluency of a parlour boarder, and hurls 
 
 a well-wrought snowball at the Gorgon, 
 who turns round in a passion to discover 
 the delinquent, when her pattens, unused 
 to such quick rotatory motion, slip from 
 under her feet, and " down topples she," 
 to the delight of the urchins around her, 
 who drown her cries and threats in reite- 
 rated bursts of laughter 
 
 Now, the Comet stage-coach, bowling 
 along the russet-coloured road, with a long 
 train of vapour from the 'horses' nostrils, 
 looks really like a comet. At the same 
 tim«, Lubin, who has been sent to town by 
 his mistress with a letter for the post-office, 
 and a strict injunction to return speedily, 
 finds it impossible to pass the blacksmith's 
 shop, where the bright sparks fly from the 
 forge ; and he determines " just" to stop and 
 look at the blaze " a bit," which, as he 
 says, " raly does one's eyes good of a win- 
 ter's morning ;" and then, he just blows 
 the bellows a bit, and finds it so pleasant 
 to listen to the strokes of Vulcan's wit, and 
 his sledge-hammer, alternately, that lie con- 
 tinues blowing up the fire, till, at length, 
 be recollects what a " blowing up" he shall 
 have from his " Missis" when he gets home, 
 and forswears the clang of horse-shoes 
 and plough-irons, and leaves the temple ol 
 the Cyclops, but not without a " longing, 
 linu-'ring look behind" at Messrs. Blaze 
 and Company. 
 
 PVom the frozen surface of the pond or 
 lake, men with besoms busily clear away 
 the drift, for which they are amply remu- 
 nerated by voluntary contributions from 
 every fresh-arriving skater; and black ice is 
 discovered between banks of snow, and 
 ramified into numerous transverse, oblique, 
 semicircular, or elliptical branches. Here 
 and there, the snow appears in large heaps, 
 like rocks or islands, and round these the 
 proficients in the art 
 
 " Come and trip it as they go 
 On the light, fantastic toe," 
 
 winding and sailing, one amongst an- 
 other, like the smooth-winged swallows, 
 which so lately occupied the same surface. 
 While these are describing innumerable 
 circles, the sliding fraternity in another 
 part form parallel lines ; each, of each class, 
 vies with the other in feats of activity, all 
 enjoy the exhilaratinsc pastime, and every 
 face is illumined with cheerfulness. The 
 philosophic skater, big with theory, con- 
 vinced, as he tells every one he meets, tliai 
 the whole art consists •' merely in trans 
 ferring the centre of gravity from one focn 
 to the other," boldly essays a demonstrw 
 tion, and instantly transfers it frcm both 
 
 15 
 
THK TABLE BOOK. 
 
 »o as to honour the frozen element with 
 a sudden salute from that part of the body 
 which usually gravitates on a chair ; 
 and the wits compliment him on the 
 superior knowledge by which he has 
 " broken the ice," and the little lads run 
 to see " what a big star the gentleman has 
 made 1" and think it must have hurt him 
 " above a bit !" 
 
 It is now that the different canals are 
 frozen up, and goods are conveyed by 
 the stage-waggon, and " it's a capital time 
 for the turnpikes;" and those who can get 
 brandy, drink it ; and those who can't, 
 drink ale ; and those who are unable to 
 procure either, do much better without 
 them. And now, ladies have red noses, 
 and the robin, with his little head turned 
 knowingly on one side, presents hi« burning 
 breast at the parlour window, and seems to 
 crave a dinner from the noontide breakfast 
 In such a day, the " son and heir" of the 
 " gentleman retired from business" bedi- 
 zens the drawing-room with heavy loads of 
 prickly evergreen ; and bronze candle- 
 bearers, porcelain figures, and elegant 
 chimney ornaments, look like prince 
 Malcolm's soldiers at " Birnam wood," or 
 chorister boys on a holy Thursday ; and 
 his " Ma" nearly falls into hysterics on 
 discovering the mischief; and his " Pa" 
 begins to scold him for being so naughty ; 
 and the budding wit asks, as he runs out 
 of the room, " Why, don't you know that 
 these are the holly days ?" and his father 
 relates the astonishing instance of early 
 jenius at every club, card-party, or vestry- 
 meeting for a month to come. Now, all the 
 pumps are frozen, old men tumble down 
 on the flags, and ladies " look blue" at their 
 lovers. Now, the merry-growing bacchanal 
 begins to thaw himself with frequent po- 
 tations of wine ; bottle after bottle is sacri- 
 iced to the health of his various friends, 
 though his own health is sacrificed in the 
 ceremony ; and the glass that quaffs " the 
 prosperity of the British constitution," 
 ruins his own. 
 
 And now, dandies, in rough great coats 
 and fur collars, look like Esquimaux In- 
 dians; and the fashionables of the/a?> sex, 
 in white veils and swans-down muffs and 
 tippets, have (begging their pardons) 
 very much the appearance of polar bears. 
 Now, Miss Enigmaria Conundrina Riddle, 
 poring over her new pocket-book, lisps 
 out, " Why are ladies in winter like tea- 
 kettles ?" to which old Mr. Riddle, pouring 
 forth a dense ringlet of tobacco-smoke, re- 
 plies, "Because they dance and sing;" 
 hut master Augustus Adolphus Riddle, 
 
 who has heard it before, corrects him by 
 saying, " No, Pa, that's not it — it's because 
 they are furred up." Now, unless their 
 horses are turned up, the riders are very 
 likely to be turned down ; and deep weii« 
 are dry, and poor old women, with a 
 " well-a-day !" are obliged to boil down 
 snow and icicles to make their tea with. 
 Now, an old oak-tree, with only one branch, 
 looks like a man with a rifle to his shoulder, 
 and the night-lorn traveller trembles at the 
 prospect of having his head and his pockets 
 rifled together. Now, sedan-chairs, and 
 servants with lanterns, are " flitting across 
 the night," to fetch home their masters and 
 mistresses from oyster-eatings, and qua- 
 drille parties. And now, a young lady, 
 who had retreated from the heat of the ball- 
 room, to take the benefit of the north wind, 
 and caught a severe cold, calls in thf- 
 doctor, who is quite convinced of the cor- 
 rectness of the old adage, " It's an ill wind 
 that blows nobody good." 
 
 Now, the sultana of the night reigns on 
 her throne of stars, in the blue zenith, and 
 young ladies and gentlemen, who had 
 shivered all day by the parlour fire, and 
 found themselves in danger of annihilatioi! 
 when the door by chance had been left a little 
 way open, are quite warm enough to walk 
 together by moonlight, though every thing 
 around them is actually petrified by the 
 frost. 
 
 Now, in my chamber, the last ember 
 falls, and seems to warn us as it descends- 
 that though we, like it, may shine among 
 the brilliant, and be cherished by the great 
 (grate,) we must mingle our ashes. The 
 wasted candle, too, is going the way of all 
 flesh, and the writer of these " niglit 
 thoughts,'' duly impressed with the im- 
 portance of his own mortality, takes hi^ 
 farewell of his anti-critical readers in tliH 
 language of the old song, — 
 
 " Gude night, an' joy be wi' you all !" 
 
 Lichfleld. J. H. 
 
 TAKE NOTICE. 
 
 A correspondent who has seen the origi- 
 nal of the following notice, written at Balh 
 says, it would have been placed on a board 
 in a garden there, had not a friend advised 
 its author to the contrary : 
 
 "Any person trespace here 
 
 shall be prosticuted 
 
 according to law.'' 
 
 76 
 
TIIE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE BAZAAR. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 The Bazaar in Soho 
 
 Is completely tne go. — (Song.j 
 
 P>it it dovm in the bill 
 Is the fountain of ill, — 
 This has every shopkeeper undone — 
 Bazaars never trust, so down with your dust. 
 And help us to diddle all I-ondon, (Sotisj.) 
 
 Dear madam, give me leave to ask 
 
 You, — how your husband is ? — 
 Why, Mr. Snooks has lost his looks, 
 He's got the rheumat.ix I 
 
 "With a " How do you do. 
 Ma'am ?" " How are you ? 
 
 How dear the things all are J" 
 Throughout the day 
 You hear them say. 
 At fam'd Soho Bazaar. 
 
 Oh how I've wish'd for some time back 
 
 To ride tp the Bazaar, 
 And I declare the day looks fair 
 Now vvod'; yoa go, mamma? 
 For there our friends we're sure to meet,. 
 
 So let us haste away. 
 My cousins, too, last night told yon. 
 They'd all be there to-day. 
 With a " How do yon do. 
 Ma'am ?" " How are you ? 
 
 How dear the things all are 1" 
 Throughout the day 
 You hear them say, 
 At fam'd Soho Bazaar. 
 
 Some look at this thing-, then at that. 
 
 But vow they're all too high ; 
 
 How mufh is this?" — " Two guineas, oiisjl" 
 
 " Oh, I don't want to buy !" 
 jjook at these pretty books, my love, 
 
 I think it sooa will rain ; 
 There's Mrs. Howe, I saw her bow, 
 
 Whv don't you bow again? 
 
 With a " How do ycu do. 
 Ma'am ?" " How are you ? 
 
 How dear the things all are 1" 
 Throughout the day 
 You hear them say. 
 
 At fam'd Soho Bazaar. 
 
 Just Gee that picture on the box. 
 
 How beautifully done 1 
 " It isn't high, ma'am, won't you buy? 
 
 It's only one pound one." 
 How pretty all these bonnets look 
 
 With red and yeUow strings; 
 Some here, my dear, don't go too near. 
 You mustn't touch the things. 
 With a '• How do you do. 
 Ma'am ?" " How are yon ? 
 
 How dear the things all are I" 
 Throughout (he day 
 You hear them say. 
 At fam'd Soho Bazaar. 
 
 Miss jruggins. Have yor seen «aough T 
 
 I'lc sorry I can't stay; 
 There's Mrs. Snooks, how fat s'he looks 
 
 She's coming on thu war 
 
 " Toml see that girl, how weU she walks 
 
 But faith, I must confess, 
 I never saw a girl before 
 
 In such a style of dress." 
 " Why, really, Jack, I think you're nght. 
 Just let me look a while ; 
 
 (looking through his g'aSt 
 I like her gait at any rate. 
 Bat don't quite like her style." 
 With a " How da you do. 
 Ma'am ?" " How aie you ? 
 
 How dear the things all are I" 
 Throughout the day 
 You hear them say. 
 At fam'd Soho Bazaar. 
 
 " That vulgar lady's standing there 
 That every one may view her ;'' — 
 •* Sir, that's my daughter;"— "No, not h«r; 
 
 I mean the next one to her :" 
 " Oh, that's my niece," — " Oh no, not her," — 
 
 " You seem, sir, quite amused ;" 
 "Dear ma'am, — heyday ! — what shaU I sav } 
 I'm really quite confused." 
 With a " How do you do. 
 Ma'am ?" " How are you ? 
 
 How dear the thicgs all arsl" 
 Throughout the day 
 You hear them say. 
 At fam'd Soho Bazaar. 
 
 Thus beaux and belles tooether meet, 
 
 And thus they spend the day ; 
 And walk and talk, and talk and valk. 
 
 And then they walk away. 
 If you have half an hour to spare, 
 
 The better way by far 
 Is ')«re to lounge it, with a friend. 
 In the Soho Bazaar. 
 
 With a " How do you do. 
 Ma'am ?" " How are yoo ? 
 
 How dear the thmg-s all a-o V 
 Throughout the day 
 You hear them say. 
 At fam'd Scho Bariwr 
 
 77 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 THE SEASON OUT OF TOWN. 
 Fur the Table Book. 
 
 Xerxes, Xiinmes, Xanthus, Xaviere 
 Yield, yield, ye youths 1 ye yeomen, yield yonr ye'l 
 Zeno's, Zainpatee's, Zoroaster's zeal. 
 Attracting all, arms against acis appeal I 
 
 The banks are partly ^reen; hedges and trees 
 Are black and shroaded, and the keen wind roars, 
 
 Tjike dismal music wand'ring. over seas, 
 And wailing to the agitatedr shores. 
 
 The fields are dotted with manure — the sheep 
 In unshorn wool, streak'dwith the shepherd's red, 
 
 fheir undh'ided peace and friendship keep, 
 Shaking Uieir bells, like children to their bed. 
 
 The roads are white and miry — waters run 
 Wish violence through their tracks — and sheds, that 
 flowers 
 
 In summer graced, are open to the sun. 
 Which shines in noonday's horizontal hours. 
 
 Frost claims the night; and morning, like a bride. 
 Forth from her chamber glides; mist spreads her 
 vest ; 
 
 The sunbeams ridethe clouds till eventide. 
 And the wind rolls them to ethereal rest. 
 
 .Sleet, shine, cold, fog, in portions fill the- time ; 
 
 Like hope, the prospect cheers ; like brsath it fades ; 
 I/ife grows in seasons to returning prime. 
 
 And beauty rises from departing shades. 
 January, 1827. ?• 
 
 THE SIEGE OF BELGRADE. 
 
 Addressed to the Admirers of Alliteration, 
 and the Advocates of Noisy Numbers. 
 
 Ardentem aspicio atque arrectii auribis asto. — yirgil. 
 
 An Austrian army awfully arrayed, 
 Boldly by battery besieged Belgrade : 
 Cossack commanders cannonading come. 
 Dealing destruction's devastating doom ; 
 Every endeavour engineers essay, 
 For fame, for fortune fighting — furious fray ! 
 Generals 'gainst generals grapple, gracious G — dl 
 How honours heaven heroic hardihood ! 
 Infuriate — indiscriminate in ill — 
 Kinsmen kill kindred — kindred kinsmen kill: 
 Labour low levels loftiest, longest lines. 
 Men march 'mid mounds, 'mid moles, 'mid murder- 
 ous mines : 
 Now noisy noxious numbers notice nought 
 Of outward obstacles, opposing ought, — 
 Poor patriots ! — partly purchased — partly press'd. 
 Qute quaking, (|uickly, "Quarter I quarterl" quest ; 
 Reason returns, religious right redounds, 
 Suwarrow stops such sanguinary sounds. 
 Truce to thee, Turkey, triumph to thy train 
 Unwise, unjust, unmerciful Ukraine! 
 Vanish, vain Anctoryi I'aaish, victory vain I 
 vVhv vrish we warfare ? Wherefore welcome were 
 
 NAMES OF PLACES. 
 
 For the Table Booh. 
 
 The names of towns, cities, or villages^ 
 which teinvinate in ter, such as Chester, 
 (Jas/er, Cester, show that the Romans, in 
 their stay among us, made fortifications 
 about the places where they are now situ- 
 ated. In the Latin tongue Castra is the 
 name of these fortifications — such are Cas- 
 tor, Chester, Doncaster, Leicester: Don 
 signifies a mountain, and L^y, oi Lei, 
 ground widely overgrown. 
 
 In our ancient tongue ivich, or ivick, 
 means a place of refuge, and is the termi- 
 nation of Warwick, Sandwich, Greenwich, 
 Woolwich, &c. 
 
 Thorp, before the word village was bor- 
 rowed from the French, was used in its 
 stead, and is found at the end of many 
 towns' names. 
 
 Bury, Burgh, or Berry, signifies, meta- 
 phorically, a town having a wall about it, 
 sometimes a high, or chief place. 
 
 JVold means a plain open country. 
 
 Combe, a valley between two hills 
 
 Knock, a hill. 
 
 Hurst, a woody place. 
 
 Maqh, a field. 
 
 limes, an island. 
 
 f Forth, a place situated between twc 
 rivers. 
 
 //<£r» ii tract of meadows. 
 
 Minster is a contraction of monastery. 
 
 Sam Sam's Son. 
 
 SONNET 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 The snowdrop, rising to its infant height. 
 
 Looks like a sickly child upon the spot 
 
 Of young nativity, regarding not 
 The air's caress of melody and light 
 Beam'd from the east, and soften'd by the bright 
 
 Effusive flash of gold: — the willow stoops 
 And muses, like a bride without her love. 
 
 On her own shade, which lies on waves, and droops 
 Beside the natal trunk, nor looks above : — 
 The precipice, that torrents cannot move. 
 
 Leans o'er the sea, amd steadfast as a rock. 
 Of dash and cloud unconscious, bears tne rude 
 
 Continuous surge, the sounds and echoes mock: 
 Thus Mental Thought enduring, wears in solitude. 
 
 1827. •, •, P. 
 
 7d 
 
THE FONT OF HARROW CHURCH, 
 
 thus saved 
 
 From guardian-hands which else had more depraved. 
 
 Some years agr, the fine old font of the 
 ancient parish cliurch of Harrow-on-the 
 hill was torn from that edifice, by the 
 " gentlemen of the parish," and given out 
 to mend the roads with. The feelings of 
 one parishioner (to the honour of the sex, a 
 female) were outraged by this act of paro- 
 chial Vandalism ; and she was allowed to 
 preserve it from destruction, and place it in 
 a walled nook, at the garden front of her 
 house, where it still remains. By her 
 obliging permission, a drawing of it was 
 made the summer before last, and is 
 w'ngraved above. 
 
 On the exclusion of Harrow font from 
 fhe church, the parish officers put up the 
 tt.arble wash - hand -basin -stand - looking- 
 Inmg, which now occupies its place, in- 
 icnbed with the names of Die church- 
 
 wardens during whose reign venality oi 
 stupidity effected the removal of its pre- 
 cessor. If there be any persons in that 
 parish who either venerate antiquity, or de- 
 sire to see " right things in right places," 
 it is possible that, by a spirited representa- 
 tion, they may arouse the indifferent, and 
 shame the ignorant to an interchange : and 
 force an expression of public thanks to the 
 lady whose good taste and care enabled it 
 to be effected. The relative situation and 
 misappropriation of each font is a stain on 
 the parish, easily removable, by employing 
 a few men and a few pounds to clap the 
 paltry usurper under the spout of the good 
 lady's house, and restore the noble original 
 from that degrading destination, to its 
 rightful dignity in the cliurch. 
 
 YOL. III. 
 
 79 
 
 u 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 (garn'tlt Mni^^. 
 
 No. III. 
 
 'From the " Rewards-of Virtue," a Comedy, 
 by John Fountain, printed 1661. J 
 
 Success in Battle not alwai/s attributahle to the Genera!. 
 
 Generals oftimes famous grow 
 
 By valiant friends, or cowardly enemies ; 
 Ov what is worse, by some mean piece of chance- 
 Truth is, 'tis pretty to observe 
 How little Princes and great Generals 
 Contribute oftentimes to the fame they win. 
 How oft hath it been found, that noblest minds 
 With two short arms, have fought with fatal stars ; 
 And have endeavour'd with their dearest blood 
 To mollify those diamonds, where dwell 
 The fate of kingdoms ; and' at last have fain 
 By vulgar hands, unablenow to do 
 More for their cause than die ; and have been losJ 
 Among the sacrifices of their swords ; 
 No more remember'd than poor villagprs. 
 Whose ashes sleep among the common f owers 
 That every meadow wears : whilst other men 
 With trembling hands have caught a. victory, 
 And on pale foreheads wear triumphant bays. 
 Besides, I have thought 
 A thousand times ; in times of war, when we 
 Lift up our hands to heaven for victory ; 
 Suppose some virgin Shepherdess, whose soul 
 Is chaste and clean as the cold spring, where sKe 
 Quenches all thirsts, being told of enemies. 
 That seek to ''right the long-enjoyed Peace 
 Of our Arcadia hence with sound of drums. 
 And with hoarse trumpets' warlike airs to drown 
 The harmless music of her oaten reeds. 
 Should in the passion of her troubled sprite 
 Repair to some small fane Csuch as the Gods 
 Hear poor folks from), and there on humble knees 
 Lift up her trembling hands to holy Pan, 
 And beg his helps : 'tis possible to think, 
 ThatHeav'n, which holds the purest vows most rich. 
 May not permit her still to weep in vain. 
 But grant her wish, (for, would the Go Is not hear 
 The pravers of poor folks, they'd ne'er bid them pray); 
 And so, in the next action, happeneth out 
 (The Gods still using means) the Enemy 
 May be defeated. The glory of all this 
 Is attributed to the General, 
 And none but he's sjioke loud of for the act ; 
 "While she, from whose so unaffected tears 
 His laurel sprung, for ever dwells unknown.* 
 
 * Is it possible that Cowper mig-ht have renu-mhered 
 ihia sentiment in his descrijition of the advantages 
 which the world; that scorns him, may derive from the 
 noiseless hours of the contemplative man ? 
 
 Perhaps she owes 
 Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring 
 And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes, 
 JVhen, Isaac-like, the solitary saint 
 Walks forth to meditate at eventide , 
 And think on her. wno tninks not on herself. 
 
 XasJi. 
 
 Unluu-fnl Solid tings^ 
 
 When I first 
 M'ention'd the business to her alLalone, 
 Poor Soul, she blusVd, as if already she- 
 Had done some harm by hearing of me speak , 
 Whilst from her pretty eyes two fountains ran 
 So true, so native, down her fairest cheeks ; 
 As if she thought her^^elf obliged to cry, 
 'Cause all the world was not so good as sh«>i 
 
 Proportion in Pity. 
 
 There must be some proportion still to pity 
 Between ourselves and what we moan : 'tis bard' 
 For Men, to be ought sensible, how Moats 
 Press Flies to death. Should the Lion, in 
 His midnight walks for prey, hear some poor worrat 
 Complain for want of little drops of dew, 
 What pity could that generous creature have 
 (Who^never wanted small things) for those poor 
 Ambitions ? yet these are their concernments. 
 And but for want of these they pine and die. 
 
 Modesty a bar to preferment. 
 
 Sure 'twas his modesty. He might have thriven 
 Much better possibly, had his ambition 
 Bt£Ti greater much. They oftimes take more piii. 
 Who look for Pins, than those who find out Star.s. 
 
 Innocence vindicated at last. 
 
 Hcav'n may awhile correct the virtun\is ; 
 Yet it will wipe their eyes again, and make 
 Their faces whiter with their tears. Innocence 
 Conceal'd is the Stoln Pleasure of the Gotls, 
 Which never ends in shame, as that of Men 
 Doth oftimes do ; but like the Sun breaks forth. 
 When it hath gratified another world ; 
 And to our unexpecting eyes appears 
 More glorious thro' its late obscurity. 
 
 Dying for a Beloved Person. 
 
 There is a gust in Death, when 'tis for Love, 
 
 That's more than all that's taste in all the world. 
 
 For the true measure of true Love is Death ; 
 
 And what falls short of this, was never Love : 
 
 And therefore when those tides do meet and strive 
 
 And both swell high, but Love is higher still, 
 
 This is the truest satisfaction of 
 
 The perfectest Love : for here it sees itself 
 
 Indure the highest test; and then it feels 
 
 The sum of d;'iectation, since it now 
 
 Attains its perfect end ; and s'nows its object. 
 
 By one intense act, all its verity : 
 
 Which by a thousand and ten thousand words 
 
 It would have took a poor diluted pleasure 
 
 To have iMperfectly express'di 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Urania makes a monk assignation with 
 
 the King, and sxibstitutes the Queen in her 
 place. .The King describes the supposed 
 meeting to the Confident, whom he had em- 
 ployed to solicit for his guilty passion, 
 
 Pyrrhus, I'll tell thee all. When now the night 
 
 Grew black eaough to hide a sculking action ; 
 
 And Heav'n had ne'er an eye unshut to see 
 
 Her Representative on Earth creep 'mongst 
 
 Those poor defenceless worms, whom Nature left 
 
 An humo'.e prey to every thing, and no 
 
 Asylum but the dark ; I softly stole 
 
 To yonder grotto thro' the upper walks. 
 
 And there found my Urania. Bat I found her, 
 
 I found her, Pyrrhus, not a Mistress, but 
 
 A Goddess rather ; which made me now to be 
 
 No more her Lover, but Idolater. 
 
 She only whisper'd to me, as she promised, 
 
 Yet never heard I any voice so loud : 
 
 And, tho' her words were gentler far than those 
 
 That holy priests do speak to dying Saints, 
 
 Yet never thunder signified'so much. 
 
 And (what did more impress whate'er she said) 
 
 Methought her whispers were my injured Qu^on's; 
 
 Her manner just like her's 1 and when she urged. 
 
 Among a thousand things, the injury 
 
 did the faithful'st Princess in the world ; 
 Who now supposed me sick, and was perchance 
 Upon her knees offering up holy vows 
 For him who mock'd both Heav'n and her, and was 
 Now breaking of that vow he made her, whsn 
 With sacrifice he call'd the Gods to witness : 
 When she urged this, and wept, and spake so like 
 My poor deluded Queen, Pyrrhus, I trembled ; 
 Almost persuaded that it was her angel 
 Spake thro' Urania's lips, who for her sake 
 Took care of me, as something she much loved, 
 Lt would be long to tell thee all she said. 
 How oft she sigh'd, how bitterly she wept: 
 But the effect — Urania still is chaste ; 
 And with her chaster lips hath promised to 
 -nvoke blest Heav'n for my intended sin. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 THE CUSHION DANCE. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 The concluding dance at a country wake, 
 or other general meeting, is the " Cushion 
 Dance ;" and if it be not called for when 
 the company are tired with dancing, the 
 fiddler, who has an interest in it which will 
 be seen hereafter, frequently plays the tune 
 to remind them of it. A young man of the 
 company leaves the room ; the poor young 
 women, uninformed of the plot against 
 them, suspecting nothing ; but he no sooner 
 returns, bearing a cushion in one hand and 
 a pewter pot in the other, than they are 
 aware of the mischief intended, and would 
 
 certainly make their escape, had not the 
 bearer of cushion and pot, aware of the 
 invincible aversion which young women 
 have to be saluted by young men, prevent- 
 ed their flight by locking the door, and 
 putting the key in his pocket. The dance 
 then begins. 
 
 The young man advances to the fiddler, 
 drops a penny in the pot, and gives it tO' 
 one of his companions;, cushion then 
 dances round the room, followed by pot, 
 and when they again reach the fiddler, the 
 cushion says in a sort of recitative, accom- 
 panied by the music, " This dance it will 
 no farther go." 
 
 The fiddler, in return, sings or says, for 
 it partakes of both, " I pray, kind sir, why 
 say you so ?" 
 
 The answer is, " Because Joan Sander- 
 son won't come to." 
 
 " But," replies the fiddler, " she must 
 come to, and she shall come to, whether 
 she will or no." 
 
 The young man, thus armed with the 
 authority of the village musician, recom- 
 mences his dance round the room, but stops 
 when he comes to the girl he likes best, 
 and drops the cushion at her feet ; she puts 
 her penny in the pewter pot, and kneels 
 down with the young man on the cushion, 
 and he salutes her. 
 
 When they, rise, the woman takes up the 
 cushion, and leads the dance, the man fol- 
 lowing, and holding the skirt of her gown; 
 and having made the circuit of the room, 
 they stop near the fiddler, and the same 
 dialogue is repeated, except, as it is now 
 the woman who speaks, it is John Sander- 
 son who won't come to, and the fiddler's 
 mandate is issued to him, not her. 
 
 The woman drops the cushion at the 
 feet of her favourite man; the same cere- 
 mony and the same dance are repeated, 
 till every man and woman, the pot bearer 
 last, has been taken out, and all have 
 danced round the room in a file. 
 
 The pence are the perquisite of the fid- 
 dler. 
 
 H.N. 
 
 P.S. There is a description of this dance 
 in Miss Hutton's " Oakwood Hall." 
 
 The Cushion Dance. 
 For the Table Book. 
 " Saltabamns." 
 The village-green is clear and dight 
 
 Under the starlight sky ; 
 Joy in the cottage reigns to night. 
 And brighter E every eft. 
 
 bl 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Tke peaaanti of the Valley meet 
 
 Their labours to advance, 
 Vind many a lip invites a treat 
 
 To celebrate the " Cushion Dance." 
 
 A pillow in the room they hide. 
 
 The door they slily lock; 
 The bold the bashfnJ damselsi chide. 
 
 Whose heart's-palse seem to rock : 
 •• Escape ?" — " Not yet I — no kev is found 1" — 
 
 ** Of course, 'tis lost by chance ;" — 
 And flutt'ring whispers breathe around 
 
 " The Cushion Dance I — The Cushion Dance I" 
 
 The fiddler in a corner standi. 
 
 He (fives, he rules the game ; 
 A rustic takes a maiden's hands 
 
 Whose cheek is red with shame : 
 At custom's shrine they seal their truth. 
 
 Love fails not here to glance ; — 
 Happy the heart that beats in youth. 
 
 And dances in the " Cushion Dance I" 
 
 The pillow's carried round and round. 
 
 The fiddler speaks and plays ; 
 The choice is made, — the charm is wound. 
 
 And parleys conquer nays : — 
 
 For shame ! I will not thus be kiss'd. 
 
 Your beard cuts like a lance; 
 Leave ofiF — I'm sure you've sprained my wrist 
 
 By kneeling in this ' Cushion Dance I' " 
 
 ** 'Tis aunt's turn, — what in tears? — I thought 
 
 You dearly loved a joke ; 
 Kisses are sweeter stol'u than bought. 
 
 And vows are sometimes broke. 
 Play up I — play up I — aunt chooses Ben ; 
 
 Ben loves so sweet a trance 1 
 Robin to Nelly kneels again, 
 
 — Is Love not in the ' Cushion dance f " 
 
 Laughter' is busy at the heart, 
 
 Cupid looks through the eye. 
 Feeling is dear when sorrows part 
 
 And plaintive comfort's nigh, 
 " Hide not m corners, Betsy, pray," 
 
 " Do not so colt-like prance ; 
 One kiss, for memory's future day, 
 
 — Is Life not like a ' Cushion Dance ?' •* 
 
 *' This Dance it will no further go 1" 
 
 " Why say you thus, good man ?" 
 " Joan Sanderson will not come to 1" 
 
 " She must, — 'tis ' Custom's' plan :" 
 •' Whether she will or no, must she 
 
 The proper course advance ; 
 Blushes, like blossoms on a tree, 
 
 Are lovely in the ' Cushion Dance." * 
 
 '• This Dance it will no furthei go 1" 
 
 " Why say you thus, good lady ?* 
 * John Sanderson will not come to !" 
 
 " Fie, John 1 the Cushion's ready :" 
 " He must come to, he shall come to, 
 
 *Ti» Mirth's right throne pleasance ; 
 Itow dear the scene, in Nature'* view. 
 
 To It-rtn in a * Cushion Dasset* " 
 
 ** Ho I princnm pranenm !" — Love n blcirt; 
 
 Both Joan and John submit ; 
 Friends smiling gather rouna and i«st. 
 
 And sweethearts closely sit ; — 
 Their feei and spirits languid grown, 
 
 Eyes, bright in silence, glance 
 Like suns on seeds of beauty sown,' 
 
 And nourish'd in the " Cushion Dance, 
 
 In times to come, when older we 
 
 Have children round our knees ; 
 How will our hearts rejoice to see 
 
 Their lips and eyes at ease. 
 Talk ye of Swiss in valley-streams. 
 
 Of joyous pairs in France ; 
 None of their hopes-delighting dreams 
 
 Are equal to the " Cushion Dance." 
 
 'Twas here my Maiden's love I drew 
 
 By the hushing of her bosom ; 
 She knelt, her mouth and press were true. 
 
 And sweet as rose's blossom : — 
 E'er since, though onward we to glory. 
 
 And cares our lives enhance. 
 Reflection dearly tells the " story'' — 
 
 Hail I — haill — thou " happy Cushion Dance." 
 
 J. R. Prioe. 
 
 IsHttgtOH. 
 
 ST. SEPULCHRE'S BELL. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 On the right-hand side of the altar of 
 St. Sepulchre's church is a board, with a 
 list of charitable donations and gifts, con 
 taining the following item : — 
 
 £. s. u- 
 1605. Mr. Robert Dowe gave 50 
 
 for ringing the greatest 
 
 hell in this church on the 
 
 day the condemned pri- 
 soners are executed, and 
 
 for other services, for 
 
 ever, concerning such 
 
 condemned prisoners, for 
 
 which services the sexton 
 
 is paid £l. 6*. 8d. 
 
 Looking over an old volume of the New- 
 gate Calendar, I found some elucidation oi 
 this inscription. In a narrative of the case 
 of Stephen Gardner, (who was executed 
 at Tyburn, February 3, 1724,) it is related 
 that a person said to Gardner, when he was 
 set at liberty on a former occasion, " Be- 
 ware how you come here again, or tlie 
 bellman will certainly say his verses ova 
 you." On this saying there is the follow- 
 ing remark : — 
 
 " It has been a very ancient practice. An 
 the night preceding the execution of cou- 
 
 82 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 demned cnminals, for tne bellman of the 
 parish of St. Sepulchre, to go under New- 
 gate, and, ringing his bell, to repeat the 
 following verses, as z piece of friendly 
 advice to the unhappy wretches under sen- 
 tence of death : — 
 
 AH you that in the condemn'd hold do lie. 
 Prepare you, for to-morrow you shall die ; 
 Watch all, and pray, the hour is drawing near. 
 That you before the Almighty must appear : 
 Examine well yourselves, in time repent. 
 That you may not to eternal flames be sent. 
 And when St. Sepulchre's bell to-morrow tolls. 
 The Lord above have mercy on your souls ! 
 
 Past twelve o'clock < 
 
 In the following extract from Stowe's 
 London,* it will be shown that the above 
 verses ought to be repeated by a clergy- 
 man, instead of a bellman : — 
 
 "Robert Done, citizen and merchant tay- 
 lor, of London, gave to the parish church of 
 St. Sepulchres, the somme of £50. That after 
 the several sessions of London, when the 
 prisoners remain in the gaole, as condemn- 
 ed men to death, expecting execution on 
 the morrow following : the clarke (that is 
 the parson) of the church shoold come in 
 the night time, and likewise early in the 
 morning, to the window of the prison where 
 they lye, and there ringing certain toles 
 with a hand-bell appointed for the purpose, 
 he doth afterwards (in most Christian man- 
 ner) put them in mind of their present 
 condition, and ensuing execution, desiring 
 them to be prepared therefore as they 
 ought to be. When they are in the cart, 
 and brought before the wall of the church, 
 there he standeth ready with the same bell, 
 and, after certain toles, rehearseth an ap- 
 pointed praier, desiring all the people 
 there present to pray for them. The beadle 
 also of Merchant Taylors* Hall hath an 
 tionest stipend allowed to see that this is 
 duely done." 
 
 Probably the discontinuance of this prac- 
 tice commenced when malefactors were 
 first executed at Newgate, in lieu of Ty- 
 burn. The donation most certainly refers 
 to the verses. What the " other services " 
 ire which the donor intended to be done, and 
 for which the sexton is paid £l. 6s. Qd., 
 and which are to be *'for ever," I do not 
 know, but I presume those services (or 
 some other) are now continued, as the 
 board which contains the donation seems 
 to me to have been newly painted. 
 
 Edwin S— . 
 Carthusian-street, Jan. 1827. 
 
 * Page 25 of the quarto edition. 161& 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE RED KING 
 
 " Come, listen to a tale of times of old ; 
 Come, for ye know me." SoiTTRtr 
 
 Who IS It that rides thro' the forest so green. 
 
 And gazes with joy on the beautiful scene. 
 
 With the guy prancing war-horse, and helmeted head ! 
 
 'Tis the monarch of England, stem William the Red . 
 
 Why starts the proud courser ? what vision is there?' 
 The trees are scarce mov'd by the still breathing air- 
 All IS hush'd, save the wild bird that carols on high. 
 The forest bee's hum, and the rivulet's sigh. 
 
 But, lo ! a dark form o'er the pathway hath lean d 
 'Tis the druid of Malwood, the wild forest-fiend 
 The terror of youth, of the aged the feir— 
 The prophet of Cadenham, the death- boding seer I 
 
 His garments were black as the night-raven's plume, 
 His features were veil'd in mysterious gloom. 
 His lean arm was awfully rais'd while he said, 
 ** Well met, England's monarch, stem William th» 
 Red I 
 
 " Desolation, death, rum, the mighty shall fall- 
 Lamentation and woe reign in Mai wood's wide hall ! 
 Those leaves shall all fade in the winter's rude blast. 
 And thou shalt lie low ere the winter be past" 
 
 ** Thou Uest, vile caitiST, 'tis false, by the rood. 
 For know that the contract is seal'd with my blood, 
 'Tis written, I never shall sleep in the tomb 
 Till Cadenham's oak in the winter shall bloom I 
 
 " But say what art thou, strange, unsearchable thing, 
 That dares to speak treason, and waylay a king ?"— 
 " Know, monarch. I dwell in the beautiful bowers 
 Of Eden, and poison I shed o'er the flowers. 
 
 " In darkness and storm o'er the ocean I sail, 
 I ride on the breath of the night-rolling gait'— 
 I dwell in Vesuvius, 'mid torrents of flame. 
 Unriddle my riddle, and tell me my name 1" 
 
 O pale grew the monarch, and smote on his breast. 
 For who was the prophet he wittingly guess'd t 
 " 0, JetthMaria I" he tremblingly said, 
 " Bona Virgo !" — ^he gazed — but the vbion had fled 
 
 'Tis winter — the trees of the forest are bare. 
 How keenly is blowing the chilly night air 1 
 The moonbeams shine brightly on hard-frozen flood. 
 And William is riding thro' Cadenham's wood. 
 
 Why looks he with dread on the blasted oak tree ? 
 Saint Swithin 1 what is it the monarch can see 7 
 Prophetical sight 1 'mid the desolate scene. 
 The oak is array'd in the freshest of green t 
 
 He thought nf the contract, "Thdu'rCuife f rom th« 
 
 tomb. 
 Till Cadenham's oak la the winter shall bloom ;" 
 He thought of the draid— ** The mighty shall ftii. 
 Lamentation- and woe rei^pi in Malwood't wiitn ttdL" 
 
 S3 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 A.S he stcxia near the'tree^lo J'a swift flying dart 
 Hath struck the proud monarch, and pierc'd thro' his 
 
 neart; 
 Tvras the deed of a friend, not the deed of a foe. 
 For the arrow was aim'd at the breast of a roe. 
 
 In Malwood is silent the light-hearted glee. 
 The dance and the vvassail, and wild revelrie ; 
 Its chambers are dreary, deserted, and loue. 
 And the day of its greatness for ever hath flown. 
 
 A weeping is heard in Saint Swithin's huge pile — 
 " Dies Irce" resounds thro' the sable-digM aisle^ 
 'Tis a dirge for the mighty, the mass for tlie dead — 
 The funeral anthem for William the Red ! 
 
 Aquila. 
 
 Described by a Writer in t634. 
 
 I will first take a survey of the long-con- 
 tinued deformity in the shape of your city, 
 which is of your buildings. 
 
 Sure your ancestors contrived y&ur nar- 
 row streets in the days of wheel- barrows, 
 before those greater engines, carts, were 
 invented. Is your climate so hot, that as 
 you walk you need umbrellas of tiles to 
 intercept the sun ? or are your shamfcles so 
 empty, that you are afraid to take in fresh 
 air, lest it should sliarpen your stomachs ? 
 Oh, the goodly landscape of Old Fish- 
 street 1 which, if it had not the ill luck to 
 be crooked, was narrow enough to have 
 been your founder's perspective ; and where 
 the garrets, perhaps not for want of archi- 
 tecture, but through abundance of amity, 
 are so narrow, that opposite neighbours 
 may shake hands without stirring from 
 home. Is unanimity of inhabitants in wide 
 cities better exprest than by their coher- 
 ence and uniformity af building, where 
 streets begin, continue, and end, in a like 
 stature and shape ?* But yours, as if they 
 were raised in a general resurrection, where 
 every man hath a several design, differ in 
 all things that can make a distinction. 
 Here stands one that aims to be a palace, 
 and next it, one that professes to be a 
 hovel; here a gitnt, there a dwarf; here 
 slender, there broad ; and all most admi- 
 rably different in faces, as well as in their 
 height and bulk, I was about to- defy any 
 Londoner, who dares to pretend there is so 
 much ingenious correspondence in this 
 w'ity, as that he can show me one house like 
 
 • If a disagreement of neighbours were to be inferred 
 I'rom n»ch a circumstance, what bat an unfavourable 
 nferrnce Wonld be drawn from our modern style of 
 iiTchilectnre, as exemplified in Regent-street, where the 
 hoU3<rs are, as the leapard's spo-ts are described to be, 
 iw two alike, and every one diflferent." 
 
 another ; yet your bouses setra to be re 
 versed and formal, being compared to the 
 fantastical looks of the moderns, v/hich 
 have more ovals, niches, and angles, than 
 in your custards, and are enclosed with 
 pasteboard walls, like those of malicious 
 Turks, who, because themselves are not im 
 mortal, and cannot dwell for ever where 
 they build, therefore wish not to be at 
 charge to provide such laistiflgness as may 
 entertain their children out of the rain ; so 
 slight and prettily gaudy, that if they could 
 move, they would pass for pageants. It is- 
 your custom, where men vary often the 
 mode of their habits, to term the nation 
 fantastical ; but where streets continually 
 change fa-shion, you should make haste to 
 chain up your city, for it is certainly m.ad. 
 
 You would think me a malicious tra- 
 veller, if I should still gaze on your mis- 
 shapen streets, and take no notice of the 
 beauty of yovtr river, therefore I will pass 
 the importunate noise of your watermen, 
 (who snatch at fares,, as if they were to 
 catch prisoners, plying the gentry so unci- 
 villy, as if they had never rowed any 
 other passengers than bear-wards,) and 
 riow step ioto one of your peascod-boatR; 
 whose tilts are not so sumptuous as the 
 roofs ofgondolas; nor, when you are within,, 
 are you at the ease of a chaine-a-bvas. 
 
 The commodity and trade of your r ei 
 belong to yourselves ; but give a strm^er 
 leave to share in the pleasure of it, which 
 will hardly be in the prospect a-nd freedom 
 of air ; unless prospect, consisting oi 
 variety,, be made up with here a palace,, 
 there a wood-yard ; here a garden, there 
 a brewhouse ; here dwells a lord, there a 
 dyer; and betweei both, diiomo commune. 
 
 If freedom of air be inferred in the hberty 
 of the subject, where every private man 
 hath authority, for his own pi'ofit, to smoke 
 up a magistrate, then the air of your 
 Thames is open enough, because it is 
 equally free. I will forbear to visit your 
 courtly neighbours at Wapping, not that 
 it will make n^e giddy to shoot your bridge, 
 but that I am loath to describe the civil 
 silence at Billingsgate, which is so great, 
 as if the mariners were always landing to 
 storm the harbour ; therefore, for brevity's 
 sake, I will put to shore again,, though 1' 
 should be so constrained, even without my 
 galoshes, to land at Puddle-dock. 
 
 I am now returned to visit your houses 
 where the roofe are so low, that I presumea 
 your artcestors were very mannerly, and 
 stood bare to their wives ; for I cannot dis^ 
 cern how they could wear their tiig'h- 
 crowned hats : yet I will enter, aod thereiai 
 
 84 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 oblige you much, wnen you know my. aver- 
 sion to a certain weed that governs amongst 
 your coarser acquaintance, as much as 
 lavender among your coarser linen ; to 
 which, in ray apprehension, your sea-coal 
 smoke seems a very Portugal perfume. I 
 khould here hasten to a period, for fear of 
 suffocation, if I thought you so ungracious 
 as to use it in public assemblies ; and yet I 
 jee it grow so much in fashion, that me- 
 (hinks your children begin to play with 
 Dioken pipes instead of corals, to make 
 way for their teeth. You will find my 
 visit short ; I cannot stay to eat with you, 
 because your bread is too heavy, and you 
 distrain the light substance of herbs. Your 
 drink is too thick, and yet you are seldom 
 over curious in washing your glasses. Nor 
 will I lodge with you, because your beds 
 seem no bigger than coifins ; and your cur- 
 tains so short, as they will hardly Tserve to 
 enclose your carriers in summer, and may 
 be held, if taffata, to have lined your grand- 
 sire's skirts. 
 
 I have now left your houses, and am 
 passing through your streets, but not in a 
 coach, for they are uneasily hung, and so 
 narrow, that I took them for sedans upon 
 wheels. Nor is it safe for a stranger to use 
 them till the quarrel be decided, whether 
 six of your nobles, sitting together, shall 
 stop and give way to as many barrels of 
 beer. Your city is the only metropolis 
 in Europe, where there is wonderful dignity 
 belonging to carts. 
 
 I would now make a safe retreat, but 
 that methinks T am stopped by one of your 
 heroic games called foot-ball ; which I con- 
 ceive (under your favour) not very conve- 
 niently civil in the streets, especially .in 
 such irregular and narrow roads as Crooked- 
 iane. Yet it argues your courage, much 
 iike your military pastime df throwing at 
 cocks ; but your metal would be much 
 magnified (since you have long allowed 
 those two valiant exercises in the streets) 
 were you to draw your archers from Fins- 
 bu^y, and, during high market, let them 
 shoot at butts in Cheapside. I have now 
 no more to say, but what refers to a few 
 private notes, which I shall give yeu in a 
 whisper, when we meet in Moorfields, from 
 whence (because the place was meant for 
 public pleasure, and to show the munifi- 
 cence of your city) I shall desire you to 
 'banish your laundresses and bleachers,whose 
 acres of old linen make a show like the 
 fields of Carthagena,when the five months' 
 shifts of the whole fle^t are washed and 
 spread.* 
 
 • Sir W. Darenant. 
 
 A FATHER'S HOME. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 When oppress'd by the world, or fatigu'd with tCs 
 charms, 
 
 My weary steps homeward I tread — 
 'Tis there, midst the prattlers that fly to my arms, 
 
 I enjoy purer pleasures instead. 
 Hark I the rap at the door is known as their dad's, 
 
 And rushing at once lo the lock, 
 Wide open it flies. While the lasses and lads 
 
 Bid me welcome as chief of the flock. 
 Little babz/ himself leaves the breast for a gaze 
 
 Glad to join in th' general joy, 
 While with outstretched arms ^nd looks of amazs 
 
 He seizes the new purchas'd toy. 
 Then Harry, the next, climbsthe knee to engage 
 
 His father's attention again ; 
 But Bub, springing forward almost in a rage. 
 
 Resolves his own rights to maintain. 
 'Oh, ye vot'ries of pleasure and folly's sad crew. 
 
 From yotlr midnight carousals depart ! 
 X,ook here for true joys, ever blooming and new. 
 
 When I press both these boys to my heart. 
 Poor grimalkin purs softly — thiS tea-kettle sings. 
 
 Midst glad faces and innocent hearts, 
 'Encircling my table as happy as kings. 
 
 Right merrily playing their parts. 
 
 And Bill (the sly rogue) takes a lump, when he's abi« 
 
 Of sugar, so temptingly sweet, 
 And, archly observing, hides under the table 
 
 The spoil, till he's ready to eat. 
 
 While George, the big boy, talks of terrible " sams" 
 
 He perform'd so correctly at school; 
 Bill leeringly tells, with his chin on his thimbi, 
 
 " He was whipt there for playing the fool I" 
 This raises a strife, till in choleric mood 
 
 Each ventures a threat to his brother. 
 But their hearts are so good, let a stranger intrude, 
 
 They'd fight to the last for each other, 
 There Nan, the sweet girl, she that fags for the whola. 
 
 And keeps the young urchins in order. 
 Exhibits, with innocence charmina the soul, 
 
 Her sister's fine sampler and border. 
 K^tty sings to me gaily, then chatting apace 
 
 Helps her mother to darn or to stitch, 
 Reminding me most of that gay laughing face 
 
 Which once did my fond heart bewitch. 
 While she I the dear partner of all my delight. 
 
 Contrives them some innocent play ; 
 Till, tired of all, in the silence of night. 
 
 They dream the glad moments away. 
 Oh, long may such fire-side scenes be my lot! 
 
 Ye children, be virtuous and tine ! 
 And think when I'm aged, alone in my cot. 
 
 How 1 minister'd comfort to you. 
 When my vigour is gone, and to manhood's estata 
 
 Ye all shall be happily grown. 
 Live near me, and. anxious for poor father's fate 
 
 Show the world that you're truly my own. 
 
 85 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 STANMORE TOLL-HOUSE. 
 
 Its ornaTnental look, and public use. 
 Combine to render it worth observation. 
 
 Our new toll-houses are deservedly the 
 subject of frequent remark, on account of 
 their beauty. The preceding engraving is 
 intended to convey an idea of Stanmore- 
 pate, which is one of the handsomest near 
 London. The top is formed into a large 
 lantern ; when illuminated, it is an im- 
 portant mark to drivers m dark nights. 
 
 it may be necessary to add, that the pre- 
 sent representation wa« not destined to 
 appear in this place ; but the indisposition 
 of a gentleman engaged to assist in illus- 
 rating this work, has occasioned a sudden 
 disappointment. 
 
 « STATUTES " AND " MOPS." 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Si • Although your unique and curious 
 
 work, the Every-Day Book, abounds with 
 very interesting accounts of festivals, fairs, 
 wa^iails, wakes, and other particulars con- 
 eejaing our country manners, and will be 
 prized by future generations as a rare and 
 
 valuable collection of the pastimes anot 
 customs of their forefathers, still much oi 
 the same nature remains to be related ; 
 and as I am anxious that the Country 
 Statute, or Mop, (according to the version 
 of the country people generally,) should be 
 snatched from oblivion, I send you a de- 
 scription of this custom, which, I hope, will 
 be deemed worthy a place in the Table 
 Book. I had waited to see if some one 
 more competent to a better account than 
 myself would achieve the task, when that 
 short but significant word Finis, attached 
 to the Every-Day Book, arouses me froir. 
 further delay, and 1 delineate, as well as 1 
 am able, scenes which, but for that work, 
 I possibly should have never noticed. 
 
 Some months ago I solicited the assist- 
 ance of a friend, a respectable farmer, 
 residing at Wootton, in Warwickshire, who 
 not only very readily promised to give me 
 every information he possessed on the sub- 
 ject, but proposed that I should pass a 
 week at his farm at the time these Statutes 
 were holding. So valuable an opportunity 
 
 86 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 of visiting them and making my own obser- 
 vations, I, of course, readily embraced. Be- 
 I fere 1 proceed to lay before you the results, 
 j t may be as well, ])erhaps, to give some- 
 diing like a definition of the name applied 
 I lO this peculiar custom, as also when and 
 \ ^or what purpose the usage was established. 
 , ** Statutes," or " Statute Sessions," otherwise 
 called " Petit Sessions," are meetings, m 
 Hvery hundred of each shire in England where 
 they are held, to which the constables and 
 others, both householders and servants, 
 repair for the determining of differences 
 between masters and servants ; the rating, 
 by the sheriff or magistrates, of wages for 
 the ensuing year ; and the bestowing of 
 such people in service as are able to 
 serve, and refuse to seek, or cannot get 
 masters. 
 
 The first ant of parliament for regulating 
 servants' wages passed in the year 1351, 
 25th Edward III. At an early period 
 labourers were serfs, or slaves, and con- 
 sequently there was no law upon the sub- 
 ject. The immediate cause of the act of 
 Edward III. was that plague which wasted 
 Europe from 1347 to 1349, and destroyed 
 a great proportion of its inhabitants. Tiie 
 consequent scarcity of labourers, and the 
 high price demanded for labour, caused 
 those who employed them to obtain legis- 
 lative enactments, imposing fines on ail 
 who gave or accepted more than a stipu- 
 lated sum. Since that period there have 
 been various regulations of a similar nature. 
 By the 13th of Richard II. the justices of 
 every county were to meet once a year, 
 between Easter and Michaelmas, to regu- 
 late, according to circumstances, the rates 
 of wages of agricultural servants for the 
 year ensuing, and cause the same to be 
 proclaimed. But though this power was 
 confirmed to the justices by the 5th of 
 Elizabeth, this part of the custom of Sta- 
 tute Sessions is almost, if not quite, fallen 
 into disuse. It is probable that in the years 
 immediately succeeding the first enactment 
 the population was so restored as to cause the 
 laws to be relaxed, though they still remain 
 a.? an example of the wisdom of past ages. 
 However this may be, it is certain, that all 
 that is at present understood by "Statutes," 
 or, as the vulgar call them, " Mops," is the 
 assembling of masters and servants, the for- 
 i mer to seek- the latter, and the latter to 
 obtain employment of the former. It is un- 
 doubtedly a mutual accommodation ; for 
 although tiie servants now rate and ask what 
 wages they think fit, still they have an 
 opportunity of knowing how wages aie 
 iis'jallv going, and the masters have hun- 
 
 dreds, and, in some cases, thousands of 
 servants to choose from. 
 
 The " Statute" I first attended was held 
 at Studley, in Warwickshire, at the latter 
 end of September. On arriving, between 
 twelve and one o'clock, at the part of the 
 Alcester road where the assembly was held, 
 the place was filling very fast by groups of 
 persons of almost all descriptions from 
 every quarter. Towards three o'clock there 
 must have been many thousands present. 
 The appearance of the whole may be pretty 
 accurately portrayed to the mind of those 
 who have witnessed a country fair ; the 
 sides of the roads were occupied with stalls 
 for gingerbread, cakes, &c., general assort- 
 ments of hardware, japanned goods, wag- 
 goner's frocks, and an endless variety of 
 wearing apparel, suitnble to every class, 
 from the farm bailifl^', or dapper footman, 
 to the unassuming ploughboy, or day-la- 
 bourer. 
 
 The public-houses were thoroughly full, 
 not excepting even the private chan.jers. 
 The scene out of doors was enlivened, here 
 and there, by some wandering minstiel, or 
 fiddler, rcund whom stood a crowd of men 
 and boys, who, at intervals, eagerly joined 
 to swell the chorus of the song. Although 
 there was as large an assemblage as could 
 be well remembered, both of masters and 
 servants, I was given to understand that 
 there was very little hiring. This miijht 
 happen from a twofold cause ; first, on ac- 
 count of its being one of the early Statutes, 
 and, secondly, from the circumstance of the 
 servants asking what was deemed (consi- 
 dering the pressure of the times) exorbitant 
 wages. The servants were, for the most 
 part, bedecked in their best church-going 
 clothes. The men also wore clean white 
 frocks,and carried in their hats some emblem 
 or insignia of the situation they had been 
 accustomed to or were desirous to fill : for 
 instance, a waggoner, or ploughboy, had a 
 piece of whipcord in his hat, some of it 
 ingeniously plaited in a variety of ways 
 and entwined round the hatband ; a cow- 
 man, after the same manner, had some 
 cow-hair ; and to those already mentioned 
 there was occasionally added a piece of 
 sponge ; a shepherd had wool ; a gardener 
 had flowers, &c. 8cc. 
 
 The girls wishing to be hired were in a 
 spot apart from the men and boys, and all 
 stood not unlike cattle at a fair waiting for 
 dealers. Some of them held their hands be- 
 fore them, with one knee protruding, (like 
 soldiers standing at ease,) and never spokf, 
 save wlien catechised and examined by a 
 master or mistress as to the work thej hu 
 
 87 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 leen accustomed to ; and then you would 
 scarce suppose they had learned to say 
 anything but " Ees, sur," or " No, sur," 
 for these were almost the only expressions 
 that fell from their lips. Others, on the 
 contrary, exercised no small degree of self- 
 sufficient loquacity concerning their abili- 
 lies, which not unusually consisted of a good 
 proportion of main strength, or being able 
 (0 drive or follow a variety of kinds of 
 plough. Where a master ©r mistress was 
 engaged in conve.'^sation wi'ili a servant 
 they were usually surrounded by a group, 
 with their mouths extended to an angle of 
 near forty-five degrees, as if to catch the 
 sounds at the aperture ; this in some, per- 
 haps, was mere idle curiosity, in others, 
 from desire to know the wages asked and 
 given, as a guide for themselves. I observ- 
 ed a seeming indifference about the servants 
 in securing situations. They appeared to 
 require a certain sum for wages, without 
 reference to any combination of circum- 
 stances or the state of the tim.es ; and how- 
 ever exorbitant, they rarely seemed dispos- 
 I ed to meet the master by proposing some- 
 thing lower ; they would stand for some 
 time and hear reasons why wages should 
 be more moderate, and at the conclusion, 
 when you would suppose they were either 
 willing, in some measure, to accede to the 
 terms, or to offer reasons why they should 
 not, yon were mortified to 'know, that the 
 usual answer was, '^ Yo'll find me yarn it, 
 sur," or " I conna gue for less." 
 
 When a bargain is concluded on at a 
 " Statute," it is the custom to ratify it im- 
 mediately, and on the spot, by the master 
 presenting to the servant what is teimed 
 " earnest money," which is usually one 
 shilling, but it varies according to circum- 
 stances ; for instance, if a servant agrees to 
 come for less than he at first asked, it is, 
 perhaps, on the condition that his earnest 
 is augmented, probably doubled or trebled, 
 as may be agreed on. 
 
 Tlie contract arises upon the hiring : if 
 the hiring be general, without any particu- 
 lar lime limited, the law construes it to he 
 hiring for one year; but the contract may 
 be made for any lonaer or shoiter period. 
 Many farmers are wary enough to hire 
 their servants for fifty-one weeks only, 
 which prevents them having any claim 
 upon that particular parish in case of dis- 
 tress, &:c. We frequently find disputes 
 between two parishes atising out of Statute- 
 hirings brought to the assizes or sessions 
 for settlement. 
 
 When the hiring is over, the emblems in 
 the hats are exchanged for ribbons of al- 
 
 most every hue. Some retire to fhe neigh- 
 bouring grounds to have games at bowls, 
 skittles, or pitching, &c. &c., whilst th« 
 more unwary are fleeced of their money by 
 the itinerant Greeks and black legs with 
 E. O. tables, pricking in the garter, the 
 three thimbles & c. &c. These tricksters 
 seldom fail to rea p abundant harvests at 
 the Statutes, rowards evening each lad 
 seeks his lass, and they hurry off to spend the 
 rright at the public-houses, or, as is the 
 case in some small villages, at p'nvate 
 houses, which, on these occasions, are 
 licensed for the time being. 
 
 To attempt to delineate the scenes thai 
 now present themselves, would on my part 
 be presumption indeed. It rather requires 
 the pencil of Hogarth to do justice to thi> 
 varied picture. Here go round the 
 
 "Song and dance, and mirth and glee;" 
 but I cannot add, with the poet, 
 
 " In one continued round of harmony :" 
 
 for, among such a mingled mass, i't is rare 
 but that in soine part discoid breaks in 
 upon the rustic amusements of the peace- 
 ably inclined. The rooms of the several 
 houses are literally crammed, and usuallj 
 remain so throughout the night, unless thej 
 happen to be under restrictions from the 
 magistrates, in which case the houses are 
 shut at a S'tated hour, or the license risked. 
 Clearances, however, are not easily effected 
 At a village not far from hence, it has, 
 ere now, been found necessary to disiurh 
 tite reverend magistrate from his peacefu. 
 slumbers, and require his presence to quell 
 disturbances that almost, as a natural con 
 sequence, eiasue, from the landlords and 
 proprietors of the houses attempting V 
 turn out guests, who, under the influence ot 
 liquor, pay little regard to either landlord 
 or magis-trate. The most peace.ible w.iv ol 
 dealing, is to allow them to remain till the 
 morning dawn breaks in and warns tbeni 
 home. 
 
 The time for Statute-hiring commences 
 about the beginning of September, and 
 usually closes before old Michaelmas-day, 
 that being the day on which servants enter 
 on their new services, or, at h ast, quit theii 
 old ones. Yet there are some few Statutes 
 held after this time, which are significantly 
 styled " Runaway Mops ;" one of this kind 
 is held at Henley-in-Arden, on the 2§th of 
 October, being also St. Luke's fair. Three 
 others are held at Southam, in Warwick- 
 shire, on the three successive Monday.s 
 after old Michaelmas-day. To- th«se Sta- 
 tutes all repair, w'lo, from one cause or 
 otler, declme to go to their uew places, 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ogether with others who had not been for- 
 'unate enough to obtain situations. Mas- 
 ers, however, consider it rather hazardous to 
 uire at these Statutes, as they are in danger 
 of engagin^f with servants already hired, 
 who capriciously refuse to go to their em- 
 .ployment; and if any person hire or retain 
 a servant so engaged, the iirst hirer has his 
 action for damages against the master and 
 servant ; yet, if the new master did .not 
 know his servant had been hired before, no 
 action will lie against him, except he 
 refuse to gi-ve him up on information and 
 ■demand. Characters are sometimes requir- 
 ed by the muster hiring ; and these, to the 
 great detriment of society, are given in 
 such a loose and unreserved manner, that 
 (to use the language of the author of the 
 Rambler) you may almost as soon depend 
 on the circumstance of an acquittal at the 
 (.•Id Bailey by way of recommendation to 
 a servant's honesty, as upon one of these 
 characters. 
 
 If a master discovers that a servant is 
 not capable of performing the stipulated 
 work, or is of bad character, he may send 
 'the servant to drink tlie " earnest money ;" 
 and custom has rendered this sufficient to 
 dissolve the contract. On the other hand, 
 if a servant has been deceived by the mas- 
 ter in any particular, a release is obtained 
 by returning the "earnest." If, however, 
 *here is no just ground of complaint, It is 
 a., the master's option to accept it, and vice 
 ■versa. The Statutes I have visited for the 
 purpose of gaining these particulars are 
 Studley, Shipston-on-Stour, and Aston- 
 ■Cantlow, all in Warwickshire. I observed 
 no particular difference either in the busi- 
 ness or the diversions of the day, but Stud- 
 iley was by far the largest. At Stratford-on- 
 Avon, and some other places, there is buh 
 roasting, &c., which, of course, adds to the 
 amusement and frolic of the visitors. 
 
 I believe I have now pretty well exhaust- 
 ed my notes, and I should not liave been 
 •thus particular, but that 1 believe Statute- 
 hiring is a custom peculiar to England. I 
 shall conclude by making an extract from 
 Isaac Bickerstaffe's " Love in a Village." 
 In scenes the 10th and 11th there is a green, 
 with the prospect of a village, and the 
 representation of a Statute, and tlie follow- 
 ing conversation, '&c. takes place: — 
 
 Hodge. This way, your worship, this 
 ■way. Why don't you stand aside there ? 
 Here's his worship a-coming. 
 
 Countrymen. His worship! 
 
 Justice froodcock. Fy ! fyl what a 
 crowd's this ! Odds, I'll put some of then* 
 
 in the stocks. (^Striking u fellow.) Stand 
 out of the way, sirrah. 
 
 Hodge. Now, your honour, now tm 
 sport will come. The gut-scrapers ar« 
 here, and some among them are going tu 
 sing and dance. Why, there's not the like 
 of our Statute, mun, in five counties; others 
 are but fools to it. 
 
 Servant Man. Come, good people, make 
 a ring ; and stand out, fellow-servants, as 
 many of you as are willing and able to 
 bear a-bob. We'll let my masters and 
 mistresses see we can do something at 
 least ; if they won't hire us it sha'n't be 
 our fault. Strike up the Servants' Medley. 
 
 AIR. 
 
 Housemaid. 
 I pray, gentles, list to me, 
 I'm young and strong, and clean, you see ; 
 I'll not turn tail to any she, 
 
 For work that's in the country. 
 Of all your house the charge I take, 
 I wash, I scrub, I brew, I bake ; 
 And more can do than liere I'll speak. 
 Depending on your bounty. 
 Footman. 
 Behold A blade, who knows his trada 
 
 In chamber, hall, and entry ; 
 And what though here I now appear, 
 I've served the best of gentry. 
 A footman would you have, 
 I can dress, and comb, and shave 
 For I a handy lad am : 
 On a message I can go, 
 And slip a billet-doux. 
 With your huuible servar»t, madam. 
 Coohnaid. 
 Who wants a good cook my hand they must cross; 
 For plain wholesome dishes I'm ne'er at a loss; 
 And what are your soups, your ragouts, and your sauce, 
 Compared to old English roast beef? 
 
 Carter. 
 If you want a young man with a true honest heart. 
 Who knows how to manage a plough and a cart. 
 Here's one to your purpose, come take me and try; 
 You'll say you ne'er met with a better than I, 
 H Geho, dobin, &c. 
 
 Chorus. 
 My masters and mistresses hitner repair, 
 What servants you want you'll find in our fair; 
 Men and maids fit for all sorts of stations there be. 
 And as for the wages we sha'n't disagree. 
 
 Presuming that these Tnemoranda mry 
 amuse a number of persons who, chietiy 
 living in large towns and cities, have no 
 opportunity of being otherwise acquainted 
 with " Statutes," or " Mops," in country, 
 places, i am, Sie. 
 
 Birmingham. 
 
 89 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 HAM AND STILTON. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 The Poet's Epistle of Thanks to a 
 Friend at Birmingham. 
 
 " Perlege Maeonio cantatas carmine ranss. 
 Et frontem nugi, solvere disce mei«." 
 
 Mah {. 
 
 Dear Friend, — I feel ronstrain'd to say. 
 The present sent the other day- 
 Claims my best thanks, and while desis;n'd 
 To please the taste, it warm'd my mind. 
 Nor, wonder not it should inspire 
 Within my oreast poetic tire 1 
 
 The Cheese seem'd like so:ne gfrowinp; state, 
 Compos'd of little folks and great ; 
 Though we denominate them mitct. 
 They call each other Stiltonites. 
 And 'tis most fit, where'er we live. 
 The land our epithet should give : 
 Romans derive their name from Rome, 
 And Turks, you know, from Turkey come. 
 
 Gazing with " microscopic eye" 
 
 O'er Stilton land, I did espy 
 
 Such wonders, as would make those start 
 
 Wlio never neep'd or travell'd there. 
 
 I'he country where this race reside 
 
 Abounds with crags on ev'ry side : 
 
 Its geographic situation 
 
 Is under constant variation ; 
 
 Now hurried up, then down again-- 
 
 No fix'd abode can it maintain : 
 
 And, like the Lilliputian clim.% 
 
 We read about in olden time. 
 
 Huge giants compass it about, 
 
 Who dig within, and cut with(Ait, 
 
 And at a montliful — direful fate 1 
 
 A city oft depopulate 1 
 
 And, then, in Stilton, you mnst know, 
 
 There is a spot, caU'd Kottenroio ; 
 
 A soil more marshy than the rest. 
 
 Therefore by some esteem'd the best. 
 
 The natives here, whene'er they dine. 
 
 Drink nothing but the choicest wine ; 
 
 Which through each street comes flowing; down. 
 
 Like water in New Sarum's town. 
 
 In snch a quarter, you may guess. 
 
 The leading vice is drunkenness. 
 
 £ome hither any hour of day, 
 
 And you shall see whole clusters lay 
 
 Reeling and floundering about. 
 
 As though it were a madman's rout. 
 
 Those who dwell nearer the land's end, 
 
 Where rarely the red show'rs descend. 
 
 Are in their turns corporeal 
 
 More sober and gymnastiral 
 
 Meandering in kindred dust. 
 
 They gauge, and with the dry-rot bnrst , 
 
 For we may naturally think. 
 
 They lire nat lonj who cannot dnnh. 
 
 Alas ! poor Stilton ! where's the maw 
 To sing thy downfall will refuse ? 
 Melpomene, in mournful verse. 
 Thy dire destruction will rehearse: 
 Comus himself shaU grieve and weep. 
 As notes of woe his gay lyre sweep ; 
 For who among thy countless band 
 The fierce invaders can withstand ? 
 Nor only 'oreign foes are thine — 
 Children thou hast, who undermine 
 Thy massive walls that 'girt thee round. 
 And ev'ry corner seems unsound. 
 A few more weeks, and we shall see 
 Stilton, the fam'd — will cease to be 1 
 
 Before, however, I conclude, 
 
 I wish to add, that gratitude 
 
 Incites me to another theme 
 
 Beside coagulated cream. 
 
 •Tis not about tlie village Ham, 
 
 Nor yet the place call'd Petersham — 
 
 Nor more renowned Birmingham : 
 
 Nor is ' t fr'ed or Friar Bacon, 
 
 The Muse commands me verse to make on 
 
 Nor pigm'es, (as the poet feigns,) 
 
 A peop ■! once devour'd by cranes. 
 
 Of these i s'-eak not — my intention 
 
 Is something nearer home to mention ; 
 
 Therefore, at once, fov ■■ t's hind leg 
 
 Accept my warmest thanks, I beg. 
 
 The nieaf^?"! of the finest sort. 
 
 And worthy of a lish at court. 
 
 Lastly, I gladly wonld express 
 
 I'he gratetf I ee^ings ' possess 
 
 For such a boon — th' attempt is rain. 
 
 And hence in wisdom I refrain 
 
 From saying more than what yon se^— 
 
 Farewell 1 sincerely yours, 
 
 B.C. 
 
 To E. T. Esq. 
 Jan. 1827, 
 
 LOVES OF THE NEGROES. 
 
 At New Paltz, United States. 
 
 Phillis Schoonmaker v. Cuff Hogeboon. 
 
 TTiis was an action for a breach of the 
 marriage promise, tried before 'squire Df 
 Witt, justice of the peace and quorum 
 The parties, as their names indicate, were 
 black, or, as philanthropists would say, 
 coloured folk. Counsellor Van Shaick ap- 
 ]>ealed on behalf of the lady. He recapi- 
 tulated the many verdicts which had been 
 given of late in favour of injured inno- 
 cence, much to the honour and gallantry ol 
 an American jury. It was time to put an 
 end to these faithless professions, to these 
 cold-hearted delusions ; it was time to put 
 a curb upon the false tongues and fals» 
 hearts of pretended lovers, who, withhonivd 
 
 ilj 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 accents, only woo'd to ruin, and only pro- 
 fessed to deceive. The worthy counsellor 
 trusted that no injurious impressions would 
 be made on the minds of the jury by the 
 colour of his client — 
 
 " 'Tis not. a set of features. 
 
 This tincture of the ihin, that we admire." 
 
 She was black, it was true ; so was the ho- 
 noured wife of Moses, the most illustrious 
 and inspired of prophets. Othello, the 
 celebrated Moor of Venice, and the victo- 
 rious general of her armies, was black, yet 
 the lovely Desdemona saw " Othello's visage 
 in his mind." In modern times, we might 
 quote his sable majesty of Hayti, or, since 
 that country had become a republic, the 
 srallant Boyer. — He could also refer to Rhio 
 Ithio, king of the Sandwich Islands, his 
 copper-coloured queen, and niadame Poki, 
 so hospitably received, and fed to death by 
 their colleague the king of England — nay, 
 the counsellor was well advised that the 
 brave general Sucre, the hero of Ayacucho, 
 was a dark mulatto. What, then, is colour 
 in estimating the griefs of a forsaken and 
 ill-treated female ? She was poor, it was 
 true, and in a humble sphere of life ; but 
 love levels all distinctions; the blind god 
 was no judge, and no respecter of colours ; 
 his darts penetrated deep, not skin deep ; 
 liis client, though black, was flesh and 
 blood, and possessed affections, passions, 
 resentments, and sensibilities ; and in this 
 case she confidently threw herself upon the 
 generosity of a jury of freemen — of men of 
 the north, as the friends of the northern 
 president would say, of men who did not 
 live in Missouri, and on sugar plantations ; 
 and from such his client expected just and 
 liberal damages. 
 
 Phillis then advanced to the bar, to give 
 iter testimony. She was, as her counsel 
 represented, truly made up of flesh and 
 blood, being what is called a strapping 
 wench, as black as the ace of spades. She 
 was dressed in the low Dutch fashion, 
 which has not varied for a century, linsey- 
 woolsey petticoats, vei-y short, blue worsted 
 stocking's, leather shoes, with a massive 
 pair of silver buckles, bead ear-rings, her 
 woolly hair combed, and face sleek and 
 greasy. There was no " dejected 'haviour 
 of visage" — no broken heart visible in her 
 face — she looked fat and comfortable, as if 
 she had sustained no damage by the perfidy 
 of lier swain. Before she was sworn, the 
 court called the defendant, who came from 
 among the crowd, and stood respectfully 
 oefore the bench. Cuff was a good-looking 
 young fellow, with a tolerably smartish 
 
 dress, and appeared as if ho had been in 
 the metropolis taking lessons of perfidiou* 
 lovers — he cast one or two cutting looks at 
 I'hillis, accompanied by a significant turr» 
 up of the nose, and now and then a con- 
 temptuous ejaculation of Eh ! — Umph ! — 
 Ough!— which did not disconcert the fair 
 oue in the least, she returning the compli- 
 ment by placing her arms a-kimbo, and 
 surveying her lover from head to foot. Tiie 
 court inquired of Cuff whether he had 
 counsel? " No, massa, (he replied) I teli 
 my own 'tory — you see massa 'Squire, 1 
 know de gentlemen of de jury berry veil — 
 dere is massa Teerpenning, of Little 'So- 
 phus, know hira berry veil — I plough foi 
 him ; — den dere is massa Traphagaii, of our 
 town — how he do massa? — ah, dere massa 
 Topper, vat prints de paper at Big 'Sopliu- 
 — know him too; — dere is massa Peei 
 Steenberg — know him too — he owe me lit- 
 tle money : — I know 'em all massa 'Squire: 
 — I did go to get massa Lucas to plead fo 
 me, but he gone to the Court of Error, ai 
 Albany ; — Ma^sa Sam Freer and mass;: 
 Cockburn said they come to gib me goo<i 
 character, but I no see 'em here." 
 
 Cuff was ordei-ed to stand aside, an<l 
 Phillis was sworn. 
 
 Plaintiff said she did not know how oK' 
 she was; believed she was sixteen; sin- 
 looked nearer twenty-six ; she lived wit •■ 
 Hons Schoonmaker ; was brought up in th- 
 family. She told her case as patheticalij 
 as possible : — 
 
 *' Massa "Squire," said she, " I was gone 
 up to massa Schoonmaker's lot, on Shaun- 
 gum mountain, to pile brush ; den Cuff, he 
 vat stands dare, cum by vid de teem, he top 
 his horses and say, ' How de do, Phillis.' 
 or, as she gave it, probably in Dutch, ' How 
 gaud it mit you ?' ' Hail goot,' said I ; der. 
 massa he look at me berry hard, and say. 
 Phillis, pose you meet me in the nite, ven dt 
 moon is up, near de barn, I got sumting to 
 say — den I say, berry bell. Cuff, I vill — ht- 
 vent up de mountain, and 1 vent home ; 
 ven I eat my supper and milk de cows, ] 
 say to myself, Phillis, pose you go down to 
 de barn, and hear vat Cuff has to say. 
 Well, massa 'Squire, 1 go, dare was Cufl 
 sure enough, he told heaps of tings all 
 about love ; call'd me Wenus and Jewpeter, 
 and other tings vat he got out of de play- 
 house ven he vent down in the slope to 
 New York, and he ax'd me if I'd marry 
 him before de Dominie, Osterhaut, he vai 
 preached in Milton, down 'pon Marlbro'. 
 1 say, Cuff, you make fun on me ; he say 
 no, ' By mine zeal, I vil marry you, Phillis ;" 
 den he gib me dis here as earnest." — PhilL.. 
 
 91 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 here drew from her huge pocket an im- 
 mense pair of scissars, a jack knife, and a 
 wooden pipe curiously carved, which she 
 oftered as a testimony of the promise, and 
 which was sworn to as the property of Cuff, 
 who subsequently had refused to fulfil the 
 contract. 
 
 Cuff admitted that he had made her a 
 kind of promise, but it was conditional. 
 " 1 told her, massa 'Squire, that she was a 
 slave and a nigger, and she must wait till 
 the year 27, then all would be free, cording 
 to the new constitution; den she said, berry 
 veil, I bill wait." 
 
 Phillis utterly denied the period of pro- 
 bation ; it was, she said, to take place " ben 
 he got de new corduroy breeches from 
 Cripplely Coon, de tailor ; he owe three and 
 sixpence, and mnssa Coon won't let hmi 
 hab 'emi vidout de money: den Cuff he run 
 away tO' Varsing ; I send Coon Crook, de 
 constable, and he find um at Shaudakin, 
 and he bring him before you, massa." 
 
 The testimony here closed. 
 
 The court charged the jury, that although 
 the testimony was not conclusive, nor the 
 injury very apparent, yet the court was not 
 warranted in taking the case out of the 
 hands of the jury. A promise had evidently 
 been made, and had been broken ; some 
 differences existed as to the period when 
 the matrimonial contract was to have been 
 fulfilled, and it was equally true and honour- 
 able, as the court observed, that in 1827 
 slavery was to cease in the state, and that 
 fact might have warranted the defendant in 
 the postponement ; but of this there was 
 no positive proof, and as the parties could 
 neither read nor write, the presents might be 
 construed into a marriage promise. The 
 court could see no reason why these hum- 
 ble Africans should not, in imitation of 
 '.heir betters, in such cases, appeal to a jury 
 for damages ; but it was advisable not to 
 make those damages more enormous than 
 circumstances warranted, yet siifficient to 
 act as a lesson to those coloured gentry, in 
 their attempts to imitate fashionable in- 
 fidelity. 
 
 Tiie jury brought in a verdict of " Ten 
 dollars, and costs, for the plaintiflC." 
 
 The defendant not being able to pay, 
 was committed to Kingston jail, a martyr 
 to his own folly, and an example to all 
 others in like cases offending. 
 
 THE RETROSPECT. 
 
 I have not heard' thy name for year*; 
 
 Thy memory ere thyself is deaa ; 
 And even I forget the tears 
 
 That once for thy lov'd sake were shed. 
 
 There was a time when thou didst seem 
 The light and breath of life to me— 
 
 When, e'en in thought, I could not dream 
 That less than mine thou e'er could be : — 
 
 Yet now it is a chance that brought 
 
 Thy image to my heart again ; 
 A single flower recall'd the thought — 
 
 Why is it still so full of pain ? 
 
 The jasmine, round the casement twin'd. 
 Caught mine eye in the pale moonlight • 
 
 It broke my dream, and brought to mind 
 Another dream — another night. 
 
 As then, I by the casement leant , 
 As then, the silver moonlight shone 
 
 But not, as then, another bent 
 Beside me — I am now alone. 
 
 The sea is now between us twain 
 As wide a gulf between each heart ; 
 
 Never can either have again 
 An influence on the other's part. 
 
 Our paths are different ; perchance mme 
 May seem the sunniest of the two : 
 
 The lute, which once was only thine, 
 Has other aim, and higher view. 
 
 My song has now a wider scope 
 
 Than when its first tones breath'd thy nama; 
 My heart has done with Love — and hope 
 
 Tum'd to another idol — Fame. 
 
 'Tis but one destiny ; one dream 
 
 Succeeds another — like a wave 
 Following its bubbles — till their gleam 
 
 Is lost, and ended in the grave. 
 
 Why am I sorrowful ? 'Tis not 
 
 One thought of thee has brought the tear- 
 In sooth, thou art so much forgot, 
 I do not even wish thee here 
 
 Both are so chang'd, that did we meet 
 We might but marvel we had lov'd : 
 
 What made our earliest dream so sweet ?— 
 Illusions — long, long sincg remov'd. 
 
 I sorrow — but it is to know 
 
 How still some fair deceit unweayeg — 
 To think how all of joy below 
 
 Is only joy while it deceives. 
 
 I sorrow — but it is to feel 
 
 Changes which my own mind hath toldr— 
 What, though time polishes the steel, 
 
 Alas ! it is less bright than cold. 
 
 UJ 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 I hav: more smiles, sno fewer tears ; 
 
 Ruf tears arenow restrfl'n'i^ for shame: 
 Task-work the smiles my lip now wears, 
 
 That once like rain and sunshine came. 
 
 Where is the sweet credulity, 
 
 Happy in that fond trust it bore. 
 Which never dream'd the time would be 
 
 When it could hope and trust no more ? 
 
 Affection, springing warmly forth — 
 Light word, light laugh, and lighter care 
 
 Life's afternoon is little worth — 
 
 The dew and warmth of morning air. 
 
 Ii would not live again love's hour ; 
 
 But fnin I would again recall 
 The feelings which upheld its power — 
 
 The truth, the hope, that made it thralL 
 
 I would renounce the worldliness. 
 Now too much with my heart and 'ne; 
 
 la one trust more, in one doubt less. 
 How much of happiness would be ! — 
 
 Vainer than vain ! Why should I ask 
 Life's sweet but most deceiving part ? 
 
 Alas! the bloom upon the cheek 
 Long, long outlives that of the heart 
 
 L. E. L. — Monthly Magazine. 
 
 TIMBER IN BOGS. 
 
 It is stated in the second report of the 
 tommissioners on the bogs of Ireland, that 
 three distinct growths of timber, covered 
 by three distinct masses of bog, are dis- 
 covered on examination. But vv'hether these 
 morasses were at first formed by the de- 
 struction of whole forests, or merely by the 
 stagnation of water in places where its 
 current was choked by the fall of a few 
 trees, and by accumulations of branches 
 and leaves, carried down from the sur- 
 rounding hills, is a question. 
 
 Professor Davy is of opinion, that in 
 many places where forests had grown un- 
 disturbed, the trees on the outside of the 
 woods grew stronger than the rest, from 
 their exposure to the air and sun ; and that, 
 when mankind attempted to establish them- 
 selves near these forests, they cut down the 
 large trees on their borders, which opened 
 the internal part, where the trees were weak 
 and slender, to the influence of the wind, 
 which, as is commonly to be seen in such 
 circumstances, had immediate power to 
 sweep down the whole of the internal parts 
 of the forest. The large timber obstructed 
 the passage of vegetable recrement, and of 
 arth falling towards the rivers ; the weak 
 imber, in the internal part of the forest 
 after it had fallen, soon decayed, and be- 
 came the food of future vegetation. 
 
 Mr. Kirwan observes, that whatever tre*>s 
 are found in bogs, thougn the wood may h«? 
 perfectly sound, the bark of the timber ha* 
 uniformly disappeared, and the decomposi 
 lion of this bark forms a considerable par* 
 of the nutritive substance of morasses 
 Notwithstanding this circumstance, tanning 
 is not to be obtained in analysing bogs 
 their antiseptic quality is however indispu- 
 table, for animal and vegetable substances 
 are frequently found at a great depth in 
 bogs, without their seeming to have suffered 
 any decay ; these substances cannot have 
 been deposited in them at a very remote 
 period, because their form and texture is 
 such as were common a few centuries ago. 
 In 1786 there were found, seventeen feet 
 below the surface of a bog in Mr. Kirwan's 
 district, a woollen coat of coarse, but even, 
 network, exactly in the form of what is 
 now called a spencer; a razor, with a 
 wooden handle, some iron heads of arrows, 
 and large wooden bowls, some only hall 
 made, were also found, with the remains of 
 tui-ning tools : these were obviously the 
 wreck of a workshop,, which was probably 
 situated on the borders of a forest. Thr 
 coat was presented by him to the Antiqua- 
 rian Society. These circumstances coun- 
 tenance the supposition, that the encroach- 
 ments of men upon forests destroyed the 
 first barriers against the force of the wind 
 and that afterwards, according to sir H. 
 Davy's suggestion, the trees of weaker 
 growth, which had not room to expand, or 
 air and sunshine to promote their inciease, 
 soon gave way to the elements. 
 
 MODES OF SALUTATION. 
 
 Greenlanders have none, and laugh at 
 the idea of one person being inferior to 
 another. 
 
 Islanders near the Philippines take a 
 person's hand or foot, and rub it over their 
 face. 
 
 Laplanders apply, their noses strongly 
 against the person they salute. 
 
 In New Guinea, they place leaves upon 
 the head of those they salute. 
 
 In the Straits of the Sound they raise 
 the left foot of the person saluted, pass it 
 gently over the right leg, and thence over 
 the face. 
 
 The inhabitants of the Philippines bend 
 very low, placing their hands on their 
 cheeks, and raise one foot in the air, with 
 the knee bent. 
 
 An Ethiopian takes the robe of another 
 and ties it about him, sc as to leave liia 
 friend almost naked. 
 
 i)a 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The Japanese take off a slipper, and 
 the peuple of Arracan their sandals, in the 
 street, an i their stockings in the house, 
 when they salute. 
 
 Two Negro kings on the coast of Africa, 
 salute by snapping the middle finger three 
 times. 
 
 The inhabitants of Carmene, when they 
 would show a particular attachment, breathe 
 a vein, and present the blood to their friend 
 as a beverage. 
 
 If the Cliinese meet, after a long separa- 
 tion, they fall on their knees, bend their 
 face to the earth two or three times, and 
 use many other affected modes. They have 
 also a kind of ritual, or "academy of com- 
 pliments," by which they regulate the num- 
 ber of bows, genuflections, and words to 
 be spoken upon any occasion. Ambassa- 
 dors practise these ceremonies foity days 
 before lliey appear at court. 
 
 In Otaheite, they rub their noses toge- 
 ther. 
 
 The Dutch, who are considered as great 
 eaters, have a morning salutation, common 
 amongst all ranks, " Smaakelyk eeten .'" — 
 " iVlay you eat a hearty dinner." Another 
 is, " Hoe vaart awe." — " How do you 
 sail ?" adopted, no doubt, in the early 
 periods of the republic, when they were all 
 navigators and fishermen. 
 
 The usual salutation at Cairo is, " How 
 do you sweat?" a dry hot skin being a 
 sure indication of a destructive ephemeral 
 fever. Some author has observed, in con- 
 trasting the haughty Spaniard with the 
 frivolous Frenchman, that the proud, steady 
 gait and inflexible solemnity of the former, 
 were expressed in his mode of salutation, 
 "Come esta?" — "How do you stand?" 
 whilst the " Comment vous poitez-vous ?'" 
 " How do you carry yourself?" was equally 
 expressive of the gay motion and incessant 
 action of the latter. 
 
 The common salutation in the southern 
 provinces of China, amongst the lower 
 orders, is, " Ya fan .'" — " Have you eaten 
 your rice ?" 
 
 In Africa, a young woman, an intended 
 bride, brought a little water in a calabash, 
 and kneeling down before her lover, de- 
 sired him to wash his hands ; when he had 
 done this, the girl, with a tear of joy spark- 
 ling in her eyes, drank the water ; this was 
 considered as the greatest proof she could 
 give of iier fidelity and attachment. 
 
 d^muiana. 
 
 POETRY. 
 
 For the Table Book 
 
 The poesy of the earth, sea, air aud sky, 
 Thoug;h death is po^ferfi'' in course of time 
 
 With wars and batteinents, wiV. lever die, 
 But triumph in the silence oi sublime 
 •Survival. Frost, like tyranny, might climb 
 
 The nurseling germs of favourite haunts ; the rooH 
 Will grow hereaftiT. Terror on the deep 
 Is by the calm subdu'd that Beauty e'en jnight c.reeii 
 
 On moonl', it waves to coral rest. The fruits 
 Blush '.n .^e winds, and ."rom the branches leap 
 
 To moss} I'ijs exis. ij n the g.ound. 
 
 Stars swim unseen, ;hrough solar hemispheres. 
 
 Yet n the floods o i ^iii how b. ;,Htl.' round 
 The zone or poesy, ihey redect the rolling years. 
 
 A Bad Sign. 
 
 During a late calling out of the North 
 Somerset yeomanry, at Bath, the service o* 
 one of them, a " Batcome boy," was en- 
 livened by a visit from his sweetheart; 
 after escorting her over the city, and beni^ 
 fatigued with showing her what she hac 
 " ne'er zeed in all her life," he knocketj 
 loudly at the door of a house in the Cres- 
 cent, against which a hatchment was 
 placed, and on the appearance of the pow- 
 dered butler, boldly ordered " two glasses 
 of scalded wine, as hot as thee canst makt 
 it. ' The man, starinij, informed him he 
 could tiave no scalded wine there — 'twas no 
 public-house. " Then dose thee head," 
 replied Somerset, " what'st hang out thiiv 
 there zmn var." 
 
 INSCRIPTION 
 
 For a Tomb to the Memory of Captatk 
 Hewitson, oi' THE Ship, Town of Ul- 
 
 VERSTON. 
 
 By James Montgomery, Esq. 
 
 Weep for a seaman, honest and sincere, 
 >\it cast away, but brough: ro anchor here ; 
 'tormsl.ic . erwbelin'd him. bui the coDsciou* srw't 
 .Repented, and -esign'a him to the grave: 
 Jr larbour, safe from shipwreck, now ae .ies. 
 Till Time's .ast signa; blazes through ti.e skiMt 
 Bflhned in a moment, then shall he 
 t^teIl from tbi^ port on an elemai adSb. 
 
 94 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 MY SNUFF-BOX. 
 
 He only who is " noseless himself" will 
 deem this a trifling article. My prime 
 minister of pleasure is my snuff-box. The 
 ofRce grew out of my " liking a pinch, now 
 and then," and carrying a bit of snuff, 
 screwed up in paper, wherewith, some two 
 or three times a day, I delighted to treat 
 myself to a sensation, and a sneeze. Had 
 I kept a journal of my snuff-taking business 
 from that time, it would have been as in- 
 structive as " the life of that learned anti- 
 quary, Elias Ashmole, Esq., drawn up by 
 himself by way of diary ;" in submitting 
 which to the world, its pains-taking editor 
 says, that such works *' let us into the secret 
 history of the affairs of their several times, 
 discover the springs of motion, and display 
 many valuable, though minute circum- 
 stances, overlooked or unknown to our 
 general historians ; and, to conclude all, 
 satiate our largest curiosity." A compa- 
 rative view of the important annals of Mr. 
 Ashmole, and some reminiscent incidents 
 
 of my snuffj>taking, I reserve for my auliv 
 biography. 
 
 To manifest the necessity of my present 
 brief undertaking, I beg to state, that I 
 still remain under the disappointment ot 
 drawings, complained of in the former 
 sheet. I resorted on this, as on all difficult 
 occasions, to a pinch of snuff; and, having 
 previously resolved on taking " the fiist 
 thing that came uppermost," for an engrav- 
 ing and a topic, my hand first fell on the 
 top of my snuff-box. If the reader be 
 angry because I have told the truth, it i>s 
 no more than I expect ; for, in nine cases 
 out of ten, a preference is given to a pre- 
 tence, though privily known to be a false- 
 hood by those to whom it is offered. 
 
 As soon as I wear out one snuff-box I 
 get another — a silver one, and I, parted 
 company long ago. My customary boxes 
 have been papier-machi, plain black : fcj 
 if I had anv figure on the lid it was sus- 
 pected to be some hidden device ; $^ 
 
 YOL. III. 
 
 U5 H 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 answer of direct negation was a ground of 
 
 doubt, offensively expressed by an in- 
 sinuating smile, or the more open rudeness 
 of varied questions. This I could only 
 resist by patience; but the parlement excise 
 on that virtue was more than I could afford, 
 and therefore my choice of a black box. 
 The last of that colour I had worn out, at 
 a season when I was unlikely to have more 
 than three or four visitors worth a pinch of 
 snuff, and I then bought this box, because 
 it was two-thirds cheaper than the former, 
 and because I approved the pictured orna- 
 ment. While the tobacconist was securing 
 my shilling, he informed me t.iat tne figure 
 had utterly excluded it from the choice of 
 every one who had noticed it. My selection 
 was agreeable to him in a monied view, 
 yet, both he, and his man, eyed the box 
 so unkindly, that I fancied they extended 
 their dislike to me ; and I believe they did. 
 Of the few who have seen it since, it has 
 been favourably received by only one — my 
 little Alice — who, at a year old, prefers 
 it before all others for a plaything, and 
 even accepts it as a substitule for myself, 
 when I wish to slip away from her caresses. 
 The elder young ones call it the " ugly 
 old man," but she admires it, as the in- 
 nocent infant, in the story-book, did the 
 Harmless snake, with whom he daily shared 
 his bread-and-milk breakfast. I regard it 
 as the likeness of an infirm human being, 
 who, especially requiring comfort and pro- 
 tection, is doomed to neglect and insult 
 from childhood to the grave ; and all this 
 from no self-default,bnt the accident of birth 
 — as if the unpurposed cruelty of nature 
 vneve a warrant for man's peiversion and 
 wickedness. Of the individual I know 
 nothing, save what the representation seems 
 to tell — that he lives in the world, and is 
 not of it. His basket, with a few pamphlets 
 for sale, returns good, in the shape of 
 knowledge, to evil doers, who, as regards 
 himself, are not to be instructed. His up- 
 ward look is a sign — common to these 
 afflicted ones — of inward hope of eternal 
 mercy, in requital for temporal injustice : 
 besides that, and his walking-staff, he 
 appears to have no other support on earth. 
 The intelligence of his patient features 
 would raise desire, were he alive and before 
 me, to learn by what process he gained the 
 understanding they express : his face is not 
 more painful, and I think scarcely less wise 
 than Locke's, if we may trust the portrait 
 of that philosopher. In the summer, after 
 a leisure view of the Dulwich gallery for 
 the first time, I found myself in the quiet 
 parlour of a little-frequented road-side 
 
 house, enjoying the recollections of a few 
 glorious pictures in that munificent exhi- 
 bition; while pondering with my box ic 
 my hand, the print on its lid diverted me 
 into a long reverie on what he, whom i 
 represented, might have been under other 
 circumstances, and I felt not alone on the 
 earth while there was another as lonely 
 Since then, this " garner for my grain"' has 
 been worn out by constant use ; with 
 every care, it cannot possibly keep its ser- 
 vice a month longer. I shall regret the 
 loss : for its little Deformity has been my 
 frequent and pleasant companion in many 
 a solitary hour;^ — the box itself is the 
 only one I ever had, wherein simulated or 
 cooling friendship has not dipped. 
 
 #arricfe ^layg. 
 
 No. IV. 
 
 [From " AH Fools '' a Comedy by George 
 Chapman : 1605.] 
 
 Love's Panegyric. 
 
 'tis Nature's second Sun, 
 
 Causing a spring of Virtues wliere he sliines ; 
 And aS) without the Sun, the world's Great Eye, 
 All colours, beauties, both of art and nature. 
 Are given in vain to man ; so without Love 
 All beauties bred in women are in vain. 
 All virtues born in men lie buried ; 
 For Love informs them as the Sun doth colours • 
 And as the Sun, reflecting his warm beams 
 Against the earth, begets all fruits and flowers , 
 So Love, fair shining in the inward man. 
 Brings forth in him the honourable fruits 
 Of valour, wit, virtue, and haughty thoughts. 
 Brave resolution, and divine discourse. 
 
 Love ivith Jealousy. 
 
 such Love is like a smoky fire 
 
 In a cold morning. Though the fire be chearfnt, 
 Yet is the smoke so foul and cumbersome, 
 'Twere better lose the fire than find the smoke 
 
 Bailiffs routed. 
 
 I walking in the place where men's Law Suits 
 
 Are heard and pleaded, not so much as dreaming 
 
 Of any such encounter ; steps me forth 
 
 Their valiant Foreman with the word " I 'rest yon.' 
 
 I made no more ado but laid these paws 
 
 Close on his shoulders, tumbling him to earth ; 
 
 And there sat he on his posteriors 
 
 I^ike a ba'ooon : and turning me about, 
 
 I strait espied the whole troop issuing en me. 
 
 I step me back, and drawing my old friend ner* 
 
 Made to the midst of 'em, and all unable 
 
 To endure the shock, all nidtily fell in rout. 
 
THE TAbLE BOOK. 
 
 Ami down the stairs they ran in such a fury. 
 
 As meeting with a troop of Lawyers there, 
 
 Mann'd by their Clients (some with ten, some with 
 
 twenty. 
 Some five, some three ; he that had least had one), 
 Upon the stairs, they bore them down afore them. 
 But such a rattling then there was amongst Ihem, 
 Of ravish'd Declarations, Replications, 
 Rejoinders, and Petitions, all their books 
 And writings torn, and trod on, and some lost. 
 That the poor Lawyers coming to the Bar 
 Could say nought to the matter, but instead 
 Were fain to rail, and talk beside their books, 
 Without all order. 
 
 [From the " Late Lancashire Witches," ; 
 Comedy, by Thomas Heywood.] 
 
 A Household Bewitched. 
 
 My Uncle has of late become the sole 
 
 Discourse of all the country ; for of a man respected 
 
 As master of a govern'd family. 
 
 The House (as if the ridge were fix'd below. 
 
 And gvoundsils lifted up to make the roof) 
 
 All now's turn'd topsy-turvy. 
 
 In such a retrograde and preposterous way 
 
 As seldom hath been heard of, I think never. 
 
 The Good Man 
 
 In all obedience kneels unto his Son ; 
 
 He with an austere brow commands his Father. 
 
 The Wife presumes not in the Daughter's sight 
 
 Without a prepared curtsy; the Girl she 
 
 Expects it as a duty; chides her Mother, 
 
 Who quakes and trembles at each word she speaks. 
 
 And what's as straage, the Maid — she domineers 
 
 O'er her voung Mistress, who is awed by her. 
 
 The Son, to whom the Father creeps and bends. 
 
 Stands in as much fear of the groom his Man 1 
 
 All in such rare disorder, that in some 
 
 As it breeds pity, and in others wonder. 
 
 So in the most part laughter. It is thought, 
 
 This comes by Witchcraft. 
 
 [From •' Wit in a Constable," a Comedy, 
 by Henry Glapthorn.] 
 
 Books. 
 
 Collegian. Did you, ere we departed from the College, 
 CVerlook my Library ? 
 
 Servant. Yes, Sir ; and I find, 
 Altho' you tell me Learning is immortal. 
 The paper and ttie parchment 'tis contain'd in 
 Savours of much mortality. 
 The moths have eaten more 
 Authentic Learning, than would nchly furnish 
 A hu«dred country pedants ; yet the worms 
 At* not one letter wiser. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 THE TURK IN CHEAPSIDE, 
 
 For the Table Booh 
 To Mr. Charles Lamb. 
 
 I have a favour to ask of you. My. desir*t 
 is this : I would fain see a stream from thy 
 Hippocrene flowing through the pages of 
 the Table Book. A short article on the oi(^ 
 Turk, who used to vend rhubarb in the 
 City, I greatly desiderate. Methinks you 
 would handle the subject delightfully. The) 
 tell us he is gone -— 
 
 We have not seen him for some time 
 past — Is he really dead ? Must we hereaftei 
 speak of him only in the past tense ? You 
 are said to have divers strange items in your 
 brain about him — Vent them I beseech 
 you. 
 
 Poor Mummy !■ — How many hours hath 
 he dreamt away on the sunny side of Cheap, 
 with an opium cud in his cheek, mute!) 
 proffering his drug to the way-farers ! That 
 dee p. toned bell above him, doubtless, hath 
 often brought to his recollection the loud 
 AUah-il-AUahs to which he listened hereto- 
 fore in his fatherland — the city of minaret 
 and mosque, old Constantinople. Will he 
 never again be greeted by the nodding 
 steeple of Bow ? — Perhaps that ancient bel- 
 dame, with her threatening head and loud 
 tongue, at length effrayed the sallow being 
 out of existence. 
 
 Hath his soul, in truth, echapped from 
 that swarthy cutaneous case of which it was 
 so long a tenant ? Hath he glode over that 
 gossamer bridge which leads to the para- 
 dise of the prophet of Mecca ? Doth he 
 pursue his old calling among the faithful ? 
 Are the blue-eyed beauties (those living 
 diamonds) who hang about the neck of Ma- 
 homet ever qualmish ? Did the immortal 
 Houris lack rhubarb ? 
 
 Prithee teach us to know more than we 
 do of this Eastern mystery ! Have some 
 of the ministers of the old Magi eloped 
 with him ? Was he in truth a Turk ? We 
 have heard suspicions cast upon the au- 
 thenticity of his complexion — was its taw- 
 niness a forgery ? Oh ! for a quo warrayito 
 to show by what authority he wore a tur- 
 ban ! Was there any hypocrisy in his sad 
 brow ? — Poor Mummy ! 
 
 The editor of the Table Book ought to 
 perpetuate his features. He was part of 
 the living furniture of the city — Have not 
 our grandfathers seen him ? 
 
 The tithe of a page from thy pen on this 
 subject, surmounted by " a true portraic« 
 ture & effigies," would be a treat to me and 
 many more. If thou art stil Eli4 — 
 
 97 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 thou art yet that gentle creature who has 
 immortalized his predilection for the sow's 
 baby — roasted without sage — this boon wilt 
 thou not deny me. Take the matter upon 
 thee speedily. — Wilt thou not endorse thy 
 Pegasus with this pleasant fardel ? 
 
 An' thou wilt not I shall be malicious 
 and wish thee some trifling evil : to wit — 
 oy way of revenge for the appetite which 
 thou hast created among the reading pub- 
 lic for the infant progeny — the rising gene- 
 ration of swine — I will wish that some of 
 the old demoniac leaven may rise up against 
 thee in the modern pigs: — that thy sleep 
 may be vexed with swinish visions; that a 
 hog in armour, or a bashaw of a boar of three 
 tails, may be thy midnight familiar — thy in- 
 cubus ; — that matronly sows may howl after 
 thee in thy walks for their immolated off- 
 spring ; — that Mab may tickle thee into fits 
 " with a tithe-pig's tail ;" — that whereso- 
 ever thou goest to finger cash for copy- 
 right," instead of being paid in coin current, 
 thou mayst be enforced to receive thy 
 per-sheetage in guinea-pigs; — that thou 
 mayst frequently dream thou art sitting 
 on a hedge-hog ; — that even as Oberon's 
 Queen doated on the translated Bottom, so 
 may thy batchelorly brain doat upon an 
 \deal image of the swine- faced lady 
 
 Finally, I will wish, that when next G. D. 
 visits thee, he may, by mistake, take away 
 thy hat, and leave thee his own — — 
 
 " Think of that Master Brook." — 
 Yours ever, 
 
 E. C. M. D. 
 
 January 31, 1827. 
 
 literature. 
 
 Gla-nces at New Books on my Table. 
 
 Specimens of British Poetesses ; se- 
 lected, and chronologically arranged, by 
 the ^e'v . Alexander Dyce, 1827, cr. 8vo. 
 pp. 462. 
 
 Mr. Dyce remarks that, " from the great 
 Collections of the English Poets, where so 
 many worthless compositions find a place, 
 the productions of women have been care- 
 fully excluded." This utter neglect of fe- 
 male talent produces a counteracting effort: 
 " the object of the present volume is to 
 exhibit the growth and progress of the 
 genius of our countrywomen in the depart- 
 ment of poetry." The collection of " Poems 
 by eminent Ladies," edited by the elder 
 Colman and Bonnel Thornton, contained 
 specimens of only eighteen female writers ; 
 M.T. Dyce offers specimens of the poetry of 
 
 98 
 
 eighty-eight, ten of whom are still living 
 He commences with the dame Juliana Ber- 
 ners, Prioress of the Nunnery of Sopwell 
 " who resembled an abbot in respect eg 
 exercising an extensive manorial jurisdic- 
 tion, and who hawked and hunted in com- 
 mon with other ladies of distinction,'' and 
 wrote in rhyme on field sports. The volume 
 concludes with Miss Landon, whose initials, 
 L. E. L , are attached to a profusion o( 
 talented poetry, in different journals. 
 
 The following are not to be regarded as 
 examples of the charming variety sekcted 
 by Mr. Dyce, in illustration of his purpose, 
 but rather as " specimens " of pecuhaj 
 thinking, or for their suitableness to the 
 present time of the year. 
 
 Our language does not afford a more 
 truly noble specimen of verse, dignified by 
 high feeling, than the following chorus from 
 " The Tragedy of Mariam, 161 3," ascribed 
 to lady Elizabeth Carew. 
 
 Revenge of Injuries. 
 
 The fairest action of our human life 
 Is scorning to revenge an injury ; 
 For who forgives without a further strife. 
 His adversary's heart to him doth tie. 
 And 'tis a firmer conquest truly said, 
 To win the heart, than overthrow the head. 
 
 If we a worthy enemy do find. 
 
 To yi«id to worth it must be nobly done ; 
 Bat if of baser metal be his mind. 
 In base revenge there is no honour won. 
 Who would a worthy courage overthrow. 
 And who would wrestle with a worthless foe ? 
 
 We say our hearts are great and cannot yield ; 
 
 Because they cannot yield, ik proves them poor : 
 Great hearts are task'd beyond their power, bat seld 
 The weakest lion wiU the loudest roar. 
 Truth's school for certain doth this same allow, 
 High-heartedness doth sometimes teach to bow. 
 
 A noble heart doth teach a virtuous scorn, 
 
 To scorn to owe a duty overlong ; 
 To scorn to be for benefits forborne. 
 To scorn to lie, to scorn to do a wrong. 
 To scorn to bear an injury in mind. 
 To scorn a free-born heart slave- like to bind. 
 
 But if for wrongs we needs revenge must havei 
 Then be our vengeance of the noblest kind ; 
 Do we his body from our fury save. 
 And let our hate prevail against our mmd ? 
 What car, 'gainst him a greater vengeance be, 
 Than make his foe more worthy lar than he ? 
 
 Had Mariam scom'd to leave a due unpaid. 
 
 She would to Herod then have paid her loTB , 
 And not have been by sullen passion sway'd. 
 To fix her thoughts all injury above 
 Is virtuous pride. Had Mariam thus been prond. 
 LoaE famous life to her had been allow'd. 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Margaret duchess of Newcastle, who 
 died in 1673, " filled nearly twelve volumes 
 folio with plays, poems, orations, philoso- 
 phical discourses,"and miscellaneous pieces. 
 Her lord also amused himself with his 
 pen. This noble pair were honoured by 
 the ridicule of Horace Walpole, who had 
 Qfiore taste than feeling; and, notwithsland- 
 ng the great qualities of the duke, who 
 sacrificed three quarters of a million in 
 thankless devotion to the royal cause, 
 and, though the virtues of his duchess are 
 flnquestionable, the author of "The Dor- 
 mant and Extinct Baronage of England" 
 joins Walpole in contempt of their affec- 
 tion, and the means they employed to 
 render each other happy during retirement. 
 This is an extract from one of the duchess's 
 
 poems : — 
 
 Melancholy. 
 
 I dwell in groves that gilt are with the sun. 
 
 Sit on the banks by which clear waters run ; 
 
 In summers hot down in a shade I lie. 
 
 My music is the buzzing of a fly ; 
 
 I walk in meadows, where grows fresh green grass, 
 
 [n fields, where corn is high, I often pass ; 
 
 Walk up the hills, where round I proopects see, 
 
 Some brushy woods, and some all champains be ; 
 
 Returning back, I in fresh pastures go. 
 
 To hear how sheep do bleai, and cows do low; 
 
 In winter cold, when nipping frosts come on. 
 
 Then I do live in a small house alone ; 
 
 Altho' tis plain, yet cleanly 'tis within. 
 
 Like to a soul that's pure and clear from sin ; 
 
 And Ihere I dwell in quiet and still peace. 
 
 Not fill'd with cares how riches to increase ; 
 
 I wish nor seek for vain and fruitless pleasures. 
 
 No riches are, but what the mind intreasures. 
 
 Thus am I solitary, live alone. 
 
 Yet better lov'd, the more that I am known , 
 
 And tho' my face ill-favour'd at first sight. 
 
 After acquaintance it will give delight. 
 
 Refuse me not, for I shall constant be. 
 
 Maintain your credit and your dignity. 
 
 Elizabeth Thomas, (born 1675, died 
 1730,) in the fifteenth year of her age, was 
 disturbed in her mind, by the sermons she 
 heard in attending her grandmother at 
 meetings, and by the reading of high pre- 
 destinarian works. She " languished for 
 some time," in expectation of the publica- 
 tion of bishop Burnet's work on the 
 Thirty-nine Articles. When she read it, 
 the bishop seemed to her more candid in 
 stating the doctrines of the sects, than ex- 
 plicit in his own opinion; and, in this 
 perplexity, retiring to her closet, she entered 
 on a self-discussion, and wrote the follow- 
 ing poem : — 
 
 Predestination, or, the Resolution. 
 
 Ah I strive no more to know what fate 
 
 Is preordain'd for thee : 
 'Tis vain in this my mortal state. 
 For Heaven's inscrutable decree 
 Will only be reveal'd in vast Eternity, 
 Then, O my soul ! 
 Remember thy celestial birth, 
 And live to Heaven, while here on earth . 
 Thy God is infinitely true. 
 All Justice, yet all Mercy too : 
 To Him, then, thro' thy Saviour, pray 
 For Grace, to guide thee on thy way. 
 And give thee Will to do. 
 But humbly, for the rest, my soul I 
 Let Hope, and Faith, the limits be 
 Of thy presumptuous curiosity 1 
 
 Mary Chandler, born in 1687, the 
 daughter of a dissenting minister at Bath, 
 commended by Pope for her poetry, died in 
 1745. The specimen of her verse, selected 
 by Mr. Dyce, is 
 
 Temperance. 
 
 Fatal effects of luxury and ease ! 
 
 We drink our poison, and we eat disease. 
 
 Indulge our senses at our reason's cost, 
 
 Till sense is pain, and reason hurt, or lost. 
 
 Not so, O Temperance bland I when rui'd by thee. 
 
 The brute's obedient, and the man is free. 
 
 Soft are his slumbers, balmy is his rest. 
 
 His veins not boiling from the midnight feast, 
 
 Touch'd by Aurora's rosy hand, he wakes 
 
 Peaceful and calm, and with the world partakes 
 
 The joyful dawnmgs of returning day. 
 
 For which their grateful thanks the whole creation pay 
 
 All but the human brute : 'tis he alone. 
 
 Whose works of darkness fly the rising sun. 
 
 'Tis to thy rules, O Temperance I that we owe 
 
 All pleasures, which from health and strength can flow 
 
 Vigour of body, purity of mind. 
 
 Unclouded reason, sentiments refin'd, 
 
 Uumixt, untainted joys, without remorse, 
 
 Th' intemperate sinner's never-failing curse. 
 
 Elizabeth Toilet (born 1694, died 1754) 
 was authoress of Susanna, a sacred drama, 
 and poems, from whence this is a seasonable 
 extract : — 
 
 Winter Song. 
 
 Ask me no more, my truth to prove. 
 What I would suffer for my love 
 With thee I would in exile go, 
 To regions of eternal snow ; 
 O'er floods by solid ice confin'd: 
 Thro' forest bare with northern wind 
 While ail around my eyes I cast. 
 Where all is wild and all is waste. 
 If there the timorous stag you chat*. 
 Or rouse to fight a fiercer race. 
 
 99 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 UndauDtea f thy arms would bear. 
 And give thy hand the hunter's spear. 
 When the low sun withdraw!! his light, 
 And menaces an half year's night, 
 The conscious moon and stars above 
 Shall guide me with my wandering love. 
 Beneath the mountain's hollow brow. 
 Or in its rocky cells below, 
 Thy rural feast I would provide ; 
 Nor envy palaces their pride ; 
 The softest moss should dress thy bed. 
 With savage spoils about thee spread ; 
 While faithful love the watch should keep. 
 To banish danger from thy sleep. 
 
 Mrs. Tighe died in 1810, Mr, Dyce 
 says, " Of this higlity-gifted Irishwoman, I 
 have not met with any poetical account; 
 but I learn, from the notes to her poems, 
 that she was the daughter of the Rev. 
 William Blachford, and that she died in 
 her thirty-seventh year. In the Psyche of 
 Mrs. Tighe are several pictures, conceived 
 in the true spirit of poetry ; while over the 
 whole composition is spread the richest 
 glow of purified passion." Besides spe- 
 cimens from that delightful poem, Mr. 
 Dyce extracts 
 
 The Lily. 
 
 How witherM, perish'd seems the form 
 
 Of yon obscure unsightly root I 
 Yet from the blight of wintry storm. 
 
 It hides secure the precious fruit. 
 
 The careless eye can find no grace. 
 
 No beauty in the scaly folds. 
 Nor see within the dark embrace 
 
 What latent loveliness it holds. 
 
 Yet in that bulb, those sapless scales. 
 
 The lily wraps her silver vest. 
 Till vernal suns and vernal gales 
 
 Shall kiss once more her fragrant breast. 
 
 Yes, hide beneath the mouldering heap 
 
 The undelighting slighted thing ; 
 There in the cold earth buried deep, 
 
 In silence let it wait the Spring. 
 
 Oh 1 many a stormy night shall close 
 
 In gloom upon the barren earth, 
 While still, in nndisturb'd repose^ 
 
 Uninjur'd lies the future birth; 
 
 And Ignorance, with sceptic eye, 
 Hope's patient smile shall wonderiagview; 
 
 Or mock her fond credulity. 
 As her soft tears the spot bedew. 
 
 S'.»jet smile of hope, delicious tear ! 
 
 The sun, the shower indeed shall corae ; 
 'tbt promis'd veidant shoot appear. 
 
 And nature bid her blossoms bloom. 
 
 And thou, virgin Queen of Spnng ( 
 Shalt, from thy dark and lowly bed. 
 
 Bursting thy green sheath'd silken string. 
 Unveil thy charms, and perfume shed ; 
 
 Unfold thy robes of purest white. 
 Unsullied from their darksome grave. 
 
 And thy soft petals' silvery light 
 In the mild breeze unfetter'd wave. 
 
 So Faith shall seek the lowly dust 
 Where humble Sorrow loves to lie. 
 
 And bid her thus her hopes intrust, 
 And watch with patient, cheerful eye ; 
 
 And bear the long, cold wintry night. 
 And bear her own degraded doom. 
 
 And wait till Heaven's reviving light, 
 Eternal Spring ! shall burst the gloom. 
 
 Every one is acquainted with the beau- 
 tiful ballad which is the subject of the fol- 
 lowing notice; yet the succinct history, and 
 the present accurate text, may justify the 
 insertion of both. 
 
 Lady Anne Barnard. 
 
 Bom died 1825. 
 
 Sifiter of the late Earl of Balcarras, and wife of Sii 
 Andrew Barnard, wrote the charming song o! 
 Auld Robin Oray. 
 
 A quarto tract, edited by " the Ariosto of the North," 
 and circulated among the members of the Banns- 
 tyne Club, contains the original ballad, as cor- 
 rected by Lady Anne, and two Continuations by 
 the same authoress ; while the Introduction con- 
 sists almost entirely of a very interesting letter 
 from her to the Editor, dated July 1823, part of 
 which I take the liberty of inserting here : — 
 
 •"Robin Gray,' so called from its being the name of 
 the old herd at Balcarras, was bom soon after the 
 close of the year 1771. My sister Margaret had 
 married, and accompanied her husband to London; 
 I was melancholy, and endeavoured to amuse my- 
 self by attempting a few poetical trifles. There 
 was an ancient Scotch melody, of which I was 
 
 passionate'ly foad ; , who lived before 
 
 your day, used to sing it to us at Balcarras. She 
 did not object to its having improper words, 
 though I did. I longed to sing old Sophy's air to 
 different words, and give to its plaintive tones 
 some little history of virtuous distress in humble 
 life, such as might suit it. While attempting to 
 effect this in my closet, I called to my little sister, 
 now Lady Hardwicke, who was the only person 
 near me, ' I have been writing a ballad, my dear ; 
 I am oppressing my heroine with many misfor- 
 tunes. I have already sent her Jamie to sea — and 
 broken her father's arm — and made her mother 
 fall sick — and given her Auld Robin Gray for her 
 lover ; but I wish to load her with a fifth sorrow 
 within the four lines, poor thing ! Help me to 
 one.'— 'Steal the cow, sister Anoe,' said the little 
 Elizabeth. The cow was immediately lifted by 
 me,. and the song completed. At our fireiide, and. 
 
 lao 
 
THE TABLJb: BUUOl. 
 
 smonjfst our neighbours, < Auld Robin Gray ' was 
 always called for. I was pleased in secret with 
 the approbation it met with ; but such was my 
 dread of being suspected of writing anything, 
 perceiving the shyness it created in those who 
 could write nothing, that I carefully kept my own 
 secret. # » » » 
 
 Meantime, little as this matter seems to have been 
 worthy of a dispute, it afterwards became a party 
 question between the sixteenth and eighteenth cen- 
 turies. ' Robin Gray ' was either a very very 
 ancient ballad, composed perhaps by David Rizzio, 
 and a great curiosity, or a very very modem 
 matter, and no curiosity at all. I was persecuted 
 to avow whether I had written it or not, — where 
 I had got it. Old Sophy kept my counsel, and I 
 kept my own, in spite of the gratification of seeing 
 a reward of twenty guineas ofiFered in the news- 
 papers to the person who should ascertain the 
 point past a doubt, and the still more flattering 
 circumstance of a visit from Mr. Jerningham, 
 secretary to the Antiquarian Society, who endea- 
 voured to entrap the truth from me in a manner I 
 took amiss. Had he asked me the question oblig- 
 ingly, I should have told him the fact distinctly 
 and confidentially. Th« annoyance, however, of 
 this important ambassador from the Antiquaries, 
 was amply repaid to me by the noble exhibition of 
 the ' Ballat of Auld Robin Gray's Courtship,' as 
 performed by dancing-cogs under my window. It 
 proved its popularity from the highest to the 
 lowest, and gave me pleasure while I hugged my- 
 self in obscurity." 
 The two versions of the second part were written many 
 years after the first ; in them, Auld Robin Gray 
 falls sick, — confesses that he himself stole the cow, 
 in order to force Jenny to marry him, — leaves to 
 Jamie all his possessions, — dies, — and the young 
 couple, of course, are united. Neither of the Con- 
 tinuations is given here, because, though Both are 
 beautiful, they are very inferior to the original 
 tale, and greatly injure its eflfect. 
 
 Auld Robin Gray.* 
 
 When the sheep are in the faald, when the cows come 
 
 hame, 
 When a' the weary world to quiet rest are gane. 
 The woes of my heart fa' in showers frae my ee, 
 Unken'd by my gudeman, who soundly sleeps by me. 
 
 Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and sought me for his 
 
 bride ; 
 But saving ae crown-piece, he'd naething else beside. 
 To make the crown a pound,t my Jamie gaed to sea ; 
 And the crown and the pound, O they were baith for 
 
 me I 
 
 • The text of the corrected copy is followed. 
 
 + " I must also mention " (says lady Anne, in the 
 letter already quoted) " the laird of Daiziel's advice, 
 who, in a tete-a-tetc, afterwards said, • My dear, the 
 next time you sing that song, try to change tne words a 
 •ree bit, and instead of singing, * To make the crown a 
 pound, my Jamie gaed to sea,' sav. 'o make it twenty 
 
 Before he had been gane a twelvemonth and a day, 
 My father brak his arm, our cow was stown away; 
 My mother she fell sick — my Jamie was at sea — 
 And auld Robin Gray, oh I he came a-courting me^ 
 
 My father cou'dna work — my mother cou'dna spin ; 
 I toll'd day and night, but their bread I cou'dna win ; 
 Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears in hw 
 
 ee. 
 Said, " Jenny, oh 1 for their sakes, will you marry me ?' 
 
 My heart it said na, and I look'd for Jamie back ; 
 But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack : 
 His ship it was a wrack I Why didna Jamie dee ? 
 Or, wherefore am 1 spar'd to cry out. Woe is nie I 
 
 My father argued sair — my mother didna speak. 
 
 But she look'd in my face till my heart was like tc 
 
 break ; 
 They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea , 
 And so auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me. 
 
 I hadua been his wife a week but only four, 
 Wlien moumfu' as I sat on the stane at my door, 
 I saw my Jamie's ghaist — I cou'dna think it he. 
 Till he said, " I'm come hame, ray love, to marry the«! 
 
 O. sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say of a' ; 
 Aekiss we took, nae mair — 1 bad him gang awa. 
 I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee ; 
 For O, I am but young to cry out. Woe is mc 1 
 
 I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin ; 
 I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin. 
 But I will do my best a gude wife aye to be. 
 For auld Robin Gray, oh! he is sae kind to me. 
 
 The great and remarkable merit of Mr. 
 Dyce is, that in this beautifully printed vo- 
 lume, he has reared imperishable columns lo 
 the honour of the sex, without a questionable 
 trophy. His " specimens" are an assem- 
 blage so individually charming, that the 
 mind is delighted by every part whereon Lhe 
 eye rests, and scrupulosity itself cannot 
 make a single rejection on pretence of 
 inadequate merit. He comes as a rightful 
 herald, marshalling the perfections of each 
 poetess, and discriminating with so much 
 delicacy, that each of his pages is a pageol 
 honour to a high-born grace, or dignified 
 beauty. His book is an elegant tribute to 
 departed and living female genius ; and 
 while it claims respect from every lady in 
 the land for its gallantry to the fair, its in- 
 trinsic worth is sure to force it into every 
 well-appointed library. 
 
 merks, for a Scottish piind is but twenty pence, and 
 Jamie was na such a gowk as to leave Jenny and gang 
 to sea to lessen his gear. It is that line [whisper'd he] 
 that tells me that sang was written oy some bonni* 
 lassie that didna ken the value of the Scots money 
 quite so well as an auld writer in the town of Ed-* 
 bureh would have kent it.'" 
 
 101 
 
HIRING SERVANTS AT A STATUTE FATE. 
 
 r,.jS encrraviiiu- may iHnstrate Mr. Fare's 
 account of the VVarwickbliire " statute" or 
 * mop,"* and the general appearance of 
 similar fairs for hiring servants. Even in 
 London, bricklayers, and other house- 
 labourers, still carry their respective im- 
 plements to the places where they stand 
 for hire : for which purpose they assemble 
 in great numbers in Cheapside and at 
 [^harmg- cross, evety morning, at five or 
 nx o'clock. It is further worthy of ob- 
 servation, that, in old Rome, there were 
 ^(articular spots in which servants applied 
 for hire. 
 
 Dr. Plott, speaking of the Statutes for 
 iring servants, says, that at Bloxham the 
 carters stood -with their whips in one place, 
 and the shepherds with their crooks in 
 another ; but the maids, as far as lie could 
 observe, stood promiscuously. He adds, 
 ;hat this custom seems as old as our 
 feviour ; and refers to Matt. xx. 3, " And 
 
 At p. 171. 
 
 he went out about the third hour and saw- 
 others standing idle in the market-place." 
 
 Ill the statistical account of Scotland, it' 
 is said that, at liie parish of Wamphray, 
 " Hiring fairs are much frequented: those 
 uiho are to hire ivear a green sprig in their 
 hat : and it is very seldom that servants 
 will hire in any other place." 
 
 Of ancient chartered fairs may be in- 
 stanced as an example, the fair of St. Giles s 
 Hill or Down, near Winchester, which 
 William the Conqueror instituted and gave 
 as a kind of revenue to the bishop of 
 Winchester. It was at first for three 
 days, but afterwards by Henry III., pro- 
 longed to sixteen days. Its jurisdiction 
 extended seven miles round, and compre- 
 hended even Southampton, then a capital 
 and tradmg town. Merchants who sold 
 wares at that time within that circuit f ir- 
 feited them to the bishop. Officers were 
 placed at a considerable distance, at 
 bridges and other avenues of access to the 
 fair, to exact toll of all merchandise passing 
 that way. In the mean time, all shops ir 
 
 102 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 the city of Winchester were shut. A 
 court, called the pavilion, composed' of the 
 bis'hop's justiciaries and other officers, had 
 power to try causes of various sorts for 
 seven miles round. The bishop had a toll 
 of every load or parcel of goods passing 
 through the gates of the city. On St. 
 Giles's eve the mayor, bailiffs, and citizens 
 of Winchester delivered the keys of the 
 four gates to the bishop's officers. Many 
 and extraordinary were the privileges 
 granted to the bishop on this occasion, all 
 tending to obstruct trade and to oppress 
 the people. Numerous foreign merchants 
 frequented this fair ;, and several streets 
 were formed in it, assigned to the sale of 
 different commodities. The surrounding 
 monasteries had shops or houses in these 
 streets, used only at the fair ; which they 
 held under the bishop, and often let by 
 lease for a term of years. Different coun- 
 ties had their different stations. 
 
 According to a curious record of the 
 establishment and expenses of the house- 
 hold of Henry Percy, ihe fifth earl of 
 Northumberland, A. D 1512, the stores of 
 his lordship's house at Wresille, for the 
 whole year, were laid in from fairs. The 
 articles were " wine, wax, beiffes, muttons, 
 wheite, and malt." This proves that fairs 
 were then the principal marts for purchas- 
 ing necessaries in large quantities, which 
 are now supplied by frequent trading 
 towns : and the mention of " beiffes and 
 inuttous," (which are salted oxen and sheep,) 
 shows that at so late a period they icnew 
 ittle of breeding cattle. 
 
 The monks of the priories of Maxtoke in 
 Warwickshire, and of Bicester in Oxford- 
 shire, in the time of Henry VI , appear to 
 have laid in yearly stores of various, yet 
 common necessaries, at the fair of Stour- 
 bridge, in Cambridgeshire, at least one 
 nundred miles distant from either mo- 
 aastery. 
 
 VALENTINE'S DAY. 
 
 Now each focd youth who ere essay'd 
 An effort in the tinkling trade, 
 Resumes to day ; and writes and blots 
 About true-love and tme-love's-knots ; 
 And opens veins in ladies' hearts ; 
 (Or steels 'em) with two cris-cross darts.— 
 (There must be two) 
 Stuck through (and through) 
 Hi» own : and then to s'cure 'em bettej 
 lie doubles up his single letter — 
 
 Type of his state, 
 
 (Perchance a hostsj^e 
 To double fate) 
 For single postage ■ 
 Emblem of his and my Cupidity ; 
 With p'rhaps 'ike happy end — stupidity. 
 
 French- Valentines. 
 
 Menage, in his Etymological Dictionary, 
 has accounted for the term " Valentine," 
 by stating that Madame Royale, daughter 
 of Henry the Fourth of France, having 
 built a palace near Turin, which, in honour 
 of the saint, then in high esteem, she called 
 the Valentine, at the first entertainment 
 which she gave in it, was pleased to order 
 that the ladies should receive their lovers 
 for the year by lots, reserving to herself the 
 privilege of being independent of chance, 
 and of choosing her own partner. At the 
 various balls which this gallant princess 
 gave during the year, it was directed that 
 each lady should receive a nosegay from 
 her lover, and that, at every tournament, 
 the knight's trappings for his horse should 
 be furnished by his allotted mistress, with 
 this proviso, that the prize obtained should 
 be hers. This custom, says Menage, oc- 
 casioned the parties to be called " Valen- 
 tines."* 
 
 An elegant writer, in a journal of the 
 present month, prepares for the annua, 
 festival with the following 
 
 LEGEND OF ST, VALENTINE. 
 
 From Britain's realm, in olden time. 
 By the strong power of truths sublime. 
 
 The pagan rites were banish'd ; 
 And, spite of Greek and Roman lore. 
 Each god and goddess, fam'd of yor.c^ 
 
 From grove and altar vanish'd. 
 
 And'they (as sure became them best) 
 To Austin and Paulinius' best 
 
 Obediently submitted, 
 And left the land without delav — 
 Save Cupid, who still held a bway 
 Too strong to passively obey. 
 
 Or be by saints outwitted. 
 
 For well the boy-god knew that he- 
 Was far too potent, e'er to be 
 Depos'd and exil'd quietly 
 
 From his bclov'd dominion ; 
 And sturdily the urchin swore 
 He ne'er, to leave the British shore, 
 
 Would move a single pinion. 
 
 * Dr. Drake's Shakspeare and his Times. See also 
 the Every-Day Book for large particular* oi the day. 
 
 103 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The saints at this were sadly vex'd. 
 And ranch their holy brains perplex'd, 
 
 To bring the boy to reason ; 
 And, when they found him bent to stay. 
 They built up convent-walls straightway^ 
 
 And put poorLove in prison. 
 
 But Cupid, though a captive made. 
 Soon met, within a convent shade, 
 
 New subjects in profusion : 
 Albeit he found liis pagan name 
 Was heard by pious maid and dame 
 
 With horror and confusion. 
 
 For all were there demure and coy. 
 And deem'd a rebel heathen boy 
 
 A most unsaintly creature ; 
 But Cupid found a' way with ease 
 His slye.st vot'ries tastes to please. 
 
 And yet not change afeatitre. 
 
 For, by his brightest dart, the elf 
 Affirm'd he'd turn a saint himself. 
 
 To make their scruples lighter ; 
 So gravely hid his dimpled smiles. 
 His wreathed locks, and playful wiles. 
 
 Beneath a bishop's mitre. 
 
 Then Christians rear'd the boy a shrine. 
 And youths invok'd Saint Valentine 
 
 To bless their annual passion ; 
 And maidens still his name revere. 
 And, smiling, hail his day each year— 
 A day to village lovers dear. 
 
 Though saints aire out of fashion, 
 
 A. S. 
 
 Monthly Magazine. 
 
 Another is pleased to treat the prevailing 
 topic of the day as one of those " whims 
 and oddities," which exceedingly amuse 
 the reading world, and make e'eu sighing 
 lovers smile. 
 
 SONG 
 
 For the 14th of February. 
 By a General Lover. 
 " Mille gravem telis exhausta pene pharetil " 
 Apollo has peep'd through the shutter. 
 
 And waken'd the witty and fair ; 
 Theboarding-school belle's in a flutter. 
 
 The twopenny post's in despair : 
 The breath of the morning is flinging 
 
 A magic on blossom, on spray ; 
 And cockneys and sparrows are singing- 
 
 In chorus on Valentine's Day. 
 
 Away with ye, dreams of disaster. 
 
 Away with ye, visions of law. 
 Of cases I never shall master. 
 
 Of pleadings 1 never shall draw t 
 Away with ye, parchments and papers. 
 
 Red tapes, unread volumes, away ; 
 ■It gives a fond lover the vapours 
 
 •Tj »6e you on Valentine's Day. 
 
 I'll sit in my nightcap, like Hayley, 
 
 I'll sit with my arms crost, like Spain, 
 Till joys, which are vanishing daily. 
 
 Come back in their lustre again : 
 Oh, shall I look over the waters. 
 
 Or shall I look over the way. 
 For the brightest and best of Earth's daughters. 
 
 To rhyme to on Valentine's Day ? 
 Shall I crown with my worship, for fame's sake. 
 
 Some goddess whom Fashion has starr'd. 
 Make puns on Miss Love and her namesake, 
 
 Or pray for a pas with Brocard? 
 Shall I flirt, in- romantic idea, 
 
 With Chester's adorable clay. 
 Or whisper in transport, " Si mea • 
 
 Cum Vestris-^^ " on Valentine's Day? 
 tJhall I kneel to a Sylvia or Celia, 
 
 Whom no one e'er saw or may see, 
 A fancy-drawn Laura Amelia, 
 
 An ad libit. Anna Marie ? 
 ■Shall I court an initial with stars to iti 
 
 (i'j mad for a G. or a J. 
 'Get Bishop to put a few bars to it. 
 
 And print it on Valentine's Day ? 
 JVlas ! ere I'm properly frantic 
 
 With some such pare figment as this, 
 Some visions, not quite so- romantic. 
 
 Start up to demolish the bliss ; 
 Seme Will o' the Wisp in a bonnet 
 
 Still leads my lost wit quite astray, 
 Till up to my ears in a sonnet 
 
 I sink upon Valentine's Day. 
 'The Dian I half bought a ring for. 
 
 On seeing her thrown in the ring ; 
 The Naiad I took such a spring for, 
 
 From Waterloo Bridge, in the spring; 
 The trembler I saved from a robber, on 
 
 My walk to the Champs Elys^e ! — 
 The warbljr that fainted at Oberon, 
 
 Three months before Valentine's Day. 
 The gipsy I once had a spill with. 
 
 Bad luck to the Paddington team I 
 The countess I chanced to be ill with 
 
 From Dover to Calais by steam ; 
 The lass that makes tea for Sir Stephen, 
 
 The lassie that brings in the tray ; 
 It's odd — ^but the betting is even 
 
 Between them on Valentine's Day. 
 The white hands I help'd in their nutting ; 
 
 The fair neck I cloak'd in the rain ; 
 The bright eyes that thank'd me for cutting 
 
 My friend in Emmanuel-lane ; 
 The Blue that admires Mr. Barrow ; 
 
 The Saint that adores Lewis Way ; 
 The Nameless that dated from Harrow 
 
 Three couplets last Valentine's Day. 
 I think not of Laura the witty. 
 
 For, oh ! she is married at York I 
 Isigh not for Rose of the City, 
 
 For, ah I she is buried at Cork I 
 
 " Si mea cum Vestris valuissent ■rota I"— Ovid, A/if 
 
 104 
 
IME TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Adile has a braver and better 
 To say what I never couid say ; 
 
 Louise cannot construe a letter 
 Of English on Valentine's Day. 
 
 So perish the leaves in the arbour, 
 
 The tree is all bare rn- the blast ! 
 Like a wreck that is drifting to harbour, 
 
 I come to thee, Lady, at last; 
 Where art thou so lovely and lonely ? 
 
 Though idle th^; late and the lay, 
 The lute and the lay are thine only. 
 
 My fairest, on Valentine's Day. 
 
 For thee 1 have open'd my Blackstone, 
 
 For thee I have shut up myself; 
 Exchanged my long curls for a Caxton, 
 
 And laid my short whist on the shelf; 
 For thee I have sold my old Sherry, 
 
 For thee I have bum'd my new play ; 
 And I grow philosophical — very I 
 
 Except upon Valentine's Day. 
 
 New Monthly Magazine. 
 
 
 
 In the poems of Elizabetli Trefusis there 
 IS a" Valentine" with an expression of feel- 
 ing which may well conclude the extracts 
 already produced. 
 
 When to Love's influencewoman yields, 
 She loves for life ! and daily feels 
 Progressive tenderness ! — each hour 
 Confirms, extends, the tyrant's power ! 
 Her lover is her god I her fate ! — 
 Vain pleasures, riches, worldly state. 
 Are trifles all ! — each sacrifice 
 Becomes a dear and valued pri^e. 
 If made for him, e'en tho' he proves 
 Forgetful of their former loves. 
 
 AIR AND EXERCISE 
 For ILabies. 
 
 There is a notion, that air spoils the com- 
 plexion. It is possible, that an exposure 
 to all weathers mieht do so ;. thongli if a 
 gipsy beauty is to be said to have a bad 
 complexion, it is one we are very much 
 inclined to be in love with. A russeton 
 apple has its beauty as well as a peach. At 
 all events, a spoilt complexion of this sort 
 is accompanied with none of the melan- 
 choly attending the bad complexions that 
 arise from late hours, and spleen, and 
 plodding, and indolence, and indigestion. 
 Fresh air puts a wine in the blood that 
 lasts from morning to night, and not 
 merely for an hour or two after dinner. If 
 ladies would not carry buttered toast in 
 their cheeks, instead of roses, they must 
 
 shake the blood in their ve'ns, till u spin^ 
 clear. Cheerfulness itself helps to niakt 
 good blood ; and air and ex-ercise mak- 
 cheerfulness. When it is said, that ai 
 spoils the complexion, it is not meant tha- 
 breathing it does so, but exposure to if 
 We are convinced it is altogether a fallacy. 
 and that nothing but a constant exposure 
 to the extremes of heat and cold has any 
 such eflect. The not breathing the fresh 
 air is confessedly injurious; and this might 
 be done much oftener than is supposed. 
 People might oftener throw up their win- 
 dows, or admit the air partially, and with 
 an effect sensible only to the general feel- 
 ings. We find, by repeated experiments, 
 that we can write better and longer with 
 the admission of air into our study. We have 
 learnt also, by the same experience, tr 
 prefer a large study to a small one ; and 
 here the rich, it must be confessed, have 
 another advantage over us. They pass 
 their days in large airy rooms — in apart- 
 ments that are field and champain, com- 
 pared to the closets that we dignify with 
 the name of parlours and drawing-rooms. 
 A gipsy and they are in this respect, and 
 in many others, move on a footing ; and 
 the gipsy beauty and the park beauty enjoy 
 themselves accordingly. Can we look at 
 that extraordinary race of persons — we 
 mean the gipsies — and not recognise the 
 wonderful physical perfection to which 
 they are brought, solely by their exemp- 
 tion from some of our most inveterate no- 
 tions, and by dint of living constantly in 
 the fresh air ? Read any of the accounts 
 that are given of them, even by writers 
 the most opposed to their way of life, and 
 you will find these very writers ret'uting 
 themselves and their proposed ameliora- 
 tions by confessing that no human beings 
 can be better formed, or healthier, or hajj- 
 pier than the gipsies, so long as they are 
 kept out of the way of towns and their 
 sophistications. A suicide is not known 
 among them. They are as n>erry as the 
 •larks with which they rise ; haTe the use of 
 their limbs to a degree unknown among 
 us, except by our new friends the gym- 
 nasts ; and are as sharp in their faculties 
 as the perfection of their frames can render 
 them. A glass of brandy puts them into 
 a state of unbearable transport. It is a 
 superfluous bliss ; wine added to wine : 
 and the old learn to do themselves mis- 
 chief with it, and level their condition with 
 stockbrokers and politicians. Yet these 
 are the people whom some wiseacres are 
 for turning into bigots and manufacturers. 
 They had much better take them for whaJ 
 
 105 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 they are, and for what Providence seems to 
 nave intended them — a memorandum to 
 keep alive among us the belief in nature, 
 and a proof to what a physical state of per- 
 fection the human being can be brought, 
 solely by inhaling her glorious breath, and 
 fieing exempt from our laborious mistakes, 
 -f the intelligent and the gipsy life could 
 ever be brought moTe together, by any 
 rational compromise, (and we do not de- 
 spair of it, when we see that calculators 
 begin to philosophize,) men might attain 
 the greatest perfection of which they are 
 capable. Meanwhile the gipsies have the 
 advantage of it, if faces are any index of 
 health and comfort. A gipsy with an eye 
 (it for a genius, it is not difficult to meet 
 with ; but where shall we find a genius, or 
 even a fundholder, with the cheek and 
 health of a gipsy ? 
 
 There is a fact well known to physicians^ 
 which settles at once the importance of 
 fr<i9.h air to beauty, as well as health. It is, 
 (.nat in proportion as people stay at home, 
 and do not set their lungs playing as they 
 ought, the blood becomes dark, and lags in 
 its current; whereas the habit of inhaling 
 the air out of doors reddens it like a ruby, 
 and makes it clear and brisk. Now the 
 darker the blood, the m re melancholy the 
 sensations, and the worse the complexion. 
 
 It is common with persons who inherit a 
 good stock of health from their ancestors, 
 to argue that they take no particular pains 
 to preserve it, and yet are well. This may 
 be true ; and it is al«o true,- that there is a 
 painstaking to that effect, which is super- 
 fluous and morbid, and helps to do more 
 harm than good. But it does not follow 
 from either of these truths, that a neglect of 
 the rational means of retaining health will 
 ultimately be good for any body. Healthy 
 people may live a good while upon their 
 stock. Children are in the habit of doing 
 it. But healthy children, especially those 
 who are foolishly treated upon an assump- 
 tion that health consists in being highly fed, 
 and having great beef eating cheeks, very 
 often turn out sickly at last ; and grown-up 
 people, for the most part, at least in great 
 towns, have as little really good health, as 
 cnildren in general are given credit for the 
 reverse. Nature does indeed provide libe- 
 -ally for abuses ; but the abuse will be felt 
 at last. It is generally felt a long while 
 nefore it is acknowledged. Then comes 
 age with all its train of regrets and super- 
 stitions ; and the beauty and the man, 
 Resides a world perhaps of idle remorse, 
 which ihey would not feel but for their 
 perverted blood, could eat their hearts out 
 
 for having been such fools as not to secure 
 a continuance of good looks and manly 
 feelings, for want of a little handsome 
 energy. 
 
 The ill taste of existence that is so apt to 
 come upon people in middle life, is too 
 often attributed to moral causes-. Moral 
 they are, but very often not in the sense 
 imagined. Whatever causes bemixed up 
 with them, the greatest of all is-, in ninety- 
 nine instances out of a hundred, no better 
 or grander than a non-performance of the 
 common duties of health. Many a fine 
 lady takes a surfeit for a tender distress ; 
 and many a real suffere.-, who is haunted 
 by a regret, or takes himself for the most 
 ill-used of bilious old gentlemen^ might 
 trace the loftiest of his woes to no better 
 origin than a series of ham-pies, or a wani 
 of proper use of his boots and umbrella.* 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 Young Joe, he -was a carman g-ay, 
 
 As any town could show • 
 His team -was good, and, like his pence. 
 
 Was alwaj-s on the go ; 
 A thing, as every jackass kno-\vs, 
 
 Which often leads to wo I 
 It fell out that he fell in love. 
 
 By some odd chante or vvhini. 
 With Alice Payoe^beside whose eyes 
 
 All other eyes were dim : 
 The painful tale must out — indeed. 
 
 She was A Pain to him. 
 For, when he ask'd her civilly 
 
 To make one of they two. 
 She whipp'd her tongue across her teetU, 
 
 And said, "D'ye think it true, 
 I'd trust my load of life with sick 
 
 A waggoner as you ? 
 " No, no — to be a carman's wife 
 
 Will ne'er suit Alice Payne; 
 I'd better far a lone woman 
 
 For evermore remain, 
 Than have it said, while in my youth. 
 
 My life is on the wain 1" 
 " Oh, Alice Payne 1 Oh, Alice Payne I 
 
 Why won't you meet with me ?" 
 Then up she curl'd her nose, and said, 
 
 " Go axe your axletree ; 
 I tel! you, Joe, this— once for all — 
 
 My joe you shall not be." 
 She spoke the fatal " no," which put 
 
 A spoke into his wheel — 
 And stopp'd his happiness, as though 
 
 She'd cry wo ! to his weal : — 
 These women ever steal our hearts. 
 
 And then their own they steel. 
 
 • New Monthly Magazine. 
 
 10 J 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 So round his melancholy neck 
 Poor Joe his drag-chain tied. 
 And hook'd it on a hook — " Oh ! what 
 
 A weight is life!" he cried ; 
 Then off he qast himself — and thus 
 
 The cast-off carman died 1 
 Howbeit, as his sun was set, 
 (Poor Joe !) at set of sun, 
 They laid him in his lowly grave. 
 
 And gravely that was done ; 
 And she stood by, and laugh'd outright — 
 
 How wrong — the guilty one I 
 But the day of retribution comes 
 
 Alike to prince and hind, 
 As surely as the summer's sun 
 Must yield to wintry wrnd : 
 Alas! she did not mind- his peace— 
 
 So she'd no peace of mirid. 
 For when she sought her bed of rest. 
 
 Her rest was all on thorns ; 
 And there another lover stood, 
 
 Who wore a pair of horns : 
 His little tiny feet were cleft. 
 And cloven, like a fawn's ; 
 His face and garb were dark and blaek. 
 
 As daylight to the blind ; 
 And a something undefinable 
 
 Around his skirt was twin'd — 
 As if he wore, like other pigs. 
 
 His pigtail out behind. 
 His arms, though less than other jnen's. 
 
 By no means harm-less were : 
 Dark elfin locks en lock'd liis ,brow— 
 
 You might not call thet hair; 
 And, oh ! it was a gas-tly sight 
 
 To see his eye-balls glare. 
 And ever, as the midnight bell 
 
 Twelve awful strokes had toU'd, 
 That dark man by her bedside stood. 
 
 Whilst all her blood run cold ; 
 And ever and anon he cried, 
 
 " I could a tail unfold !" 
 And so her strength of heart grew less, 
 
 For heart-less she had been ; 
 And on her pallid cheek a small 
 
 Red hectic spot was seen : 
 You could not say her life was ?pent 
 
 Without a spot, I wean. 
 And they who mark'd that crimson light 
 
 WeU knew the treach'rous bloom — 
 A light that shires, alas ! alas 1 
 
 To light us to our tomb : 
 They said 'twas like thy cross, St. Paul's, 
 
 The signal of her doom. 
 And so it prov'd— she lost her health, 
 
 When breath she needed most- 
 Just as the winning horse gets blown 
 
 Close by the winning-post . 
 U h? ghost, he gave up plaguing her — 
 So she gave up the ghost 
 
 5lonl5on. 
 
 H. L. 
 
 MODERN IMPROVEMENTS. 
 
 In the annals of the world there have 
 never been such rapid changes and such 
 va.st improvements as have occurred in 
 this metropolis durirvg the last seven years. 
 We have no occasion now to refer to 
 Pennant to produce exclamations of sur- 
 prise at the wonderful changes in London ; 
 our own recollections are sufficient. Oxford- 
 street seems half a mile nearer to Charing 
 Cross than in the days of our youth. Swal- 
 low-slreet, with all the dirty courts in its 
 vicinity, have been swallowed up, and re- 
 placed by one of the most magnificent 
 streets in Europe ; a street, which may vie 
 with the Calle d'Alcala in Madrid, with the 
 Quartier du Chapeau Rouge at Bourdeaux, 
 or the Place de Louis Quinze at Paris. We 
 must, for the present, overlook the defects 
 of the architectural detail of this street, in 
 the contemplation of the great and general 
 improvement which its construction has 
 produced in the metropolis. 
 
 Other streets are proposed by the same 
 active genius under which Regent-street 
 has been accomplished ; the vile houses 
 which surrounded and hid the finest portico 
 in London — that of St. Martin's church — 
 are already taken down; a square is to be 
 formed round this building, with twoilarge 
 openings into the Strand, and plans are 
 already in agitation to lay open other 
 churches in the same manner Even the 
 economical citizens have given us a peep ai 
 St. Bride's — being ashamed again to hide 
 beauties which accident had given them an 
 opportunity of displaying to greater advan- 
 tage. One street is projected from Charing 
 Cross to the British Museum, terminating 
 in a square, of vvhich the church in Hart 
 street is to form the centre ; another is in 
 tended to lead to the same point from 
 Waterloo-bridge, by which this structure, 
 which is at present almost useless, will be- 
 come the great connecting thoroughfare 
 between the north and south sides of tlie 
 Thames : this street is, indeed, a desidera- 
 tum to the proprietors of the bridge, as well 
 as to the public at large. Carlton -house is 
 already being taken down — by which means 
 Regent-street will terminate at the south 
 end, with a view of St. James's Park, in 
 the same manner as it does at the north 
 end, by an opening into the Regent's Park. 
 Such is the general outline of the late 
 and the projected improvements in the 
 heart of the metropolis ; but they have no' 
 stopped here. The kinghas been decora 
 
 107 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ti'n^g Hyde Park with lodges, designed by 
 Mr. Decimus Burton, which are really gems 
 in architecture, and stand unrivalled for 
 proportion, ehasteness. and simplicity, 
 amidst the architectural productions of the 
 age. 
 
 Squares are already covering the exten- 
 sive property of lord Grosvenor in the fields 
 of Chelsea ami Pimlico ; and crescents and 
 colonnades are planned, by the architect to 
 the bishop of London, on the ground be- 
 longing to the diocese at Bayswater. 
 
 But all suburban improvements sink into 
 insignificance, when compared with what 
 has been projected and attained within the 
 last seven years in the Regent's Park. This 
 new city of palaces has appeared to have 
 started into existence like tlie event of a 
 fairy tale. Every week showed traces of 
 an Aladdin hand in its progress, till, to our 
 astonishment, we ride thi-ough streets, 
 squares, crescents, and terraces, where we 
 the other day saw nothing but pasture land 
 and Lord's-cricket-ground ; — a barn is re- 
 placed by a palace — and buildings are con- 
 structed, one or two of which may vie with 
 the proudest efforts of Greece and Rome. 
 
 The projector, with true taste, has called 
 the beauties of landscape to the aid of 
 architectural embellishment y and we ac- 
 cordingly find groves, and lawns, and 
 streams intersecting the numerous ranges 
 of terraces and villas ; while nature, as 
 though pleased at the efforts of art, seems 
 to have exerted herself with extraordinary 
 vigour to emulate and second the efforts of 
 the artist. 
 
 In so many buildings, and amidst so 
 much variety, there must, consequently, be 
 many different degrees of architectural ex- 
 cellence, and many defects in architectural 
 composition ; but, taken as a whole, and 
 the short time occupied in its accomplish- 
 ment, the Regent's Park may be considered 
 as one of the most extraordinary creations 
 of architecture that has ever been witnessed. 
 It is the only speculation of the sort where 
 elegance seems to have been considered 
 iqually with profit in the disposition of the 
 ground. The buildings are not crowded 
 together with an avaricious determination 
 to create as much frontage as possible ; and 
 we cannot bestow too much praise on the 
 liberality with which the projector has given 
 up so much space to the squares, roads, 
 and plantations, by which he has certainly 
 relinquished many sources of profit for the 
 pleasure and convenience of the public. 
 
 It is in the contemplation of these addi- 
 tions and improvements to our metropolis, 
 Jliat we doubly feel the blessings and effects 
 
 of that peace which has enabled the govern 
 ment, as well as private individuals, to at- 
 tempt to make London worthy of the cha- 
 racter it benrs in the scale of cities; and 
 we are happy now to feel proud of the 
 architectural beauty, as we always have o< 
 the commercial induence, of our metro- 
 polis. * 
 
 THE SPELLS OF HOME. 
 
 There blend the ties that strengthen 
 
 Our hearts in hours of grief, 
 The silver links that lengthen 
 
 Joys visits when most brief! 
 Then, dost thou sigh for pleasure ? 
 
 O ! do not widely roam I 
 But seek that hidden treasure 
 
 At home, dear home I 
 
 Bernard Bartok. 
 
 By the soft green light in the woody glade. 
 
 On the banks of moss where tliy childhood play'd; 
 
 By the waving tree thro' which thine eye 
 
 First look'd in love to the summer sky ; 
 
 By the dewy gleam, by the very breath 
 
 Of the primrose- tufts in the grass beneath. 
 
 Upon thy heart there is laid a spell — 
 
 Holy and precious — oh ! guard it welll 
 
 By the sleepy ripple of the stream. 
 Which hath lull'd thee into many a dream; 
 By the shiver of the ivy-leaves. 
 To the wind of mom at thy casement-eaves i 
 By the bees' deep murmur in the limes. 
 By the music of the Sabbath-chimes ; 
 By every sound of thy native shade. 
 Stronger and dearer the spell is made. 
 
 By the gathering round the winter hearth. 
 
 When twilight call'd unto household mirth , 
 
 By the fairy tale or the legend old 
 
 In that ring of happy faces told ; 
 
 By the quiet hours when hearts unite 
 
 In the parting prayer, and the kind "good night;" 
 
 By the smiling eye and the loving tone. 
 
 Over thy life has the spell been thrown. 
 
 And bless that gift! — it hath gentle might, 
 A guardian power and a guiding light 1 
 It hath led the freeman forth to stand 
 In the mountain-battles of his land ; 
 It hath brought the wanderer o'er the seas. 
 To die on the hills of his own fresh breeze; 
 And back to the gates of his father's hall. 
 It hath won the weeping prodigal. 
 
 Yes ! when thy heart in its pride would stray,. 
 From the loves of its guileless youth away ; 
 When the sullying breath of the world would come. 
 O'er the flowers it brought from its childhood's home- 
 
 • Monthly Magazine. 
 
 10b 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Think thou again of tke woody glade, 
 
 And the sound by the rustling ivy made ; 
 
 Think of the tree at thy parent's door, 
 
 And the kindly spell shall have power once more ! 
 
 F. H. 
 
 Monthly Magazine. 
 
 BOOKS. 
 
 'Twere well with most, if books, that could engage 
 Their childhood, pleased them at a riper age ; 
 The man approving what had charmed the boy, 
 Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy ; 
 And not with curses on his art, who stole 
 The gem of truth from his unguarded soul. 
 
 COvVPEB. 
 
 If there be one word in our lanCTiiae^e, 
 beyond all others teeming with deliglitful 
 associations, Books is thai word. At that 
 magic name what vivid retrospections of 
 by-gone times, what summer days of un- 
 alloyed happiness " when life was new," 
 tush on the memory ! even now the spell 
 retains its power to charm : the beloved of 
 my youth is the solace of my dechning 
 years : such is the enduring nature of an 
 early attachment to literature. 
 
 The first book that inspired me with a 
 taste for readmg, was Bunyans Pilgrim's 
 Progress ; never shall I forget the intense 
 emotion with which I perused this pious 
 and interesting fiction : the picturesque 
 descriptions and quaint moralities blended 
 with this fine allegory, heightened the 
 enchantment, which to a youthful and 
 fervid imagination, " unsated yet with 
 gaibage," was complete. From hence- 
 forward my bias was determined ; the 
 passion grew with my growth, and strength- 
 ened with my strength ; and I devoured all 
 the books that fell in my way, as if " ap- 
 petite increased by what it fed on." AJy 
 next step was, — I commenced collector. 
 Smile, if you will, reader, but admire the 
 benevolence of creative wisdom, by which 
 the means of happiness are so nicely ad- 
 justed to the capacity for enjoyment : for, 
 slender, as in those days were my finances, 
 I much doubt if the noble possessor of the 
 unique edition of Boccaccio, marched off 
 with his envied prize at the cost of two 
 thousand four hundred pounds, more tri- 
 umphantly, than I did with my sixpenny 
 pamphlet, or dog's eared volume, destined 
 to form the nucleus of my future library. 
 
 The moral advantages arising out of a 
 love of books are so obvious, that to en- 
 large upon such a topic might be deemed 
 a gratuitous parade of truisms ; I shall 
 therefore proceed to offer a few observa- 
 
 tions, as to the best modes of deriving both 
 pleasure and improvement from the culti- 
 vation of this most fascinating and intel- 
 lectual of all pursuits. Lord Bacon says, 
 with his usual discrimination, " Some 
 books are to be tasted, others to be swal- 
 lowed, and some few to be chewed and 
 digested;" this short sentence comprises 
 the whole practical wisdom of the subject, 
 and in like manner by an extension of the 
 principle, the choice of a library must be 
 regulated. " Few books, well selected, are 
 best," is a maxim useful to all, but more 
 especially to young collectors : for let it 
 be remembered, that economy in our plea- 
 sures invariably tends to enlarge the sphere 
 of our enjoyments. Fuller remarks, "that 
 it is a vanity to persuade the world one 
 hath much learning by getting a great 
 library ;" and the supposition is equally 
 erroneous, that a large collection neces- 
 sarily implies a good one. The truth is. 
 were we to discard all the works of a mere 
 temporary interest, and of solemn trifling, 
 that incumber the fields of literature, the 
 magnitude of numerous vast libraries would 
 suddenly shrink into most diminutive 
 dimensions, for the number of good original 
 authors is comparatively few ; study there- 
 fore quality rather than quantity in the 
 selection of your books. As regards the 
 luxuries of the library, keep a rigid watch 
 upon your inclinations ; for though it must 
 not be denied that there is a rational plea- 
 sure in seeing a favourite author elegantly 
 attired, nothing is more ridiculous than 
 this taste pushed to the extreme ; for then 
 this refined pursuit degenerates into a mere 
 hobbyhorse, and once fairly mounted, 
 good-by to prudence and common sense ! 
 The Bibliomaniac is thus pleasantly sati- 
 rized by an old poet in the " Shyp of 
 Fooles." 
 
 Styll am I besy bc'i assemblynge. 
 For to have plenty U is a pleasaunt thynge 
 In my conceit, and to have them ay in hand, 
 Bvi what they mene do I not understande I 
 
 When we survey our well-furnished book 
 shelves, the first thought that suggests 
 itself, is the immortality of intellect. Here 
 repose the living monuments of those 
 master spirits destined to sway the empire 
 of mind ; the historian, the philosopher, 
 and the poet, " of imagination all com- 
 pact!" and while the deeds of mighty con- 
 querors hurry down the stream of oblivion, 
 the works of these men survive to after- 
 ages ; are enshrined in the memories of a 
 grateful posterity, and finally stamp upop 
 
 loy 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 rtatiottal character the permanent impress 
 of their genius. 
 
 Happy we, who are early taught to 
 cherish the society of these silent friends, 
 ever ready to amuse without importunity, 
 and instruct without the austerity of reproof. 
 Let us rest assured that it is " mind that 
 makes the body rich," and that in the cul- 
 tivation of oin- intellect we secure an in- 
 exhaustible store of present gratification, 
 and a source of pleasurable recollections 
 which will never fail to cheer the evening 
 of life. J. H. 
 
 ETIQUEITE. 
 
 Philosophy may rave as it will, " little 
 things are great to little men," and the 
 less the man, the greater is the object. 
 A king at arms is, in his own estimation, 
 the greatest kin-g in Europe, and a German 
 baron is not more punctilious than a master 
 of the ceremonies. The first desire with all 
 men is power, the next is the semblance of 
 power ; and it is perhaps a happy dispen- 
 sation that those who are cut off from the 
 substantial rights of the citizen, should find 
 a compensation in the " decorations " of 
 the slave ; as in all other moral cases the 
 vices of the individual are repressed by 
 those of the rest of the community. The 
 pride of Diogenes trampled on the pride 
 of Plato ; and the vanity of the excluded 
 may be trusted for keeping within bounds 
 tlie vanity of the preeminent and the pri- 
 vileged. The great enemy, hovever, of 
 etiquette is civilisation, which is incessantly 
 at work, simplifying society. Knowledge, 
 by opening our eyes to the substances of 
 things, defends us from the juggle of forms; 
 and Napoleon, when he called a throne a 
 mere chair, with gilt nails driven into it, 
 epitomised one of the most striking results 
 of the revolutionary contest. Strange that 
 he should have overlooked or disregarded 
 the fact in the erecUon of his own institu- 
 tions ! Ceremonial is a true paper cur- 
 rency, and passes only as far as it will be 
 taken. The representative of a thousand 
 pounds, unbacked by credit, is a worthless 
 rag of paper, and the highest decoration 
 which the king can confer, if repudiated by 
 opinion, is but a piece of blue riband. 
 Here indeed the sublime touches the ridi- 
 culous, for who shall draw the line of de- 
 marcation between my lord Grizzle and 
 the gold stick? between Mr. Dymock, in 
 Westminster-hall, and his representative 
 '* on ft real horse " at Covent-garden ? — 
 Every day the intercourse of society is be- 
 coming more and more easy, and a man of 
 
 fashion is as little likely to be cerenionion.s 
 in trifles, as to appear in the costume oj 
 sir Charles Grandison, or to take up the 
 quarrels of lord Herbert of 'Cherbury.* 
 
 INDICATIONS. 
 Written in the Frost. 
 For the Table Book. 
 I Vnow that the weather's severe, by the noses 
 
 That run between eves smartly lash'd by the fair; 
 By the coxcombs thac muff- led aresmilinsr at roses 
 
 Got intj the cheeks, and got out of the air. 
 By the skates, (slipp'ry fish) for the Serpentine's Fleet 
 
 By the rise of the coal ; by the shot birds that fall 
 By the chilly old people that creep to the heat ; 
 
 And the ivy-green branches that creep to the wall 
 By the chorus of boys sliding over the river. 
 
 The grumbles of men sliding over the flags ; 
 The beggars, poor wretches ! half naked, that shiver 
 
 The sportsmen, poor horsemefi ! tum'jiout on their 
 nags I 
 By the snow standing over the plant and the fountain; 
 
 The chilbain-tribes, whose understanding is weak; 
 The wild-ducks of the valley, the drift of tif mountain, 
 
 And, like Niob^, street-piugs all tearu from the 
 Creek: 
 And I know, by the icelets-from nature's own shops, 
 
 By the fagots just cut, and the cutting wind's tone, 
 That the weather will freeze half the world if it stops, 
 
 It it goes, it will thaw t'other half to the bone. 
 Jan 27. % *, P- 
 
 ADOPTION. 
 
 There is a singular system in France 
 relative to the adoption cf children. A 
 family who has none, adopts as their own 
 a fine child belonging to a friend, or more 
 generally to some poor person, (.for the laws 
 of population in the poor differ from those 
 in the rich ;) the adoption is regularly enre- 
 gistered by the civil authorities, and the 
 child becomes heir-at-law to the property 
 of its new parents, ai. 1 cannot be disin- 
 herited by any subsecn.ent caprice of the 
 parties:; they are bound to support it suit- 
 ably to their rank, and do every thing due 
 to their offspring. f 
 
 A Roj'al Simile. 
 " Queen Elizabeth was wont to say, 
 upon the commission of sales, that the 
 commissioners used her like strawberry- 
 vvives, that laid two or three great straw- 
 berries at the mouth of their pottle, and all 
 the rest were little ones ; so they made hei 
 two or three great prices of the first par- 
 ticulars, but fell straight ways ''J 
 
 • New Monthly Magazine. 
 X Apophthegms Antiq. 
 
 + Ibid. 
 
 110 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 BLIND HANNAH. 
 
 -Sightless, and gently led her unseen round, 
 She daily creeps, and draws a soothing soun4 
 ^Of Psalmody, from out her viol' str ngs, 
 .To company some plaintive words she aings. 
 
 This young woman sojourns in the 
 neighbourhood of the ancient scene of the 
 '' Pretty Bessee " and her old father, the 
 " Blind Beggar of Bethnal-green " — 
 
 " His marks and his tokens were known full well, 
 He always was led with a dog and a bell " 
 
 Her name is Hannah Brentford. She is 
 an inhabitant of Bunhill-row, twenty-four 
 years old, and has been blind from the time 
 she had the small-pox, two and twenty 
 years ago. She sings hymns, and accom- 
 panies herself on the violin. Her manner 
 is to " give out ** two lines of words, and 
 chant them to " a quiet tune ;" and then 
 
 she gives out another two lines ; and so she 
 proceeds till the composition is finished. 
 Her voice, and the imitative strains of her 
 instrument, are one chord of 'plaining 
 sound, beautifully touching. She supports 
 herself, and an aged mother, on the alms ol 
 passengers in the streets of Finsbury, who 
 " please to bestow their charity on the 
 bli7id " — " the poor blind." They who are 
 not pierced by her " sightless eye-balls 
 have no sight : they who are unmoved b; 
 her virginal melody have "' ears, and thev 
 hear not." Her eyes are of agate — she li 
 one of the " poor stone blind "— - 
 
 niMt oboueal, moit mtluMkolj ." 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 Ill 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 (Bnnitk ^lapsf. 
 
 No.V. 
 
 (IFrom "Arden of Feversham his true and 
 lamentable Tragedy," Autlior unknown. 
 1592.] 
 
 Alice Arden with Mmbie her Paramour 
 conspire the murder of her Husband. 
 
 Mos. How now, Alice, what sad and passionate ? 
 Make me partaker of thy pensiveness ; 
 Fire divided burns with lesser force. 
 
 Al. But I will dam that fire in my breast, 
 Till, by the force thereof my part consume. 
 Ah Mosbie I 
 
 Mos. Such deep pathaires, like to a cannon's burstj 
 Discharged against a ruinated wall, 
 Breaks my relenting heart in thousand pieces, 
 tingenlle Alice, thy sorrow is my sore ; 
 Thou know'st it will, and 'tis thy policy 
 To forge distressful looks, to wound a breast 
 Where lies a heart which dies when thou art sad. 
 It is not Love that loves to anger Love. 
 
 Al. It is not Love that loves to murther Love. 
 
 Mos. How mean you that ? 
 
 Al. Thou know'st how dearly Arden loved me. 
 
 Mos. And then 
 
 Al. And then — conceal the rest, for 'tis too bad-, 
 test that my words be carried to the wind, 
 And publish'd in the world to both our shames. 
 I pray thee, Mosbie, let our springtime wither ; 
 Gar harvest else will yield but loathsome weeds. 
 Forget, I pray thee, what has past betwixt us ; 
 For now I blush and tremble at the thoughts. 
 
 Mos. Wliat, are you changed ? 
 
 Al. Aye. tc rr;y former happy life again ; 
 From title of an odious strumpet's name 
 To honest Arden's wife, not Arden's honebt wife — 
 Ha Mosbie ! 'tis thou hast rifled me of that. 
 And made me slanderous to all my kin. 
 Even in my forehead is thy name engravoti, 
 A mean Artificer, that low-born name ! 
 I was bewitcht ; woe-worth the hapless hour 
 And all the causes that enchanted me. 
 
 Mos. Nay, if thou ban, let me breath* curses forth ; 
 And if you stand so nicely at your fame. 
 Let me repent the credit I have lost. 
 I have neglected matters of import, 
 That would ht\ve 'stated me above thy state ; 
 For-slow'd advantages, and spum'd at time; 
 Aye, Fortune's right hand Mosbie hath forsook. 
 To take a wanton giglot by the left. 
 I left the marriage of an honest maid. 
 Whose dowry would have weigh'd down all thy wealth; 
 Whose beauty and demeanour far ex('eeded cUee. 
 This certaiu good 1 lost for changing bad, 
 Ard wrapt my credit in thy company. 
 I was bewttcht ; that is no theme of thine ; 
 And thoc anhallow'd hast enchanted me. 
 Bat I will break thy spells and exorcisms. 
 And put another sight upon these eyes. 
 That ibew'd my haart a raven for a dove. 
 
 Thou art not ftiir ; I view'd thee not til! BOir : 
 Thou art not kind ; till now I knew thee not : 
 And now the rain hath beaten off thy gilt. 
 Thy worthless copper shews thee counterfeit. 
 It grieves me not to see how foul thou art, 
 But mads me that ever 1 thought thee fair. 
 Go, get thee gone, a copesniarte for thy hinds ; 
 I am too good to be thy favourite. 
 
 Al, Aye, now I see, and too soon find it true, 
 Which often hath been told; roe by my friends. 
 That Mosbie loves me not but for my wen-lth ; 
 Which too incredulous I ne'er believed. 
 Nay, hear me speak, Mosbie, a word or two ; 
 I'll bite my tongue if 1 speak bitterly. 
 Look on me, Mosbie, or else I'll kill myself. 
 Nothing shall hide me from thy stormy look ; • 
 If thou cry War, there is no Peace for me. 
 I will do penance for offending thee ; 
 And burn this Prayer Book, which I here use, 
 The Holy Word that has converted me. 
 See, Mosbie, I will tear away the leaves. 
 And all the leaves ; and in this golden Cor<r 
 Shall thy sweet phrases and thy letters dwell. 
 And thereoT. will I chiefly meditate. 
 And hold no other sect but such devotion. 
 Wilt thou not look ? is all thy Love o'erwhelm'd ? 
 Wilt thou not hear ? what malice stops thy ears ? 
 Why speakst thou not ? what silence ties thy tcngu* 
 Thou hast been sighted as the Eagle is, 
 And heard as quickly as the fearful Hare 
 And spoke as smoothly as an Orator, 
 When I have bid' thee hear, or see, or speak : 
 And art thou sensible in none of these? 
 Weigh all thy good, turns with this little fault. 
 And I deserve not Mosbie's muddy looks. 
 A fence of trouble is not thicken'd still ; 
 Be clear again ; I'll ne'er more trouble thee. 
 
 Mos. he, no ; I'm a base artificer ; 
 My wings are feather'd for a lowly flight. 
 Mosbie, fie, no ; not for a thousand pound 
 Make love to you ; why, tis unpardonable. 
 We Beggars must not breathe, where Gentiles are. 
 
 Al. Sweet Mosbie is as Gentle as a King, 
 And I too blind to judge him otherwise. 
 Flowers sometimes spring in fallow lands; 
 Weeds in gardens, Roses grow on thorns : 
 So, whatsoe'er my Mosbie's father was. 
 Himself is valued Gentle by his worth. 
 
 Mos. Ah how you women can Insinuate, 
 And clear a trespass with your sweet set tongue . 
 1 will forget this quarrel, gentle Alice, 
 Provided I'll be tempted so no more. 
 
 Arden, tcith his friend Franklin, travel- 
 ling at night to Arden s house at Fever- 
 sham, where he is lain in ivait for by 
 linj)ians, hired by Alice and Mosbie to 
 murder him ; Franklin is interrupted in a 
 story he ivus beginning to tell by the way 
 of a BAD WIFE, by an indisposition, omi- 
 nous of the impending danger of his friend 
 
 112 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Arden. Come, Master Franklin, onwards with yoar 
 
 t.ile. 
 Frank. I'll assure you. Sir, you task me much. 
 A. heavy blond is gather'd at my heart ; 
 A.nd on the sudden is my wind so short. 
 As hindereth the passage of ray speech. 
 So fierce a qualm yet ne'er assailed rae. 
 
 Ardcn. Come,. Master Franklin, let us go on softly ; 
 The annoyance of the dust; or else some meat 
 You ate at dinner cannot brook with you. 
 [ have been often so, and soon amended. 
 Frank. Do you remember where my tale did leave ? 
 Arden. Aye, where the Gentleman did cheok his 
 
 wife — 
 Frank. She being, reprehended for the fact. 
 Witness produced that took her with the fact. 
 Her glove brought in which there she left behind. 
 And many other assured arguments. 
 Her Husband ask d her whether it were not so — 
 
 Arden, Her answer then ? I wonder how she look'd. 
 Having forsworn it with so vehement oaths. 
 And at the instant so approved upon her. 
 Frank. First did she cast her eyes down, on the 
 earth. 
 Watching the drops that fell amain from thence-; 
 Then softly draws she out her handkercher, 
 And modestly she wipes her tear-stain'd face : 
 Then hemm'd she out (to clear her voice it sbould 
 
 seem). 
 And with a majesty addrest herself 
 To encounter all their accusations — 
 Pardon me. Master Arden, I can no morS:; 
 This fighting at ray heart makes short my wind. 
 
 Arden. Come, we are almost now at Raynum Dovra ; 
 Y"our pretty tale beguiles the weary way, 
 [' would you were in case to tell it out. 
 
 [They are set upon by the Ruffians.^ 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 GOD SAVE THE KING. 
 
 John Bull. 
 
 In answer to an inquiry in The Times, 
 respecting the author of " God save the 
 King," the writers of several letters in th; t 
 journal, during the present month, concur 
 in ascribing the air of the " national an- 
 them " to Dr. John Bull. This opinion 
 results from recent researches, by the curi- 
 ous in music, which have been published in 
 elaborate forms. 
 
 Dr. John Bull was a celebrated musi- 
 cian, born about 1563, in Somersetshire. 
 His master in music was William Blitlie- 
 man, organist of the chapel royal to queen 
 Elizabeth, in which capacity he was much 
 distinguished. Bull, on the death of his 
 master in 1591, was appointed his suc- 
 
 cessor. In 1592 he was created doctor in 
 the university of Cambridge ; and in 1596, 
 at the recommendation of her majesty, he 
 was made professor of music to Gresham 
 college, which situation he resigned ir. 
 1607. During more than a year of his 
 professorship, Mr. Thomas Bird, son of the 
 venerable William Bird, exercised the 
 office of a substitute to Dr. Bull, while he 
 travelled on the continent for the recovery 
 of his health. After the decease of queen 
 Elizabeth, Bull was appointed chamber- 
 musician to king James. In 1613, Dr. Bull 
 finally quitted England, and entered into 
 the service of the archduke, in the Nether- 
 lands. He afterwards seems tc have set- 
 tled at Lubec, from which place many of 
 his compositions, in the list published by 
 Dr. Ward, are dated ; one of them so latf 
 as 1622, the supposed year of his decease. 
 Dr. Bull has been censured for quitting his 
 establishment in England ; but it is pro- 
 bable that the increase of health and wealth 
 was the cause and consequence of his re- 
 moval. He seems to have been praised at 
 home more than rewarded. The professor- 
 ship of Gresham college was not then a 
 sinecure. His attendance on the chapel 
 royal, for which he had 40/. per annum, 
 and on. the prince of Wales, at a similai 
 salary, though honourable, were not very 
 lucrative appointments for the first per- 
 former in the world, at a time when scho- 
 lars were not so profitable as at present,, 
 and there was no public performance -where 
 this most wonderful musician could display 
 his abilities. A list of more than two hun- 
 dred of Dr. Bull's compositions, vocal and; 
 instrumental, is inserted in his life, the 
 whole of which, when his biography was 
 written in 1740, were preserved in the 
 collection of Dr. .Pepusch. The chief part 
 of these were pieces for the organ and 
 virginal.* 
 
 Anthony a Wood relates the following 
 anecdote of this distinguished musician, 
 when he was abroad for the recovery of his 
 health in 1601 : — 
 
 " Dr. Bull hearing of a famous musician 
 belonging to a certain cathedral at St. 
 Omer's, he applied himself as a novice to 
 him, to learn something of his faculty, and 
 to see and admire his works. This musi- 
 cian, after some discourse had passed be- 
 tween them, conducted Bull to a vestry or 
 music-school joining to the cathedral, and 
 showed to him a lesson or song of forty parts, 
 and then made a vaunting challenge to any 
 person in the world to add one more part 
 
 Dictiondry of Musicians. Hawkint. 
 
 115 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 10 them, supposing it to oe so complete 
 and full that it was impossible for any 
 mortal man to correct or add to it ; Bull 
 thereupon desiring the use of pen, ink, and 
 ruled paper, such as we call music paper, 
 prayed the musician to lock him up in the 
 said school for two or three hours ; which 
 being done, not without great disdain by 
 the musician. Bull in that time, or less, 
 added forty more parts to the said lesson 
 or song. The musician thereupon being 
 called in, he viewed it, tried it, and retried 
 it ; at length he burst out into a great 
 ecstasy, and swore by the great God, that he 
 .hat added those forty parts nr.ust either be 
 the devil, or Dr. Bull, &c. Whereupon 
 Bull making himself known, the musician 
 fell down and adored him. Afterwards 
 continuing there and in those parts for a 
 lime, he became so much admired, that he 
 was courted to accept of any place or pre- 
 ferment suitable to his profession, either 
 within the dominions of the emperor, king 
 of France, or Spain ; but the tidings of 
 these transactions coming to the English 
 court, queen Elizabeth commanded him 
 home."* 
 
 Dr. Burney disregards the preceding 
 account as incredible ; but Wood was a 
 most accurate writer : and Dr. Bull, be- 
 sides being a great master, was a lover of 
 the difficulties in his science, and was 
 therefore likely to seek them with delight, 
 and accomplish them in a time surprisingly 
 short to those who study melody rather 
 than intricacy of composition. 
 
 It is related that in the reign of James I. 
 "July the 16th, 1607, his majesty and 
 prince Henry, with many of the nobility, 
 and other honourable persons, dined at 
 Merchant Taylors' hall, it being the elec- 
 tion-day of their master and wardens ; 
 when the company's roll being offered to 
 his majesty, he said he was already free of 
 another company, but that the prince 
 should grace them with the acceptance of 
 his freedom, and that he would himself see 
 when the garland was put on his head, 
 which was done accordingly. During their 
 stay, they were entertained with a great 
 variety of music, both voices and instru- 
 ments, as likewise with several speeches. 
 And, while the king sat at dinner, Dr. Bull, 
 who was freeofthatcompany,beingin acitti- 
 zen's gowne, cappe, and hood, played most 
 excellent melodie uppon a small payre of 
 organs, placed there for that purpose 
 onely." 
 
 From the only works of Dr. Rnll in 
 
 print, some lessons in the ** Parthenia — 
 the first music that was ever printed for the 
 virginals," he is deemed to have possessed 
 a power of execution on the harpsichord 
 far beyond what is g-enerally conceived of 
 the masters of that time. As to his lessons, 
 they were, in the estimation of Dr. Pepusch, 
 not only for the harmony and contrivance, 
 but for air and modulation, so excellent, 
 that he scrupled not to prefer them to those 
 of Couperin, Scarlatti, and others of the 
 modern composers for the harpsichord. 
 
 Dr. Pepusch had in his collection a book 
 of lessons very richly bound, which had 
 once been queen Elizabeth's ; in this were 
 contained many lessons of Bull, so very 
 difficult, that hardly any master of the doc- 
 tor's time was able to play them. It is 
 well known, that Dr. Pepusch married the 
 famous opera singer, signora Margarita de 
 L'Pine, who had a very fine hand on the 
 harpsichord : as soon as they were married, 
 the doctor inspired her with the same sen- 
 timents of Bull as he himself had long 
 entertained, and prevailed on her to prac- 
 tise his lessons ; in which she succeeded so 
 well, as to excite the curiosity of numbers 
 to resort to his house at the corner of Bart- 
 lett's- buildings, in Fetter-lane, to hear her. 
 There are no remaining evidences of her 
 unwearied application, in order to attain 
 that degree of excellence which it is known 
 she arrived at ; but the book itself is yet in 
 being, which in some parts of it is so dis- 
 coloured by continual use, as to distinguish 
 with the utmost degree of certainty the 
 very lessons with which she was most de- 
 lighted. One of them took up twenty 
 minutes to go through it.* 
 
 Dr. Burney says, that Pepusch's prefer- 
 ence of Bull's compositions to those of 
 Couperin and Scarlatti, rather proves that 
 the doctor's taste was bad, than that Bull's 
 music was good ; and he remarks, in re- 
 ference to some of them, " that they may 
 be heard by a lover of music, with as littl? 
 emotion as the clapper of a mill, or the 
 rumbling of a post-chaise." It is a mis- 
 fortune to Dr. Bull's fame, that he left httle 
 evidence of his great powers, except the 
 transcendantly mag-nificent air of " God 
 save the king." 
 
 February, 1827. * 
 
 • Wood's P'asti, anno 138& 
 
 COMPANY OF MUSICIANS 
 OF THE City or London. 
 
 King James I., upon what beneficial 
 principle it is now difficult to discover, by 
 
 * Hawkins 
 
 114 
 
THE TABLE BOOF 
 
 letters-patent incorporated the musicians of 
 the city of London into a company, and 
 tney still continue to enjoy privileges in 
 consequence of their constituting afrater- 
 nity and corporation ; bearing arms azure, 
 a swan, argent, within a tressure counter- 
 riure, or : in a chief, gules, a rose between 
 two lions, or : and for their crest the celes- 
 tial sign Lyra, called by astronomers the 
 Orphean Lyre. Unluckily for the boii- 
 vivans of this tuneful tribe, they have no 
 hall in the city for festive delights ! How- 
 ever, on days of greatest gourmandise, the 
 members of this body are generally too 
 busily employed in exhilarating others, 
 comfortably to enjoy the fruits of good 
 living themselves. And here historical in- 
 tegrity obliges me to say, that this company 
 has ever been held in derision by real pro- 
 fessors, who have regarded it as an institu- 
 tion as foreign to the cultivation and pros- 
 perity of good music, as the train-bands to 
 the art of war. Indeed, the only uses that 
 have hitherto been made of this charter 
 seem the affording to aliens an easy and 
 cheap expedient of acquiring the freedom 
 of the city, and enabling them to pursue 
 some more profitable and respectable' trade 
 than that of fiddling ; as well as empower- 
 ing the company to keep out of processions, 
 and oity-feasts, every street and country- 
 dance player, of superior abilities to those 
 who have the honour of being styled the 
 " Waits of the corporation."* 
 
 EPFECTS OF MUSIC. 
 
 Sultan Amurath, that cruel prince, having 
 laid siege to Bagdad, and taken it, gave 
 orders for pulting thirty thousand Persians 
 to death, notwithstanding they had sub- 
 mitted, and laid down their arms. Among 
 the number of these unfortunate victims 
 was a musician. He besought' the officer, 
 who had the command to see the sultan's 
 orders executed, to spare him but for a mo- 
 ment, while he might be permitted to speak 
 to the emperor. The officer indulged him 
 with his entreaty ; and, being brought be- 
 fore the emperor, he was permitted to 
 exhibit a specimen of his art. Like the 
 musician in Homer, he took up a kind of 
 psaltry, resembling a lyre, with six strings 
 on each side, and accompanied it with his 
 voice. He sung the taking of Bagdad, and 
 the triumph of Amurath. The pathetic 
 tones and exulting sounds which lie drew 
 from the instrument, joined to the alternate 
 
 • Burney. 
 
 plaintiven9*3 and boldness of his strainsj 
 rendered the prince unable to restrain the 
 softer emotions of his souL He even suf- 
 fered him to proceed until, overpowered 
 with harmony, he melted into tears of pity, 
 and relented of his cruel intention. He 
 spared the prisoners who yet remained' 
 alive, and gave them instant liberty. 
 
 THE YORKSHIRE GIPSY.* 
 
 Vor the Table Book, 
 
 'Hie Gipsies are pretty well known as 
 streams of water, which, at different periods, 
 are observed on some parts of the Yorkshire 
 Wolds. They appear toward the latter end 
 of winter, or early in spring ; sometimes 
 breaking out very suddenly^ and, after run- 
 ning a few miles, again disappearing. That 
 which is more particularly distinguished by 
 the name of The Gipsy, has its origin near 
 the Wold-cottage, at a distance of about 
 twelve miles W. N. W. from Bridlington. 
 The water here does not rise in a body, in 
 one particular spot, but may be seen oozing 
 and trickling among the grass, over a sur- 
 face of considerable extent, and where the 
 ground is not interrupted by the least ap- 
 parent breakage; collecting into a mass, 
 it passes off in a channel, of about four 
 feet in depth, and eight or ten in width, 
 along a fertile valley, toward the sea, which 
 it enters through the harbour at Bridling- 
 ton ; having passed the villages of Wold 
 Newton, North Burton, Rudston, and 
 Boynton. Its uncertain visits, and the 
 amazing quantity of water sometimes dis- 
 charged in a single season, have afforded 
 subjects of curious speculation. One wri- 
 ter displays a considerable degree of ability 
 in favour of a connection which he sup- 
 poses to exist between it and the ebbing 
 and flowing spring, discovered at Bridling- 
 ton Quay in 1811. "The appearance of 
 this water," however, to use the words of 
 Mr. Hinderwell, the historian of Scar- 
 borough, " is certainly influenced by the 
 state of the seasons," as there is sometimes 
 an intermission of three or four years. It 
 is probably occasioned by' a surcharge of 
 water descending from the high lands into 
 the vales,-by subterraneous passages, and, 
 finding a proper place of emission, breaks 
 out with great force. 
 
 • The ■word is not pronounced the same as gipsy, a 
 fortune-teller ; the </, in this case, being souBded hard 
 as in gMeU 
 
 115 
 
THE TABLE BOOK:. 
 
 Aftei a secession of five years, the Gipsy 
 made its appearance in February, 1823 ; a 
 circumstance whicii some people had sup- 
 posed as unlikely to occur, owing to the 
 alterations effected on the Carrs, under the 
 Muston and Yedingham drainage act. 
 
 We are told, that the ancient Britons 
 exalted their rivers and streams into the 
 offices of religion, and whenever an object 
 had been thus employed, it was reverenced 
 with a degree of sanctitj- ever afterwards ; 
 and we may readily suppose, that the sud- 
 den and extraordinary appearance of this 
 stream, after an interval of two or three 
 successive years, would awaken their curi- 
 osity, and excite in them a feeling of sacred 
 astonishment. IVom the Druids may pro- 
 bably have descended a custom, formerly 
 prevalent amonj^the young people at North 
 Burton, but now discontinued: it was — 
 " going to meet the Gipsy," on her first 
 approach. Whether or not this meeting 
 was accompanied by any particular cere- 
 mony, the writer of this paragraph has not 
 been able to ascertain. 
 
 T. C. 
 
 Bridlington. 
 
 WILTSHIRE ABROAD AND AT 
 HOME. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 There is a land, of every land the pride. 
 Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside^ 
 WTiere brighter suns dispense serener light, 
 And milder moons emparadise the night. 
 
 A. land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth, 
 rime-tutor'd age, and love-exalted youth ; 
 The wandering mariner, whose eye explores 
 The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores. 
 
 Views not a realm so beautiful and fair, 
 Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ; 
 In every clime the magnet of his soul, 
 louch'd by remembrance, trembles to that pole. 
 
 For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace. 
 The heritage of Nature's noblest race. 
 There is a spot of earth, supremely blest, 
 A. dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest ; 
 
 Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside 
 His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride ; 
 While in his softened looks benignly blend 
 The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend. 
 
 Here woman reigns — the mother, daughter, wif«, 
 Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life , 
 In the clear heaven of her delightful eye 
 An ang'jl guard of loves, and graces lie ; 
 Around her knees domestic duties meet. 
 And fcreside pleasures gambol at her feet. 
 
 Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found ? 
 Art thou a man ? a patriot ? look around; 
 Oh, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, 
 That land thy country, and that spot thy home. 
 
 Mr. Editor, — As your Table Book may 
 be considered an extensively agreeable and 
 entertaining continuation of your Every- 
 Day Book, allow me a column, wherein, 
 without wishing to draw attention too fre- 
 quently to one subject, I would recur again 
 to the -contributions of your correspondent, 
 in vol. ii. page 1371, of the Every-Day 
 Book, my observations at page 1584, and 
 his notices at page 1606. Your " Old Cor- 
 respondent " is, I presume, a native of this 
 part of the country. He tells us, page 1608, 
 that his ancestors came from the Priory ; in 
 another place, that he is himself an anti- 
 quarian ; and, if I am not much mistaken 
 in the signatures, you have admitted his 
 poetical effusions in some of your num- 
 bers. Assumino- these to be facts, he will 
 enter into the feeling conveyed by the lines 
 quoted at the head of this article, and 
 agree with me in this observation, that 
 every man who writes of the spot, or the 
 county so endeared, should be anxious that 
 truth and fiction should siot be so blended 
 together as to mislead us (the inhabitants) 
 who read your miscellany ; and that we 
 shall esteem it the more, as the antiquities, 
 the productions, and the peculiarities o< 
 this part of our county are noticed in a 
 proper manner. 
 
 As your. correspondent appears to have 
 been anxious to set himself right with re- 
 gard to the inaccuracies 1 noticed in his 
 account of Clack, '&c., I will point out that 
 he is still in error in one slight particular. 
 When he visits this county again, he will 
 find, if he should direct his footsteps to- 
 wards Malmsbury and its venerable abbey, 
 (now the church,) the tradition is, that the 
 boys of a school, kept in a room that once 
 existed over the antique and curious en- 
 trance to the abbey, revolted and killed 
 their master. Mr. Moffatt, in his history 
 of Malmsbury, (ed. 1805,) has not noticed 
 this tradition. 
 
 Excuse my transcribing from that work, 
 the subjoined " Sonnet to the Avon," and 
 let me express a hope that your correspond- 
 ent may also favour us with some effusions 
 in verse upon that stream, the scene of 
 warlike contests when the boundary of the 
 Saxon kingdom, ot upon other subjects 
 connected with our local history. 
 
 Upon this river, meandering through f 
 fine and fertile tract of country, Mr. Mof 
 
 116 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 fatt, after noticirg the earlier abbots of 
 Mai msbury, adds, "The ideas contained in 
 the following lines were suggested by the 
 perusal of the history of the foundation of 
 Malmsbury abbey : 
 
 " Sonnet to the Avon. 
 
 " Reclined beside the willow shaded stream, 
 On which the breath of whispering zephyr plays. 
 Let me, O Avon, in untutor'd lays 
 
 Assert thy fairest, purest right to fame. 
 
 What tho' no myrtle bower thy banks adorn. 
 Nor sportive Naiads wanton in thy waves ; 
 No glittering sands of gold, or coral caves. 
 
 Bedeck the channel by thy waters worn : 
 
 Yet thou canst boast of honours passing these, 
 For when fair science left her eastern seat, 
 Ere Alfred raised her sons a fair retreat. 
 
 Where Isis' laurels tremble in the breeze ; 
 'Twas there, near where thy curling strearrilet Sows, 
 E'en in yon dell, the Muses found repose." 
 
 This interesting period in the history of 
 the venerable abbey, its supposed connec- 
 tion with Bradenstoke Priory, the admired 
 scenery of the surrounding country, the 
 events of past ages blended into the exer- 
 tions of a fertile imagination, and the many 
 traditions still floating in the minds of the 
 inhabitants, would form materials deserving 
 the attention of a writer disposed to wield 
 his pen in that department of literature, 
 which has been so successfully cultivated in 
 the northern and other parts of our island. 
 
 If by the observation, " that his ances- 
 tors came from the Priory," your corres- 
 pondent means Bradenstoke Priory, he 
 will allow me to direct his attention to the 
 fact of the original register of that esta- 
 blishment being in the British Museum. I 
 refer him to the " Beauties of England and 
 Wales." 
 
 As your correspondent probably resides 
 in London, he may be induced to obtain 
 access to this document, in which I con- 
 clude he would have no difficulty; and if 
 you, Mr. Editor, could favour us in your 
 publication with an engraving of this 
 Priory, it would be acceptable. 
 
 I appreciate the manner in whicb your 
 correspondent noticed my remarks, and 
 wish him success in his literary eflforts, 
 whether relating to objects in this vicinity, 
 or to other matters. One remark only I 
 will add, — that 1 think he should avoid the 
 nam.ing of respectable individuals : the 
 mention of names may cause unpleasant 
 feelings in a neighbourhood like this, how- 
 ever unintentional on his part. I should 
 have considered it better taste in an anti- 
 fjuarian to have named the person in pos- 
 
 session cf the go-lden image, in preference 
 to the childish incidertt stated to have 
 occurred when Brarienstcke Priory was 
 occupied by a forrn^: respectable inhabit- 
 ant, Mrs. Bridjaa. 
 
 Your correspondent will excuse the free- 
 dom of this observation ; his ready pen 
 could perhaps relate to you the detail of a 
 tragical event, said by tradition to have 
 occurred at Dauntsey, where the mansion 
 of the late earl of Peterborough now stands, 
 and '♦ other tales of other times." 
 
 Lyneham, TFilts,, 
 January 23, 1827. 
 
 A Reader.* 
 
 OLD BIRMINGHAM CONJURERS. 
 By Mr. William IIutton. 
 
 No head is a vacuum. Some, like a 
 paltry cottage, are ill accommodated, dark, 
 and circumscribed ; others are capacious as 
 Westminster-hall. Though none are im- 
 mense, yet they are capable of immense 
 furniture. The more room is taken up by 
 knowledg-e, the less remains for credulity. 
 The more a man is acquainted with things, 
 the more willing to " give up the ghost.* 
 Every town and village, within my know- 
 ledge, has beeji pestered with spirits, 
 which appear in horrid forms to the ima 
 gination in the winter night — but t'.e 
 spirits which haunt Birmingham, are thjse 
 of industry and luxury. 
 
 If we examine the whole parish, we can- 
 not produce one old" witch ;" but we have 
 numbers of young, who exercise a powerful 
 influence over us. Should the ladies accuse 
 the harsh epithet, they will please to con- 
 sider, I allow them, what of rjl things they 
 most wish for, power — therefore the balance 
 is in my favour. 
 
 If we pass through thr planetary worlds, 
 vre shall be able to mr^^ter two conjurers, 
 who endeavoured to *' shine with the stars." 
 The first, John Wal'.on, who was so busy 
 in casting the nativity of others, that he 
 forg-ot his own. Conscious of an applica- 
 tion to bimself, for the discovery of" stolen 
 
 * 1 am somewhat embarrassed by this differonoe 
 between two valued correspondents, and I hope neithei 
 will regard me in an ill liglit, if I venture to interpose, 
 and deprecate controversy beyond an extent which can 
 interest the readers of the Table Book. 1 do not say 
 that it has passed that limit, and hitherto all has been 
 well; pei'haps, however, it would be advisable that 
 " A B,eader" should contide to me his name, and that 
 he and my "Old Correspondent," whom I know, should 
 allow me to introduce them to each other. I think the 
 result Would be mutually satisfactory. 
 
 W. H. 
 
 117 
 
THE TABLE BOOIL 
 
 poods, be employed his people to pteai 
 fliem. And though, for many years con- 
 hned to his bed by infirmity, he could con- 
 'jHfe away the property of others, and, for a 
 leward, conjure it back again. 
 
 The prevalence of this evil, induced the 
 legislature, in 1725, to make the reception 
 of stolen goods capital. The first sacrifice 
 to this law was the noted Jonathan Wild. 
 
 The officers of justice, in 1732, pulled 
 Waken out of his bed, in an obscure cottage, 
 one fiirlong from the town, now Brickiln- 
 lane, carried him to prison, and from thence 
 to the gallows — they had better have car- 
 ried him to the workhouse, and his followers 
 to the anvil. 
 
 To him succeeded Francis Kimberley, 
 the only reasoning animal, who resided at 
 No. 60, in Dale-end, from his early youth 
 to extreme age. A hermit in a crowd ! 
 The windows of his house were strangers 
 to light. The shutters forgot to open ; the 
 chimney to smoke His cellar, though 
 amply furnished, never knew moisture. 
 
 lie spent threescore years in filling six 
 rooms vvith such trumpery as was just too 
 good to be thrown away, and too bad to be 
 kept. His life v/as as inoffensive as long. 
 Instead of stealing the goods which other 
 people used, he purchased what he could 
 not use himself. He was not difficult in 
 his choice of the property that entered his 
 house ; if there v/as hulk, he was satisfied. 
 
 His dark house, and his dark figure, 
 corresponded with each other. The apart- 
 ments, choked up with lumber, scarcely 
 admitted his body, though of the skeleton 
 order Perhaps leanness is an appendage 
 to the science, for I never knew a corpu- 
 lent conjurer. His diet, regular, plain, 
 and slender, showed at how little expense 
 life might be sustained. His library con- 
 sisted of several thousand volumes, not one 
 of which, I believe, he ever read ; having 
 written, in characters unknown to all but 
 himself, his name, the price, and the date, 
 in the title-page, he laid them by for ever. 
 The highest pitch of his erudition was the 
 annual almanack. 
 
 He never wished to approach a woman, 
 or be approached by one. Should the rest 
 of men, for half a century, pay no more 
 attention to the fair, some angelic hand 
 might stick up a note like the arctic circle 
 over one of our continents, " this world to 
 be let." 
 
 If he did not cultivate the acquaintance 
 of the human species, the spiders, more 
 nuniiirous than his books, enjoyed an unin- 
 terrupted reign of quiet. The silence of 
 the place was not broken ; the broom, the 
 
 book, the dust, or the web, was nor dis' 
 turbed. Mercury and his shirt pertormed 
 their revolutions together; and Jsaturn 
 changed his with his coat. He died in 
 1756, as conjurers usually die, unla- 
 mented.* 
 
 PATIENCE. 
 
 For the Table Book 
 
 As the pent water of a mill-dam lies 
 
 Motionless, yielding, noiseless, and serene. 
 Patience waits meekly ivltb companioned eyes; 
 
 (>r like the speck-cload, which alone is seen 
 Silver'd within blue space, ling'ring for air 
 
 On which to sail prophetic voyages; 
 Or as the fountain stone that doth not wear. 
 
 But suits itself to pressure, and with ease 
 Diverts the dropping crystal ; or the wife 
 
 That sits beside her husband and her love 
 Subliming to another state and life, 
 
 Offring him consolation as a dove, — 
 Her sighs and tears, her heartache and her mind 
 Devout, untired, calm, precious, and resi^'d. 
 
 %P. 
 
 Catalogue of Painted British Por- 
 traits, comprising most of the Sove- 
 reigns of England, from Henry 1. to 
 George IV., and many distinguished 
 personages ; principally the produc- 
 tions of Holbein, Zucchero, C. Jansen, 
 Vandyck, Hudson, Reynolds, North- 
 cote, &c- N'ow selling at the prices 
 affixed, by Horatio Rodd, 17, Air- 
 street, Piccadilly. 1827. 
 
 This is an age of book and print cata- 
 logues; and lo ! we have a picture dealer's 
 catalogue of portraits, painted in oil, from 
 the price of two guineas to sixty. There 
 IS only one of so high value as the latter 
 sum, and this is perhaps the most interest- 
 ing in Mr. Rodd's collection, and he has 
 allowed the present engraving from it. The 
 picture is in size thirty inches by twenty- 
 five. The subjoined particulars are from 
 the catalogue. 
 
 • Hist, of Birmingham. 
 
 .118 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 SIMON LORD LOVAT. 
 From the original Picture by Hogarth, lately discovered. 
 
 " To the present time, none of Hogarth's 
 biographers appear to have been aware of 
 the ' local habitation' of the original paint- 
 ing from which the artist published his 
 etching, the popularity of which, at the 
 period to which il alludes, was so great, 
 that a printseller offered for it its weight in 
 gold : that offer the artist rejected ; and he 
 is said to have received from its sale, for 
 many weeks, at the rate of twelve pounds 
 each day. The impressions could not be 
 taken off so fast as they were wanted, 
 though the rolling-press was at work all 
 night by the week together. 
 
 " Hogarth said himself, that lord Lovafs 
 portrait was taken at the White Hart-inu, 
 at St. Alban's, in the attitude of relating on 
 his fingers the numbers of the rebel forces : 
 ' Such a general had so many men, Ike. ;' 
 and remarked that the muscles of Lovat's 
 neck appeared of unusual strength, more 
 so than he had ever seen. Samuel Ireland, 
 in his Graphic Illustrations of Hogarth, 
 vol. i. p. 146. states that Hogarth was in- 
 vited to St. Alban's for the express purpose 
 of being introduced to Lovat, who was then 
 resting at the White Hart-inn, on his way 
 to London from Scotland, by Dr. Webster, 
 
 119 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 a physician residing at St. Alban's, and well 
 known to Boswell, Johnson, and other emi- 
 nent literary characters of that period. 
 Hogarth had never seen Lovat before, and 
 was, through the doctor's introduction, re- 
 ceived with much cordiality, even to the 
 kiss fraternal, which was then certainly not 
 very pleasant, as his lordship, being under 
 the barber's hands, left in the salute much 
 of the lar.her on the artist's face. Lord 
 Lovat rested two or three days at St. Al- 
 ban's, and was under the intmediate care of 
 Dr. Webster, who thought his patient's ill- 
 ness was feigned with his usual cunning, or 
 if at all real, arose principally from his ap- 
 prehension of danger on reaching London. 
 The short stay of Lovat at St. Alban's 
 allowed the artist but scanty opportunity 
 of providing the materials for a complete 
 picture ; hence some carpenter was em- 
 oloyed on the instant to glue together some 
 Jeal board, and plane down erne side, 
 which is evident from the back being in the 
 usual rough state in which the plank leaves 
 the saw-pit. The painting, from the thin- 
 ness of the priming-ground, bears evident 
 proof of the haste with which the portrait 
 was accomplished. The course lineament 
 of features so strongly exhibited in his 
 countenance, is admirably hit off; so well 
 has Duncombe expressed it, 
 
 ' Lovat's hard features Hoga.rth might command;' 
 
 for his pencil was peculiarly adapted to 
 such representation. It is observable the 
 button holes of the coat. Sec, are reversed' 
 iin the artist's etching, which was professed 
 to be '•drawn from the life, &c. ;' and in 
 the upper corner of the picture a'-e satirical 
 heraldic insignia, allusive to the artist's 
 idea of his future destiny." 
 
 The " satirical heraldic insignia," men- 
 tioned in the above description, and repre- 
 sented in the present engraving, do not 
 appear in Hogarth's well-known whole 
 length etching of lord Lovat. The picture 
 IS a half-length ; it was found in the house 
 of a poor person at Veiulam, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of St. Allan's, where Hogarth 
 painted it eighty years ago, and it is a singu- 
 lar fact, that till its discovery a few weeks 
 ago-, such a picture was not known to have 
 been executed. In all probability, Hogarth 
 obliged his friend, Dr. Webster, with it, 
 and after the doctor's death it passed to 
 some heedless individual, and remained 
 m obscurity from' that time to the present.* 
 Further observation on it is needless ; for 
 
 persons who are interested concerning the 
 individual whom Hogarth has portrayed, 
 or who are anxious respecting the works of 
 that distinguished artist, have an opportu- 
 nity of seeing it at Mr. Rodd's until it is 
 sold. 
 
 As regards the other portraits in oil, 
 collected by Mr. Rodd, and now offered 
 by him for sale, after the manner of book- 
 sellers, " at the prices annexed," they can 
 be judged of with like facility. Like book- 
 seWers, who tempt the owners of empty 
 shelves, with " long sets to fill up " at 
 small prices, Mr. R. " acquaints the no- 
 bility and gentry, having spacious country 
 mansions, that he has many portraits of 
 considerable interest as specimens of art, 
 but of whom the picture is intended to re- 
 present, matter of dombt : as such pictures 
 would enliven many of their large rooms, 
 and particularly the halls, they may be had 
 at very low prices," 
 
 Mr. Rodd's ascertained pictures really 
 form a highly interesting collection of 
 " painted British Portraits," from whence 
 collectors may select what they please : 
 his mode of announcing such productions, 
 by way of catalogue, seems well adapted 
 to bring buyers and sellers together, and is 
 noticed here as aiu instance of spirited de- 
 parture from the ancient trading ru-le, viz. 
 
 Twiddle your thumbs 
 Till a customer comes. 
 
 * There is an account of lord Lovat in tlie Every- 
 Oay Bonk. 
 
 DEATH'S DOINGS. 
 
 " I am now worth one hundred thousand 
 pounds," said old Gregory, as he ascended 
 a hill, which commanded a full prospect of 
 ati estate he had just purchased ; " I am 
 now worth one hundred thousand pounds, 
 and here," said he, " I'll plant an orchard : 
 and on that spot I'll have a pinery — 
 
 " Yon farm houses shall come down," 
 said old Gregory, " they interrupt my 
 view." 
 
 '" Then, what will become of tne far- 
 mers ?" asked the steward, who attended 
 him. 
 
 " That's their business," answered old 
 Gregory. 
 
 " And that mill must not stand upon the 
 stream," said old Gregory. 
 
 "Then, how will the villagers grind their 
 corn ?'' asked the steward. 
 
 " That's not my business,"^ answered old 
 Gregory. 
 
 So old Gregory returned home — ate a 
 hearty supper— drank a teottle of port — 
 
 120 
 
THE TABLE BOOK; 
 
 smoked vwo pipes of tobacco — and fell into 
 a profound slumber — and awoke no more ; 
 and the farmers reside on their lands — and 
 the mill stands upon the stream — and the 
 viiiat'ors rejoice that Death did "business " 
 with old Gregory. 
 
 TflE BAR-BER. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Barbers are distinguished by peculiarities 
 appertaining to no other class of men. They 
 have a cante, and are a race of themselves. 
 The members of this ancient and gentle 
 profession — foul befall the libeller who shall 
 designate it a trade — are mild, peaceable, 
 cheerful, polite, and communicati've. They 
 mingle with no cabal, have no interest in 
 factions, are " open to all parties, and 
 influenced by none ;" and they have a 
 ?ood, kind, or civil word for everybody. 
 The cheerful morning salutation of one of 
 ihese cleanly, respectable persons is a 
 •' handsell '' for the pleasures of the day ; 
 serenity is in its tone, and comfort glances 
 from its accompanying smile. Their small, 
 cool, clean, and sparingly-furnished shops, 
 with sanded floor and towelled walls, re- 
 lieved by the white-painted, well-scoured 
 shelves, scantily adorned with the various 
 implements of their art, denote the snug sys- 
 tem of economy which characterises tiie 
 owners. Here, only, is the looking-glass 
 not an emblem of vanity : it is placed to 
 reflect, and not to flatter. You seat your- 
 self in the lowly, antique chair, worn 
 smooth by the backs of half a century of 
 beard-owners, and instantly feel a full re- 
 pose from fatigue of body and mind. You 
 find yourself in attentive and gentle hands, 
 and are persuaded that no man can be in 
 collision with his shaver or hair-dresser. 
 Tlie very operation tends to set you on 
 better terms with yourself: and your barber 
 hath not in his constitutten the slightest 
 element of difference. The adjustment of 
 a curl, the clipping of a lock, the trimming 
 of a whisker, (that much-eherished and 
 highly-valued adornment of the face,) are 
 matters of paramount importance to both 
 parties — threads of sympathy for the time, 
 unbroken by the divesture of the thin,, soft, 
 ample mantle, that enveloped you in its 
 snowy folds while under his cai«. Who 
 can entertain ill-humour, much less vent 
 his spleen, while wrapt in the symbolic 
 vestment? The veriest churl is softened 
 by the application of the warm emollient 
 brush, and calmed into complacency by 
 tiie light-handed hoverings of the comb 
 
 and scissors. A smile, a compliment, a 
 remark on Irhe weather, a difliaent, side- 
 wind inquiry about politics, or the passing 
 intelligence of the day, are tendered witli 
 that deference, which is the most grateful 
 as well as the handsomest demonstration ol 
 politeness. Should you, on sitting down, 
 half-blushingly request him to -cut off " as 
 large a lock as he can, merely," you assure 
 him, " that you may detect any future 
 change in its colour," how skilfully he ex- 
 tracts, from your rather thin head of hair, a 
 graceful, flowing lock, which self-love 
 alone prevents you from doubting to have 
 been grown by yourself: how pleasantly 
 you contemplate, in idea, its glossiness 
 from beneath the intended glass of the pro- 
 pitiatory locket. A web of delightful 
 associations is thus woven ; and the care he 
 takes to " make each particular hair to 
 stand on end " to your wishes, so as to let 
 you know be surmises your destiTiation-, 
 completes the charm. — We never hear ot 
 people cutting their throats in a barber's 
 shop, though the place is redolent of razors. 
 No ; the ensanguined spots that occasion- 
 ally besmirch the whiteness of the revolving 
 tew el is from careless, unskilful, and opi- 
 niated individuals, who mow their own 
 beards, or refuse to restrain their risibility. 
 I wonder how any can usurp the province 
 of the barber, (once an almost exclasive 
 one,) and apply unskilful, or unpracti.sed 
 hands so near to the grand canal of life. 
 For my own part, I would not lose the 
 daily elevation of my tender nose, by the 
 velvet-tipped digits of my barber — no, net 
 for an independence ! 
 
 The genuine barber is usually (like his 
 razors) well-tempered ; a man unvisited by 
 care ; combining a somewhat hasty assi- 
 duity, with an easy and respectful manner. 
 He exhibits the best part of the character 
 of a Frenchman — an uniform exterior sua- 
 vity, and politesse. He seems a faded 
 nobleman, or emigre of the old regime. 
 And surely if the souls of men transmigrate, 
 those of the old French nobles.se seek the 
 congenial soil of the barber's bosom I Is it 
 a degradation of worthy and untroubled 
 spirits, to imagine, that they animate thxi 
 bodies of the harmless and unsophisticated ? 
 
 In person the barber usually inclines to 
 the portly ; but is rarely obese. His is 
 that agreeable plumpness betokening the 
 man at ease with himself and the world — 
 and the utter absence of that fretfulness 
 ascribed to leanness. Nor do his comely 
 proportions and fleshiness make leaden the 
 heels, or lessen the elasticity of his step, 
 or transmute his feathery lightness of baud 
 
 121 
 
1 
 
 THE TABLE BOOEL 
 
 CO heaviness. He usually wears powder, 
 ior it looks respectable, and is professional 
 withal. The last of the almost forgotten 
 and quite despised race or pigtails, once 
 proudly cherished by all ranks — now pro- 
 scribed, banished, or, if at all seen, dimi- 
 nished in stateliness and bulk, " shorn of 
 its fair proportions," — lingers fondly with 
 its fornn.er nurturer; the neat-combed, even- 
 clipped hairs, encased in their tight swathe 
 0^ black ribbon, topped by an airy bow, 
 nestle in the well-clothed neck of the mo- 
 dern barber. Yet why do I call him 
 modern ? True, he lives in our, but he 
 belongs to former times, of which he is the 
 remembrancer and historian — the days of 
 bags, queues, clubs, and periwigs, when a 
 halo of powder, pomatum, and frizzed curls 
 encircled the heads of our ancestors. That 
 ■jlory is departed ; the brisk and agile 
 tonsor, once the genius of the toilet, no 
 longer directs, with the precision of a can- 
 noneer, rapid discharges of scented atoms 
 against bristling batteries of his own crea- 
 'ion.. " The barber s occupation's gone," 
 with all the " pride, pomp, and circum- 
 stance of glorious ivigs !" 
 
 Methinks I detect some unfledged reader, 
 upon whose head of hair the sun of the 
 eighteenth century never shone, glancing 
 nis " mind's eye " to one of the more 
 recent and fashionable professors of the art 
 of " ci.seaurie" — one of the chemical per- 
 fumers, or self-esteemed practitioners of the 
 present day, in search of an exemplification 
 of my description : — he is at fault. Though 
 he may deem Truefit or Macalpine mo- 
 dels of skill, and therefore of description, I 
 must tell him I recognise none such. I 
 speak of the last generation, (between 
 which and the present, Ross, and Taylor of 
 Whitechapel, are the connecting links,) the 
 last remnants of whom haunt the solitary, 
 well-paved,silent corners,and less frequented 
 streets of London — whose windows ex- 
 hibit no waxen busts, bepainted and be- 
 dizened in fancy dresses and flaunting 
 feathers, but one or two " old original " 
 blocks or duminies, crowned with sober- 
 looking, respectable, stiff'-buckled, brown 
 wigs, such as our late venerable monarch 
 used to wear. There is an aboriginal wig- 
 maker's shop at the corner of an inn-yard 
 in Bishopsgate-street ; a " repository " of 
 hair; the window of which is full of these 
 primitive caxons, all of a sober brown, or 
 simpler flaxen, with an occasional contrast 
 of rusty black, forming, as it were, a finis 
 to the by-gone fashion. Had our first fore- 
 father, Adam, been bald, he could not have 
 WMrn a more simply artifi/;ial imitation of 
 
 nature than one of these wigs — so frank, so 
 sincere, and so warm an apology for want 
 of hair, scorning to deceive the observer 
 or to crown the veteran neaa wiin adoles- 
 rent curls. The ancient wig, whether 
 a simple scratch, a plain bob, or a splendid 
 periwig, was one which a man might mo- 
 destly hold on one hand, while with the 
 other he wiped his bald pate ; but with 
 what grace could a modern wig-wearer 
 dismount a specific deception, an elaborate 
 imitation of natural curls to exhibit a hair- 
 less scalp? It would be either a censure 
 on his vanity, or a sarcasm on his other- 
 wise unknown deficiency. The old wig, 
 on the contrary, was a plain acknowledg- 
 ment of want of hair ; avowing the com- 
 fort, or the inconvenience,, (as it might 
 happen,) with an independent indifference 
 to mirth or pity ; and forming a decent 
 covering to the head that sought not to be- 
 come either a decoration or deceit. Peace 
 to the manes of the primitive artificers of 
 human hair — the true skull-thatchers — the 
 architects of towering toupees — ^the en- 
 gineers of flowing periwigs ! 
 
 The wig-makers (as they still denominate 
 themselves) in Lincoln's-inn and the Tem- 
 ple, are quite of the " old school." Their 
 shady, cool, cleanly, classic recesses, where 
 embryo chancellors have been measured 
 for their initiatory forensic wigs; where the 
 powdered glories of the bench have oft- 
 times received a rt'-revivification ; where 
 some "old Bencher" still resorts, in hi<i 
 undress, to have his nightly growth of 
 beard shaven by the "particular razor;" 
 these powder-scented nooks, these legal 
 dressing-closets seem, like the " statutes at 
 large," to resist, tacitly but effectually, the 
 progress of innovation. They are like the 
 old law offices, which are scattered up and 
 down in various corners of the intricate 
 maze of " courts," constituting the " Tem- 
 ple" — unchangeable by time ; except when 
 the hand of death removes some old 
 tenant at will, who has been refreshed by 
 the cool-borne breezes from the river, or 
 soothed by the restless monotony of the 
 plashing fountain, " sixty years since." — 
 But I grow serious. — The barber possesses 
 that distinction of gentleness, a soft and 
 white hand, of genial and equable tempera- 
 ture, neither falling to the " zero " of chilli- 
 ness, nor rising to the " fever heat " of 
 perspiration, but usually lingering at 
 " blood heat." I know not if any one ever 
 shook hands with his barber : there needs 
 no such outward demonstration of good- 
 will ; no grip, like that we bestow upon 
 an old friend returned after a long absence. 
 
 122 
 
THE TABLE BOOK!. 
 
 by way of rivet, as it were, to that link in 
 the chain of friendship. His air of courtesy 
 keeps a good understanding:; floating be- 
 tween him and his customers, which, if 
 ruffled by a hasty departure, or dismissal, 
 is revived the next day by the sun-light of 
 his morning smile ! 
 
 The barber's hand is unlike that of any 
 other soft hand : it is not flabby, like that 
 of a sensualist; nor arid, and thin, likea stu- 
 dent's; nor dead white, like that of a deli- 
 cate female; but it is naturally warm, of a 
 glowing, transparent colour, and of a 
 cushiony, elastic softness. Beneath its 
 conciliatory touch, as, it prepares the skin 
 for the sweeping course of the razor, and its 
 gentle pressure, as it inclines the head to 
 either side, to aid the operation of the scis- 
 iors, a man may sit for hours, and feel no 
 weariness. Happy must he be who lived 
 in the days of long, or full-dressed hair, 
 iiid resigned himself for a full hour to the 
 passive luxury of hair-dressing ! A morn- 
 ing's toilette — (for a gentleman, I mean ; 
 bemg a bachelor, I am uninitiated in the 
 anj-ina of a lady's dressing-room) — a morn- 
 ino's toilette in those days was indeed an 
 important part of the " business of life :" 
 there were the curling-irons, the comb, the 
 pomatum, the powder-puff', the powder- 
 knife, the mask, and a dozen .other requi- 
 sites to complete the elaborate process that 
 perfected that mysterious " frappant, or 
 tintinabulant appendage " to the back part 
 of the head, (ih! it must have been a 
 luxury — a delight surpassing the famed 
 baths and cosmetics of the east. 
 
 I have said that the barber is a gentle 
 man ; if not in so many words, I have at 
 least pointed out that distinguishing trait 
 in him. He is also a humane man : his 
 occupation of torturing hairs leaves him 
 neither leisure nor disposition to torture 
 ought else. He looks as respectable as he 
 is ; and he is void of any appearance of 
 deceit or cunning. There is less of per- 
 sonality or egotism about him than mankind 
 in general : though he possesses an idio- 
 syncrasy, it is that of his class, not of him- 
 self. As he sits, patiently renovating some 
 dilapidated peruke, or perseveringly pre- 
 sides over the developement of grace in 
 some intractable bush of hair, or stands 
 at his own threshold, in the cleanly pride 
 of white apron and hose, lustrous shoes, 
 and exemplary jacket, with that studied 
 yet seeming disarrangement of hair, as 
 though subduing, as far as consistent with 
 propriety, the visible appearance of tech- 
 nical skill — as he thus, untired, goes the 
 uever-varying round of his pleasant occu- 
 
 pation, and active leisure, time seeins to 
 pass unheeded, and the wheel of chance, 
 scattering fragments of circumslai>ce fronr. 
 the rock of destiny, continues its relentless 
 and unremittent revolution, unnoticed by 
 him. He hears not the roar of the fearfu. 
 engine, the groans and sighs of despair, oi 
 the wild laugh of exultation, produced bj 
 its mighty working. All is remote, strange, 
 and intricate, and belongs not to him to 
 know. He< dwells in an area of peace — a 
 magic circle whose area might be de- 
 scribed by his obsolete sign-pole ! 
 
 Nor does the character of the barber varv 
 in other countries. He seems to flourish in 
 unobtrusive prosperity all the world over. 
 In the east, the clime most congenial to his 
 avocations, the voluminous beard makes 
 up for the deficiency of the ever-turbaned, 
 close-shorn skull, and he exhibits the tri- 
 umph of his skill in its most special depart- 
 ment. Transport an English barber to Sa- 
 marcand, or Ispahan, and, saving the lan- 
 guage, he would feel quite at home. Here 
 he reads the newspaper, and, unless any 
 part is contradicted by his customers, 
 he believes at all : it is his oracle. At 
 Constantinople the chief eunuch would con- 
 fide to him the secrets of the seraglio as if 
 he were a genuine disciple of Mahomet 
 and with as right good will as ever old 
 " gossip'' vented a bit of scandal with un- 
 constrained volubility of tongue. He would 
 listen to, aye and, put faith in, the relations 
 of the coffee-house story-tellers who came to 
 have their beards trimmed, and repaid him 
 with one of their inventions for his trouble. 
 What a dissection would a barber's brain 
 aflford, could we but discern the mine o 
 latent feuds and conspiracies laid up there 
 in coil, by their spleenful and mischievous 
 inventors. I would that I could unpack 
 the hoarded venom, all hurtless in that 
 " cool giot," as destructive stores are de- 
 posited in an arsenal, where light and heat 
 never come. His mind admits no spark of 
 malice to fire the train of jealousy, or ex- 
 plode the ammunition of petty strife; and 
 it were well for the world and society, if 
 the intrigue and spite of its inhabitants 
 could be poured, like the " cursed juice of 
 Hebenon,",into his ever-open ear, and be 
 buried for ever in the oblivious chambers 
 of his brain. Vast as the caverned ear 
 of Dionysius the tyrant, his contains in its 
 labyrinthine recesses the collected scandal 
 of neighbourhoods, the chatter of house- 
 holds, and even the crooked policy of 
 courts ; but ail is decomposed and neutra- 
 lized there. It is the very quantity of this 
 freight of plot and detraction that render.*^ 
 
 123 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 him so harmless. It is as ballast to the 
 sails of his judgment. He mixes in no 
 conspiracy, domestic or public. The fcuU 
 est treason would remain " pure in the last 
 recesses of his mind." He knows not of, 
 cares not for, feels no interest in all this 
 material of wickedness, any more than the 
 unconscious paper that bears on its lettered 
 forehead the " sixth edition" of a bulletin, 
 i^miable, contented, respected race ! — 
 r exclaim with Figaro, " Oh, that I were a 
 happy barber !" 
 
 Gaston. 
 
 THE KING OF INDIA'S LIBRARY. 
 
 Dabshelim, king of India, had so nume- 
 rous a library, that a hundred brachmans 
 were scarcely sufficient to keep it in order; 
 and it required a thousand dromedaries to 
 transport it from one place to another. As 
 Se was not able to read all these books, he 
 proposed to the brachmans to make extracts 
 from them of the best and most useful of 
 their ctmtents. These learned personages 
 set themselves so heaitily to work, that in 
 less than twenty years they had compiled of 
 :ill these extracts a little encyclopadia of 
 twelve thousand volumes, which thirty 
 ramels could carry with ease. They had 
 ',he honour to piesent it to the king. But, 
 how great was their amazement, on his 
 giving them for answer, that it was impos- 
 sible for him Co read thirty camel-loads of 
 books. They therefore reduced their ex- 
 tracts to fifteen, afterwards to ten, then to 
 four, then to two dromedaries, and at last 
 there remained only so much as to load a 
 mule of ordinary stature. 
 
 Unfortunately, Dabshelim, during this 
 process of melting down his library, was 
 grown old, and saw no probability of living 
 to exhaust its quintessence to the last vo- 
 lume. " Illustrious sultan," said his vizir, 
 the sage Pilpay, " though I have but a very 
 imperfect knowledge of your royal library, 
 yet I will undertake to deliver you a very 
 brief and satisfactory abstract of it. You 
 shall read it through in one minute, and 
 yet you will find matter in it for r-eflecting 
 upon throughout the rest of your life." 
 Having said this, Pilpay took a palm leaf, 
 and wr-ote upon it with a golden style the 
 four following sentences : — 
 
 1. The greater part of the sciences com- 
 prise but one single word — Perhaps ; and 
 the whole history of mankind contains no 
 more than three — they are born, suffer, die. 
 
 2. Love nothing but what iS good, and 
 do all that thou lovest to do; tnink nothing 
 but what is true, and speak not all that 
 thou thickest. 
 
 3. O kings ! tame your passions, govern 
 yourselves ; and it will be only child's play 
 to you to govern the world. 
 
 4. O kings ! O people ! it can never be 
 often enough repeated to you, what the 
 half-witted, venture to doubt, that there is 
 no happiness without virtue, and no virtue 
 without the fear of God. 
 
 ENCOURAGEMENT TO AUTHORS. 
 
 Whether it is perfectly consistent in an 
 author to solicit the indulgence of the pub- 
 lic, though it may stand first in his wishes, 
 admits a doubt ; for, if his productions 
 will not bear the light, it may be said, why 
 does he publish ? but, if they will, there is 
 no need to ask a favour ; the world receives 
 one from him. Will not a piece everlast- 
 ingly be tried by its merit? Shall wp 
 esteem it the higher, because it was written 
 at the age of thirteen 'i because it was the 
 effort of a week ? delivered extempore ' 
 hatched while the author stood upon ont 
 leg ? or cobbled, while he cobbled a shoe 
 or will it be a recommendation, that it issues 
 forth in gilt binding ? The judic ous 
 world will not be deceived by the tinsellerl 
 purse, but will examine whether the con- 
 tents are sterling. 
 
 POETICAL ADVICE. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 I have pleasure in being at liberty to 
 publish a poetical letter to a young poet 
 from one yet younger ; who, before the 
 years of manhood, has attained the height 
 of knowing on what conditions the muse 
 may be successfully wooed, and imparts the 
 secret to h's friend. Some lines towards 
 the close, which refer to his co-aspirant's 
 effusions, are omitted. 
 
 To R. R. 
 
 To you, dear Rowland, lodg'd in town. 
 
 Where Pleasure's smile soothes Winter's trown, 
 
 I write while chilly breezes blow. 
 
 And the dense clouds descend in snow. 
 
 For Twenty-six is nearly dead. 
 
 And Eige has whiten'd o'er her head ; 
 
 Her velret robe is stripp'd away. 
 
 Her watery pulses hardly play ; 
 
 Clogg'd with the withering leaves, the wmd 
 
 Comes with his blighting blast behmd. 
 
 124 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 And here and tli»rp. with pvying eye. 
 And flagging -vings a bird flits by ; 
 (For every Robin sparer grows, 
 And every Sparrow robbing goes.) 
 The Year's two eyes — the sun and moon- 
 Are fading, and will fade full soon ;* 
 With sliattered forces Autumn yields. 
 And Winter triumphs o'er the fields. 
 
 So thus, alas ! I'm gagg'd it seems. 
 From converse of the woods and streams, 
 [Yor all the countless rhyming rabble 
 Hold leaves can whisper — waters babble) 
 And, house-bound for whole weeks together 
 By stress of lungs, and stress of weather^ 
 Feed on the more delightful strains 
 Of howling winds, and pelting rains ; 
 Which shalie the house, from rear to van. 
 Like valetudinarian ; 
 Pouring innumerable streams 
 Of arrows, thro' a thousand seams: 
 Vrrows so fine, the nicest eye 
 Their thickest flight can ne'er descry,— 
 Yet fashion'd with such subtle art. 
 They strike their victim to the heart ; 
 While imps, that fly upon the point. 
 Raise racking pains in every joint. 
 
 Nay, more — these winds are thouglvt magicians. 
 
 And superemiaent physicians: 
 
 For men who have been kill'd outright. 
 
 They cure again at dead of night. 
 
 That double witch, who erst did dwell 
 
 M Endor's cave, raised Samuel; 
 
 But they each night raise countless host* 
 
 Of wandering sprites, and sheeted ghosts; 
 
 Turn shaking locks to clanking chains, 
 
 And howl most supernatural strains^ 
 
 While all our dunces lose their wits. 
 
 And pass the night in ague-fits. 
 
 While this nocturnal series blows 
 
 I hide my head beneath the clothes. 
 
 And sue the power whose dew distils 
 
 The only balm for human ills. 
 
 All day the sun's prevailing beam 
 
 Absorbs this dew from Lethe's stream : 
 
 All night the falling, moisture shed.s 
 
 Oblivion over mortal heads. 
 
 Then sinking into sleep I fall. 
 
 And leave them piping at their ball. 
 
 When morning comes — no summer's morn — 
 
 I wake and find the spectres gone ; 
 
 But on the casement see emboss'd 
 
 A mimic world in crusted frost; 
 
 Ice-bergs, high shores, and wastes of snow. 
 
 Mountains above, and seas below ; 
 
 Or, if Imagination bids, 
 
 Vast crystal domes, and pyramids. 
 
 Then starting from my couch I leap, 
 
 And shake away the dregs of sleep, 
 
 • To shield this line from criticism — 
 "J'i8 Parody— not fiagiansm. 
 
 Jnst breathe upon the grand array. 
 And ice-bergs slide in seas away. 
 
 Now on the scout 1 sally forth. 
 The weather-cock due E. by N. 
 To meet jiome masquerading hg. 
 Which makes all nature dance incog. 
 And spreads blue devils, and blue lookt, 
 Till exorcised by tongues and books. 
 
 Books, do I say ? full well I wist 
 
 A book's a famous exorcist ! 
 
 A book's the tow that makes the tether 
 
 That binds the quick and dead together j 
 
 A speaking trumpet under ground. 
 
 That turns a silence to a sound ; 
 
 A magic mirror form'd to show. 
 
 Worlds that were dust ten thousand years Ape>, 
 
 They're aromatic cloths, that hold 
 
 The mind emhalm'd in many a fold, 
 
 And look, arrang'd in dust-hung rooms. 
 
 Like mummies in Egyptian tombs ; 
 
 — Enchanted echoes, that reply. 
 
 Not to the ear, but to the eye; 
 
 Or pow'rful drugs, that give the brain. 
 
 By strange contagion, joy or pain, 
 
 A book's the phoenix of the earth. 
 Which bursts in splendour from its birth : 
 And like the moon without her wanes. 
 From every change new lustre gains ;. 
 Shining with undiminish'd light. 
 While ages wing their idle flight. 
 
 By such a glorious theme inspired, 
 Still could 1 sing — but you are tired: 
 (Tho' adamantine lungs would do. 
 Ears should be adamantine too,) 
 And thence we may deduce 'tis better 
 To answer ('faith 'tis time) your letter. 
 
 To answer first what first it says. 
 Why will you speak of partial praise > 
 I spoke with honesty and truth, 
 And now you seem to doubt them both. 
 The lynx's eye may seem to him, 
 Who always has enjoy'd it, dim : 
 And brilliant thoughts to you may be 
 What common-place ones are to me. 
 You note them not — but cast them by. 
 As light is lavish'd by the sky ; 
 Or streams from Indian mountains roU'd 
 Fling to the ocean grains of gold. 
 But still we know the gold is fine — 
 But still we know the light's divine. 
 
 As to the Centnry and Pope, 
 
 The thought's not so absurd, I hope. 
 
 I don't despair to see a throne 
 
 Rear'd above his — and p'rhaps your owTt 
 
 The course is clear, the goal's in view, 
 
 "Tis free to all, why not to you ? 
 
 But, ere you start, you should surve ' 
 The towering falcon strike ber prey : 
 In gradual sweeps the sky she scalfcS, 
 Nor all at once t^e bird assails. 
 
 125 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 !4nt bems him iu — cuts round the skies, 
 
 Aud gaiDS upon him as he files. 
 
 Weaned and faint he beats the air in vain. 
 
 Then shuts hi» flaggy wings, and p'tches to the plain. 
 
 Now, falcon ! now I One stoop — but one, 
 
 The quarry's struck — the prize is won 1 
 
 So he who hopes the palm to gain, 
 
 So often sought — and sought in vain. 
 
 Must year by year, as round by round, 
 
 Iu easy circles leave the ground : 
 
 'Tis time has taught him how to rise. 
 
 And naturalized liim to the skies. 
 
 Full many a day Pope trod the vales. 
 
 Mid •• silver streams and murmuring .gales.' 
 
 Long fear'd the rising hills to tread, 
 
 Nor ever dared the mountain-head. 
 
 It needs not Milton to display, — 
 Who let a life-time slide away, 
 Before, he swept the sounding string. 
 And soar'd on Pegasean wing, — 
 Nor Homer's ancient form — to show 
 The Laurel takes an age to grow ; 
 And he who gives his name to fate. 
 Must plant it early, reap it late ; 
 Nor pluck the blossoms as they spring. 
 So beautiful, yet perishing. 
 
 More I would say — but, see, the paper 
 Is nearly out — and so's my taper. 
 So while I've space, and while I've light, 
 I'll shake your hand, and l)id good-night. 
 
 F. P. H. 
 
 Croydon, Dec. 17,1826. 
 
 ginecticitess. 
 
 Genekal Wolfe. 
 
 It is related of this distinguished officer, 
 that his death-wound was not received by 
 the common chance of war. 
 
 Wolfe perceived one of the sergeants of 
 his regiment strike a man under arms, (an 
 act against which he had given particiilar 
 orders,) and knowing the man to be a good 
 soldier, reprehended the aggressor with 
 much warmth, and threatened to reduce 
 him to the ranks. This so far incensed the 
 sergeant, that he deserted to the enemy, 
 where he meditated the means of destroying 
 the general Being placed in the enemy's 
 left wing, which was directly opposed to 
 the right of the British line, where Wolfe 
 commanded in person, he aimed at his old 
 commander with his rifle, and effected his 
 deadly purpose. 
 
 Dr. Kjng— Hi« pun 
 
 The late Dr. King, of Oxford, by actively 
 interfeiing in some measures which mate- 
 rially aflfected the university at large, be- 
 came very popular with some individuals, 
 and as obnoxious .with others. The mode 
 of expressing disapprobation at either of 
 the universities in the senate-house, or 
 schools, is by scraping with the feet: but 
 deviating from the usual custom, a party 
 was made at Oxford to hiss the doctor al 
 the conclusion of a Latin oration he had to 
 make in public. This was accordingly 
 done : the doctor, however, did not suffer 
 himself to be disconcerted, but turning 
 round to the vice-chancellor, said, very 
 gravely, in an audible voice, " Laudatur alf 
 
 jfebruarp. 
 
 Conviviality and good cheer may con- 
 vert the most dreary time of the year into 
 a season of pleasure ; and association ot 
 ideas, that great source of our keenest plea- 
 sures, may attach delightful images to the 
 howling wind of a bleak winter's night, 
 and the hoarse screeching and mystic hoot- 
 ing of the ominous owl.* 
 
 Winter. 
 
 When icicles hang by the wall. 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows. his nail, 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall, 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail; 
 When blood is nipt, and ways be foul. 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
 
 Tu-who ; 
 Tu-whit tu-who, a merry note, 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot 
 
 When all aloud the wind doth blow. 
 
 And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 
 And birds sit brooding in the snow, 
 And Marian's nose looks red and raw : 
 Then roasted crabs hiss in the bowl. 
 And nightly sings the staring owl, 
 
 Tn-who ; 
 Tn-whit tu-who, a merry note. 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 Shahspeart. 
 
 To " keel" the pot is an ancient spelling 
 for " cool," which is the past participle ol 
 tlie verb : see Tooke's *' Diversions of Pur- 
 ley," where this passage is so explained. 
 
 • Dr. Forster'g Perennial Calendar. 
 
 126 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 MONUMENT AT LUCERNE, DESIGNED BY THORWALDSEN, 
 
 To THE Memoey of the Swiss Guards who were massacred at the Tuilleries, 
 ON THE Tenth of August, 1792. 
 
 The engraving above is executed from 
 i clay figure, modelled by a Swiss artist 
 from the original. It was obligingly sent 
 To the editor, for the present purpose, by 
 the gentleman to whom it belongs. The 
 model was presented to him by a friend, who, 
 m answer to his inquiries on the subject, 
 wrote him a letter, of which the following 
 is an extract : — - 
 
 " The Terra Incognita you mention 
 comes from Lucerne, in Switzerhind, and is 
 the model of a colossal work, cut in the 
 whd rock, close to that city, on theground" 
 of general Pfyffer. It is from a design fur- 
 nislied by Thorwaldsen, which is shown 
 close by. The ' L'envoi,' as don Armado 
 calls it, is as follows: — 'The Helvetian 
 lion, even ir. death, protects the lilies of 
 l-'rance.' The monument was executed by 
 ihe Swiss, in memory of their countrymen, 
 
 who were massacred, on the 10th of August, 
 at the Tuilleries, in defending Louis XVI. 
 from the sans culottes. The names of those 
 who perished are engraved beneath the lion." 
 The particulars of the dreadful slaughte,, 
 wherein these helpless victims fell, while 
 defending the palace and the person of the 
 unfortunate monaich, iire recorded in dif- 
 ferent works within the reach of every 
 ])erson who desires to be acquainted wiih 
 the frightful details. About sixty who 
 were not killed at the moment, were taken 
 prisoners, and conducted to the town-lial] 
 of the cornmons cf Paris, for summary 
 trial : but the feroricus females who mingled 
 in the mobs of those terrifying times, rushed 
 in Ijodies to the place, with cries of ven- 
 geance, and the unhappy men were de- 
 livered up to their fury, and every indi* 
 vidual was murdered oq t)ie spoi. 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 127 
 
 K 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 (§arn'cfe ilayd. 
 
 No. VI. 
 
 [From the "Chaste Maid in Cheapside," 
 a Comedy, by Thomas Middleton, 
 1620.] 
 
 Citizen to a Knight complimenting hi* 
 Daughter. 
 
 Pish, stop your words, good Knight, 'twill malie het 
 
 blush else, 
 Which are wound too high for the Daughters of the 
 
 Freedom ; 
 Honour, and Faithful Servant! they are compliments 
 For the worthy Ladies of White Hall or Greenwich ; 
 ?v'n plain, sufficient, subsidy words serve us. Sir. 
 
 Master Allwit (a Wittol) describes his 
 contentment. 
 
 I am like a man 
 Finding a table fumish'd to his hand, 
 CAs mine is still for me), prays for the FoiiRder, 
 liless the Right worshipful, the good Founder's life : 
 I thank him, he • has maintain'd my house these ten 
 
 years ; 
 Not only keeps my Wife, but he keeps me. 
 He gets me all my children, and pays the nurse 
 Weekly or monthly, puts me to nothing. 
 Rent, nor Church dues, not so much as the Scavenger ; 
 The happiest state that ever man was born to. 
 I walk out in a morning, come to breakfast. 
 Find excellent cheer, a good fire in winter; 
 Look in my coivl-house, about Midsummer eve. 
 That's full, five or six chaldron new laid up ; 
 Look in my back yard, I shall find a steeple 
 Made up with Kentish faggots, which o'erlooks 
 The water-house and the windmills. I say nothing. 
 Bat smile, and pin the door. When she ues in, 
 (As now she's even upon the point of grunting), 
 A Lady lies not in like her; there's her imbosslngs, 
 Kmbroiderings, spanglings, and I know not what, 
 Aa if she lay with all the gaudy shops 
 In Gresham'3 Burse about her ; then her restoratives, 
 Able to set up a young 'Pothecary, 
 A.nd richly store the Foreman of a Drug shop ; 
 Her sugars by wliole loaves, her wines by rundleto, 
 I see these things, but like a happy man 
 I pay for none at ail, yet fools think it mine ; 
 I have the name, and in his gold I shine : 
 And where some merchants would in soul kiss hell. 
 To buy a paradise for their wives, and dye 
 Their conscience in the blood of prodigal hel^^, 
 To deck their Night-piece ; yet, all this being done. 
 Eaten with jealousy to the inmost bone ; 
 These torments stand I freed of. I aip as claar 
 From jealousy of a wife, as from the charge. 
 O two miiaculous blessings I 'tis the Knight, 
 Has ta'en that labour quite out of my hands. 
 
 • A ri'ih old Knight, who keeps Allwit's Wife. 
 
 I may sit still, and play ; he's jealous for me 
 Watches her steps, sets spies. I live at ease. 
 He has both the cost and torment ; when the string 
 Of his heart frets, I feed fat, laugh, or sing. 
 
 I'll go bid Gossips • presently myself. 
 That's all the work I'll do; nor need I stir. 
 But that it is my pleasure to walk forth 
 And air myself a little ; I am tyed 
 To nothing in this business ; what I do 
 Is merely recreation, not constraint. 
 
 Rescue from Bailiffs by the JFatermen. 
 I had been taken by eight Serjeants, 
 
 But for the honest Watermen, I am bound to 'em. 
 They are the most requiteful'st people living ; 
 For, as they get their means by Gentlemen, 
 They're still the forward'st to help Gentlemen. 
 You h«ard how one 'scaped out of the Blackfriars t 
 Bat a while since from two or three varlets. 
 Came into the house with all their rapiers drawn. 
 As if they'd dance the sword-dance on the stage. 
 With candles in their hands, like Chandlers' Ghosts I 
 Whilst the poor Gentleman, so pursued and banded. 
 Was by an honest pair of oars safe landed. 
 
 £From " London Chanticleers," a ruda 
 Skel<;h of a Play, printed 1659, but 
 evidently much older.] 
 
 Song in praise of Ale. 
 1. 
 
 Submit, Bunch of Grapes, 
 To the strong Barley ear ; 
 The weak Wine no longer 
 The laurel shall wear 
 
 Sack, and all drinks else. 
 Desist from the strife ; 
 Ale's the only Aqua Vitae, 
 And liquor of life. 
 
 3. 
 
 Then come, my boon fellows. 
 Let's drink it around ; 
 It keeps us from grave. 
 Though it lays us on ground. 
 
 4. 
 Ale's a Physician, 
 No Mountebank Bragger ; 
 Can cure the chill Ague, 
 Though it be with the Slaffrtt. 
 
 5. 
 
 Ale's a strong Wrestler, 
 Flings mU it hath met ; 
 And makes the ground slipperr, 
 Thougfh it be not wet. 
 
 * To his Wife's Lying-in. 
 t Alsatia. I presume. 
 
 128 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 6. 
 
 AI« is both Cere«, 
 And food N«ptune too ; 
 Ale's froth was the sea. 
 From which Venus grtw. 
 
 7. 
 Ale is immortal ; 
 And be there no stops 
 In bonny lads* quaffing. 
 Can live without hops.* 
 
 8. 
 Then come, my boon fellows, 
 Let's drink it around ; 
 It keeps us from grave. 
 Though it lays us on gronndv 
 
 C. L. 
 
 €f)t Bvmm. 
 
 CHARLOTTE CHARKE. 
 
 The novel called " Mr. Dumont," by 
 this unfortunate woman^ was publisJied in 
 the year 1755 in one volume^ twelves, by 
 H. Slater, of Drury-lane, who may be pre- 
 sumed to have been the bookseller that 
 accompanied Mr. Whyte to her miserable 
 dweUing, for the purpose of hearing her 
 read the manuscript. Since the account at 
 col. 125, I met with an advertisement of 
 November, 1742, from whence it appears 
 chat she and her daughter, "Miss Charke," 
 performed at one of those places of public 
 amusement at that period, when, to evade 
 the law, under pretence of a musical en- 
 tertainment, a play and the usual after- 
 piece were frequently represented by way 
 of divertisement, although they constituted 
 the sole attraction. The notice referred to 
 is altogether a curiosity : it runs thus : — 
 
 " For the Bene^t of a Person who has a 
 mind to get Money : At the New Theatre 
 in James-street near the Haymarket, on 
 Monday next, will be performed a Concert 
 of vocal and instrumental Musick, divided 
 into Two Parts. Boxes 3*. Pit 2*. Galleryl*. 
 Between the two parts of the Concert will 
 be performed a Tragedy, cail'd The Fatal 
 Curiosity, written by the late Mr. Lillo, 
 author of George Barnwell. The part of 
 Mrs. Wilmot by Mrs. Charke (who ori- 
 gmally performed it at the Haymarket;) 
 The rest of the parts by a Set of People 
 who will perform as well as they can, if 
 not as well as they wotid, and the best can 
 
 • The or.zinal distinction of Beer from the old Drink 
 •f our Foreftithers, which was made without that in- 
 
 do no more. Withvariety of Entertainments, 
 viz. Act I. A Preamble on the Kettle drums, 
 by Mr. Job Baker, particularly, Larr* 
 Gravy, accompanied with Fieneh Horns. 
 Act IL A new Peasant Dance by Mons. 
 Chemont and Madem Peran, just arriv'd 
 piping hot from the Opera at Paris. To 
 which will be added a Ballad-Opera, cail'd 
 The Devil to Pay ; The part of Nell by 
 Miss Charke who performed Princea* 
 Elizabeth at S-outhwark. Servants will be 
 aJlow'd to keep places on the stage — Par- 
 ticular care will be taken to perforin with 
 the utmost decency, and to prevent mis- 
 takes, tlie Bills for the day will be blue and- 
 black, &c." • 
 
 THE BLOODY HAND. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 One December evening, the year before 
 last, returning to T — , in the northern ex- 
 tremity of W — , in a drisling rain, as 1 
 approached the second milestone, I observ- 
 ed two men, an elder and a younger, walk- 
 ing side by side in the horse-road. The 
 elder, whose appearance indicated that of a 
 labourer in very comfortable circumstances, 
 was in the path directly in front of my 
 horse, and seemed to have some intention 
 of stopping me ; on my advancing, how- 
 ever, he quietly withdrew from the middle 
 of the road to the side of it, but kept his 
 eyes firmly fixed on me, which caused also, 
 on my part, a particular attention to him. 
 He then accosted me, " Sir, I beg your 
 pardon." — " For what, my man?" — " For 
 speaking to you, sir." — " What have you 
 said, then ?" — " I want to know the way to 
 S — ." — " Pass on beyond those trees, and 
 you will see the spire before you." — " How 
 far is it off, sir ?" — " Less than two miles." 
 — " Do you know it, sir?" — " I was there 
 twenty minutes ago." — " Do you know the 
 gentleman there, sir, that wants a man to 
 go under ground for him ?" — " For what 
 purpose?" (imagining, from the direction 
 in which I met the man, that he came from 
 the mining districts of S — , I expected that 
 his object was to explore the neighbour- 
 hood for coals.) His answer immediately 
 turned the whole train of my ideas. " To 
 go under ground for him, to take off the 
 bloody hand from his carriage." — " And 
 what is that to be done for?" — " For a 
 thousand pounds, sir. Have you not heard 
 any thing of it, sir ?" — " Not a word." — 
 " Well, sir, I was told that the gentleman 
 lives here, at S — , at the hall, and that he 
 offers a thousand pounds to any man that 
 
 129 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 will take ofF the bloody hand from his car- 
 nage.*' — " I can assure you this is the first 
 word I have heard or\ the subject." — " Well, 
 sir, I have been told so;'' and then, taking 
 off his hat, he wished me a good morning. 
 
 I rode slowly on, but very suddenly 
 heard a loud call, "Stop, sir, stop!" I 
 turned ray horse, and saw the man, who 
 had, I imagined, held a short parley with 
 his companion, just leaving him, and run- 
 ning towards me, and calling out, " Stop, 
 sir." Not quite knowing what to make of 
 this extraordinaty accost and vehement 
 calt, I changed a stout stick in my left 
 hand to my light hand, elevated it, gathered 
 up the reins in my left, and trotted my 
 liorse towards him ; he then walked to the 
 .side of the road, and took off his hat, and 
 said, " Sir, I am told that if the gentleman 
 can get a man to go under ground for him, 
 for seven years, and never see the light, 
 and let his nails, and his hair, and his 
 beard grow all that time, that the king will 
 then take off the bloody hand from his car- 
 riage.'' — " Which then is the man who 
 offers to do this ? is it you, or your com- 
 panion ?"— " I am the man, sir." — " O, you 
 intend to undertake to do this?' — "Yes, 
 sir." — "Then all that I can say is, that I 
 now hear the first word of it from yourself" 
 At this time the rain had considerably in- 
 creased, I therefore wished the man a good 
 morning, and left him. 
 
 I had not, however, rode above a hun Jred 
 land fifty yards before an idea struck me, 
 that it would l)e an act of kindnessto ad- 
 vise the poor man to go no further on such 
 a strange pursuit; but, though I galloped 
 after them on the way I had originally 
 oirected them, and in a few minutes saw 
 two persons, who must have met them, had 
 they continued their route to S — , I could 
 neither hear any thing of them, nor see 
 them, in any situation which I could ima- 
 gine that they might have taken to as a 
 shelter from the heavy rain. I thus lost an 
 opportunity of endeavouring to gain, from 
 the greatest depths Of ignorance, many 
 points of inquiry 1 had arranged in my own 
 mind, in order to Obtain a developement 
 of the extraordinary idea and unfounded 
 offer, on which the poor fellow appeared' to 
 have so strongly set his mind. 
 
 On further inquiry into the origin of this 
 strange notion of the bloody hand in he- 
 raldry, and why the badge of honour next 
 to nobility, and perpetuated from the an- 
 ient kings of Ulster, should fall, in two 
 centuries, into indelible disgrace, I find 
 myself in darkness equal to that of the 
 anticipated cavern of the poor deluded 
 
 130 
 
 man, and hitherto witho^it an aid siipTii 
 to himself. Under these circumstances, 
 present the inquiry to you, and shall be 
 among many others, greatly gratihed to set 
 it set in a clear' light by yourself, or some 
 friendly correspondent. 
 
 I am, sir, 
 1827. 
 
 iBusir. 
 
 ORGANS IN CHURCHES. 
 
 The Templk Church. 
 
 After the Restoration, the number ot 
 workmen in England being found too few 
 CO answer the demand for organs, it was 
 thought expedient to make offers of encou- 
 ragement for foreigners to come and settle 
 here; these brought over Mr. Bernard 
 
 Schmidt and Harris ; the former, 
 
 for his excellence in his art, deserves to live 
 in the remembrance of all who are friends 
 to it. 
 
 Bernard Schmidt, or, as we pronounce 
 the name, Smith, was a native of Germany, 
 but of what city or province in particular 
 is not known. He brought with him two 
 nephews, the one named Gerard, the other 
 Bernard ; to distinguish him from these, 
 the elder had the appellation of father 
 Smith. 'Immediately upon their arrival, 
 Smith was employed to build an organ for 
 the royal chapel at Whitehall, but, as it 
 •was built in great haste, it did not answer 
 the expectations of those who were judges 
 of his abihties. He had been but a tew 
 months here before Harris arrived from 
 France, with his son Renatus, who had 
 been brought up in the business of organ- 1 
 making under him; they met with httle 
 encouragement, for Dallans and Smith had 
 all the business of the kingdom : but, upon 
 the decease of Dallans m 1672, a competi- 
 tion arose between these two foreigners, 
 which was attended with some remarkable 
 circumstances. The elder Harris was in 
 no degree a match for Smith, but his sou 
 Renatus was a young man of ingenuity 
 and perseverance, and the contest between 
 Smith and the younger Hairiswas carried 
 on with great spirit. Each had his friends 
 and supporters, and the point of preference 
 between them was hardly determmed by 
 that exquisite piece of workmanship by 
 Smith, the organ now standing in the Tem- 
 ple church; of the building whertof, the 
 following is the history. 
 
 On the decease of Dallans. and the eldct 
 Harris, Renatus Harris and father Smitb 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 becair.e great rivals in their employment, 
 and there were several trials of skill betwixt 
 them; but the famouS' contest' was at the 
 Temple churchy where a new organ was 
 going to be erected towards the latter 
 end' of king Charles 11. 's time; Both 
 made friends for that employment ; and as 
 the society could not agree about who 
 should be the man, the master of the Temple 
 and the benchers proposed that each should 
 set up an organ on each side of the church. 
 In about half or three quarters of a year 
 this was done: Dr. Blow, and Purcell, who 
 was then in his prime, showed and played 
 father Smith's organ on appointed days to 
 a numerous audience; and, till the other 
 was heard, everybody believed- that father 
 Smith would certainly carry it. 
 
 Harris brought Lully, organist to queen 
 Catharine, a very eminent master, to touch 
 his organ. ThiS' rendered Harris's organ 
 popular, and the organs continued to vie 
 with one another near a twelvemonth. 
 
 Harris then challenged father Smith to 
 make additional stops against a set time; 
 these were the vox humane, the cremona 
 or violin-stop, the double courtel or bass 
 lute, with some others. 
 
 These stops, as being newly invented, 
 gave great delight and satisfaction to a nu- 
 morrus audience; and were so well imitated 
 on both sides, that it was hard to adjudge the 
 advantage to either : at last it was left to 
 the lord chief justice Jeffries, who was of 
 that house ; and he put an end to the con- 
 troversy by pitching upon father Smith's 
 organ; and Harris's organ being taken 
 away without loss of reputation, Smith's 
 remains to this day. 
 
 Now began the setting up of organs in 
 the chiefest parishes of the city of London, 
 whore, for the most part, Harris had' the 
 advantage of father Smith, making two 
 perhaps to his one ; among them some are 
 very eminent, viz. the organ at St. Bride's, 
 St. Lawrence near Guildhall, St. Mary Axe, 
 &c. 
 
 Notwithstanding Harris's success. Smith 
 was considered an able and ingenious 
 workman ; and, in consequence of this 
 character, he was employed to build an 
 organ for the cathedral of St. Paul. The 
 organs made by him, though in respect of 
 the workmanship they are inferior to those 
 of Harris, and even of Dallans, are yet 
 justly admired; and, for the fineness of 
 their tone, have never yet been equalled. 
 
 Harris's organ, rejected from the Temple 
 by judge Jeffries, was afterwards purchased 
 for the cathedral of Christ-church, at Dub- 
 lin, and set up there. Towards the close 
 
 of George IL's- reign, Mr. Byfield was 
 sent for from England to repair it, which 
 he objected to, and prevailed on the chapter 
 to have a new one made by himself, he al- 
 lowing for the old one in exchange. When 
 he had got it,, he would have treated with 
 the parishioners of Lynn, in Norfolk, tor 
 the sale of it : but they, disdaining the 
 offer of a second-hand instrument, refused 
 to purchase it, and employed Snetzler to 
 build them a new one, for which they paid 
 him seven hundred pounds. Byfield dying, 
 his widow sold Harris's organ to the parish 
 of Wolverhampton for five hundred pounds, 
 and there it remains to this day. An emi- 
 nent master, who was requested by the 
 churchwardens of Wolverhampton to give 
 his opinion of this instrument, declared it 
 to be the best modern organ he had ever 
 touched.* 
 
 MISERIES OF TRAVELLING. 
 
 Steam versus Coach. 
 
 For the Table Booh, 
 
 " Now there is nothing prives a man such spirits, 
 Leavening his blood as Cayenne doth a curry, 
 
 As going at full speed' " 
 
 Don Juan, . xQ. v. 72. 
 
 If the number of persons who have been 
 killed, maimed, and disfigured for life, in 
 consequence of stage-coach mishaps, could 
 be ascertained, since the first establish- 
 ment of steam-packets in this country • 
 and, on the other hand, the number who 
 have been similarly unfortunate by steam- 
 boilers bursting, we should find that the 
 &tage-coach proportion would be in th 
 ratio of ten to one ! A solitary " blow up 
 of a steam-packet is " noised and pro 
 claimed " from the Land's End to the othe 
 extremity of the island ; while huodreds of 
 coach-accidents, and many of them fatal, 
 occur, which are never heard of beyond the 
 village, near to which the casualty takes 
 place, or the neighbouring ale-house. 
 These affairs it is to the interest of thf 
 proprietors to ' hush up," by means of a 
 gratuity to the injured, rather than have 
 their property ruined by an exposure in a 
 court of justice. Should a poor man have 
 a leg or an arm broken, through the care- 
 lessness of a drunken coachman, his po- 
 verty prevents his having recourse to law. 
 Justice, in these cases, nine times in 
 ten, is entirely out of the question, and an 
 arrangement, between him and tlie pro- 
 prietors, is easily effected; the unfortunate 
 
 * Hawkiua. 
 
 -131 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 fellow rather receiving fifty or a hundred 
 pounds " hush money," than bring his 
 action, when, perhaps, from some technical 
 informality in the proceedings, (should he 
 find a lawyer willing to act for him, being 
 voor,) Re would be nonsuited, with all tlie 
 costs of both parties on his own shoulders, 
 and be, moreover, ruined for ever, in both 
 purse and person. These remarks were 
 suggested by reading an American work, 
 some time since, on the above subject, 
 from which I have extracted the following 
 
 Stage-coach Adventures. 
 
 Inside. — Crammed full of passengers — 
 three fat, fusty, old men — a young mother 
 and sick child — a cross old maid — a poll- 
 parrot — a bag of red herrings — double- 
 barreled gun, (which you are afraid is 
 loaded) — and a snarling lap-dog, in addi- 
 tion to yourself — awaking out of a sound 
 nap, with the cramp in one leg, and the 
 other in a lady's band-box — pay the damage 
 (four or five shillings) for " gallantry's 
 sake" — getting out in the dark, at the 
 half-way-house, in the hurry stepping into 
 the return coach, and finding yourself the 
 next morning at the very spot you had 
 started from the evening before — not a 
 breath of air — asthmatic old man, and child 
 with the measles — windows closed in con- 
 sequence — unpleasant smell — shoes filled 
 with warm water — look up and find it's the 
 child — obliged to bear it — no appeal — shut 
 your eyes, and scold the dog — pretend 
 sleep, and pinch the child — mistake — 
 pinch the dog, and get bit — execrate th« 
 child in return — black looks — *' no gentle- 
 man '' — pay the coachman, and drop a 
 siece of gold in the straw — not to be 
 found — fell through a crevice — coachman 
 says, "he'll find it"' — can't — get out 
 yourself — gone — picked up by the 'ostler. — 
 No time for " blowing up " — coach oif for 
 next stage — lose your money — get in — 
 lose your seat — stuck in the middle — get 
 laughed at — lose your temper — turn sulky, 
 and turned over in a horse-pond. 
 
 Outside. — Your eye cut out by the lash 
 of a clumsy coachman's whip — hat blown 
 off, into a pond, by a sudden gust of wind 
 — seated between two apprehended mur- 
 derers, and a noted sheep-stealer in irons, 
 who are being conveyed to gaol — a drunken 
 fellow, half asleep, falls off the coach, and, 
 in attempting to save himself, drags you 
 along with him into the mud — musical 
 guard, and driver, " horn mad " — turned 
 over- one leg under a bale of cotton, the 
 other under the coach — hands in breeches 
 pockets — head iu a liamper of wine — lots 
 
 of broken bottles versus broken heads — cut 
 and run — send for surgeon — wounds dress* 
 ed — lotion and lint, four dollars — take 
 post-chaise — get home — lay down, and 
 laid up. 
 
 Inside and Outside. — Drunken coach- 
 man — horse sprawling — wheel off — pole 
 breaking, down hill — axle-tree splitting — 
 coach overturning — winter, and buried in 
 the snow — one eye poked out with an um- 
 brella, the other cut open by the broken 
 window — reins breaking — ^impudent guard 
 — hurried at meals — imposition of inn- 
 keepers — five minutes and a half to swallow 
 three and sixpennyworth of vile meat — 
 waiter a rogue — " Like master, like man " 
 — half a bellyfull, and frozen to death — in 
 ternal grumblings and outward complaints 
 — no redress — walk forward while the 
 horses are changing — take the wrong turn- 
 ing — lose yourself and lose the coach — 
 good-by to portmanteau — curse your ill 
 luck — wander about in the dark and find 
 the inn at last — get upon the next coach 
 going the same road — stop at the next inn — 
 brandy and water, hot, to keep you in 
 spirits — warm fire — pleasant company — 
 heard the guard cry " All right?" — run out. 
 just in time to sing out " I'm left," as 
 the coach turns the corner — after it " full 
 tear " — ^come up with it, at the end of a 
 mile — get up "all in a blowze " — catch 
 cold — sore throat — inflammation — doctor 
 — warm bath — fever — Die. 
 
 Gaspard. 
 
 THE UGLY CLUB. 
 From a New York Paper, 
 
 The members of the Ugly Club are 
 requested to attend a special meeting at 
 Ugly-hall, 4, Wall street, on Monday- 
 evening next, at half-past seven o'clock 
 precisely, to take into consideration the 
 propriety of offering to the committee of 
 defence the services of their ugly carcasses, 
 firm hearts, sturdy bodies, and unblistered 
 hands. — His Ugliness being absent, this 
 meeting is called by order of 
 
 His Homeliness. 
 
 Aug. 13. 
 
 SCIPIO'S SHIELD. 
 
 In 1656, a fisherman on the banks otth« 
 Rhone, in the neighbourhood of Avignon 
 
 132 
 
■The table bookl 
 
 was considerably obstructed in his work by 
 3orae heavy body, which lie feared would 
 injure the net; but by proceeding slowly 
 and cautiously, he drew it ashore untorn, 
 and found that it contained a round sub- 
 stance, in the shape of a large plate or 
 dish, thickly encrusted with a coat of hard- 
 ened mud ; the dark colour of the metal 
 beneath induced him to consider it as iron. 
 A silversmith, accidentally present, encou- 
 raged the mistake, and, after a few affected 
 difficulties and demurs, bought it for a 
 trifling sum, inamediately carried it home, 
 and, after carefully cleaning and polishing 
 his purchase, it proved to be of pure silver, 
 perfectly round, more than two feet in dia- 
 meter, and weighing upwards of twenty 
 pounds. Fearing that so massy and valua- 
 ble a piece of plate, offered for sale at one 
 time and at one place, might produce sus- 
 picion and inquiry, he immediately, without 
 waiting to examine its beauties, divided it 
 into four equal parts, each of which he dis- 
 posed of, at different and distant places. 
 
 One of the pieces had been sold, at 
 Lyons, to Mr. Mey, a wealthy merchant of 
 that city, and a well-educated man, who 
 directly saw its value, and after great pains 
 and expense, procured the other three frag- 
 ments, had them nicely rejoined, and the 
 treasure was finally placed iu ilie cabinet of 
 . ihe king of France. 
 
 Tliis relic of antiquity, no less re- 
 markable for the beauty of its workman- 
 ship, than for having been buried at the 
 t)Ottom of the Rhone more than two thou- 
 sand years, was a votive shield, presented 
 to Scipio, as a monument of gratitude and 
 affection, by the inhabitants of Carthago 
 Nova, now the city of Carthagena, for his 
 generosity and self-denial, in delivering one 
 of his captives, a beautiful virgin, to her 
 original lover. This act, so honourable to 
 the Roman general, who was then in the 
 prime vigour of manhood, is represented 
 on the shield, and an engraving from it 
 may be seen in the curious and valuable 
 work of Mr. Spon. 
 
 The story of " Scipio's chastity," which 
 this shield commemorates, is related by 
 Livy to the following effect. — The wife of 
 the conquered king, falling at the general's 
 feet, earnestly entreated that the female 
 captives might be protected from injury 
 and insult. — Scipio assured her, that she 
 should have no reason to complain. 
 
 " For my own part," replied the queen, 
 " my age and infirmities almost ensure me 
 
 against dishonour, but when I consider me 
 age and complexion of my fellow captives, 
 (pointing to a crowd of females.) I feel 
 considerable uneasiness." 
 
 " Such crimes," replied Scipio, " are 
 neither perpetrated nor permitted by the 
 Roman people ; but if it were not so, the 
 anxiety you discover, under your present 
 calamities, to preserve their chastity, would 
 be a sufficient prft-tection :" he then gave the 
 necessary orders. 
 
 The soldiers soon after brought him, 
 >.vhat they considered as a rich prize, a vir- 
 gin of distinction, young, and of such ex- 
 traordinary beauty, as to attract the notice 
 and admiration of all who beheld her. 
 Scipio found that she had been betrothed, 
 in happier days, to Allucius, a young Spa- 
 nish prince, who was himself a captive. 
 Without a moment's delay, the conqueror 
 sent for her parents and lover, and addressed 
 the latter in the following words : 
 
 "The maid to whom thou wert shortly 
 to have been married has been taken priso- 
 ner : from the soldiers who brought her to 
 me, I understand that thy affections are 
 fixed upon her, and indeed her beauty con- 
 firms the report. She is worthy of thy 
 love ; nor would I hesitate, but for the stern 
 laws of duty and honour, to offer her niv 
 hand and heart. I return her to thee, no 
 only inviolate, but untouched, and almos 
 unseen ; for I scarcely ventured to gaze ot 
 .such perfection ; accept her as a gift worthy 
 recdving. The only condition, the only 
 return I ask, is, that thou wilt be a friend 
 to the Roman people." 
 
 The young prince in a transport of de- 
 light, and scarcely able to believe what he 
 saw and heard, pressed the hand of Scipio 
 to his heart, and implored ten thousand 
 blessings on his head. The parents of the 
 happy bridegroom had brought a large sum 
 of money, as the price of her redemption ; 
 Scipio ordered it to be placed on the 
 ground, and telling Allucius that he insisted 
 on his accepting it as a nuptial gif* directed 
 it to be carried to his tent. 
 
 The happy pair returned home, repeating 
 the praises of Scipio to every one, calling 
 him a godlike youth, as matchless in the 
 success of his arms, as he was unrivalled 
 in the beneficent use he made of his victo- 
 ries. 
 
 Though the story is known to most read- 
 ers, its relation, in connection with rhe 
 discoveiy of the valuable present from the 
 conquered city to its illustrious victor, 
 seemed almost indispensable, and perhaps 
 the incident can scarcely be too lami- 
 liar. 
 
 133 
 
THE TABLE BOCK. 
 
 A BRONZE AXTigUi:. FOUX'I) IN THE THAMES,. 
 
 IlT DIGGING FOR THE FOUNDATION OF NEW LONDON BRIDGE, JANUARY, 1827. 
 
 It is presumed that this article, from its 
 peculiar curiosity, will be •welcomed by 
 every lover and preserver of antiquities. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — The remarkable vessel from which 
 this drawing is taken, was discovered a few 
 days since, by a labourer employed in 
 sinking one of the coffer-dams for the new 
 London bridge, embedded in clay, at a 
 depth of about thirty feet from the bed of 
 the river. It isofbroiize, notcast, but sculp- 
 tured, and is in so perfect a state, that the 
 edges of the different parts are as sharp as 
 if the chisel had done its office but yes- 
 terday. The only portion which has suf- 
 fered decay is the pin that attached the lid 
 to the other part, which crumbled away as 
 soon as exposed to the air. 
 
 At first, it was conjectured that this vessel 
 was used for a lamp ; but the idea was 
 soon abandoned, as there was no part cal- 
 culated to receive the wick ; and the space 
 to contain the oil was so small that it 
 would not have admitted of more oil than 
 was sufficient for one hour's consumption, 
 or tv/o, at farthest. 
 
 One of the members of the Antiquarian 
 Society has given it as his opinion, that it 
 was used for sacrificial purposes, and in- 
 tended to receive wine, which, after being 
 
 put in, was to be poured out through the 
 mouth, the under jaw being evidently pro- 
 traded to an unnatural distance on this 
 account. 
 
 The upper part of the head forms the 
 lid, which the horns serve as a handle to 
 raise ; the bottom of the neck is flat, so thai 
 it may stand securely. 
 
 That it represents a head of Bacchus 
 will be evident, at first glance, as it is en- 
 circled with a torse of ivy ; but the features 
 being those of a Nubian, or Carthaginian, 
 prove that it must have an older date than 
 that of the Romans, who borrowed their 
 first ideas of Bacchic worship from the 
 Egyptians. Perhaps it might have been 
 part of their spoils from Carthage itself, 
 and have been highly valued on that ac- 
 count. Certain however it is, that this 
 curiosity (destined for the British Museum) 
 must have laid below the bosom of father 
 Thames for many centuries ; but how i' 
 came there, and at such a depth in thi 
 clay, we can only guess at ; and till Jona- 
 than Oldbuck, alias Monkbarns, rise from 
 the dead to set us right, it is to be feared 
 that there will be left nothing but conjec- 
 ture respecting it. 
 
 There is some account, but not very well 
 supported, or the course of the Thames 
 having once been diverted : should tliis 
 
 134 
 
TTTE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ANOTHER VIEW GF THE SAME ANCIENT BRONZE, 
 Showing the Mouth,, and the Orifice at the top of the Head. 
 
 nowever be true, it is possible tnal tho 
 head, of which we aie now speakine;, mighr 
 bave been dropped on the then dry bottona; 
 the bed of the river must, in that case, ha^^e 
 been afterwards considerably raised. 
 
 I remain, yours, respectfully, 
 
 M. Blackmore. 
 fVandsworth, Feb. 9, 1827. 
 
 P. S. The Romans always represent 
 their satyrs with Roman noses, and I be- 
 lieve that Bacchus alone is crowned with 
 ivy ; the fauns and the rest being crowned 
 with vine leaves. 
 
 It would be easy to compose a disserta- 
 tion respectmg Bacchus, which would be 
 nighly interesting, and yet throw little light 
 on this very remarkable vessel. The rela- 
 tion of any tiling tending to elucidate its 
 probable age or uses will be particularly 
 esteemed. 
 
 In addition to the favour of Mr. Black- 
 more's letter and drawing, he obligingly 
 obtamed the vessel itseff, which being 
 placed in the hands of Mr. S. Williams, he 
 executed the present engravings of the 
 exact size of the original : it is, as Mr. 
 Blackmore has already mentioned, in the 
 finest possible preservation. 
 
 Probably the insertion of this remark- 
 able relique of antiquity, turned up from 
 the soil of our metropolitan river, may 
 induce communications to the Table Booh 
 of similar discoveries when they take place. 
 At no time were ancient remains more 
 regarded : and illustrations of old manners 
 and customs, of all kinds,. are here espe 
 cially acceptable. 
 
 JACK O' LENT. 
 
 This was- a' puppet, formerly thrown at, 
 in our own country, during Lent, like 
 Shrove-cocks. Thus, in "The Weakest 
 goes to the Wall," 1600, we read of " a 
 mere anatomy, a Jack of Lent ;" and in 
 Greene's " Tu quoque," of " a boy that is 
 throwing at his J'2ck o' Lent ;'' and again, 
 in the comedy of ' Lady Alimony," 1659 : 
 
 ' Throwi ig cudgels 
 
 At Jack a Lents or Shrove-cocl;5." 
 Also, in Ben Jonson's "Tale of a Tub:" 
 ' On an Ash-Wednesday, 
 
 When thou didst stand six weeks the Jack o' Lent, 
 For boys to hurl three throws a penny at thee." 
 
 So, likewise, in Beaumont and Fletcher'* 
 ' Tamer tamed :" 
 
 135 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 -« If I forfeit. 
 
 Make me a Jack o* Lent, and break my shins 
 For untagg'd points and counters." 
 
 Further, in Quarles' " Shepheard's Ora- 
 cles," 1646, we read : 
 
 " How like a Jack a Lent 
 He stands, for boys to spend their Shreve-tide throws^ 
 Or like a puppet made to frighten crows."* 
 
 From the "Jack o' Lent" we derive 
 the familiar term among children, " Jack 
 o' Lanthorn." 
 
 AND 
 
 ^slb Metiuestiap. 
 
 The copious particulars respecting these 
 festivals, which have been brought together 
 in another place,+ admit of some addition. 
 
 In France and other parts of the conti- 
 nent, the season preceding Lent is universal 
 carnival. At Marseilles, the Thursday be- 
 fore Lent is called le Jeudi gras, and Shrove 
 Tuesday le Mardi gras. Every body joins 
 in masquerading on these nights, and both 
 streets and houses are full of masks the 
 whole night long. The god of fritters, if 
 such a god there be, who is worshipped in 
 England only on Shiove Tuesday, is wor- 
 shipped in France on both the Thursday 
 and Tuesday. Parties meet at each other's 
 houses to a supper of fritters, and then set 
 off masquerading, which they keep up to a 
 very late hour in the morning. 
 
 On Ash-Wednesday, which has here 
 much more the appearance of a festival 
 than of a fast, there is a ceremony called 
 " interring the carnival.'" A whimsical 
 fiifure is dressed up to represent the carni- 
 val, which is carried in the afternoon in 
 procession to Arrens, a small village on the 
 sea-shore, about a mile out of the town, 
 where it is pulled to pieces. This ceremony 
 is attended in some way or other by every 
 inhabitant of Marseilles, whether gentle or 
 simple, man or woman, boy or girl. The 
 very genteel company are in carriages, 
 which parade backwards and forwards upon 
 the road between the town and the village, 
 for two or three hours, like the Sunday pro- 
 cessions in Hyde-park. Of the rest of the 
 company, some make parties to dine at 
 Arrens, or at the public-houses on the road ; 
 
 others make water parties; but the majority 
 only go and walk about, or sit upon the 
 rocks to see and be seen. It was one of 
 the most delightful evenings imaginable; 
 the air was inexpressibly mild; the road where 
 the carriages parade is about half way up 
 the rocks, and this long string of carriages 
 constantly moving, the rocks filled with 
 thousands and thousands of spectators, and 
 the tranquil sea gilded by the setting sun, 
 and strewed over with numberless little 
 barks, formed altogether one of the most 
 beautiful and picturesque scenes that could 
 be presented. We sat down on a little 
 detached piece of rock almost encircled by 
 the sea, that we might have full enjoyment 
 of it, and there remained till some time 
 after the glorious sun had disappeared for 
 the night, when we walked home by a 
 lovely bright moonlight, in a milder even- 
 ing, though in the month of February, than 
 we often find in England at Midsummer.* 
 
 Naogeorgus, in the *' Popish Kingdome,' 
 mentions some burlesque scenes practised 
 formerly on Ash Wednesday. People went 
 about in mid-day with lanterns in ttie« 
 hands, looking after the feast days which 
 they had lost on this the firit day of the 
 Lent fast. Some carried herrings on a pole, 
 crying " Jlerrings, herrings, stinking her- 
 "_ rings ! no more puddings !" 
 
 And hereto joyne they foolish playes, 
 and doltish doggrel rimes. 
 
 And what beside they can invent, 
 belonging to the times. 
 
 Others, at the head of a procession, cai^ 
 ried a fellow upon staves, or " stangs," to 
 some near pond or running stream, and 
 there plunged him in, to wash away what 
 of feasting-time might be in him. Some 
 got boys to accompany them through the 
 town singing, and with minstrels playing, 
 entered the houses, and seizing young girls 
 harnessed them to a plough ; one man held 
 the handles, another drove them with a 
 whip, a minstrel sung drunken songs, and 
 a fellow followed, flinging sand or ashes as 
 if he had been sowing, and then they drovu 
 
 both plough and maydens through 
 
 some pond or river small. 
 
 And dabbled all with durt, and wringing 
 wett as they may bee 
 
 To supper calle, and after that 
 to daunsing lostilee. 
 
 ' Brand's Poonlar Antiquities. 
 t lb) Bvery-Dai/ Booh 
 
 • Mis8 PlniKptrt. 
 
 136 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 C^aNiVALiN Spain. 
 
 " Carnival," properly so called, accord- 
 ing to Mr. Blanco White, is limited to 
 Quinquagesima Sunday ,and the two follow- 
 ing days, a period which the lower classes 
 pass in drinking and rioting in those streets 
 where the meaner sort of houses abound, 
 and especially in the vicinity of the large 
 courts, or halls, called Corrales, surrounded 
 with small rooms or cells, where numbers 
 of the poorest inhabitants live in filth, 
 misery, and debauch. Before these horrible 
 places, are seen crowds of men, women, 
 and children, singing, dancing, drinking, 
 and pursuing each other with handfuls of 
 hair-powder. I have never seen, however, 
 an instance of their taking liberties with 
 any person above their class ; yet, such 
 bacchanals produce a feeling of insecurity, 
 which makes the approach of those spots 
 very unpleasant during the carnival. 
 
 At iMadrid, where whole quarters of the 
 town, such as Avapies and Maravillas, are 
 inhabited exclusively by the rabble, these 
 " Saturnalia " are performed upon a larger 
 scale. Mr. White says, I once ventured 
 with three or four friends, all muffled in 
 our cloaks, to parade the Avapies during 
 the carnival. The streets were crov^ded 
 A'ith men, who, upon the least provocation, 
 real or imaginary, would have instantly 
 used the knife, and of women equally 
 ready to take no slight share in any quarrel : 
 for these lovely creatures often carry a 
 poniard in a sheath, thrust within the upper 
 part of the left stocking, and held up by 
 the garter. We wer*;, however, upon our 
 best behaviour, and by a look of compla- 
 cency on their sports, and keeping at the 
 most respectful distance from the women, 
 came away without meeting with the least 
 disposition to insolence or rudeness. 
 
 A gentleman, who, either out of curio- 
 sity or depraved taste, attends the amuse- 
 ments of the vulgar, is generally respected, 
 provided he is a mere spectator, and ap. 
 pears indifferent to the females. Tlie 
 ancient Spanish jealousy is still observable 
 among the lower classes ; and while not a 
 sward is drawn in Spain upon a love- 
 quairel, the knife often decides the claims 
 of more humble lovers. Yet love is by no 
 means the main instigator of murder among 
 us. A constitutional irritability, especially in 
 the southern provinces, leads, without any 
 more assignable reason, to the frequent 
 shedding of blood. A small quantity of 
 wine, nay, the mere blowing of the easterly 
 wind, called " Solano," is infallibly attended 
 
 with deadly quarrels in Andalusia. Th« 
 average of dangerous or mortal wounds, cj> 
 every great festival at Seville, is, 1 believe, 
 about two or three. We have, indeed, a 
 well-endowed hospital named de los He- 
 ridos, which, though open to all persons 
 who meet with dangerous accidents, is, 
 from this unhappy disposition of the people, 
 almost confined to the wounded. The 
 large arm-chair, where the surgeon in at- 
 tendance examines the patient just as he is 
 brought in, usually upon a ladder, is known 
 in the whole town by the name of " Silla 
 de los Guapos," the Bullies' chair. Every 
 thing, in fact, attests both the generality 
 and inveteracy of that horrible propensity 
 among the Spaniards.* 
 
 THE LIEGE ALMANAC. 
 
 The celebrated almanac of *' Francis 
 Moore, physician," to whose predictions 
 thousands are accustomed to look with im- 
 plicit confidence and veneration, is rivalled, 
 on the continent, by the almanac ol 
 Li^ge, by " Matthew Laensberg," who 
 there enjoys an equal degree of celebrity. 
 
 Whether the name of Laensberg is a rea' 
 or an assumed name is a matter of grea' 
 doubt. A tradition, preserved in the familj 
 of the first printers of the work, ascribes i' 
 to a canon of St. Bartholomew, at Lifege 
 who live"d about the conclusion of the six- 
 teenth century, or at the beginning of the 
 seventeenth. This is further corroborated, 
 by a picture of a canon of that church 
 which still exists, and which is conjectured 
 by many to represent the inventor of the 
 celebrated almanac of Lifege. Figure to 
 yourself an old man, seated in an aim 
 chair, his left hand resting on a globe, and 
 his right holding a telescope. At his feet 
 are seen different mathematical instruments, 
 several volumes and sheets of paper, with 
 circles and triangles drawn upon them. 
 His eyes are large and prominent; he has 
 a dull, heavy look, a nose in the form of a 
 shell, and large ears, which are left un- 
 covered by a greasy cap. His large mouth, 
 half open, announces surliness and pe 
 dantry ; frightful wrinkles furrow his face, 
 and his long bushy beard covers an enor- 
 mous band. This man is, besi-des, muffled 
 up in an old cassock, patched in several 
 places. Under his hideous portrait is the 
 inscription " D. T. V. Bartholomsi Ca- 
 ncnicus et Philosophiae Professoi." 
 
 Such is the picture given by a perscii 
 
 Doblado'ii Letters from Spa.n. 
 
 137 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 who examined this portrait, and who, 
 ihough he was at the pains to search the 
 registers of the chapter of Lifege, was unable 
 to find any name that at all corresponded 
 with ihe above designation. Hence it may 
 be fairly concluded^ that tlie canon, whose 
 portrait has just^ been exhibited, assumed 
 the name of iVlatthew Laensbert, or Laens- 
 
 It consists of general predictions concern- 
 ing the variations of the seasons, and the 
 occurrences of the year. In each month 
 are murked the days when there will be 
 rain, and those that will be dry ; whether 
 there will be snow or hail, high winds, 
 storms, &c. Sterne alludes to this in his 
 Tristram Shandy, when he says, " I have 
 
 berg, as well as the title of professor of observed this 26th of March, 1759, a rainv 
 
 day, notwithstanding the almanac of Lifege." 
 
 The gen-eral predictions mention the oc- 
 currences that are to take place in every 
 month. Accident has frequently been won- 
 derfully favourable to the prophet ; and he 
 owes all his reputation and celebrity to the 
 luck of having announced the gaining of a 
 battle, or the death of some distinguished 
 person. An anecdote of Madame Du-barri, 
 at that time all-powerful at the court of 
 Louis XIV., is nota littls singular. 
 
 When the king was attacked with the 
 malady which put an end to his life, that 
 lady was obliged to leave Versailles. She 
 then had occasion, says the author of her 
 life, to recollect the almanac of Li'^ge, 
 which had given her great uneasiness, and 
 of which she had suppressed all the copies 
 she was able. Amongst the predictions for 
 the month of April, in that almanac, was 
 the following :" A lady, in the highest 
 favour, will act her last part." She fre- 
 quently said, " I wish this odious month 
 of April were over." According to the 
 prediction, she had really acted " her last 
 part," for the kin? died in the following 
 month. May 1774.* 
 
 philosophy, for the purpose of publishing 
 his almanac, with the prognostications, 
 which have rendered it so celebrated. 
 
 The earliest of these almanacs known to 
 exist is of the year 1636. It bears the 
 name of Matthew Lansbert, mathematician, 
 and not' Laensberg, as it is now written. 
 In the middle of the title is seen the por- 
 trait of an astronomer, nearly resembling 
 that which is still placed there. After the 
 printer's name, are the words, "with per- 
 mission of the superior powers." This is 
 repeated in the eleven first almanacs, but 
 in that for 1647, we find," with the favour 
 and privileu^e of his highness." This pri- 
 vilege, granted by Ferdinand of Bavaria, 
 prince of Lifege, is actually inserted. It 
 gives permission to Leonard Streete to 
 print Matthew Laensbergis almanac, and 
 forbids other printers to make copies of it, 
 tipcn pain of confiscation, and other penal- 
 ties. 
 
 The name of this prophet, spelt Lans- 
 bert in the first almanacs, has since been 
 regularly written Laensoerg. It is to this 
 p"ivilege of the prince bishop of Lifege that 
 Voltaire alludes in these lines of his Epistle 
 to the king of Denmark : — 
 
 Et (|aand vous ^crirez sur ralmanac de L'i^ge, 
 Ne parlez des salsons qu'avec un priviUg^e. 
 
 The four first pages of the Li^ge almanac 
 for 1636, are occupied by a piece entitled 
 " The Twelve Celestial Signs governing 
 the Human Body." Cancer, for instance, 
 governs the breast, the belly, and the lunc;s, 
 with all their diseases. This was at that 
 time the fashionable system of astrology, 
 which was succeeded by many others, 
 equally ill-founded, and equally popular. 
 Yet it is a fact, that could scarcely be be- 
 lieved, were it not stated in an advertise- 
 ment prefixed, that the physicians mani- 
 fested a jealousy lest the prophet of Liege 
 should extend his dominion over the heal- 
 ing art. They obtained an order that every 
 thing relating to the influence of the celes- 
 tial sie:ns on diseases should be suppressed, 
 pnd this retrenchment took place, for the 
 first time, in 1679. The principal part. 
 However, was p.reserved, and still ensures 
 tl'e success of this wonderful performance. 
 
 DISCOVERY OF MADEIRA. 
 
 In the year 1 344, in the reign of Peter IV. 
 king of Arragon, the island of Madeira, 
 lying in 32 degrees, was discovered, by an 
 Englishman, named Macham, -who, sailing 
 from England to Spain with a lady whom 
 he had carried off, was driven to the island 
 by a tempest, and cast anchor in the har- 
 bour or bay, now called Machico., after the 
 name of Macham. His mistress being sea- 
 sick, he look her to land, with some of his 
 company, where she died, and the ship 
 drove out to sea. As he had a tender 
 affection for his mistress, he built a chapel 
 or hermitage, which he called " Jesus," 
 and buried her in it, and inscribed on her 
 tombstone his and her name, and the occa- 
 sion of their arrival there. In the islana 
 are very large trees, of one of which he 
 
 • Reposilo'j V of Arts. 
 
 138 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 and his men made a boat, and went to sea 
 in it, and were cast upon itie shore of 
 Africa, without sail or oavs. The Moors 
 were infinitely surprised at the sight of 
 them, and presented Macham to their king, 
 wiio sent him and his companions to the 
 king of Castile, as a prodigy or miracle. 
 
 In 1395, H«nry III. of Castile, by the 
 information of Macham, persuaded some 
 of his mariners to go in search of this island, 
 and of the Canaries. 
 
 In 14 r7, king John II. of Castile, his 
 mother Catherine being then regent, one 
 M. Ruben, of Bracamont, admiral of 
 France, having demanded and obtained of 
 the queen the conquest of the -Canaries, 
 with the title of kmg for a kinsman of 
 his, named M. John Betancourt, he de- 
 parted from Seville with a good army. 
 And it is affirmed, that the principal mo- 
 tive that engage<i him in this enterprise 
 was, to discover the island of Madeira, 
 which Macham had found. 
 
 Tomb of Maciiam's Anna. 
 
 The following elegiac stanzas are founded 
 on the preceding historical fact. Macham, 
 having consigned the body of his beloved 
 mistress to the solitary grave, is supposed 
 to have inscribed on it the following pa- 
 thetic lines : — 
 
 O'er my poor Anna's lowly grave 
 No dirge shall sound, no knell shall ring; 
 
 But angels, as the high pines ivave. 
 Their half-heard ' Miserere ' sing I 
 
 No flow'rs of transient bloom at eve. 
 The maidens on the turf shall strew ; 
 
 Nor sigh, as the sad spot they leave. 
 Sweets to the sweet a lung adieu ' 
 
 But in this wilderness profound. 
 O'er her the dove shall build her nest ; 
 
 And octan swell with softer sound, 
 A Requiem to her dream of rest ! 
 
 Ah ! when shall I as quiet be. 
 When not a friend or human eye 
 
 Shall mark, beneath the mossy free. 
 The spot where we forgotten lie ? 
 
 To kiss her name on this cold stone. 
 Is all that now on earth 1 crave ; 
 
 For in this world I am alone — 
 Oh ! lay me- with' her ip the grave. 
 
 GOOD EATING. 
 That " a sharp stomach is the best 
 Muee,'' is a saying as true as it is common. 
 In Ulrick Ilutlon's bock on the virtues of 
 
 guaiacuin, there is a very singular story 
 on this subject. 
 
 The relations of a rich German ecclesias- 
 tic, carrying him to drink the waters for the 
 recovery of his health, and passing by the 
 house of a famous quack, he inquired what 
 was the reverend gentleman's distemper? 
 They told him a total debility, loss of appe- 
 tite, and a great decay in his senses. The 
 empiric, after viewing his -enormous chin, 
 and boddy bulk, guessed rightly at the 
 cause of his distemper, and -proposed, for a 
 , certain sum, to bring him home, on a day 
 fixed, perfectly cured. The patient was 
 put into his hands, and the doctor treated 
 him in the following manner: — He fur- 
 nished him every day with half a pound of 
 excellent dry biscuit; to moisten this, he 
 allowed him three pints of very good spring 
 water; and he suffered him to sleep but a 
 few hours out of the twenty-four. When 
 he liad brought himwithin the just propor- 
 tion of a man, he obliged him to ring a 
 bell, or work in the garden, with a rolling- 
 stone, an hour before breakfast, and foui 
 ■hours in the afternoon. At the stated day 
 the doctor produced him, perfectly re- 
 stored. 
 
 Nice eating destroys the health, let it be 
 ever so moderate ; for the stomach, as every 
 man's experience must inform him, finds 
 gre-ater difficulty in digesting rich dishes 
 than meats plainly dressed. To a sound 
 man sauces are needless ; to one who is 
 diseased, they nourish not him, but his dis- 
 temper; and the intemperance of his taste 
 betrays him into the hands of death, which 
 could not, perhaps,; h-ave mastered his con 
 stitution. Lewis Cornaro brought himself 
 into a wretched condition, while a young 
 man, by indulging his taste ; yet, when he 
 Tad once taken a resolution of restraining 
 'it, nature did that which physic could not ; 
 It restored him to perfect health of body, 
 and serenity of rnind, both of which he en- 
 joyed to extreme old age. 
 
 READING ALOUD. 
 
 Et Ma KG A RET DUCIIESS OF NEWCASTLE. 
 1671. 
 
 To read lamely or crookedly, ai;d 
 
 not evenly, smoothly, and thoroughly, en- 
 tangles the sense. Nay, the very sound of 
 the voice will seem to alter the sense of the 
 theme ; and though the sense will be there 
 m despite of the ill voice, or ill readincj, 
 yet it will be concealed, or discovered to 
 
 lao 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 its disadvantages. As an ill musician, (or 
 indeed one that cannot play at all,) instead 
 oi playing, puts the fiddle out of tune, 
 (and causeth a discord,) which, if well 
 played upon, would sound harmoniously ; 
 or if he can play but one tune, plays it on 
 all sorts of instruments ; so, some will read 
 with one tone or sound of voice, though 
 the passions and numbers are different ; 
 and some again, in readinjf, wind up their 
 voices to such a passionate screw, that they 
 whine oj squeal, rather than speak or read : 
 others fold up their voices with such dis- 
 tinctions, that they make that triangular 
 which is four-square ; and that narrow, 
 which should be broad ; and that high, 
 which should be low; and low, that should 
 be high : arxl some again read so fast, that 
 the sense is lost in the race. So that writ- 
 ings sound good or bad, as the readers, 
 and not as their authors are ; and, indeed, 
 such advantage a good or ill reader hath, 
 that those that read well shall give a grace 
 to a foolish author ; and those that read ill, 
 do disgrace a wise and a witty one- But 
 there are two sorts of readers ; the one that 
 reads to himself, and for his own benefit ; 
 the other, to benefit another by hearing it : 
 in the first, there is required a good judg- 
 ment, and a ready understanding : in the 
 other, a good voice and a graceful delivery : 
 so that a writer must have a double desire ; 
 tiie one, that lie may write well ; the other, 
 that he may be read well. 
 
 By Lavater. 
 
 Who in the same given time can pro- 
 duce more than many others, has vigour; 
 who can produce more and better, has 
 talents ; who can produce what none else 
 can, has genius. 
 
 Who, without pressing temptation, tells 
 a lie, will, without pressing temptation, act 
 Ignobly and meanly. 
 
 Who, under pressing temptations to lie, 
 adheres to truth, nor to the profane betrays 
 aught of a sacred trust, is near the summit 
 of wisdom and virtue. 
 
 All affectation is the vain and ridiculous 
 attempt of poverty to appear rich. 
 
 Who has no friend and no enemy, is one 
 of the vulgar ; and without talents, powers, 
 or energy. 
 
 The more honesty a man has, the less he 
 affects the air of a saint — the affectation of 
 sacctity is a blot on the face of piety. 
 
 Love as if you could hate and might be 
 hated, is a maxim of detested prudence io 
 real friendship, the bane of all tenderness, 
 the death of all familiarity. Consider the 
 fool who follows it as nothing inferior to 
 him who at every bit of bread trembles at 
 the thought of its being poisoned. 
 
 There are more heroes than samts (heroes 
 I call rulers over the minds and destinies of 
 men;) more saints than humane characters. 
 He, who humanizes all that is within and 
 around him.self, adore : I know but of one 
 such by tradition. 
 
 He who laughed at you till he got to 
 your door, flattered you as you opened it — 
 felt the force of your argument whilst he 
 was with you — applauded when he rose, 
 and, after he went away, execrated you — 
 has the most indisputable title to an arch- 
 dukedom in hell. 
 
 Let the four-aud-twenty elders in heaven 
 rise before him who, from motives of hu- 
 manity, can totally suppress an arch, full- 
 pointed, but offensive bon mot. 
 
 THE PARLIAMENT CLUBS. 
 
 Before the year 1736, it had been usual 
 for gentlemen of the House of Commons 
 to dine together at the Crown-tavern in 
 Palace-yard, in order to be in readiness to 
 attend the service of the house. This club 
 amounted to one hundred and twenty, be- 
 sides thirty of their friends coming out of 
 the country. In January, 1736, sir Robert 
 VValpole and his friends began to dine in 
 the same manner, at tlie Bell and Sun in 
 King-street, Westminster, and their club 
 was one hundred and fifty, besides absent 
 members. These parties seem to have 
 been the origin of Brookes's and White's 
 clubs. 
 
 RIGHT AND LEFT HAND. 
 
 Dr. Zinchinelli, of Padua, in an essay 
 " On the Reasons why People use the 
 Right Hand in preference to the Left," will 
 not aWow custom or imitation to be the 
 cause. He affirms, that the left arm cannot 
 be in violent and continued motion without 
 causing pain in the left side, because there 
 is the seat of the heart and of the arterial 
 system ; and that, therefore. Nature herself 
 compels men to make use of the right 
 hand. 
 
 140 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE DEATH OF LEILA. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Twae moonliG;ht — Leila sat retir'd 
 
 Upun the toTf'ring beacli. 
 Watching the waves, " like one inspir'd '* 
 
 With things beyond her reach : 
 There was a calmness on the water 
 Suited to Sorrow's hapless daughter. 
 For consolation seem'd to be 
 Mixt up with its solemnity I 
 
 The stars were shedding far and wide 
 
 Their twinkling lights of peerless blue ; 
 And o'er the undulating tide 
 
 The breeze on balmy pinions flew ; 
 The scene might well have raisi'd the soul 
 Above misfortune's dark controul. 
 Had not the hand of Death been laid 
 On that belov'd and matchless maid ! 
 
 I watch'd the pale, heart-broken girl. 
 Her shatter'd form, her look insane, — 
 
 I saw her raven locks uncurl 
 With moisture from the peaceful main : 
 
 I saw her wring her hands with grief, 
 
 Like one depriv'd of Hope's relief. 
 
 And then she sigh'd, as if bereft 
 
 Of the last treasure heav'n had left ! 
 
 Slowly I sought the cheerless spot 
 Where Leila lay, absorb'd in care. 
 
 But she, poor girl ! discem'd me not. 
 Nor dreamt tliat friendship linger'd there ! 
 
 Her grief had bound her to the earth. 
 
 And clouded all her beauty's worth ; 
 
 And when her clammy hand 1 press'd, 
 
 She Kcem'd of feeling dispossess'd ! 
 
 Yet there were motion, sense. a"d I'fe, 
 
 Remaining in that si atter"d frame. 
 As if existing by the strife 
 
 Of feelings none but Love can name I 
 I spoke, she answer'd not — I took 
 Her hand with many a fearful Wok — 
 Her languid eyes I gaz'd upon. 
 And press'd her lips — but she was gone ! 
 
 B. W. R. 
 
 Itl'mgton, 1827. 
 
 RATTING. 
 
 There are three methods proposed for 
 lessening the number of rats. 
 
 L Introduce them at tabic as a delicacy. 
 They would probably be savoury food, and 
 if nature has not made them so, the cook 
 may. Rat pie would be as good as rook 
 pie; and four tails intertwisted like the 
 Berpents of the delphic tripod, and rising 
 into a spiral obelisk, would crest the crust 
 more fantastically than pigeon's feet. After 
 
 a while they might be declared game by 
 the legislature, which would materially ex- 
 pedite their extirpation. 
 
 II. Make use of their fur. Rai-skiD 
 robes for the ladies would be beauufui, 
 warm, costly, and new. Fashion requires 
 only the two last qualities ; it is hoped 
 the two former would not be objection- 
 able. 
 
 III. Inoculate some subjects with the 
 small-pox, or any other invctious disease, 
 and turn them loose. Experiments should 
 first be made, lest the disease should as- 
 sume in them so new a form as to be capa- 
 ble of being returned to us with interest. 
 If it succeeded, man has means in his hand 
 wliich would thin the hyenas, wolves, 
 jackals, and all gregarious beasts of prey. 
 
 N. B. If any of our patriotic societies 
 should think proper to award a gold medal, 
 silver cup, or other remuneration to either 
 of these methods, the projector has left his 
 address with the" editor.* 
 
 BUNGAY HAND-BILL. 
 
 {Copy.) 
 
 PONY LOST. 
 
 On February 21st, 1822, this devil bade 
 
 me adieu. 
 
 LOST, stolen, or astray, not tlie least 
 doubi but run away, a mare pony that is 
 ail bay : — if I judge pretty nigh, it is about 
 eleven hands high ; — full tail and mane, a 
 pretty head and frame ; — cut on both 
 shoulders by the collar, not being soft nor 
 hollow : — it is about five years old, which 
 may be easily told ; — for spirit and for 
 speed, the devil cannot her exceed. 
 
 Whoever can give information or bring 
 the said runaway to me, John Winter, 
 Glass-stainer and Combustible-maker, Up- 
 per Olland Street, Bungay, shall be hand 
 somely rewarded for their trouble 
 
 NOMINATIVE CASE. 
 
 Sancho, prince of Castile, being present 
 at a papal consistory at Rome, wherein the 
 proceedings were conducted in Latin, which 
 he did not understand, and hearing loud 
 applause, inquired of his interpreter wha* 
 caused it: " My lord," replied the inter- 
 preter, " the pope has caused you to bt 
 proclaimed king of Egypt." " It does no' 
 become us," said the grave Spaniard, " « 
 be wanting in gratitude ; rise up, and pro 
 claim his holiness caliph of Bagdad." 
 
 * Dr. Aikin's Athenaeum. 
 
 141 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 DISCOUNT FOR CASH. 
 
 The following anecdote is related in a 
 journal of the year i789 : — 
 
 A service of plate was delivered at the 
 duke of Clarence's house, by his order, ac- 
 companied by the bill, amounting to 1 500^., 
 which his royal highness deeming exor- 
 bitant, sent back, remarking, that he con- 
 ceived the overcharge to be occasioned by 
 the apprehension that the tradesman might 
 be kept long out of his money. He added, 
 that so far from its being his intention to 
 pay by tedious instalments, or otherwise 
 distress those with whom he dealt, he had 
 laid it down as an invariable principle, to 
 discharge every account the moment it be- 
 came due. The account was returned to 
 his royal highness the next morning, with 
 three hundred pounds taken off, and it was 
 iustantlif paid. 
 
 SPORTING. 
 
 A wit said of the late bishop of Durham, 
 when alive, " II15 grace is the only man in 
 England who may kill game legally without 
 a stamped license; if actually token with 
 a gun in his hand, he might exclaim in the 
 words of his own grants — ' I Shute, by 
 divme permission.'" 
 
 " Stop and Read." 
 
 We have seen this requisition on the 
 walls till we are tired : in a book it is a 
 novelty, and here, I hope it may enforce its 
 claim. For thy sake, gentle reader, I am 
 anxious that it should ; for, if thou hast a 
 tithe of the pleasure I had, from the peru- 
 sal of the following verses, I expect com- 
 mciidation for bidding th^fi. ■' stop and 
 read." 
 
 The First of March 
 
 The 'i)Ufl IS in the bough 
 
 And the leaf is in the bud. 
 And Earth's beginning; now 
 
 In her veins to feel the blood, 
 Wjiich, warm'd by summer's stui 
 
 In th' alembic of the vine, 
 Tnm her founts will oTerruu 
 
 Ir. (t nuldy gusli of viae. 
 
 The TVftfume and the hlijom 
 
 That shall decorate tlie flo"-'er. 
 Are quickening in the g'l-oum 
 
 Of their subterranean bowt-r; 
 And the juices meant to feed 
 
 Trees, vegetables, fruits. 
 Unerringly proceed 
 
 To their preappointed roots. 
 
 How awful the thought 
 
 Of the wonders under ground. 
 Of the mystic changes wrought 
 
 In the silent, dark profound; 
 How each thing upwards tends 
 
 By necessity decreed. 
 And a world's support depends 
 
 On the shooting of a seedl 
 
 The Summer's in her ark. 
 
 And this sunny-pinion'd day 
 Is (^ommission'd to remark 
 
 •Whether Winter holds her sway ; 
 Go hank, thou dove of peace, 
 
 'With the myrtle on thy wing. 
 Say that floods and tem]jests cease. 
 
 And the world is ripe for Sp-ing. 
 
 Thoa hast fann'd the sleeping Earth 
 
 Till her dreams are all of flowei's 
 And the waters look in mirth 
 
 For their overhanging bowers ; 
 The forest seems to listen 
 
 For the rustle of its leaves. 
 And the very skies to glisten 
 
 In the hope of summer eves. 
 
 Thy vivifying spell 
 
 Has been felt beneath the wave. 
 By the dormouse in its cell. 
 
 And the mole within its cave ; 
 And the summer tribes that creep. 
 
 Or in air expand 'heir wing. 
 Have started from tneir sleep. 
 
 At the summons of the Spring. 
 
 •The cattle lift their voices 
 
 From fhe valleys and the hills. 
 And the feather'd race rejoiees 
 
 With a gush of tuneful bills ; 
 And if this cloudless arch 
 
 Fills the poet's song with glee, 
 O thou sunny first of March, 
 
 Be it dedicate to thee I 
 
 This beautiful poem has afforded me 
 exquisite gratification. Till I saw it printed 
 in Mr. Dyce's " Specimens of British Po- 
 etesses," I was ignorant that a living lady 
 had written so delightfully. Wiihout a 
 friend at my elbow to instruct me whethei 
 i should prefix " Miss '' or " Mrs " to hei 
 felicitous name, 1 transcribe — as I find ij 
 in Mr. Dyce's volume — Fklicia Hemams 
 
 U2 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE STOEY OF THE SCOTCH SOLDIER. 
 
 " Upon my soul it's a fact." 
 
 Matthews - and Self. 
 
 Fur the Table Book. 
 
 " Is the master at home, sir?" said a 
 Droad-shouldered Scotchman (wearing a 
 
 regimental coat of the regiment, and 
 
 with his bonnet in his hand) to myself, 
 who had answered a ring at the office-bell. 
 1 reolied that he was not. " Weel, that's 
 onlucky, sir," said he, " for ye see, sir, a 
 hae goten a pertection here, an' a hae 
 been till a' the Scotchmen that a can hear 
 ony thing- o', but they hae a' signed for the 
 month; an' a hae ashorteness o' brith, that 
 wunna lat me wurk or du ony thing ; an' 
 a'd be vary glavd gin a cud git doon to 
 Scoteland i' the nixt vaissel, for a hanna' a 
 baubp» ; an'^ as a sid afore, a canna wurk, 
 ao' gin maister B. wud jist sign ma pertec- 
 
 tion, a hae twa seagnatures, an' a'd gi. 
 awa' the morn." For once I had told no 
 lie in denying Mr. B. to his visitor, and, 
 therefore, in no dread of detection from 
 cough, or other viva voce evidence, I usher- 
 ed the " valiant Scot " into the sanctum of a 
 lawyer's clerk. 
 
 There is a very laudable benevolent 
 institution in London, called the " Scottish 
 Hospital," which, on proper represent=>- 
 tions made to it, signed by three of it# 
 members, (forms whereof are annexed, iri 
 blank, to the printed petition, which is 
 given gratuitously to applicants,) will pass 
 poor natives of Scotland to such parts Oi 
 their father-land as they wish, free of ex- 
 pense, and will otherwise relieve their 
 wants ; but each member is only allowed 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 143 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 to sign one petition each month. Tfiis poor 
 fellow had come in hopes of obtaining Mr. 
 B.'s signature to his request to be sent 
 home ; and, while waiting to procure it, 
 told me the circumstances that had reduced 
 him to ask it. 
 
 He was a native of , where the rents 
 
 had lately been raised, by a new laird, far 
 beyond the capabilities of the tacksmen. 
 They had done their best to pay them — had 
 struggled long, and hard, with an ungrate- 
 ful soil — but their will and industry were 
 lost ; and they were, finally, borne down 
 by hard times, and harsh measures. 'Twas 
 hard to leave the hearths which generations 
 of their forefathets had shadowed and hal- 
 lowed — 'twas yet harder to see their infants' 
 lips worrying the exhausted breast, and to 
 watch the cheeks of their children as they 
 grew pale from want — and to see their 
 frolics tamed by hunger into ineit stupidity. 
 An American trader had just touched at 
 their island, for the purpose of receiving 
 emigrants, and half its inhabitants had 
 domiciled themselves on board, before her 
 arrival had been known twelve hours. Our 
 poor Scot would fain have joined them, 
 with his family and parents, but he lacked 
 the means to provide even ihe scanty store 
 of oatmeal and butter which they were re- 
 quired to ship before they could be allowed 
 to step on deck ; so, in a fit of distress and 
 despair, he left the home that had never 
 been a day out of his sight, and enlist- 
 ed with a party of his regiment, then at 
 
 , for the sole purpose of sending 
 
 to the afflicted tenants of his " bit housey," 
 the poor pittance of bounty he received, 
 to be a short stay 'twixt them and starva- 
 tion. 
 
 He had been last at St. John's, New- 
 foundland ; " and there," said he, indig- 
 nantly, " they mun mak' a cook's orderly 
 o' me, as gin a war' nae as proper a man 
 as ony o' them to carry a musket ; an' they 
 sint me to du a' the odd jobes o' a chap 
 that did a wife's-wark, tho' there were a 
 gude fivety youns: chaps i' the regiment that 
 had liked it wul aneugh, and were better 
 fetting for the like o' sican a place than 
 mysel. — And so, sir," he continued, " thar 
 a was, working mysel intill a scalding 
 heat, and than a'd geng out to carry in the 
 cauld water; an' i' the deeing o't, a got a 
 cauld that saltled inwardly, an' garr'd me 
 hae a fivre an' spit blood. Weel, sir, aifter 
 nnoiiy months, a gole better; but oh ! a was 
 unco weak, and but a puir creature frae a 
 strong man afore it: but a did na mak 
 ciuckle o't, for a thought ay, gin ony thing 
 cam o't to disable me, or so, that a should 
 
 hae goten feve-pence or sax-pence a-day 
 an' that had been a great help.'' 
 
 Oh ! if the rich would but Uke 
 
 the trouble to learn how many happy 'laarts 
 they might make at small expense — md 
 fashion their deeds to their kno'wledg? — 
 how many prayers might nightly asc;nd 
 with their names from grateful boson.3 to 
 the recording angel's ears — and how much 
 better would the credit side of their account 
 with eternity appear on that day, when 
 the great balance must be struck ! 
 
 There was a pause — for my narrator's 
 bretith failed him ; and I took the oppor- 
 tunity of surveying him. He was about 
 thirty, witn a half hale, half hectic cheek ; 
 a strong red beard, of some three days' 
 growth, and a thick crop of light hair, 
 such as only Scotchmen have — one of the 
 Cain's brands of our northern brethren — 
 it curled firmly round his forehead ; and 
 his head was set upon his broad shoulders 
 with that pillar of neck which Adrian in 
 particular, and many other of the Roman 
 emperors, are represented with, on their 
 coins, but which is rarely seen at present. 
 He must, when in full health, have 
 stood about five feet seven ; but, now, he 
 lost somewhat of his height in a stoop, 
 contracted during his illness, about the 
 chest and shoulders, and common to most 
 people affected with pulmonary complaints : 
 his frame was bulky, but the sinews seemed 
 to have lost their tension ; and he looked 
 like " one of might," who had grappled 
 strongly with an evil one in sore sickness. 
 He bore no air of discontent, hard as his lot 
 was ; yet there was nothing theatrical in 
 his resignation. All Scotchmen aie pre- 
 destinarians, and he fancied he saw the 
 immediate hand of Providence working out 
 his destiny through his misfortunes, and 
 against such interference he thought it vain 
 to clamour. Far other were my feelings 
 when I looked on his fresh, broad face, and 
 manly features, his open brow, his width 
 of shoulders, and depth of chest, and heard 
 how the breath laboured in that chest for 
 inefficient vent 
 
 " May be," said he — catching my eye 
 in its wanderings, as he raised his own 
 from the ground, — " May be a'd be better, 
 gin a were doon i' wun nain place." I 
 was vext to my soul that my look had 
 spoken so plainly as to elicit this remark. 
 Tell a man in a consumption that he looks 
 charmingly, and you have opened the 
 sluices of his heart almost as efrei;',uririy, to 
 your ingress, as if you had really cured 
 him. And yet I think this poor fellow 
 said what he did, rather to please one whom 
 
 144 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 he saw took an interest in him, than to 
 flatter himself into a belief of recovery, or 
 from any such existing belief; for, shortly 
 after, when I asked him what he would do 
 in Scotland, " A dunna ken wat a mun 
 du," he replied ; " a canna du ony labour- 
 ing wark, an' a ha na goten ony trade; 
 but, ye see, sir, we like ay to die whar' 
 wer're born ; and my faither, an' my gran'- 
 fditlier afore him forbye, a' my ither kin, 
 an' the milher that bore me, there a' i' the 
 
 nook o' kirk-yaird ; an' than my wife 
 
 an twa bairnies :'' There was a pause 
 
 in the soldier's voice ; he had not learnt 
 the drama of mendicity or sentimentality, 
 but, by — ! there was a tear in his eye.* — 
 I hate a scene as much as Byron did, but I 
 admire a feeling heart, and pity a sorrow- 
 ful one the tear did not fall. I 
 
 looked in his face when I heard his voice 
 again ; his eye glistened, and the lash was 
 
 wet, but the tear was gone And tliere 
 
 stood I, whose slender body scarcely com- 
 prehended one half of the circumference of 
 his muscular frame. — " And the hand of 
 Death is here !" said I ; and then I turned 
 my eyes upon myself, and almost wondered 
 how my soul dwelt in so frail a tenement, 
 while his was about to escape from such a 
 seeming fastness of flesh. 
 
 After some further conversation, he told 
 me his regiment had at one time been 
 ordered off for Africa against the Ashan- 
 tees ; and sure never mortal man regretted 
 counter orders on such grounds as he did 
 those which balked his expectations of a 
 visit to Sierra Leone. — " A thought," said 
 he, " wur regiment woud ha gien to 
 Aifrica against the Aishantees — an a was 
 in hopes it wud it's a didly cli- 
 mate, an' there was nae money goten out 
 o' the laist fray ; but thin — perhaps its 
 jist as well to die in ae place as anither — 
 but than we canna bring wursels to feel it, 
 tho' we may think it — an' than ye see, sir, 
 as a sid afore, a hae twa bairnies, an gin a'd 
 laid doon wi' the rasl, the mither o' them 
 might hae goten the widow's pension for 
 
 them an' hirsel." The widow's 
 
 pension ! sixpence a-day for a woman and 
 two children — and death to the fourth per- 
 son as the only price of it ! Hear this, 
 shade of Lemprifere ! Manlius and the 
 Horatii died to save a country, and to pur- 
 chase earthly immortality by their deaths 
 —but here's a poor fellow willing to give up 
 
 • T" The ACCusiNO spirit flew up to heaven's 
 
 cbanee-y with the oath, ard blushed as he gave it in— 
 tho RECORDiNO ANGEL, as he wrote it down, dropped a 
 tear upon the word, and blotted it out for everl" — 
 S'erttr. Kd."' 
 
 the ghost, by sword, plague, pestilence oi 
 famine, to secure a wife and two childrea 
 two-pence each, per day ! 
 
 Look to it, ye three-botile beasts, or 
 men — as the courtesy of a cringing world 
 calls ycm — look to it, when ye toast tiie 
 next lordly victor "with three times three!" 
 — Shout 'till the roof rings, and then think, 
 amid the din of your compeers, of the 
 humble dead — of those who walk silently in 
 the path of the grave, and of the widowed 
 and fatherless. Commanders die for glory, 
 for a funeral procession, or a title, or wealth 
 for those they leave behind;, but who 
 speaks of the private, who dies with a 
 wound for every pore? — ^he rots on the earth; 
 or, with some scores or hundreds- of nis 
 comrades, a few inches beneath it ; and his 
 wife gets — " sixpence a day !" 
 
 Poor fellow, thought I, as I looked on my 
 narrator — were I a king — but kings cannot 
 scrape acquaintance with every man in tue 
 ranks of their forces — but had I been your 
 officer, I think you should not have wanted 
 your pension for the few days that are to 
 shine on you in this world ; and, had you 
 fallen, it should have gone hard with me, 
 but your wife and twochildren- should have 
 had their twopence each per day — and, 
 were I a man of fortune, I would be proud 
 to keep the life in such a heart, as long as 
 God would permit — and so saying, or 
 thinking — and blinking away the dimness 
 of humanity from my eye — I thrust my hand 
 into my pocket, and' gave him Sixpence. 
 
 Reader ! smile not ; I am but a poor 
 
 harum scarum headed mortal — 't was all I 
 had, " in possession, expectancy, remainder, 
 or reversion " — 
 
 J. J. K. 
 
 The following poem originates in a le- 
 gend which is still popular in many parts 
 of the highlands of Scotland : that a female 
 branch of the noble family of Douglas 
 contracted an imprudent marriage with a 
 kerne, or mountain peasant, who was 
 drowned in the Western Islands, where he 
 had escaped for concealment from the per- 
 secutions of the offended family of his wife. 
 She survived him eighteen years, and 
 wandered a maniac over the mountains, 
 where, as superstition alleges, she is even 
 now to be seen at daybreak. The stanzas 
 are supposed to be the extempore recita- 
 tions of an old bard to a group of attentive 
 villagers. 
 
 14o 
 
CUE TABLE BOOK 
 
 THE LADY OF THE HILL- 
 
 ?ooT girl t she seem'd of an unearthly mould, 
 
 A thing superior to the frowns of fate ; 
 But never did my tearful eyes behold 
 
 A maid so fair, and so disconsolate ; 
 Yet was she once a child of high estate, 
 
 And nurst in spendour, till an envious gloom 
 Sunk her beneath its harsh o'erpowering weight : 
 
 Robb'd her pale features of their orient bloom. 
 
 And with a noiseless pace, mov'd onwards to the 
 tomb. 
 
 She walk'd upon th« earth, ae one who knew 
 The dread mysterious secrets of the grave ; 
 
 VoT never o'er her eye of heav'nly blue 
 Lighten'd a smile ; but like the ocean wave 
 
 That roars, unblest with sunshine, through the cave 
 Rear'd in the depths of Snowden, she had flown 
 
 To endless grief for refuge ; and would rave. 
 And tell to the night-winds h«r tale unknown. 
 Or wander o'er the heath, deserted and alone. 
 
 And when the rain beat hard against the hill, 
 And storms rush'd by upon their wing of pow'r. 
 
 Lonely she'd stray beside the bubbling rill. 
 Or fearless list the deep-voic'd cataract's roar ; 
 
 And when the tempest's wrath was heard no mor« 
 She wander'd home, the mountain sod to dress 
 
 With many a wreath, and many a summer flow'r ; 
 And thus she liv'd, the sister of distress. 
 The solitude of love, nurst in the wilderness. 
 
 ■^he was the child of nature ; earth, sea, sky. 
 Mountain and cataract, fern-clad hill and dale 
 
 Possess'd a nameless charm in her young eye. 
 Pure and eternal, for in Deva's vale 
 
 Her heart first listen'd to a lover's tale, 
 Breath'd by a mountain kerne ; and every sceua 
 
 That wanton'd blithely in the od'rous gale. 
 Had oft beheld her lord's enamour'd mien. 
 As tremblingly she sought each spot where he had 
 been. 
 
 But she is gone I The cold earth is her pillow. 
 And o'er her blooms the summer's sweetest fiow'r j 
 
 And o'er her ashes weeps the grateful willow 
 She lov'd to cherish in a happier hour — 
 
 Mute is the voice that breath'd from Deva's bow'r 
 Ghill is the soul of the neglected rover ; 
 
 We saw the death-cloud in destruction low'r 
 O'er her meek head, the western waves roH'd over 
 The corse of Lim she lov'd, her own devoted lover. 
 
 But oft, when the faint sun is in the west. 
 And the hush'd gales along the ocean die. 
 
 Strange sounds reecho from her place of rest. 
 And sink into the heart most tenderly — 
 
 The bird of evening hour, the humming bee. 
 And the wild music of the mountain rill, 
 
 !»eem breathing sorrow as they murmur by. 
 And whispering to the night, while all is still, 
 The tale sf the pour p'rl — the " Lady of the Hill." 
 
 W. F. D. — Indicator. 
 
 HIGHLAND WEDDINGS. 
 By John HAr Allan, Esq. 
 
 There is not probably, at the present 
 day a more social and exhilarating coi]- 
 vocation than a highland wedding among 
 the lower orders. The ancient hospitality 
 and kindliness of character fills it with 
 plenty and good humour, and gathers from 
 every side all who have the slightest claim 
 in the blood, name, and friendship of the 
 bride or bridegroom. That olden attach- 
 ment, which formerly bound together the 
 superiors and their dependants, yet so far 
 influences their character as to bring them 
 together at the same board upon this occa- 
 sion. When a wedding is to take place, 
 the attendance of the chief, or laird, as well 
 as that of the higher tacksmen, is always 
 solicited by the respective parties, and 
 there are few who would refuse this mark 
 of consideration and good- will. The clans- 
 men are happy in the honour which they 
 receive, and the " Duinne-Uasal" is pleased 
 with the regard and respect which renders 
 the countenance of his presence necessary 
 to his people. 
 
 Upon the day of the wedding, the friends 
 of the bridegroom and the bride assemble 
 at the house of their respective parents, 
 with all the guns and pistols which can be 
 collected in the country. If the distance ot 
 the two rendezvous is more than a day's 
 march, the bridegroom gatl ers his friends 
 as much sooner as is necessary to enable 
 them to be with the bride on the day and 
 hour appointed. Both parties are exceed 
 ingly proud of the numbers and of the rank 
 which their influence enables them tc 
 bring- ; they therefore spare no pains to 
 render the gathering of their friends as full 
 and as respectable as possible. The com- 
 pany of each party dines at the house ol 
 their r^^spective parents. Every attainable 
 display of rustic sumptuousness and rustic 
 gallantry is made to render the festival 
 ■worthy of an occasion which can happen 
 but once in a life. The labour and the care 
 of monllis have been long providing the 
 means wherewith to furnish the feast with 
 plenty, and the assistants with gayety ; and 
 it is not unfrequent that the savings of a 
 whole year are expended to do honour to 
 this single day. 
 
 When the house is small, and the com- 
 pany very numerous, the partitions are fre- 
 quently taken down, and the whole " biel " 
 thrown into one space. A large table, the 
 
 146 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 entire length of the house, is formed of deal 
 wlanks laid upon tressels, and covered with 
 a succession of table-cloths, white though 
 coarse. The quantity of the dinner is an- 
 swerable to the space which it is to cover : 
 It generally consists of barley broth, or 
 cock-a-leeky, boiled fowls, roasted ducks, 
 oints of meat, sheep's heads, oat and barley 
 cakes, butter, and cheese ; and in summer, 
 firothed buttermilk, and slam. In the glens 
 where goats are kept, haunches of these 
 animals and roasted kids are also added to 
 ihe feast. In the olden time, venison and all 
 kinds of game, from the cappercalich to the 
 grouse, were also furnished ; but since the 
 breach of the feudal system, and its privi- 
 leges, the highland lairds have become like 
 other proprietors in the regulation of their 
 game, and have prohibited its slaughter to 
 their tenants upon pain of banishment. 
 
 Yet the cheer of the dinner is not so re- 
 markable as the gear of the guests. No 
 strang'er who looked along the board could 
 recognise in their " braws " the individuals 
 whom the day before he had seen in the 
 mill, the field, or the " smiddie." The men 
 are generally dressed to the best of their 
 power in the lowland fashion. There are 
 still a few who have the spirit, and who 
 take a pride, to appear in the noble dress 
 of their ancestors. These are always con- 
 sidered as an honour and an ornament to 
 the day. So far however has habit altered the 
 custom of the people, even against their own 
 approbation, that notwithstanding the con- 
 venience and respect attached to the tar- 
 tans, they are generally laid aside. But 
 though the men are nothing deficient in the 
 disposition to set themselves off in the low- 
 land fashions, from ihe superior expense of 
 cloth and other materials of a masculine 
 dress, they are by no means so gay as the 
 lasses. Girls, who the yester even were 
 seen bare-headed and bare-footed, lightly 
 dressed in a blue flannel petticoat and dark 
 linen jacket, are now busked in while 
 frocks, riband sashes, cotton stockings on 
 their feet, and artificial flowers on their 
 heads. The '* merchant's'' and the miller's 
 daughters frequently exhibit the last fashion 
 from Edinburgh, and are beautified and 
 garnished with escalloped trimmings, tabbed 
 sleeves, tucks, lace, gathers, and French 
 frills ! -As it has been discovered that 
 tartan is nothing esteemed m London, little 
 or none is to be seen, except in the red 
 plaid or broached funic of some old wife, 
 whose days of gaytty are past, but who still 
 loves that with which she was gay in her 
 youth. It is to be regretted that Dr. Sa- 
 muel Johnson had not lived to witness 
 
 these dawnings of reason and improvement; 
 his philosophical mind might have rejoiced 
 in the symptoms of approaching " civiliza- 
 tion '' among the highlanders. 
 
 The hour of dinner is generally about one 
 o'clock ; the guests are assembling for two 
 hours before, and each as he enters is pn;. 
 sented with a glass of "uisga" by way of 
 welcome. When the company is seated, 
 and the grace has been said, the bottle 
 makes a regular round, and each empties a 
 bumper as it passes. During the meal 
 more than one circle is completed in the 
 same manner ; and, at the conclusion, an- 
 other revolutionary libation is given as a 
 finale. As soon after dinner as his march 
 will allow, the bridegroom arrives : his ap- 
 proach is announced at a distance by a 
 continual and running discharge of fire- 
 arms from his parly. These signals are 
 answered by the friends of the bride, and 
 when at length they meet, a general but 
 irregular feu-de-joie announces the arrival. 
 The bridegroom and his escort are then re- 
 galed with whiskey, and after they have 
 taken some farther refreshment the two par 
 ties combine, and proceed in a loose pro- 
 cession to the " clachan." 
 
 Sometimes, and particularly if there hap- 
 pens to be a few old disbanded sergeants 
 among them, the whole " gathering" marches 
 very uniformly in pairs ; and there is 
 always a strict regulation in the support 
 of the bride, and the place of the bride- 
 groom and his party. The escort of the 
 former takes precedency in the procession, 
 and the head of the column is generally 
 formed of the most active and best armed 
 of her friends, led by their pipes. Imme- 
 diately after this advanced guard, come the 
 bride and the females of her party, accom- 
 panied by their fathers, brothers, and othe 
 friends. The bride is supported on one 
 side by a bridesman, and on the other by a 
 bridesmaid ; her arms are linked in theirs, 
 and from the right and left hand of the 
 supporters is held a white scarf or hand- 
 kerchief, which depends in a festoon across 
 the figure of the bride. The privilege of 
 supporting the bride is mdispensably con- 
 fined to the bridesman and bridesmaid, 
 and it would be an unacceptable pi'^ce of 
 politeness for any other persons, however 
 nigh their rank, to offer to supply their 
 place. The bridegroom and his party, witb 
 their piper, form the rear of the procession 
 and the whole is closed by two young girls 
 who walk last at the array, bearing in a 
 festoon between them a white scarf, similaj 
 to that held before the bride. During the 
 march the pipes generally play the old 
 
 147 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Scots air, " Fye, lets a' to the Bridal," and 
 the parties of the bride and bridegroom 
 endeavour to emulate e:ich other in the 
 discharge of their fire-arms. In this order 
 the bridal company reaches the church, and 
 each pipe as it passes the gate of the sur- 
 rounding cemetry becomes silent. In the 
 old time the pipers played round the out- 
 side of the clachan dur-ing the performance 
 of the service, but of later years this custom 
 lias been discontinued. The ritual of the 
 marriage is very simple : a prayer for the 
 happiness and guidance of the young 
 couple who are about to enter upon the 
 troubled tide ff life; a short exhortation 
 upon the duties of the station which tliey 
 are to undertake, and a benediction by tne 
 imposition of the hands of the minister, is 
 all the ceremonial of the union, and an- 
 nounces to them that they are " no longer 
 two, but one flesh." 
 
 In the short days of winter, and when 
 the bridegroom has to come from a distance, 
 it is very frequent that the ceremony is not 
 performed until night The different cir- 
 cumstances of the occasion are then doubly 
 picturesque and affecting : while the caval- 
 cade is yet at a distance, the plaintive peal- 
 ing of the pipes approaching upon the still- 
 ness of the night, the fire-arms flashing 
 upon the darkness, and their reports re- 
 doubled by the solitary echoes of the moun- 
 tains, and when, at length, the train draws 
 near, the mingled tread of hasty feet, the 
 full clamour of the pipes, the mixed and 
 confused visionry of the white figures of the 
 girls, and the dark shadows of the men, 
 with here and there the waving of a plaid 
 and the glinting of a dirk, must be striking 
 to a stranger, but wake inexpressible emo- 
 tions in the bosom of a Gael, who loves the 
 people and the customs of his land. 
 
 The scene is still more impressive at tlie 
 clachan. I have yet before me the groups 
 ot the last wedding at which I was present 
 in the highlands. The church was dimly 
 lighted for the occasion; beneath the pulpit 
 stood the minister, upon whose head eighty- 
 five winters had left their trace ; his thinned 
 hair, bleached like the "cana," hung in ring- 
 lets on his neck ; and the light falling 
 feebly from above, shed a silvery gleam 
 across his lofty forehead and pale features, 
 as he lifted his look towards heaven, and 
 stietched his hands above the betrothed 
 pair who stood befoie him. The bridfy 
 room, a hardy young highlander, the fox- 
 unter of the district, was dressed in the 
 11 tartans ; and the bride, the daughtei- of 
 neighbouring shepherd, was simply at- 
 in white, with a bunch of white roses 
 
 in her hair. Tie dark cheek and keen eye 
 of the hunter deepened its hue and its ligh. 
 as he held the hand which had been placed 
 in his, while the downcast face of the bride 
 scarcely showed distinctly more than her fair 
 forehead and temples, and seemed, as the 
 light shone obliquely upon them, almost as 
 pale as the ro?es which she wore ; her slim 
 form bent upon the supporting arm of the 
 bridesmaid — the white frill about her 
 neck throbbing with a light and quick 
 vibration. 
 
 After the ceremony of the marriage is 
 concluded, it is the privilege of the brides- 
 man to salute the bride. As the party 
 leave the church, the pipes again strike up, 
 and the whole company adjourns to the 
 next inn, or to the house of some relation 
 of the bride's ; for it is considered " un- 
 lucky " for her own to be the first which 
 she enters. Before she crosses the thresh- 
 old, an oaten cake is broken over her head 
 by the bridesman and bridesmaid, and dis- 
 tributed to the company, and a glass of 
 whiskey passes round. The whole party 
 then enter the house, and two or three 
 friends of the bridegroom, who act as mas- 
 ters of the ceremonies, pass through the 
 room with a bottle of whiskey, and pour 
 out to each individual a glass to the health 
 of the bride, the bridegroom, and their 
 clans. Dancing then commences to the 
 music of the pipes, and the new-married 
 couple lead off the first reel. It is a cus- 
 tomary compliment for the person of highest 
 rank in the room to accompany her in the 
 next. During the dancing the whiskey- 
 bottle makes a revolution at intervals ; and 
 after the reels and strathspeys have been 
 kept up for some time, the company re- 
 tires to supper. The fare of the supper 
 differs little from that of the dinner; and 
 the rotation of the whiskey-bottle is as 
 regular as the sun which it follows. 
 
 [At highland festivals the bottle is always 
 circulated sun-ways, an observance which 
 had its rise in the Druidical " deas'oil," and 
 once regulated almost every action of the 
 Celts.] 
 
 When the supper is announced, each 
 man leads his partner or some female friend 
 to the table, and seating himself at her side, 
 takes upon himself her particular charge 
 during the meal; and upon such occasions. 
 as the means of the bride and bridegroom 
 do not permit them to bear the expenses of 
 the supper, he is expected to pay her share 
 of the reckoning as well as his own, Aftei 
 supper the dancing again commences, and 
 is occasionally inspired by the before- 
 noticed circumvolutions of the " Uisga na 
 
 148 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Baidh." The oride and bridegroom, and 
 such as choose repose rather than merri- 
 meut, leiire to take a coupk of hours' rest 
 hetbre dawn ; but the majority keep up the 
 dancing till day. Towards morning many 
 of the company begin to disperse; and 
 when it is well light, breakfast is given to 
 aJl who remain. Tea, muhitudes of eggs, 
 cold meat, a profusion of oat cakes, barley 
 ' sfones," and sometimes wheat bread, 
 brought, perhaps, a distance of thirty miles, 
 constitute the good cheer of this meal. When 
 it IS concluded, the bride takes leave of the 
 majority of her friends, and accompanied 
 only by her particular intimates and rela- 
 tions, sets off with the bridegroom and his 
 parly for her future residence. She is ac- 
 companied by her neighbours to the march 
 of her father, or the tacksman under whom 
 he lives, and at the burn-side (for such is 
 generally the boundary) they dance a 
 parting reel : when it is concluded, the 
 oride kisses her friends, they return to their 
 dwellings, and sl.e departs for her new 
 aome. When, however, the circumstances 
 of the bridegroom will permit, all those 
 vvno were present at the house of the bride, 
 ire generally invited to accompany her on 
 ^er way, and a renewal of the preceding 
 festivities takes place at the dwelling of 
 ihe bridegroom. 
 
 Upon these occasions it is incredible the 
 fatigue which the youngest girls will un- 
 dergo : of this one instance will give a 
 sufficient proof At a wedding which hap- 
 pened at Cladich by Loch Awe side, there 
 were present as bridesmaids, two girls, not 
 ibove fourteen years of age, who had 
 walked to the bridal from Inbherara, a dis- 
 tance of nine miles. They attended the 
 bride to the clachan of Inishail, and back to 
 her father's house, which is four miles far- 
 tlier. During the night none were more 
 blithe in the dance, and in the morning 
 after breakfast they accompanied the rest 
 of the paity to the house of the bridegroom 
 dt Tighndrum ; the distance of this place is 
 eighteen miles : and thus, when they had 
 finished their journey, the two young brides- 
 maids had walked, without rest, and under 
 the fatigue of dancing, a distance of thirty- 
 one miles. 
 
 Such is the general outline of a highland 
 wedding. In some districts, a few other of 
 the ancient customs are yet retained : the 
 throwing of the stocking is sometimes 
 practised ; but the blessing of the bridal 
 couch disappeared with the religion of the 
 popes.* 
 
 •-No Co Uie Bridal of CaOlchairn, by J. H. Allan, 
 
 FLINGING THE STOCKING. 
 
 Mr. Brand collects a variety of par- 
 ticulars respecting this wedding custom. 
 
 A curious little book, entitled " The 
 West-country Clothier undone by a Pea- 
 cock," says, " The sack-posset must b? 
 eaten and the stocking flung, to see who can 
 first hit the bridegroom on the nose.'" JMis- 
 son, a traveller in England at the begin- 
 ning of the last century, relates, concerning 
 this usage, that the young men took, the 
 bride's stocking, and the girls those of the 
 bridegroom ; each of whom., sitting at the 
 foot of the bed, threw the stocking over 
 their heads, endeavouring to make it fall 
 upon that of the bride, or her spouse : ii 
 the bridegroom's stockings, thrown by the 
 girls, fell upon the bridegroom's head, ii 
 was a sign that they themselves would soon 
 be married : and a similar prognostic was 
 taken from the falling of the bride's stock- 
 ing, thrown by the young men. The usage 
 is related to the same effect in a work en- 
 titled " Hymen," &c. (8vo. 1760.) " Tiie 
 men take the bride's stockings, and the 
 women those of the bridegroom : they then 
 seat themselves at the bed's feet, and throw 
 the stockings over their heads, and when- 
 ever any one hits the owner of them, it is 
 looked upon as an omen that the person 
 will be married in a short time; and though 
 this ceremony is looked upon as mere play 
 and foolery, new marriages are often occa- 
 sioned by such accidents. Meantime the 
 posset is got ready and given to the married 
 couple. When they awake in the morn- 
 ing, a sack -posset is also given them." A 
 century before this, in a " A Sing-Song on 
 Clarinda's Wedding," in R. Fletcher's 
 "Translations and Poems, 1656,'' is the 
 following stanza : — 
 
 " This clutter ore, Clarinda lay 
 Half-bedded, like the peeping day 
 
 Behind Oliiupiis' cap ; 
 Whiles at her head each twitt'ring girls 
 The fatal stocking quick did whirle 
 
 To know the lucky hap." 
 
 And the "Progress of Matrimony/ ic 
 " The Palace Miscellany," 1733, says, 
 
 " Then come all the younger folk in, 
 With ceremony throw tlie stocking; 
 Backward, o'er head, in turn they toss'd it, 
 Till in sack-posset they had lost it. 
 Th' intent of liingine thus the hose. 
 Is to hit him or her o' Vi' nose: 
 Who hits the mark, thus, o'er left shoulder 
 Mast married be, ere twelve months older.' 
 
 This adventuring against the most pro- 
 Hiinent feature of the face is further meiv 
 
 149 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 tioned in "The Country Wedding," a 
 
 poem, m the Gentleman's Magazine, for 
 
 March 1735, vol. v. p. 158. 
 
 ' Bid the lasses and lads to the merry brown bowl. 
 
 While rashers of bacon shall smoke on the coal : 
 
 Then Roger and Bridp;et, and Robin and Nan, 
 
 Hit 'em each on the nose, with the hose if you can." 
 
 Dunton's "British Apollo," 1708, con- 
 tains a question and answer concerning 
 llus old usage. 
 
 " Q. Apollo, say, whence 'tis I pray. 
 The ancient custom came. 
 Stockings to throw (I'm sure you know) 
 At bridegroom and his dame ? 
 
 " A. When Britons bold, bedded of old, 
 Sandals were backward thrown ; 
 The pair to tell, that, ill or well. 
 The act was all their own." 
 
 If a more satisfactory explanation of the 
 custom could be found, it should be at the 
 reader's service. The practice prevails on 
 the continent as well as in this country, 
 hut its origin is involved in obscurity. 
 
 (§arrult plapsf. 
 
 No. VII. 
 
 [From "Fortune by Land and Sea," a 
 Comedy, by T. Heywood, and W, Ro-w- 
 ley, 1655.] 
 
 Old Forest forbids his Son to sup with 
 some riotous gallants ; who goes notivith- 
 standing, and is slain. 
 
 Scene, a Tavern. 
 
 Rainsworth, Foster, Goodwin. To them enters Frank 
 Forest. 
 
 Rain. Now, Frank, how stole you from your father's 
 arras? 
 You have been school'd, no doubt. Fie, fie upon't. 
 Ere 1 would live in such ha.sc servitude 
 To an old greybeard; 'sfoot, I'd hang myself. 
 A man cannot be merry, and drink drunk. 
 But he must be control'd by gravity. 
 
 Frank. O pardon him ; you know, he is my father, 
 And what he doth is but paternal love. 
 Though I be wild, I'm not yet so past reas(» 
 His person to despise, though I his counsel 
 Cannot severely follow. 
 
 Rain. 'Sfoot, he is a fool. 
 
 Frank. A fool' you are a — 
 
 Fost. Nay, gentlemen— 
 
 Frank. Yet 1 restrain my tongue. 
 Hoping yon speak out of some spleenful rashnHS, 
 And no deliberate malice ; and it may be 
 You »re sorrj tiat a word so unreYerent, 
 
 To wrong so good an aged gentleman, 
 Should pass you unawares. 
 
 Rain. Sorry, Sir Boy 1 you will not take exception!? 
 
 Frank. Not against yon with willingness, whom I 
 Have loved so long. Yet yon might think me a 
 Most dutiless and ungracious son to give 
 Smooth countenance unto my father's wrong. 
 Come, I dare swear 
 
 'Twas not your malice, and I take it so. 
 Let's frame some other talk. Hear, gentlemen — 
 
 Rain. But hear me, Boy 1 it seems. Sir, you are 
 angry— 
 
 Frank. Not thoroughly yet — 
 
 Rain. Then what would auger thee ? 
 
 Frank. Nothing from you. 
 
 Rain. Of all things under heaven 
 What would'st thou loathest have me do ? 
 
 Frank. I would 
 Not have you wrong my reverent fattier ; and 
 I hope you will not. 
 
 Rain. Thy father's an old dotard. 
 
 Frank. 1 would not brook this at a monarcli's hand, 
 Much less at thine. 
 
 Rain. Aye, Boy ? then take you that. 
 
 Frank. Oh I am slain. 
 
 Good. Sweet Cuz, what have you done ? Shift fo- 
 yourself. 
 
 Rain. Away.— Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Two Drawers. 
 
 \st Dr. Stay the gentlemen, they have killed a maL 
 O sweet Mr. Francis. One run to his father's. 
 
 2a Dr. Hark, hark, I hear his father's voice below 
 'tis ten to one he is come to fetch him home to suppei 
 Mid DOW he may carry him home to his grave. 
 
 Enter the Host, old Forest, and Susan his daughter 
 
 Stft. You must take comfort, Sir. 
 
 For. Is he dead, is he dead, girl? 
 
 Sus. Oh dead. Sir, Frank is dead. 
 
 Fir. Alas, alas, my boy 1 1 have not the heart 
 To look upon his wide and gaping wounds. 
 Pray tell me. Sir, does this appear to you 
 Fearful and pitiful — to you that are 
 A stranger to my aead boy ? 
 
 Host. How can it otherwise ? 
 
 For. O me most wretched of all wretched men 1 
 If to a stranger his warm bleeding wounds 
 Appear so grisly and so lamentable. 
 How will they seem to me that am his father? 
 'A'iU they not hale my eye-brows from their rounds, 
 And with an everl&sting blindness strike them? 
 
 Sus. Oh, Sir, look here. 
 
 Fur. Dost Ion? to have me blind ? 
 Then I'll behold them, since I know thy mind. 
 Oh me ! 
 
 Is this my son that doth so senseless lie, 
 And swims in blood ? my soul shall fly with his 
 Cnto the land of rest. Behold I crave. 
 Being kill'd with grief, we both may have one grave 
 
 Sus. Alas, my father's dead tool gentle Sir, 
 H?lp to retire his spirits, over travail'd 
 "With age and sorrow. 
 
 Host. Mr. Forest— 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 150 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 5m Father--- 
 
 For. What says my girl ? good mo -row. What's a 
 clock. 
 That yon are up so early ? call up Frank ; 
 Tell him he lies too long a bed this rooming. 
 He was wont to call the sun up, and to raise 
 The early lark, and mount her 'raongst the clouds. 
 Will he not up ? rise, rise, thou sluggish boy. 
 
 Sus. Alas, he cannot, father. 
 
 Fur. Cannot, why ? 
 
 Sus. Do you not see his bloodless colour pale ? 
 
 Fur. Perhaps he's sickly, that he looks so pale. 
 
 Sus. Do you not feel his pulse no motion keep, 
 ilow still he lies ? 
 
 For. Then is he fast asleep. 
 
 5as. Do you not see his fatal eyelid close? 
 
 For. Speak softly ; liinder not his soft repose. 
 
 Sus. Oh see you not these purple conduits run ? 
 Know you these wounds ? 
 
 For. Oh me 1 ray inurder'd son I 
 
 Enter young Mr. Forest. 
 
 T. For. Sister ! 
 
 Sus. brother, brother ! 
 
 r. For. Father, how cheer you, Sir ? why, you were 
 wont 
 To store for others comfort, that by sorrow 
 Were any ways distress'd. Hare you all wasted. 
 And spared none to yourself? 
 
 0. For. Son, Son, Son, 
 See, alas, see where thy brother lies. 
 He dined with me to day, was merry, merry. 
 Aye, that corpse was ; he that lies here, see her?, 
 Thy murder'd brother and my son was. Oh ?^ 
 Dost thou not weep for him ? 
 
 Y. For. I shall find time ; 
 When you have took some comfort, I'll begin 
 To mourn his death, and scourge the murdeiev b ii.a. 
 
 0. For. Oh, when saw father such a tragic si^bi. 
 And did outlive it ? never, son, ah never. 
 From mortal breast ran such a precious river. 
 
 Y. For. Come, father, and dear sister, join with me ; 
 Let us all learn our sorrows to forget. 
 He owed a death, and he hath paid that debt. 
 
 If I were to be consulted as to a Re- 
 print of our Old English Dramatists, I 
 should advise to begin with the collected 
 Plays of Heywood. He was a fellow Actor, 
 and fellow Dramatist, with Shakspeare. 
 He possessed not the imagination of the 
 latter ; but in all those qualities which 
 gained for Shakspeare the attribute of 
 gentle, he was not inferior to him. Gene- 
 rosity, courtesy, temperance in the depths 
 of passion ; sweetness, in a word, and gen- 
 tleness ; Christianism ; and true hearty 
 Anglicism of feelings, shaping that Chris- 
 tianism ; shine throughout his beautiful 
 writings in a manner more conspicuous 
 than in those of Shakspeare, but only mere 
 conspicuous inasmuch as in Heywood these 
 qualities are primary,in the other subordinate 
 *o poetry. I love them both equally, but 
 
 Shakspeare has most of my wonder. Hey 
 wood should be known to his countrymen, 
 as he deserves. His plots are almost inva- 
 riably English. I am sometimes jealous, 
 that Shakspeare laid so few of his scenes at 
 home. I laud Ben Jonson, for that in one 
 instance having framed the first draught of 
 his Every Man in his Humour in Italy, 
 he changed the scene, and Anglicised his 
 characters. The names of them in the 
 First Edition, may not be unamusing 
 
 Men. 
 Lorenzo, Sen. 
 Lorenzo, Juu, 
 Prospero. 
 ThoreUo. 
 
 fyomen. 
 Guilliana. 
 Biancha. 
 Hesperida. 
 Tib (the same in English. 
 
 Stephano (Master Stephen.) 
 
 Dr. Clement (Justice Clement.) 
 
 Bobadilla (Bobadil.) 
 
 Musco. 
 
 Cob (the same in English.) 
 
 Peto. 
 
 Pizo. 
 
 Matheo (Master Mathew.) 
 
 How say you, Reader? do not Master 
 Kitely, Mistress Kitely, Master Kiiowell. 
 Brainworm, &c. read better than these Cis- 
 alpines ? 
 
 C.L. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 On January 6th, 1815, died at Lynn, 
 Norfolk, at an advanced age, (supposed 
 
 151 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 about seventy, tLis eccentric individual, 
 whose ptoper name, Wjlliam Monson. hnd 
 become nearly obliterate;! by his profes- 
 sional arpellalion of Biliji Boots ; havinef 
 foliiiwed the liumble employment of shoe- 
 black for a Ioniser period than the greater 
 part of the inhabitants could remember. 
 He was reported, (and lie always professed 
 himself to be,) the illegitimate son of a 
 nobleman, whose name he bore, by a Miss 
 Cractoft. Of his early days little is known, 
 except from tht reminiscences of conversa- 
 tion which the writer of this article at times 
 held with him. From thence it appears, 
 that having received a respectable educa- 
 tion, soon after leaving school, he quitted 
 iiis maternal home in Lincolnshii-e, and 
 threw himself upon the world, from whence 
 he was sought out by some of his paternal 
 Drothers, with the intention of providing 
 and fixing him in comfortable circumstan- 
 ces ; but this dependent life he abhorred, 
 and the wide world was again his element. 
 After experiencing many vicissitudes, 
 (though possessing defects never to be 
 overcome, — a diminutive person, — a shuf- 
 fling, slip-shod gait, — and a weak, whining 
 voice,) he joined a company of strolling 
 players, and used to boast of having per- 
 formed "Trueman,'' in "George Barnwell :" 
 from this he imbibed an ardent histrionic 
 cacoet/iL'x, which never left him, but occu- 
 pied many of his leisure moments, to the 
 latest period of his life. Tired of ramblincr, 
 he tixed his residence at Lynn, and adopt- 
 ing the useful vocation of shoe-black, be- 
 came conspicuous as a sober, inoffensive, 
 and industrious individual. Having, by 
 these means, saved a few guineas, in a luck- 
 less hour, and when verging towards his 
 fiftieth year, he took to himself a wife, a 
 dajhing female of more favourable appear- 
 ance than repiitatinii. In a fews days from 
 the tying of the gordian knot, his precious 
 metal and Ins piecious nb took flight to- 
 gether, never to return; and forsaken Biliy 
 whined awav his disaster, to every pitying 
 inquirer, and continued to brush and spout 
 till time had blunted the keen edge of 
 sorrow. 
 
 Notwithstanding this misfortune, Billy 
 made no rash vow of lorswenring the sex, 
 but ogled every mop-squeezer in the town, 
 who would listen to his captivating elo- 
 quence, and whenever a roguish Blonsa- 
 linoi consented to encourage his addresses, 
 he was seen early an ) late, like a true de- 
 votee snuflfing a pilgrimage to the shrine of 
 his flevotions. In a summer evening after 
 the lahour of the day, on these occasions, 
 and on these occasions only, lie used to 
 
 li)Z 
 
 clean himself and spruce up, fn his best 
 
 suit, which was not improperly termed hi.- 
 courting suit — a worn-out scarlet coat 
 reaching to his heels, with buttons of tht 
 largest dimensions — the other part of his 
 dress corresponding. When tired of the 
 joke, his faithless inamorata, on some frivo- 
 lous pretence, contrived to discard him, 
 leaving him to " fight his battles o'er again," 
 and seek 'ome other bewitching fair one. 
 who in the end served him as the former ; 
 another and another succeeded, but still 
 poor Billy was ever jilted, and still lived a 
 devoted victim to the tender passion. 
 
 Passionately fond of play-books, of which 
 he had a small collection — as uninviting tci 
 the look as himself in his working dress — 
 and possessing a retentive memory, he 
 would recite, not merely the single charac- 
 ter, but whole scenes, with all the dramatis 
 personae. His favourite character, however, 
 was " Shylock ;" and here, when soothed 
 and flattered, he exhibited a rich treat to 
 his risible auditors in the celebrated trial 
 scene, g"iving the entire dialogue, suiting 
 the action and attitude to the words, in a 
 style of the most peifect caricatural origi- 
 nality. At other times, he would select 
 " The Waterman," and, as " Tom Tug," 
 warble forth, "Then farewell my trim-built 
 wherry," in strains of exquisitely whining 
 melody. But, alas ! luckless wight ! his 
 only reward was ridicule, and for applause 
 he had jokes and quizzing sarcasms. 
 
 Like most of nature's neglected eccen- 
 trics, Billy was a public mark of derision, 
 at which every urchin delighted to aim. 
 When charges of " setting the river Thames 
 on fire !" and " roasting his wife on a grid- 
 iron I" were vociferated in his ears, proudly 
 conscious of his innocence of such heinous 
 crimes, his noble soul would swell with 
 rage and indignation; and sometimes stones, 
 at other times his brushes, and oftentimes 
 his pot of blacking, were aimed at the 
 ruthless offender, who frequently escaped, 
 while the unwary passer-by received the 
 marks of his vengeance. When unmolested, 
 he was harmless and inoffensive. 
 
 Several attempts, it is said, were made 
 towards the latter part of his life to settle 
 an annuity on him ; but Billy scorned such 
 independence, and maintained himself till 
 death by praiseworthy industry. After a 
 few days' illness, he sank into the grave, 
 unhonoured and unnoticed, except by the 
 following tribute to his memory, written by 
 a literary and agricultural gentleman in the 
 neighbourhood of Lynn, and inserted in 
 the " Norwich Mercury'" newspaper of that 
 period, K. 
 
 i 
 
THE TAELE BOOK. 
 
 Elegiac Lines on Wit.liam Monson, 
 
 LATE OfLyKN, an ECCENTRtO CHARAC- 
 TER; COMMONLY y'cLEPT BiLLY BoOTS. 
 
 Imperial Fate, who, wiHj promiscuous course. 
 Exerts o'er high and low his influence dread ; 
 
 Impell'd his shaft with unrelenting force. 
 And laid thee, Billy, 'mongst the mighty dead 1 
 
 Yet 'though, when borne to thy sepulchral home. 
 No iiomp funereal grac'd thy poor remains. 
 
 Some "frail memorial " should adorn thy tomb, 
 Some trifling tribute from the Muse's strains. 
 
 full fifty years, poor Billy I hast thou budg'd, 
 A care-worn shoe-black, up and down the streets ; 
 
 From house to house, with slip-shod step hast trudg'd, 
 'Midst summer's rays, and winter's driving sleets. 
 
 Report allied thee to patrician blood, 
 Yet, whilst thy life to drudg'ry was confin'd. 
 
 Thy firmness each dependent thought withstood. 
 And prov'd, — thy true nobility of mind. 
 
 With shufliing, lagging gait, with visage queer. 
 Which seein'd a stranger to ablution's povv'r, 
 
 In tatter'd garb, well suited to t'ny sphere. 
 Thou o'er life's stage didst strut thy fretful hour. 
 
 O'er boots and shoes, to spread the jetty hue, 
 ^nd give the gljss, — thou Billy, wert the man. 
 
 No boasting rivals could thy skill outdo — 
 Not " Day and Martin," with their fam'd japan. 
 
 On men well-bred and perfectly refin'd. 
 An extra T>olish could thine art bestow ; 
 
 At feast or ball, thy varnish'd honours ahin'd. 
 Made spruce the trader, and adorn'd the beau. 
 
 WTien taunting boys, whom no reproof could tame. 
 On thee their scoffs at cautious distance shed, 
 
 A shoe or brush, impetuous wouldst thou aim, 
 Wing'd with resentment, at some urchin's head. 
 
 With rage theatric often didst thou glow, 
 ("Though ill adapted for the scenic art;) 
 
 As Denmark's prince soliloqu.z'd in woe. 
 Or else rehears'd vindictive Shyloch's part. 
 
 Brushing and spouting, emulous of fame. 
 
 Oft pocketing affronts instead of cash, 
 in logo's phrase, sometimes thou might'st c.tclaim 
 
 With too much truth, — " who steals my parse steals 
 trash." 
 
 Peace to thine ashes I harmless in thy way, 
 Long wert thou emp'ror of the shoe-black train, 
 
 4ld with thy fav'rite Shakspeare we may way. 
 We " ne'er shall look upon thy like agait " 
 
 CTe J9rama. 
 
 " THE GiiEAT UNKNOWN " 
 KNOWN. 
 
 Friday the 23d of February, 1827, is tc ht 
 recjarded as remarkable, because on tiiat day 
 " The Great Unknown" confessed himself, 
 The disclosure was made at the first annual 
 dinner of the " Edinburgh Theatrical 
 Fund," then held in the Assembly Rooms, 
 Edinbitrgh — -Sir Walter Scott in the 
 chair. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott, after the usual toasts 
 to the King and the Royal Family, re- 
 quested, that gentlemen would till a bum- 
 per as full as it would hold, while he would 
 say only a few words. He was in the habit 
 of hearing speeches, and he knew the feel- 
 ing with which long ones were regarded. 
 He was sure that it was perfectly unneces- 
 sary for him to enter into any vindication ot 
 the dramatic art, which they had come here 
 to support. This, however, he considered 
 to be the proper time and proper occasion 
 for him to say a few words on that love of 
 representation which was an innate feeling 
 in human nature. It was the first amuse- 
 ment that the child had — it grew greater as 
 he grew up ; and, even in the decline of 
 life, nothing amused so much as when a 
 common tale is well told. The first thing 
 a child does is to ape his schoolmaster, by 
 flogging a chair. It was an enjoyment na- 
 tural to humanity. It was implanted in 
 our very nature, to take pleasure from such 
 representations, at proper times, and on 
 proper occasions. In all ages the theatri- 
 cal art had kept pace with tie improvement 
 of mankind, and with the progress of letters 
 and the fine arts. As he had advanc«3d 
 from the ruder stages of society, the love of 
 dramatic representalicms had increased, and 
 all works of this nature had been improved 
 in character and in structure. They had 
 only to turn their eyes to the history of an- 
 cient Greece, although he did not pretend 
 to be very deeply versed in ancient history. 
 Its first tragic poet commanded a body of 
 troops at Marathon. The second and next, 
 were men who shook Athens with their 
 discourses, as their tlieatrical works shook 
 the theatre itself. It they turned to France, 
 in the time of Louis XIV., that era in 
 the classical histor) of that country, they 
 would tind that it was reiV-rred to by all 
 Jrenchmen as the golden age of the drama 
 there. And also tn Engl.mil, in the tiuie 
 ot queen Elizabeth, the drama bei;an to 
 mingle deeply and wisely in the general 
 polit.cs of Europe, not only not receiving 
 
 153 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 laws from others, but giving la'AS to the 
 world, and vindicating the Tights of man- 
 Kind. (Cheers.^ There had been various 
 times when the dramatic art subsequently 
 fell into disrepute. Its professors had been 
 stigmatized : and laws had been passed 
 against them, less dishonourable to them 
 than to the statesmen by whom they were 
 proposed, and to the legislators by whom 
 they were passed. What were the times in 
 which these laws were passed? Was it not 
 when virtue was seldom inculcated as a 
 moral duty, that we were required to relin- 
 quish the most rational of all our amuse- 
 ments, when the clergy were enjoined 
 celibacy, and when the laity were denied 
 the right to read their Bibles ? He thought 
 that it must have been from a notion of 
 penance that they erected the drama into an 
 ideal place of profaneness, and the tent of 
 sin. He did not mean to dispute, that 
 there were many excellent persons who 
 thought differently from him, and they were 
 entitled to assume that they were not guilty 
 of any hypocrisy in doing so. He gave 
 them full credit for their tender consciences, 
 in making these objections, which did not 
 appear to him relevant to those persons, 
 if they were what they usurped themselves 
 to be ; and if they were persons of worth 
 and piety, he should crave the liberty to tell 
 them, that the first part of their duty was 
 charity, and that if they did not choose to 
 go to the theatre, ihey at least could not 
 deny that they might give away, from their 
 superfluity, what was required for the relief 
 of the sick, the support of the aged, and 
 the comfort of the afflicted. These were 
 duties enjoined by our religion itself. 
 {Loud cheers.) The performers were in a 
 particular manner entitled to the support or 
 regard, when in old age or distress, of those 
 who had partaken of the amusements of 
 those places which they rendered an orna- 
 ment to society. Their art was of a pecu- 
 liarly delicate and precarious nature. They 
 had to serve a long apprenticeship. It was 
 very long before even the first-rale geniuses 
 could acquire the mechanical knowledge of 
 the stage business. They must languish 
 long in obscurity before they could avail 
 thernseJves of their natural talents ; and 
 after .hat, they had but a short space of 
 time, during- which they were fortunate if 
 they could provide the means of comfort in 
 the decline of life. That came late, and 
 lasted but a short time ; after which they 
 were left dependent. Their limbs failed, 
 Their teeth were loosened, their voice was 
 lost, and they were left, after giving happi- 
 ness to others, in a most disconsolate state. 
 
 Thf! public were liberal and generous to 
 those deserving their protection. It was a sad 
 thing to be dependant on the favour, or, h 
 might say, in plain terms, on the caprice 
 of the public ; and this more particularly 
 for a class of persons of whom extreme 
 prudence was not the character. There 
 might be instances of opportunities being 
 neglected ; but let them tax themselves, 
 and consider the opportunities they had 
 neglected, and the sums of money they had 
 wasted ; let every gentleman look into his 
 own bosom, and say whether these were 
 circumstances which would soften his own 
 feeling, were he to be plunged into distress. 
 He put it to every generous bosom — to 
 every better feeling — to say what consola- 
 tion was it to old age to be told that you 
 might have made provisvon at a time which 
 had been neglected — (loud cheers) — and to 
 find it objected, that if you had pleased you 
 might have been wealthy. He had hitherto 
 been speaking of what, in theatrical lan- 
 guage, was -called " stars," but they were 
 sometimes fallen ones. There were another 
 class of sufferers naturally and necessarily 
 connected with the theatre, without whom 
 it was impossible to go on. The sailors had 
 a saying, "every man cannot be a boats- 
 wain." If there must be persons to act 
 Hamlet, there must also be people to act 
 Laertes, the King, Rosencrantz, and Guil- 
 denstern, otherwise a drama cannot go on. 
 If even Garrick himself were to rise from 
 the dead, he could not act Hamlet alone. 
 There must be generals, colonels, command- 
 ing officers, and subalterns ; but what were 
 the private soldiers to do ? Many had mis- 
 taken their own talents, and had been driven 
 in early youth to try the stage, to which 
 they were not competent. He would know 
 what to say to the poet and to the artist. 
 He would say that it was foolish, and he 
 would recommend to the poet to become a 
 scribe, and the artist to paint sign-posts 
 {Loud laughter.) But he could not send the 
 player adrift ; for if he could rot play Ham- 
 let, he must play Guildenstern. Where 
 there were many labourers, wages must be 
 low, and no man in such a situation could 
 decently support a wife and family, and 
 save something of his income for old age. 
 What was this man to do in latter life'' 
 Were they to cast him off like an old hinge, 
 or a piece of useless machinery, which had 
 done its work ? To a person who had con- 
 tributed to our amusement, that would bf 
 unkind, ungrateful, and unchristian. Hii 
 wants were not of his own making, bu 
 arose from the natural sources of sickness 
 and old age It could not be denied tha 
 
 154 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ti ere was one class ot sufferers to whom no 
 in.prudence could be ascribed, except on 
 lirst entering on the profession. After 
 putting his hand to the dramatic plough, 
 (16 could not draw hack, b-.it must continue 
 .it it, and toil, till death released him ; or 
 charity, oy its milder assistance, stepped in 
 10 render that want more tolerable. He 
 nad little more to say, except that he sin- 
 cerely hoped that the collection to-day, 
 trora the number of respectable gentlemen 
 present, would meet the views entertained 
 by the patrons. He hoped it would do so. 
 They should not be disheartened. Though 
 they could not do a great deal, they might 
 do something. They had this consolation, 
 that every thing they parted with from their 
 superfluity would do some good. They 
 would sleep the better themselves when 
 they had been the means of giving sleep to 
 others. It was ungrateful and unkind that 
 those who had sacrificed their youth to our 
 amusement should not receive the reward 
 due to them, but should be reduced to hard 
 fare in their old age. They could not 
 think of poor Falstaff going to bed without 
 his cup of sack, or Macbeth fed on bones 
 as marrowless as those of Banquo. {Loud 
 cheers arid laughter.) As he believed that 
 they were all as fond of the dramatic art 
 as he was in his younger days, he would 
 propose that they should drink " The 
 Theatrical Fund,'' with three times three. 
 
 Mr. Mackay rose on behalf of his bre- 
 thren, to return their thanks for the toast 
 just drank. 
 
 Lord Meadowbank begged to bear 
 testimony to the anxiety which tney all felt 
 for the interests of the institution which it 
 was for this day's meeting to establish. For 
 himself, he was quite surprised to find his 
 humble name associated with so many 
 others, more distinguished, as a patron of 
 the institution. But he happened to hold 
 a high and important public station in the 
 country. It was matter of regret that he 
 had so little the means in his power of be- 
 ing of service; yet it would afibrd him at 
 all times the greatest pleasure to give as- 
 sistance. As a testimony of the feelings 
 with which he now rose, he begged to pro- 
 pose a health, which he was sure, in an as- 
 sembly of Scotsmen, would be received, 
 not with an ordinary feeling of delight, but 
 with rapture and enthusiasm. He knew 
 that it would be painful to his feelings if 
 he were to speak of him in the terms which 
 Ills heart prompted ; and that he had shel- 
 tered himself under his native modesty from 
 'tie apolause which he deserved. But it 
 was gratifying at last to know that these 
 
 clouds were now dispelled, and that the 
 " great unknown " — " the mighty Magician" 
 ^{here the room literally rung with npplavses 
 for some minutes) — the Minstrel r>f oui 
 country, who had conjured up, not the 
 phantoms of departed ages, but realities, 
 now stood revealed before the eyes and 
 affections of his country. In his presence 
 it would ill become him, as it would be 
 displeasing to that distinguished person, to 
 say, if he were able, what every man must 
 feel, who recollected the enjoyment he had 
 had from the great efforts of his mind and 
 genius. It had been left for him, by his 
 writings, to give his country an imperish- 
 able name. He had done more for that 
 country, by illuminating its annals, by illus- 
 trating the deeds of its warriors and states- 
 men, than any man that ever existed, or 
 was produced, within its territory. He had 
 opened up the peculiar beauties of his na- 
 tive land to the eyes of foreigners. lie had 
 exhibited the deeds of those patriots and 
 statesmen to whom we owed the freedom 
 we now enjoyed. He would give " The 
 health of Sir Walter Scott.'' 
 
 This toast was drank with enthusiastic 
 cheering. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott certainly did not 
 think, that, in coming there that day, he 
 would have the task of acknowledging, 
 before 300 gentlemen, a secret which, con- 
 sidering that it was communicatpd to more 
 than 20 people, was remarkably well kept. 
 He was now before the bar of his country, 
 and might be understood to be on trial 
 before lord Meadowbank, as an offender ; 
 yet he was sure that every impartial jury 
 would bring in a verdict of " not proven.'' 
 He did not now think it necessary to entei 
 into reasons for his long silence. Perhaps 
 he might have acted from caprice. He had 
 now to say, however, that the merits of these 
 works, if they had any, and their faults, 
 were entirely imputable to himself. (Long 
 and loud cheering.) He was afraid to think 
 on what he had done. '' Look on't again 
 I dare not." He had thus far unbosomed 
 himself, and he knew that it would be re- 
 ported to the public. He meant, when he 
 said that he was the author, that he was the 
 total and undivided author. With the ex- 
 ception of quotations, there was not a single 
 word that was not derived from himself, oi 
 suggested in the course of his reading. The 
 wand was now broken and the rod buricsd 
 They would allow him further to say, with 
 Prospero, " Your breath it is that has filled 
 my sails," and to crave one single toast in 
 the capacity of the author of those novels , 
 and he would dedicate a bumper to the 
 
 155 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 health of one who had represented some of 
 those characters, of which he had endea- 
 voured to give the jskeleton, with a degree 
 of liveliness which rendered him grateful. 
 He would propose the health of his friend 
 Bailie Nicol Jarvie ; (loud applause ,) and 
 he was sure that, when the author of IFa- 
 verleij^nd Rob Roy drank to Nicol Jarvie, 
 it would be received with that degree of 
 applause to which that gentleman had al- 
 ways been accustomed, and that they would 
 lake care that, on the present occasion, it 
 should be prodigious ! (Long and vehe- 
 ment applau.ie.) 
 
 Mr. Mackay, who spoke with great hu- 
 mour in the character of Bailie Jarvie. — 
 " My conscience ! My worthy father, the 
 Deacon, could not have believed that his 
 son could hae had sic a compliment paid 
 to him by the Great Unknown." 
 
 Sir Walter Scoit. — '■^ Not unknoivn 
 noiv, Mr. Bailie." 
 
 i^fter this avowal, numerous toasts were 
 duly honoured ; and on the proposal of 
 " the health of Mrs. Siddons, senior, the 
 most distinguished ornament of the stage," 
 Sir Walter Scott said, that if any thing 
 could reconcile him to old age, it was the 
 reflection that he had seen the rising as well 
 as the setting sun of Mrs Siddons. He 
 remembered well their breakfasting near 
 to the theatre — waiting the whole day — 
 the crushing at the doors at six o'clock — 
 and their going in and counting their fin- 
 gers till seven o'clock. But the very first 
 step — the very first word which she uttered, 
 was sufficient to overpay him ibr all his 
 labours. The house was literally electrified ; 
 and it was only from witnessing the effects 
 of her genius, that he could guess to what 
 a pitch theatrical excellence could be car- 
 ried. Those young fellows who had only 
 seen the seltini? sun of this distnisuished 
 performer, beautiful and serene as that was. 
 must give the old fellows who had seen its 
 rise leave to hold their heads a little higher. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott subsequently gave 
 " Scotland, the Land of Cakes." He would 
 give every river, every loch, every hiil, from 
 Tweed to Johnnie Groat's house — every 
 lass in her cottage, and countess in her 
 castle ; and may her sons stand by her, as 
 their fathers did before them, and he who 
 would not drink a bumper to his toast, may 
 ne never drink whiskey more. 
 
 Mr. H. G. Bell proposed the health of 
 "James Sneridan Knowles." 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. — Gentlemen,! crave 
 a bumper all over. The last toast reminds 
 me of a neglect of duty. Unaccustomeo lo 
 a Dublic dutv of this kind, errors in con- 
 
 ducting the ceremonial of it may be excused, 
 
 and omissions pardoned. Perhaps I have 
 made one or two omissions in the course ol 
 the evening, for which I trust you will grant 
 me your pardon and indulgence. One 
 thing in particular I have omitted, and I 
 would now wish to make amends for it bj 
 a libation of reverence and respect to the 
 memory of Shakspeare. He was a man oi 
 universal genius, and from a period sjon 
 after his own era to the present day, he has 
 been uni/eisally idolized. When I comt 
 to his honoured name, I am like the sick 
 man who hung up his crutches at the shrine, 
 and was obliged to confess that he did not 
 walk better than before. It is indeed ditii. 
 cult, gentlemen, to compare him to any 
 other individual. The only one to whom 
 I can at all compare him, is the wonderful 
 Arabian dervise, who dived into the body 
 of each, and in that way became familiar 
 with the thoughts and secrets of their 
 hearts. He was a man of obscure origin, 
 and as a player, limited in his acquirements; 
 but he was born evidently with a universal 
 genius. His eyes glanced at all the varied 
 aspects of life, and his fancy portrayed with 
 equal talents the king on the throne, and 
 the clown who crackled his chestnuts at a 
 Christmas fire. Whatever note lie took, 
 he struck it just and true, and awakened a 
 corresponding chord in our own bosoms. 
 Gentlemen, I propose " The memory oi 
 William Shakspeare." 
 
 Glee- " Lightly tread his hallovred 
 ground." 
 
 Sir Walter rose after the glee, and 
 begged to propose as a toast the health 
 of a lady whose living merits were not a 
 little honourable to Scotland. This toast 
 (said he) is also flattering to the national 
 vanity of a Scotchman, as the lady whom I 
 intend to propose is a native of this coun 
 try. From the public her works have met 
 with the most favourable reception. One 
 piece of hers, in particular, was often acted 
 here of late years, and gave pleasure of no 
 mean kind to many brilliant and fashion- 
 able audiences. In her private character, 
 she (he begged leave to say) was as remark- 
 able as in a public sense she was for he' 
 genius. In short, he would, in one word, 
 name — " Joanna Baillie." 
 
 Towards the close of the evening, Sir 
 Walter observed : — There is one who 
 ought to be remembered on this occasion. 
 He is indeed well entitled tc our great 
 recollection — one, in short, tc whom the 
 drama in this city owes much. He suc- 
 ceeded, not without trouble, and perbap 
 ui some considerable sacrifice, in organiz- 
 
 156 
 
THE TABLE BOOK., 
 
 ing a theatre. The younger part of the 
 company may not recollect the theatre to 
 which I allude ; but there are some who 
 with me may remember, by name, the the- 
 atre in Carrubber's-close. There Allan 
 Ramsay established his little theatre. His 
 own pastoral was not fit for the stage, but 
 t has its own admirers in those who love 
 the Doric language in which it is written ; 
 and it is not without merits of a very pecu- 
 liar kind. But, laying aside all considera- 
 tions of his literary merit, Allan was a good, 
 jovial, honest fellow, who could crack a 
 bottle with the best. " The memory of 
 Allan Ramsay." 
 
 Mr. P. Robertson. — I feel that I am 
 about to tread on ticklish ground. The 
 talk is of a new theatre, and a bill may be 
 presented for its erection, saving always, 
 and provided the expenses be defrayed and 
 carried through, provided always it be not 
 opposed. Bereford-park, oi some such 
 place, might be selected, provided always 
 due notice was given, and so we might 
 have a playhouse, as it were, by possibility. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. — Wherever the new 
 theatre is built, I hope it will not be large. 
 There are two errors which we commonly 
 commit — the one arising from our pride, 
 the other from our poverty. If there are 
 twelve plans, it is odds but the largest, 
 without any regaid to comfort, or an eye to 
 the probable expense, is adopted. There 
 was the college projected on this scale, and 
 undertaken in the same manner, and who 
 shall see the end of it? It has been build- 
 ing all my life, and may probably last 
 during the lives of my children, and my 
 children's children. Let it not be said 
 when we commence a new theatre, as was 
 said on the occasion of laying the founda- 
 tion-stone of a certain building, " Behold 
 the endless work begun." Play-going folks 
 should attend somewhat to convenience. 
 The new theatre should, in the first place, 
 be such as may be finished in eighteen 
 months or two years ; and, in the second 
 place, it should be one in which we can 
 hear our old friends with comfort. It is 
 better that a theatre should be crowded now 
 and then, than to have a large theatre, 
 with benches continually empty, to the 
 discotiragement of the actors, and the dis- 
 comfort of the speclatois. 
 
 Sir Walter immediately afterwards said, 
 " Gentlemen, it is now wearing late, and I 
 shall request permission to retiie. Like 
 Partridge, I may say, ' hoh. sum (jnaUs erum.' 
 At my time of day, I can agree with Lord 
 Osrleby, as to the rheumatism, and say, 
 "There's a twinge.' I hope, therefore, you 
 
 will excuse me for leaving the chair."— ' 
 (The worthy baronet then retired amidst 
 long, loud, and rapturous cheering.J 1 
 
 These extracts* contain the substance oi 
 Sir Walter Scott's speeches on this memo-! 
 rable occasion. His allusions to actors and 
 the drama are, of themselves, important ; 
 but his avowal of himself as the author of 
 the " Waverley Novels," is a fact of pecu- 
 liar interest in literary history. Particular 
 circumstances, however, had made known 
 the " Great Unknown " to several persons 
 in London some months previously, though 
 the fact had not by any means been gene 
 rally circulated. 
 
 lot iBeafe. 
 
 POWELL, THE FIRE-EATER. 
 
 " Oh ! for a muse oijire !" 
 
 One fire burns out another burning. 
 The jack-puddings who swallow flame at 
 *' the only booth " in every fair, have ex- 
 tinguished remembrance of Powell the fire- 
 eater — a man so famous in his own day, 
 that his name still lives. Though no jour- 
 nal records the time of his death, no line 
 eulogizes his memory, no stone marks his 
 burial-place, there are two articles written 
 during his lifetime, which, being noticed 
 here, may " help his fame along " a little 
 further. Of the first, by a correspondent 
 of Sylvanus Urban, the following is a suffi- 
 cient abstract. 
 
 Ashbour7i, Derbyshire, Jan. 20, 1755 
 
 Last spring, Mr.. Powell, the famous fire- 
 eater, did us the honour of a visit at this 
 town; and, as he set forth in his printed 
 bills, that he had shown away not only be- 
 fore most of the crowned heads in Europe, 
 but even before the Royal Society of Lon- 
 don, and was dignified with a curious and 
 very ample silver medal, which, he said, was 
 bestowed on him by that learned body, as 
 a testimony of their approbation, for eating 
 what nobody else could eat, I was prevailed 
 upon, at the importunity of some friends, 
 to go and see a sight, that so many great 
 kings and philosophers had rot thought 
 below iheir notice. And, I confess, though 
 neither a superstitious nor an incurious 
 man, I was not a little astonished at his 
 wonderful performances in the fire-eating 
 way. 
 
 * From the report of the " Edinburgh Kyening Cou- 
 rant" of Saturday, 24th Feb. 1827; in "The Sta 
 of the Tuesday following. 
 
 157 
 
THE TABLE BOOIL 
 
 After many restless days and nights, and 
 he profoundest researches into the nature 
 jf things, I almost despaired of accounting 
 for the strange phenomenon of a human 
 and perishable creature eating red hot coals, 
 taken indiscriminately out of a large fire, 
 oroiling steaks upon his tongue, shallowing 
 huge draughts of liquid fire as greedily as 
 i country squire does roast beef and strong 
 beer. Thought I to myself, how can that 
 element, which we are told is ultimately to 
 devour all things, be devoured itself, as 
 familiar diet, by a mortal man ? — Here I 
 stuck, and here I might have stuck, if I 
 had not met with the following anecdote 
 by M. Panthot, doctor of physic and mem- 
 ber of the college of Lyons : — 
 
 " The secret of fire -eating was made 
 public by a servant to one Richardson, an 
 Englishman, who showed it in France about 
 the year 1667, and was the first performer 
 of the kind that ever appeared in Europe, 
 [t consists only in rubbing the hands, and 
 thoroughly washing the mouth, lips, tongue, 
 teeth, and other parts that are to touch the 
 Sre, with pure spirit of sulphur. This burns 
 and cauterizes the epidermis, or upper skin, 
 till it becomes as hard as thick leather, and 
 every time the experiment is tried it be- 
 comes sliU easier than before. But if, after 
 It has been very often repeated, the upper 
 skin should grow so callous and horny as 
 to become troublesome, washing the parts 
 affected with very warm water, or hot wine, 
 will bring away all the shrivelled or parched 
 epidermis. The flesh, however, will con- 
 tinue tender and unfit for such business till 
 it has been frequently rubbed over again 
 with the same spLiit. 
 
 " This preparative may be rendered 
 much stronger and more efficacious, by 
 mixing equal quantities of spirit of sulphur, 
 sal ammoniac, essence ot rosemary, and 
 juice of onions. 
 
 " The bad effects which frequently swal- 
 lowing red-hot coals, melted sealing wax, 
 rosin, brimstone, and other calcined and 
 inflammable matter, might have had upon 
 his stomach, were prevented by drinking 
 plentifully of warm water and oil, as soon 
 as he left the company, till he had vomited 
 all up again." 
 
 My author further adds, that any person 
 who is possessed of this secret, may safely 
 walk over burning coals, or red-hot plough- 
 shares ; and he fortifies his assertion by the 
 example of blacksmiths and forgemen, 
 many of whom acquire such a degree of 
 callosity, by often handling hot things, 
 that they will carry a glowing bar of iron 
 .n their naked hands, without hurt. 
 
 Whether Mr. Powell will take it Liuu/v 
 of me thus to have published his secret, 'l 
 cannot tell; but as he now begins to dro]i 
 into years, has no children that I know c f 
 and may die suddenly, or without making 
 a will, 1 think it is a great pity so genteel 
 an occupation should become one of the 
 artes perd'itce, as possibly it may, if proper 
 care is not taken ; and therefore hope, after 
 this information, some true-hearted English 
 man will take it up again for the honour of 
 his country, when he reads in the news- 
 papers, Yesterday died, much lamented, the 
 famous Mr. Powell. He ivas the best, if 
 not the only fire-eater in this ivorld, and it 
 is greatly to be feared his art is dead with 
 him. 
 
 Notwithstanding the preceding disclosure 
 of Powell's " grand secret," he continued 
 to maintain his good name and reputation 
 till after Dr. Johnson was pensioned, in the 
 year 1762. We are assured of the fact by 
 the internal evidence of the following ar 
 tide, preserved by a collector of odd things, 
 who obtained it he knew not how : — 
 
 Genius unrewarded. 
 
 We have been lately honoured with the 
 presence of the celebrated Mr. Powell, 
 who, I suppose, must formerly have existed 
 in a comet ; and by one of those unfore- 
 seen accidents which sometimes happen to 
 the most exalted characters, has dropped 
 from its tail. 
 
 His common food is brimstone and fire, 
 which he licks up as eagerly as a hungry 
 peasant would a mess of pottage ; he feeds 
 on this extraordinary diet before princes 
 and peers, to their infinite satisfaction ; and 
 such is his passion for this terrible element, 
 that if he were to come hungry into yonr 
 kitchen, while a sirloin was roasting, he 
 would eat up the fire, and leave the beef. 
 
 It is somewhat surprising, that the friends 
 of real merit have not yet promoted him, 
 living, as we do, in an age favourable to 
 men of genius : Mr. Johnson has been re- 
 warded with a pension for writing, and 
 Mr. Sheridan for speaking well; but Mr. 
 Powell, who eats well, has not yet been 
 noticed by any administration. Obhged to 
 wander from place to place, instead oi 
 indulging himself in private with his fa- 
 vourite dish, he is under the uncomfortable 
 necessity of eating in public, and helping 
 himself from the kitchen fire of some paltry 
 alehouse in the country. 
 
 O tempora ! O mores ! * 
 
 • Louneer's ComuKm Place Book 
 
 15S 
 
 I 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 MAECH FAIR, AT BROUGH, WESTMORELAND. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 This fair is held always on the second 
 Thursday in March : it is a good one for 
 eaith:;; and, in consequence of the great 
 show, the inhabitants are obliged to shut 
 up their windows; for the catile and the 
 drivers are stationed in all parts of the 
 town, aiid few except the jobbers venture 
 out during the time of selling. 
 
 From five to six o'clock the preceding 
 evening, carts, chiefly belonging to Yorli- 
 sliire clothiers, begin to arrive, and con- 
 tinue coming in until the morning, when, 
 ac about eight or nine, the cattle fair be- 
 gins, and lasts till three in the afterndon. 
 Previously to any article being sold, the 
 fair is proclaimed in a manner depicted 
 tolerably well in the preceding sketch, j* t 
 ten, two individuals, named Matthew Horn 
 
 and John Deighton, having furnished them- 
 selves with a fiddle and clarinet, walk 
 thruugh the different avenues of the to^^n 
 three times, playing, as they walk, chiefly 
 " God save the King ;" . t the end of this, 
 some ver.-es are repeated, which 1 have not 
 the pleasure of recollecting ; but 1 well re- 
 member, that thereby the venders are au- 
 thcirized to commence selling. After it is 
 reported thruugh the different stalls that 
 " they've walked the fair," business usually 
 commences in a very brisk maimer 
 
 Mat. Horn has the best cake booth in the 
 fair, and takes a considerable deal more 
 money than any "spice wife,' (as women 
 c-re called who attend to these dainties ) 
 Jack Deighton is a shoemaker, and a tole- 
 rably good musician. Coals are also 
 brought for sale, which, with cattle, mainly 
 constitute the morning fair. 
 
 \ cL. iL^. 
 
 159 
 
 M 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 At the close of the cattle fair, the town is 
 swept clean, and lasses walk about with their 
 " sweethearts," and the fair puts on another 
 appearance. "Cheap John's here the day," 
 with his knives, combs, bracelets, &c. &c. 
 The " great Tom Mathews,'' with his gal- 
 lanty show, generally contrives to pick up 
 a pretty bit of money by his droll ways. 
 Then " Here's spice Harry, gingerbread, 
 Harry^ — Harry— Harry I" from Richmond, 
 with his five-and-twenty lumps of ginger- 
 bread for sixpence. Harry stands in a 
 cart, with his boxes of " spice " beside him, 
 attracting the general attention of the whole 
 fair, (though he is seldomer here than at 
 Brough-hill fair.) There are afew shows, viz. 
 Scott's sleight of hand, horse performances, 
 &c. &.C. ; and, considering the size of the 
 town, it has really a very merry:-spent fair. 
 At six o'clock dancing begins in nearly all 
 the public-houses, and lasts the whole of 
 " a merry neet." 
 
 Jack Deighton mostly plays at the 
 greatest dance, namely, at the Swan inn ; 
 and his companion, Horn, at one of the 
 others ; the dances are merely jigs, three 
 reels, and four reels, and country dances, 
 and no more than three sets can dance at a 
 time. It is a matter of course to give the 
 fiddler a penny or two-pence each dance ; 
 sometimes however another set slips in 
 after the tune's begun, and thus trick the 
 player. By this time nearly all the stalls 
 are cleared away, and the " merry neet " is 
 the only place to resort to for amusement. 
 The fiddle and clarinet are to be heard 
 every where ; and it is astonishing what 
 money is taken by the fiddlers. Some of 
 the " spice wives," too, stop till the next 
 morning, and go round with their cakes at 
 intervals, which they often sell more of than 
 before. 
 
 At this festival at Brough, the husband- 
 men have holiday, and many get so tipsy 
 that they are frequently turned off from 
 their masters. Several of the " spice 
 wives " ;inove away in the afternoon to 
 Kirby Stephen, where there is a very large 
 fair, better suited to their trade, for it com- 
 mences on the day ensuing. Unfortunately, 
 I. was never present at the proclamation. 
 From what I saw, I presume it is in con- 
 sequence of a charter, and that these people 
 offer their services that the fair-keepers may 
 commence selling their articles sooner. I 
 never heard of their being paid for their 
 trouble. They are constantly attended by 
 a crowd of people, who get on the carts 
 and booths, and, at the end, set up a loud 
 '♦ huzza !" 
 
 W H. H. 
 
 THE TWELVE GEMS 
 
 Of the Twelve Months. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 It is a Polish superstition, that eacli 
 month has a particular gem attached to it, 
 which governs it, and is supposed to influ- 
 ence the destiny of persons born in that 
 month; it is therefore customary among 
 friends, and lovers particularly, to present 
 each other, on their natal day, with some 
 trinket containing their tutelary gem, ac- 
 companied with its appropriate wish ; this 
 kind fate, or perhaps kinder fancy, gene- 
 rally contrives to realize according to their 
 expectations. 
 
 January. 
 
 Jacinth, or Garnet denotes constancy and 
 fidelity in every engagement. 
 
 February. 
 Amethyst preserves mortals from strong 
 passions, and ensures peace of mind. 
 
 March. 
 Bloodstone denotes courage and secrecy 
 in dangerous enterprises. 
 
 April. 
 
 Sapphire, or D/a/nonrf denotes repentance 
 and innocence. 
 
 May. 
 Emeraldj successive love. 
 
 June. 
 Agate ensures long life and health. 
 
 July. 
 Ruby, or Cornelian ensures the forgetful- 
 ness or cure of evils springing from friend- 
 ship or love. 
 
 August. 
 Sardonix ensures conjugal felicity. 
 
 September. 
 Chrysolite preserves from, or cures folly. 
 
 October. 
 Aquamarine, or Opal denotes misfortune 
 and hope. 
 
 November. 
 
 Tvpa^ ensures fidelity and friendship. 
 
 December. 
 Turquoise, or Ma/acAtVe denotes the most 
 brilliant success and happiness in every 
 circumstance of life. 
 
 E. M. S- 
 
 160 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 #arrufe ^h]}^- 
 
 No. VIII. 
 
 [From the "Game at Chess," a Comedy, 
 by Thomas Middlelon, 1624.] 
 
 Popish Priest to a great Court Lady, 
 whom he hopes to make a Convert of. 
 
 Let me eoctemplate , 
 
 With holy wonder season my access, 
 
 And by degrees approach the sanctuary 
 
 Of unmatch'd beauty, set in grace and goodness. 
 
 Amongst the daughters of men I have not found 
 
 k more Catholical aspect. That eye 
 
 Doth promise single life, and meek obedience. 
 
 Upon those lips (the sweet fresh buds of youth) 
 
 The holy dew of prayer lies, like pearl 
 
 Dropt from the opening eyelids of the mora 
 
 Upon the bashful rose. How beauteously 
 
 A gentle fast (not rigorously imposed) 
 
 Would look upon that cheek ; and how delightful 
 
 The courteous physic of a tender penance, 
 
 (Whose utmost cruelty should not exceed 
 
 The first fear of a bride), to beat down frailty ! 
 
 {"From the "Virgin Widow," a Comedy, 
 1649 ; the only production, in that kind, 
 of Francis Quarles, Author of the Em- 
 blems.] 
 
 Song. 
 
 How blest are they that waste their weary hours 
 
 In solemn groves and solitary bowers. 
 
 Where neither eye nor ear 
 
 Can see or hear 
 
 The frantic mirth 
 
 And false delights of frolic earth ; 
 
 Where they may sit, and pant. 
 
 And breathe their pursy souls ; 
 
 Where neither grief consumes, nor griping .want 
 
 Afflicts, nor sullen care controuls. 
 
 Away, false joys ; ye murther where ye kiss : 
 
 There is no heaven to that, no life to this. 
 
 [From " Adrasta," a Tragi -comedy, by 
 John Jones, 1635.] 
 
 Dirge. 
 
 Die, die, ah die ! 
 
 We all must die : 
 
 'Tis Fate's decree ; 
 
 Then ask not why. 
 
 When we were framed, the Fates consnltedly 
 
 Did make this law, that aU things bom should die. 
 
 Yet Nature strove. 
 
 And did deny 
 
 We should be slaves 
 
 To Destiny. 
 
 At which, they heapt 
 
 Sach misery 
 
 That Nature's self 
 
 Did wish to die : 
 
 And thamk their goodness, that they would foresca 
 
 To end our cares with snch a mild decree. 
 
 Another 
 
 Come, Lovers, bnng your cares. 
 Bring sigh-perfumed sweets ; 
 Bedew the grave with tears. 
 Where Death with Virtue meets 
 Sigh for the hapless hour, 
 Tliat knit two hearts in one ; 
 And only gave Love power 
 To die, when 'twas begun. 
 
 [From " Tancred and Gismund," acted be 
 fore the Court by the Gentlemen of the 
 Inner Temple, 1591.] 
 
 A Messenger brings to Gismund a cup 
 from the King her Father, enclosing the 
 heart of her Lord, whom she had espoused 
 ivithout his sanction. 
 
 Mess. Thy father, O Queen, here in this cup hat! 
 sent 
 The thing to joy and comfort thee withal. 
 Which thou lovedst best: ev'n as thou wast content 
 To comfort him with his best joy of all. 
 
 Ois. I thank my father, and thee, gentle Squire , 
 For this thy travail.; take thou for thy pains 
 This bracelet, and commend me to the King. 
 » « * * 
 
 So, now is come the long-expected hour. 
 The fatal hour I have so looked for. 
 Now hath my father satisfied his thirst 
 With guiltless blood, which he so coveted. 
 What brings this cup? aye me, I thought no less , 
 It is my Earl's, my County's pierced heart 
 Dear heart, too dearly hast thou bought my love 
 Extremely rated at too high a price. 
 Ah iny dear heart, sweet wast thou in thy life. 
 But in thy death thou provest passing sweet. 
 A fitter hearse than this of beaten gold 
 Could not be lotted to so good a heart. 
 My father therefore well provided thus 
 To close and wrap thee up in massy guld 
 And therewithal to send thee unto me. 
 To whom of duty thou dost best belong. 
 My father hath in all his life bewrayed 
 A princely care and tender love to me 
 But this surpasseth, in his latter days 
 To send me this mine own dear heart to me. 
 Wert not thou mine, dear heart, whilst that my lov« 
 Dauced and play'd upon thy golden strings ? 
 Art thou not mine, dear heart, now that my love 
 Is fled to heaven, and got him golden wings ? 
 Thou art mine own, and still mine own shall be 
 Therefore my father sendeth thee to me. 
 Ah pleasant harbourer of my heart's thought 1 
 Ah sweet delight, the qnickener of my soul I 
 Seven times accorsed be the hand that wronitM 
 
 161 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Thfee this despite, to mangle thee so foul 
 Yet ID this wound I see my own true love, 
 And in this wound thy magnanimity. 
 And in this wound I see thy constancy. 
 do, gentle heart, go rest thee in thy tomb ; 
 Receive this token as thy last farewell. 
 
 She hisseth it. 
 Thy own true heart anon will follow thee. 
 Which panting hasteth for thy company. 
 Thus hast thou run, poor heart, thy mortal race, 
 And rid thy life from fickle fortune's snares, 
 Thus hast thou lost this world and worldly cares. 
 And of thy foe, to honour thee withal, 
 Recelv'd a golden grave to thy desert. 
 Nothing doth wajit to thy just funeral, 
 But my salt tears to wash thy bloody wound ; 
 Which to the end thou mightst receive, behold. 
 My father sends thee in this cup of gold : 
 A.nd thou shalt have them ; though I was resolved 
 To shed no tears ; but with a cheerful face 
 Once did I think to wet thy funeral 
 Only with blood, and with no weeping eye. 
 This done, my soul forthwith shall fly to thee ; 
 For therefore did my father send thee me. 
 
 Nearly a century after the date of this 
 Drartia, Dryden produced his admirable 
 version of the same story from Boccacio. 
 The speech here extracted may be compared 
 with the corresponding passage in the Si- 
 a;ismonda and Guiscardo, with no disad- 
 vantage to the elder performance. It is 
 quite as weighty, as poir:ted, at:d as pas- 
 sionate. 
 
 C.L. 
 
 THE DEAN OF BAUAJOS. 
 By the Abbe Blanchet. 
 
 The dean of the cathedral of Badajos 
 ovas more learned than all the doctors of 
 Salamanca, Coimbra, and Alcala, united ; 
 lie understood all languages, living and 
 dead, and was perfect master of every 
 science divine and human, except that, 
 unfortunately, he had no knowledge of 
 mao-ic. He was inconsolable when he re- 
 riected on his ignorance in that sublime 
 art, till he was told that a very able ma- 
 gician resided in the suburbs of Toledo, 
 named don Torribio. He immediately 
 saddled his mule, departed for Toledo, and 
 alighted at the door of no very superb 
 dwelling, the habitation of that great man. 
 
 " Most reverend magician," said he, 
 addressing himself to tiig sage, " I am 
 che dean of Badajos. The learned men of 
 Spain ail allow me to be their superior; 
 
 but I am come to request from you a much 
 greater honour, that of becoming your 
 pupii. Deign to initiate me in the mys- 
 teries of your art, and doubt not but jou 
 shall receive a grateful acknowledgment, 
 suitable to the benefit conferred, and youi 
 own extraordinary merit." 
 
 Don Torribio was not very polite, thoucrb 
 he valued himself on being intimately ac- 
 quainted with the highest company below. 
 He told the dean he was welcome to seek 
 elsewhere for a master; for that, for his 
 part, he was weary of an occupation which 
 produced nothing but compliments and 
 promises, and that he should but dishonour 
 the occult sciences by prostituting them to 
 the ungrateful. 
 
 " To the ungrateful !" exclaimed the dean : 
 " has then the great don Torribio met 
 with persons who have proved ungrateful? 
 And can he so far mistake me as to rank 
 me with such monsters?" He then repeated 
 all the maxims and apophthegms which he 
 had read on the subject of gratitude, and 
 every refined sentiment bis memory could 
 furnish. In short, he talked so well, that 
 the conjuror, after having considered a 
 moment, confessed he could refuse nothing 
 to a man of such abilities, and so ready at 
 pertinent quotations. 
 
 " Jacintha," said don Torribio to his old 
 woman, " lay down two partridges to the 
 fire. I hope my friend the dean will do 
 me the honour to sup with me to night." 
 At the same time he took him by the hand 
 and led him into the cabinet ; when here, he 
 touched his forehead, uttering three mys- 
 terious words, which the reader will please 
 to remember, " Oriobolan, Pistufrier, 
 Onagriouf." Then, without further pre- 
 paration, he began to explain, with all 
 possible perspicuity, the introductory ele-i 
 inents of his profound science. The new i 
 disciple listened with an attention which 
 scarcely peimitted him to breathe; when, 
 on a sudden, Jacintha entered, followed by 
 a little old man in monstrous boots, and , 
 covered with mud up to the neck, who 
 desired to speak with the dean on very 
 important business. This was the postilion 
 of his uncle, the bishop of Badajos, who 
 had been sent express after him, and wno 
 had galloped without ceasing quite to 
 Toledo, before he could overtake him. He 
 came to bring him information that, some 
 hours after his departure, his grace had 
 been attacked by so violent an apoplexy 
 that the most terrible consequences were 
 to be apprehended. The dean heartily, 
 that is inwardly, (so as to occasion no 
 scandal,) execrated the disorder, the patient 
 
 162 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 and tlie coxiri^r, wno had certainly all three 
 chosen the most impertinent time possible. 
 He dismissed the postilion, bidding him 
 make haste back to Badajos, whither he 
 would presently follow him ; and instantly 
 returned to his lesson, as if there were 
 BO such things as either uncles or apo- 
 plexies. 
 
 A few days afterwards the dean again 
 received news^ from Badajos : but this was 
 worth hearing. The principal chanter, and 
 two old canons, came to inform him that his- 
 uncle, the right reverend bishop, had 
 been taken to heaven to receive the reward 
 of his piety ; and the chapter, canonically 
 assembled, had chosen him to fill the vacant 
 bishopric, and humbly requested he would 
 console, by his presence, the afflicted church 
 of Badajos, now become his spiritual bride. 
 
 Don Torribio, who was present at this 
 harangue, endeavoured to derive advantage 
 from what he had learned ; and taking 
 aside the new bishop, after naving paid 
 him a well-turned compliment on his pro- 
 motion, proceeded to inform him that he 
 had a son, named Benjamin, possessed of 
 much ingenuity, and good inclination, but 
 in whom he liad nnver perceived either 
 taste or talent for the occult sciences. He 
 had, therefore, he sai<l, advised him tb turn 
 his thoughts towards the church, and he 
 had now, he thanked heaven, the satisfac- 
 ion to hear him commended as one of the 
 most deserving divines among all the 
 clergy of Toledo. He therefore took the 
 hberty, most humbly, to request his grace 
 to bestow on don Benjamin the deanery of 
 Badajos, which he could not retain together 
 with his bishopric. 
 
 " I am very unfortunate," replied the 
 prelate, apparently somewhat embarrassed ; 
 " you will, I hope, do me the justice to 
 believe that nothing could give me so great 
 a pleasure as to oblige yon in every request ; 
 but the truth is, I have a cousin to whom I 
 am heir, an old ecclesiastic, who is good 
 for nothing but to be a dean, and if I do 
 not bestow on him this benefice, I must 
 embroil myself with my family, which would 
 be far from agreeable. But," continued 
 he, in an affectionate manner, " will you 
 not accompany me to Badajos ? Can you be 
 so cruel as to forsake me at a moment when 
 Jt is in my power to be of service to you ? 
 Be persuaded, my honoured master, we 
 wdl go together. Think of nothing but the 
 improvement of your pupil, and leave me 
 to provide for don Benjamin ; nor doubt, 
 out sooner or later, I will do more for him 
 than you expect. A paltry deanery in the 
 remotest part of Estremadura is not & 
 
 benefice suitable to the soil of stlch a mad 
 as yourself." 
 
 The canon law would; no don.bt, have 
 construed the prelate's offer into simony. 
 The pioposal however was accepted, nor 
 was any scruple made by either of these 
 two very intelligent persons. Don Torribio 
 followed his illustrious pupil to Badajos, 
 where he had an elegant apartment as- 
 signed him in the episcopal palace ; and 
 was treated with the utmost respect by the 
 diocese as the favourite of his grace, and a' 
 kind of grand vicar. Under the tuition of 
 so able a master the bishop of Badajos 
 made a rapid progress in the occult sciences. 
 At first he gave himself up to them, with 
 an ardour which might appear excessive ; 
 but this intemperance grew by degrees 
 more moderate, and he pursued them with 
 so much prudence that his magical studies 
 never interfered with the duties of his 
 diocese. He was well convinced of the 
 truth of a maxim, very important to be 
 remembered by ecclesiastics, whether ad- 
 dicted to sorcery, or only philosophers and 
 adhiirers of literature-^that it is not suffi- 
 cient to assist at learned nocturnal meetings, 
 or adorn the mind with embellishments of 
 human science, but that it is also the duty 
 of divines to point out to others the way 
 to heaven, and plant in the minds of their 
 hearers, wholesome doctrine and Christian 
 morality. Regulating his conduct by these 
 commendable principles, this learned pre- 
 late was celebrated throughout Christendom 
 for his merit and piety : and, "when he 
 least expected such an honour," was pro- 
 moted to the archbishopric of Composlella. 
 The people and clergy of Badajos lamented, 
 as may be supposed, an event by which 
 they were deprived of so worthy a pastor ; 
 and the canons of the cathedral, to testify 
 their respect, unanimously conferred on 
 him the honour of nominating his suc- 
 cessor. 
 
 Don Torribio did not neglect so alluring 
 an opportunity to provide for his son. He 
 requested the bishopric of the new arch- 
 bishop, and was refused with all imaginable 
 politeness. He had, he said, the greatest 
 veneration for his old master, and was both 
 sorry and ashamed it was " not in his 
 power" to grant a thing which appeared so 
 very a trifle, but; in fact, don Ferdinand de 
 Lara, constablfe of Castile, had asked the 
 bishopric for his natural son ; and though 
 he had never seen that nobleman, he had, 
 he said, some secret, important, and what 
 was more, very ancient obligations to him. 
 It was therefore an indispensable duty to 
 prefer an old benefactor to a new one 
 
 163> 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 But don Torribio ought not <o be discou- 
 raged at this proof of his justice ; as he 
 might learn by that, what he had to expect 
 when his turn arrived, which should cer- 
 tainly be the first opportunity. This anec- 
 dote concerning the ancient obligations of 
 the archbishop, the magician had the good- 
 ness to believe, and rejoiced, as much as 
 he was able, that his interests were sacri- 
 ficed to those of don Ferdinand. 
 
 Notlring was now thought of but pre- 
 parations for their departure to Compostella, 
 where they were to reside. These, how- 
 ever, were scarcely worth the trouble, 
 considering the short time they were des- 
 tined to remain there ; for at the end of a 
 few months one of the pope's chamberlains 
 arrived, who brought the archbishop a 
 cardinal's cap, with an epistle conceived in 
 the most respectful terms, in which his 
 holiness invited him to assist, by his 
 counsel, in the government of the Christian 
 world ; permitting him at the same time 
 to dispose of his mitre in favour of whom 
 *ie pleased. Don Torribio was not at 
 Compostella when the courier of the holy 
 father arrived. He had been to see his 
 son, who still continued a priest in a small 
 parish at Toledo. But he presently re- 
 turned, and was not put to the trouble of 
 asking for the vacant archbishopric. The 
 prelate ran to meet him with open arms, 
 " My dear master," said he, " I have two 
 pieces of good news to relate at once. 
 Your disciple is created a cardinal, and 
 your son shall — shortly — ^be advanced to 
 the same dignity. I had intended in the 
 mean time to bestow upon him the arch- 
 oishopric of Compostella, but, unfortunately 
 for him, and for me, my mother, whom we 
 left at Badajos, has, during your absence, 
 written me a cruel letter, by which all my 
 measures have been disconcerted. She will 
 not be pacified unless I appoint for my 
 successor the archdeacon of my former 
 church, don Pablas de Salazar, her in- 
 timate friend and confessor. She tells me 
 it will " occasion her death" if she should 
 not be able to obtain preferment for her 
 dear father in God. Shall I be the death 
 of my mother ?" 
 
 Don Torribio was not a person who 
 could incite or urge his friend to be guilty 
 of parricide, nor did he indulge himself in 
 the least resentment against the mother of 
 the prelate. To say the truth, however, 
 this mother was a good kind of woman, 
 nearly superannuated. She lived quietly 
 with her cat and her maid servant, and 
 -•carceiy knew the name of her confessor. 
 VVas it likely, then, that she had procured 
 
 don Pablas his archbishopric ? Was it noi 
 more than probable that he was indebted 
 for it to a Gallician lady, his cousin, al 
 once devout and handsome, in whose 
 company his grace the archbishop had 
 frequently been edified during his residence 
 at Compostella? Be this as it may, clon 
 Torribio followed his eminence to Rome. 
 Scarcely had he arrived at that city ere the 
 pope died. The conclave met — all the 
 voices of the sacred college were in favour 
 of the Spanish cardinal. Behold him there- 
 fore pope. 
 
 Immediately after the ceremony of his 
 exaltation, don Torribio, admitted to a 
 secret audience, wept with joy while he 
 kissed the feet oi his dear pupil. He 
 modestly represented his long and faithful 
 services, reminded his holiness of those 
 inviolable promises which he had renewed 
 before he entered the conclave, and instead 
 of demanding the vacant hat for don Ben- 
 jamin, finished with most exemplary mo- 
 deration by renouncing every ambitious 
 hope. He and his son, he said, would 
 both esteem themselves too happy if his 
 holiness would bestow on them, together 
 with his benediction, the smallest temporal 
 benefice ; such as an annuity for life, suf- 
 ficient for the few wants of an ecclesiastic 
 and a philosopher. 
 
 During this harangue the sovereign 
 pontiff considered within himself how to 
 dispose of his preceptor. He reflected he 
 was no longer necessary ; that he already 
 knew as much of magic as was sufficient 
 for a pope. After weighing every circum- 
 stance, his holiness concluded that don 
 Torribio was not only an useless, but a 
 troublesome pedant ; and this point deter- 
 mined, he replied in the following words: 
 
 " We have learned, with concern, that 
 under the pretext of cultivating the occult 
 sciences, you maintain a horrible intercourse 
 with the spirit of darkness and deceit ; we 
 therefore exhort you, as a father, to expiate 
 your crime by a repentance proportionable 
 to its enormity. Moreover, we enjoin you 
 to depart from the territories of the church 
 within three days, under penalty of being 
 delivered over to the secular arm, and its 
 merciless flames." 
 
 Don Torribio, without being alarmed, 
 immediately repeated the three mysterious 
 words which the reader was desired to 
 remember ; and going to a window, cried 
 out with all his force, " Jacintha, you need 
 spit but one partridge ; for my friend, the 
 dean, will not sup here to-night." 
 
 This was a thunderbolt to the imaginar) 
 pope. He immediately recovered fioru the 
 
 164 
 
TirE TABLE BOOK 
 
 trance, into which be had been thrown by 
 the three mysterious words. He perceived 
 that, instead of being in the Vatican, he 
 was still at Toledo, in the closet of don 
 Torribio ; and he saw, by the clock, it was 
 not a complete hour since he entered that 
 fatal cabinet, where he had been entertained 
 by such pleasant dreams. 
 
 In that short time the dean of Badajos 
 had imagined himself a magician, a bishop, 
 a cardinal, and a pope ; and he found at 
 last that he was only a dupe and a knave. 
 All was illusion, except the proofs he had 
 given of his deceitful and evil heart. He 
 instantly departed, without speaking a 
 single word, and finding his mule where lie 
 had left her, returned to Badajos. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 " You look but on tlie outside of affairs." 
 
 KlHO Joff?I. 
 
 Jh ! why do we wake from the alchymist's dream 
 To relapse to the visions of Doctor Spurzheira ? 
 And why from the heights of philosoi)hy fall. 
 For the profitless plans of Phrenology Gall ? 
 
 To what do they tend ? 
 
 What interest befriend ? 
 By disclosing all vices, we burn away shame. 
 
 And virtuous endeavour 
 
 Is fruitless for ever. 
 If it lose the reward that self-teaching may claim. 
 
 On their skulls let the cold-blooded theorists seek 
 Indications of soul, which we read on the cheek ; 
 In the glance — in the smile — in the bend of the brow 
 We dare not tell when, arid we cannot tell how. 
 
 More pleasing our task. 
 
 No precepts we a^k ; 
 'Tis the tact, 'tis the instinct, kind Nature has lent. 
 For the guide and direction of sympathy meant. 
 And altho' in our cause no leam'd lecturer proses. 
 We reach the same end, thro' a path strew'd with roses. 
 'Tvvixt the head and the hand, be the contact allow'd, 
 Of the road thro' the eye to the heart we are proud. 
 When we feel like the brutes, like the brutes we may 
 
 show it. 
 But no lumps on the head mark the art'st or poet. 
 The gradations of genius you never can find. 
 Since no matter can mark the refinements of mind. 
 Tis the coarser perceptions alone that you trace. 
 But what swells in the heart must be read in the face. 
 That index of feeling, that key to the soul. 
 No art can disguise, no reserve can control. 
 'Tis the Pha-os of love, tost on oceans of doubt, 
 'Tis the Beal-fire of rage — when good sense puts about. 
 ki the passions may paint it — a heaven or a helL 
 Aid 'tis always a study — not model as well. 
 
 TO THE RHONE 
 For the Table Book 
 
 Thou art like our existence, and thy wavas, 
 
 Illustrious river ! seem the very type 
 Of those events which drive u-i to our graves. 
 
 Or rudely place us in misfortune's gripe ! 
 Thou art an emblem of our changeful stale, 
 
 Smooth when the summer magnifies thy cliariAg, 
 But rough and cheerless when the winds create 
 
 Rebellion, and remorseless winter arms 
 The elements with ruin I In thy course 
 
 The ups and d'owns of fortune we may trace — 
 One wave submitting to another's force. 
 
 The boldest always foremost in the race : 
 And thus it is with life — sometimes its calm 
 Is pregnant with enjoyment's sweetest bahn ; 
 At other times, its tempests drive us down 
 The steep of desolation, while the frown 
 Of malice haunts us, till the friendlier tomb 
 Protects the victim she would fain consume 1 
 
 Upper Park Terrace. 
 
 B. W. R. 
 
 ADVICE. 
 
 Would a man wish to offend his friends. 
 — let him give them advice. 
 
 Would a lover know the surest method 
 by which to lose his mi&tress ? — let hiin 
 give her advice. 
 
 Would a courtier terminate his sove- 
 reign's partiality ? — let him offer advice. 
 
 In short, are we desirous to be univer- 
 sally hated, avoided, and despised, the 
 means are always in our power. — We have 
 but to advise, and the consequences are in- 
 fallible. 
 
 The friendship of two young ladies 
 though apparently founded on the rock o 
 eternal attachment, terminated in the fol- 
 lowing manner: "My dearest girl, I do 
 not think your figure well suited for danc- 
 ing ; and, as a sincere friend of yours, I 
 advise you to refrain from it in future." The 
 other naturally affected by such a mark of 
 sincerity, replied, "1 feel very much obliged 
 to you, my dear, for your advice ; this 
 proof of your friendship demands some re- 
 turn : I would sincerely recommend you 
 to relinquish your singing, as some of your 
 upper notes resemble the melodious squeak- 
 ing of the feline race.'' 
 
 The advice of neither was followed — -the 
 one continued to sing, and the other to 
 dance — and they never met but as ene- 
 mies. 
 
 165 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 TOMMY SLY, OF DURHAM* 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Tommy Sly, whose portrait is above, is 
 ■i well-known eccentric character in the city 
 of Durham, where he has been a resident 
 in the poor-house for a number of years. 
 We know not whether his parents were rich 
 v poor, where he was born, or how he 
 spent his early years — all is alike " a mys- 
 tery ;" and all that can be said of him is, 
 that he is " daft." Exactly in appearance 
 as he is represented in the engravinoj, — 
 e dresses in a coat of many colours, at- 
 fends the neighbouring villages with spice, 
 sometimes parades the streets of Durham 
 with '* pipe-clay for the lasses," and on 
 " gala days" wanders up and down with a 
 cockade in his hat, beating the city drum, 
 which is good-naturedly lent him by the 
 corporation. Tommy, as worthless and 
 insignificant as he seems, is nevertheless 
 
 "put out to use:" his name has often 
 served as a signature to satirical effusions; 
 and at election times he has been occasion- 
 ally employed by the Whigs to take the dis- 
 tinguished lead of some grand Tory proces- 
 sion, and thereby render it ridiculous] and 
 by way of retaliation, he has been hired by 
 the Tories to do the same kind office for 
 the Whigs. He is easily bought or sold, 
 for he will do any thing for a few halfpence. 
 To sum up Tommy's character, we may say 
 with truth, that he is a harmless and in- 
 offensive man; and if the reader of this 
 brief sketch should ever happen to be in 
 Durham, and have a few halfpence to spare, 
 he cannot bestow his charity better than by 
 giving it to the " Gustos Ilotulorum " oi 
 the place — as Mr. Humble once ludicrously 
 called him — poor Tommy Sly. 
 
 Ex DUKELM£^SIS. 
 
 166 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Copograpftp. 
 
 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 
 
 Burial Fees. 
 
 The fallowing particulars from a paper 
 betore me, in the hand-writing of JVlr. 
 Gell, were addressed to his " personal re- 
 presentat/ive" for instz'jcticn, in his absence, 
 during a temporary reitemeiit from official 
 duty in August, 1810. 
 
 Fees 
 
 In the Cloisters - - - - -£19 6 
 If a grave-stone more £4 4 (3 
 
 In the Abbej/ 54 13 
 
 If a grave-stone more 7 7 
 
 Peers, both in the Cloisters and 
 
 Abbey, the degree of rank 
 
 making a difference, Mr Gat- 
 ling had perhaps write to 
 
 Mr. Gell, at post-office, 
 
 Brighton, telling the party 
 
 that it will be under £l50. 
 
 They might, therefore, leave 
 
 that sum, or engage to pay 
 
 Mr. Gell. 
 Mi. Glanvill can tell about the 
 
 decorations. 
 
 Penalty for burying in linen - 2 10 
 
 Always take full particulars of 
 age and death. 
 
 The abbey-church of Westminster may 
 be safely pronounced the most interesting 
 ecclesiastical structure in this kingdom. 
 Considered as a building, its architecture, 
 rich in the varieties of successive ages, and 
 marked by some of the most prominent 
 beauties and peculiarities of the pointed 
 style, affords an extensive field of gratifica- 
 tion to the artist and the antiquary. Rising 
 in solemn magnificence amidst the palaces 
 and dignified structures connected with the 
 seat of imperial government, it forms a 
 distinguishing feature in the metropolis of 
 England. Its history, as connected with a 
 great monastic establishment, immediately 
 under the notice of our ancient monarchs, 
 and much favoured by their patronage, 
 abounds in important and curious particu- 
 lars. 
 
 But this edifice has still a stronger 
 claim to notice — it has been adopted as a 
 national structure, and held forward as an 
 object of national pride. Whilst contem- 
 plating these T7»>oerable walls, or exploring 
 
 the long aisles and enriched chapels, (h« 
 interest is not confined to the customary 
 recollections of sacerdotal pomp : ceremo- 
 nies of more impressive interest, and of the 
 greatest jiublic importance, claim apriority 
 of attention. The grandeur of architectural 
 display in this building is viewed with ad- 
 ditional reverence, when we remember that 
 the same magnificence of effect has imparted 
 increased solemnity to the coronation of 
 our kings, from the era of the Norman 
 conquest. 
 
 At a very early period, this abbey-church 
 was selected as a place of burial for the 
 English' monarchs ; and the antiquary and 
 the sttident of history view their monu- 
 ments as melancholy, but most estimable 
 sources of intelligence and delight. In the 
 vicinity of the ashes of royalty, a grateful 
 and judicious nation has placed the remains 
 of such of her sons as have been most 
 eminent for patriotic worth, for valour, or 
 for talent; and sculptors, almost from the 
 earliest period in which their art was ex- 
 ercised by natives of England, down to the 
 present time, have here exerted their best 
 efforts, in commemoration of those thus: 
 celebrated for virtue, for energy, or for in- 
 tellectual power.* 
 
 ^t IBabiti'sJ ®ap. 
 
 THE LEEK. 
 
 JFritten by William Leathart, Llyrcydd 
 
 Sung at the Second Anniversary of the 
 Society of Undeb Cymry, St. David's 
 Day, i825. 
 
 Air — Pen Rhaia. 
 
 If bards tell true, and hist'ry's pagfe 
 Is right, — why, then, I would engage 
 To tell yru all about the age. 
 
 When Caesar used to speak ; 
 When dandy Britons paintfed, — were 
 Bress'd in the skin of wolf or bear. 
 Or in their own, if none were there, 
 
 Before they wore thk leek. 
 Ere Alfred hung in the highway. 
 His chains of gold by night or day . 
 And never had tl.em stol'n away. 
 
 His subjects were so meek. 
 When wolves they danc'd o'er field aui fen; 
 When austere Druids roasted men; — 
 But that was only now and then. 
 
 Ere Welshmen wore the leek. 
 
 • Mr. Brayley; in Neale's Hist. andAnliq. » West 
 minster Abbey 
 
 167 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 II. 
 
 Like all good things— this could not last. 
 And Saxon gents, as friends, were ask'd, 
 Our Pictish foes to drive them past 
 
 The wall : — then home to seek. 
 Instead of home, the cunning chaps 
 Resolv'd to stop and dish the APs, 
 Now here they are, and in their caps 
 
 To day they wear the leek. 
 Yet tho' our dads, they tumbled out, 
 And put each other to tlie rout. 
 We sons will push the bowl about;; — 
 
 We're here for fun or freak. 
 Let nought but joy within us dwell ; 
 Let mirth and glee each bosom swell ; 
 And bards, in days to come, shall tell, 
 
 How Welsluiien love the leek. 
 
 THE WELSH HARP. 
 
 Mr. Leathart is the author of" fVelsh 
 PenniUioH, with Translations into EngUsh, 
 adapted for singing to the Harp," an 
 eighteenpenny pocket-book of words of 
 ancient and modern melodies in Welsh and 
 English, with a sphiied motto from Mr. 
 Leigh Himt. — " The Ancient Britons had 
 in them the seeds of a great nation even in 
 oar modern sense of the word. They had 
 courage, they had reflection, they had ima- 
 gination. Power at last made a vassal of 
 their prince. There were writers in those 
 limes, harpers, and bards, who made the 
 instinct of that brute faculty turn cruel out 
 of fear. They bequeathed to their country- 
 men the slory of their memories ; they and 
 time together have consecrated their native 
 hills, so' as they never before were conse- 
 crated." 
 
 According to the prefatory dissertation 
 of Mr. Leathart's pleasant little manual, 
 " Pennillion singuig " is the most social 
 relic of ancient minstrelsy in existence. It 
 originated when bard ism flourished in this 
 island ; when the object of its members 
 was to instil moral maxims through the 
 medium of poetry, and the harp was then, 
 as it still iy, tlie instrument to which they 
 chanted. There is evidence of this use of 
 the harp in Cx.^ar and other Latin writers. 
 The bards were jiriest and poet; the harp 
 was their inseparable attribute, and skill in 
 playing on it an indispensable qualification. 
 A knowledge of this instrument was neces- 
 sary, in order to establish a claim to the 
 title of gentleman ; it occupied a place in 
 every mansion ; and every harper was en- 
 titled to valuable privileges. A " Pen- 
 cerdd," or chief of song, and a " Bardd 
 Teulu," or domestic bard, were among the 
 necessary appendages to the king's court. 
 
 The former held his lands free, was stationea 
 by the side of the "judge of the palace," 
 and lodged with the heir presumptive. He 
 was entitled to a fee on the tuition of all 
 minstrels, and to a maiden fee on the mar- 
 riage of a minstrel's daughter. The fine fljr 
 insulting him was six c®ws and eighty 
 pence. The domestic bard also held his 
 land free ; he had a harp from the king, 
 which he was enjoined never to part with; 
 a gold ring from the queen, and a beast out 
 of every spoil. In the palace he sang im- 
 mediately after the chief of song, and in 
 fight at the front of the battle. It is still 
 customaiy for our kings to maintain a Welsh 
 minstrel. 
 
 One of the greatest encouragers of music 
 was Gruffydd ap Cynan, a sovereign ol 
 W ales, who, in the year 1 iGO, summoned a 
 grand congress to revise the laws of min- 
 strelsy, and remedy any abuse that might 
 have crept in. In order that it should be 
 complete, the most celebrated harpers in 
 Ireland were invited to assist, and the re- 
 sult was the establishing the twenty-fout 
 canons of music ; the MS. of which is 
 in the library of the Welsh school, in 
 Gray's Inn-lane. It comprises several tunes 
 not now extant, or rather that cannot be 
 properly deciphered, and a few that are 
 well known at the present day. A tune is 
 likewise there to be found, which a note 
 informs us was usually played before king 
 Arthur, when the salt was laid upon the 
 table ; it is called " Gosteg yr Halen," or 
 the Prelude of the Salt. 
 
 The regulations laid down in the above 
 MS, are curious. A minstrel having en- 
 tered a place of festivity was. not allowed 
 to depart without leave, or to rove about at 
 any time, under the penalty of losing his 
 fees. If he became intoxicated and com- 
 mitted any mischievous trick, he was fined, 
 imprisoned, and divested of his fees for 
 seven years. Only one could attend a 
 person worth ten pounds per annum, or 
 two a person worth twenty pounds per an- 
 num, and so forth. It likewise ordains the 
 gnaiitum of musical knowledge necessary 
 for the taking up of the different degrees, 
 for the obtaining of which three years seems 
 to have been allowed. 
 
 The Welsh harp, or " Telyn,'' consists of 
 three distinct rows of strings, without 
 pedals, and was, till the fifteenth century, 
 strung with hair. The modern Welsh harp 
 has two rows of strings and pedals. 
 
 Giraldus Cambrensis, in his Itinerary, 
 speaking of the musical instruments of the 
 Welsh, Irisli, and Scotch, says, Wales uses 
 the harp, " crwth," and bag-pipes; .Scot- 
 
 1(58 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 lana the harp, " crwth," and drum ; ireland 
 the harp and drum only ; and, of all, Wales 
 only retains her own. 
 
 The " crwth" is upon the same principle 
 as the violin ; it has however six strings, 
 four of which are played upon with a bow, 
 the two outer being struck by the thumb as 
 an accompaniment, or bass; its tone is a 
 mellow tenor, but it is now seldom heard, 
 the last celebrated player having died about 
 forty years since, and with him, says the 
 editor of the Cambrian Register, " most 
 probably the true knowledge of producing 
 its melodious powers." From the player of 
 this instrument is derived a name now 
 common, viz. "Crowther" and " Crowder" 
 (Crwthyr); it may be translated "fiddler," 
 and in this sense it is used by Butler in his 
 Hudibias. 
 
 Within the last few years, the harp has 
 undergone a variety of improvements, and 
 it is now the most fashionable instrument ; 
 yet in Wales it retains its ancient form and 
 triple strings; "it has its imperfections," 
 observes Mr. Parry, " yet it possesses one 
 advantage, and that is its unisons,'' which 
 of course are lost when reduced to a single 
 row. 
 
 There would be much persuasion neces- 
 sary to induce " Cymru " to relinquish her 
 old fashioned " Telyn," so reluctant are a 
 national people to admit of changes. When 
 the violin superseded the " crwth," they 
 could not enjoy the improvement. 
 
 Pennillion chanting consists in singing 
 stanzas, either attached or detached, of 
 various lengths and metre, to any tune 
 which the harper may play ; for it is irre- 
 gular, and in fact not allowable, for any 
 particular one to be chosen. Two, three, 
 or four bars having been played, the singer 
 takes it up, and this is done according as 
 the PenniU, or staHza, may suit; he must 
 end precisely with the strain, he therefore 
 commences in any part he may please. To 
 the stranger it has the appearance of begin- 
 ning in the middle of a line or verse, but 
 this is not the case. Different tunes require 
 a different number of verses to complete it ; 
 sometimes only one, sometimes four or six. 
 It is then taken up by the next, and thus 
 it proceeds through as many as choose to 
 join in the pastime, twice round, and ending 
 with the person that began. 
 
 These convivial harp meetings are gene- 
 rally conducted with great regularity, and 
 are really social ; all sing if they please, or 
 all are silent. To some tunes there are a 
 great number of singers, according to the 
 ingenuity required in adapting Pennillion 
 Vet even this custom is on the deciinp. 
 
 169 
 
 In South Wales, the custom fias lee? 
 long lost; on its demise they encourage ■ 
 song writing and singing, and they are stili 
 accounted the best (without the harp) in 
 the principality. In North Wales sons- 
 singing was hardly known before the tinit- 
 of Huw Morus, in the reign of Charles I , 
 nor is it now so prevalent as in the south. 
 
 In the year 1176, llhys ap GrufTydd 
 held a congress of bards and minstrels ai 
 Aberleifi, in which the North Welsh bard.'- 
 came ofl' as victors in the poetical contest, 
 and the South Welsh were adjudged to 
 excel in the powers of harmony. 
 
 For the encouragement of the harp and 
 Pennillion chanting, a number of institu- 
 tions have lately been formed, and the 
 liberal spirit with which they are conducted 
 will do much towards the object ; amona 
 the principal are the " Cymmrodorion," or 
 Cambrian Societies of Gwynedd, Powys, 
 Dyfed, Gwent, and London ; the " Gwyned- 
 digion," and " Canorion," also in London. 
 The former established so long since a? 
 1771, and the " Undeb Cymry," or United 
 Welshmen, established in 1823, for the 
 same purpose. In all the principal towns 
 of Wales, societies having the same object 
 in view have been formed, among which 
 the "Brecon Minstrelsy Society" is par- 
 ticularly deserving of notice. The harp 
 and Pennillion singing have iit all times 
 come in for their share of encomium by the 
 poets, and are still the theme of many a 
 sonnet in both languages. 
 
 From more than a hundred pieces in Mr. 
 Leathart's " Pennillion," translations of a 
 few pennills, or stanzas, are taken at ran- 
 dom, as specimens of the prevailing senti- 
 ments. 
 
 The man who'loves the sound of harp, 
 
 Of sona^, and ode, and all that's dear, 
 Where angels hold their blest abode. 
 
 Will cherish all that's cherish'd there. 
 But he who loves not tune nor strain. 
 
 Nature to him no love has gii'Bn, 
 You'll see hira while his days remain. 
 
 Hateful both to earth and heaven. 
 
 F?.ir is yon harp, and sweet the song. 
 That strays its tuneful strings along. 
 And would not such a minstrel too. 
 This heart to sweetest music woo ? 
 Sweet IS the bird's melodious lay 
 in summer morn upon the spray. 
 But from my Gweno sweeter far. 
 The notes of friendship after war. 
 
 'Woe to him, whose every bliss 
 Centers in the burthen'd bowl; 
 
 Of all burthens none like thi.s. 
 Sin's .'*ad burthea on the so»l* 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Tit of craft and li« t)i« seeker. 
 Murder, theft, and wantonness. 
 
 Weakens strong men, makes weak weaker. 
 Shrewd men foolish, foolish — less. 
 
 Ah I what avails this golden coat, 
 Orall the warblings of ray throat, 
 
 While I in durance pine ? 
 Give me again what nature gave, 
 'Tis all I ask, 'tis all 1 rave. 
 
 Thee, Liberty divine ! 
 
 To love his language in its pride. 
 To love his land— tW all deride. 
 
 Is a Welshman's ev'ry care. 
 And love those customs, good and ola. 
 Practised by our fathers bold. 
 
 We travel, and each town we pass 
 Gives manners new, which we admire, 
 
 We leave them, then o'er ocean toss'd 
 
 Thro' rough or smooth, to pleasure nigher. 
 
 Still one thought remains behind, 
 
 'Tis home, sweet home, our hearts desire. 
 
 Wild in the woodlands, blithe and free. 
 Dear to the bird is liberty ; 
 Dear to the babe to be caress'd. 
 And fondled on his nurse's breast. 
 Oh I could I but explain to thee 
 How dear is Merion's land to me. 
 
 Low, ye hills, in ocean lie. 
 That hide fair Merion from mine eye. 
 One distant view, oh I let me ta'rf-e. 
 Ere my longing heart shall break. 
 
 Another dress will natnre wear 
 Before again I see my fair; 
 The smiling fields will flowers bring. 
 And on the trees the birds will smg; 
 Bat still one thing unchang'd shall be. 
 That is, dear love, ray heart for thee. 
 
 The original Welsh of these and other 
 translations, with several interesting parti- 
 culars, especially the places of weekly harp- 
 meetings and Pennillion-singing in London, 
 may be found in Mr. Leat'iart's agreeable 
 compendium. 
 
 THE WINTER'S MORN. 
 
 Artist unseen ! that dipt in frozen dew 
 
 Hast on the glittering glass thy pencil laid, 
 Ere from yon sun the transient visions fade. 
 
 Swift let rae trace the forms thy fancy drew ! 
 
 Thy toM'ers and palaces of diamond hue. 
 Rivers and lakes of lucid crystal made. 
 And hung in air hoar trees of branching- shadi, 
 
 Tlist liquid pearl distil : — thy scenes lenew. 
 
 Wliate'er old oards, or later fictions feigc. 
 Of secret grottos underneath the wave. 
 Where nereids roof with spar the amber cave , 
 
 Or bowers of bliss, where sport the fairy traiu. 
 Who frequent by the moonlight wanderer seen 
 Circle with radiant gems the dewy green. 
 
 SoTHEBY. 
 
 MRS. AURELIA SPARR. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Mrs. Aurelia Sparr is a maiden lady, 
 rather past fifty, but fresh and handsome 
 for her age : she has a strong understand- 
 ing, a retentive memory, a vast deal of 
 acquired knowledge, and with all she is the 
 most disagreeable woman breathing. At 
 first she is amusing enough to spend an 
 evening with, for she will tell you anecdotes 
 of all your acquaintance, and season them 
 with a degree of pleasantry, which is not 
 wit, though something like it. But as a 
 jest-book is the most tiresome reading in 
 the world, so is a narrative companion the 
 most wearisome society. What, in short, 
 is conversation worth, if it be not an ema- 
 nation from the heart as well as head ; the 
 result cf sympathy and the alinnent of 
 esteem ? 
 
 Mrs. Aurelia Sparr never sympathized 
 with any body in her life : inexorable to 
 weaknesses of every kind, more especially 
 to those of a tender nature, she is for 
 tver taxing enthusiasm with absurdity, 
 and resolving the ebullition of vivacity into 
 vanity, and the desire to show off. She is 
 equally severe to timidity, which she for 
 ever confounds with imbecility. We are 
 told, that " Gentle dulness ever loved a 
 joke." Now Mrs. Aurelia Sparr is neither 
 gentle nor dull ; it would be a mercy to her 
 hearers if she were either, or both : never- 
 theless, she chuckles with abundant glee 
 over a good story, is by no means particulai 
 as to the admission of unpleasant images 
 and likes it none the worse for being a 
 little gross. But woe to the unlucky wight 
 who ventures any glowing allusion to love 
 and passionate affection in her hearing ' 
 Down come the fulminations of her wrath, 
 and indecency — immorality — serisuality— 
 &c. &c. &c. — are among the mildest of the 
 epithets, or, to keep up the metaphor, (a 
 metaphor, like an actor, should always 
 come in more than once,) the bolts which 
 the tempest of her displeasure hurls down 
 upon its victim. The story of Paul and 
 
 170 
 
THT^ TABLE BOOK. 
 
 \nrginia she looks upon as very improper, 
 Willie the remembrance of some of the 
 letters in Humphrey Clinker dimples her 
 broad face with retrospective enjoyment. 
 
 If pronouns had been tangible things, 
 Mrs. Aurelia Sparr would long ago have 
 worn out the tirst person singular. Her 
 sentences begin as regularly with " I," as 
 the town-crier's address dues with " O yes," 
 or as a French letter ends with " I'assurance 
 des sentimens distingues." While living 
 with another lady in daily and inevitable 
 intercourse, never was she known to say, 
 " We shall see — we shall hear — we can go 
 — we must read." It was always " I, I, 1." 
 la the illusion of her egotism, she once 
 went so far as to make a verbal monopoly 
 of the weather, and exclaimed, on seeint^ 
 the rosy streaks in the evening sky, " I 
 think 1 shall have a fine day to-morrow." 
 If you forget yourself so far, in the queru- 
 lous loquacity of sickness, as to tell her of 
 any ailment, as " My sore-throat is worse 
 than ever to-night " — she does not rejoin, 
 "What will you take?" or "Colds are 
 always worse of an evening, it may be 
 better to-morrow ;" or propose flatmel or 
 gargle, or any other mode of alleviation, 
 like an ordinary person ; no! she flies back 
 from you to herself with the velocity of a 
 coiled-up spring suddenly let go; and says, 
 " I had just such another sore-throat at 
 Leicester ten years ago, I remember it was 
 when I had taken down my chintz bed- 
 curtains to have them washed and glazed " 
 Then conies a mammoth of an episode, 
 huge, shapeless, and bare of all useful mat- 
 ter: telling all she said to the laundress, 
 with the responses of the latter. You are 
 not spared an item of the complete process . 
 first, you are blinded with dust, then soaked 
 in lye, then conies the v/ringing of your 
 imagination and the .calico, then the bitter- 
 ness of the gall to refresh the colours ; then 
 you are extended on the mangle, and may 
 fancy yourself at the court of king Pro- 
 ciustes, or in a rollinif-press. All the while 
 you are wondering how she means to get 
 round to the maiter in question, your soie- 
 throat. — Not she ! she cures no more for 
 your sore-throat than the reviewers do for a 
 book with the title of which they head an 
 aiticle; your complaint was the peg, and 
 ".er discourse the \'oluminous mantle to be 
 iiung on it. Some people talk with others, 
 and they are companions; others a^ their 
 company, and they are declaimers or sati- 
 rists ; other? to their friends, and they are 
 conversationists or gossips, according as 
 they talk of things or persons. Mrs. Aure- 
 lia Spair talks neither to vou, nor with you. 
 
 nor at you. Listen attentively, or show youi 
 weariness by twenty devices of fidgetiness 
 and preoccupation, it is all the same to 
 Mrs. Aurelia Sparr. She talks spontane- 
 ously, from an abstract love of hearing her 
 own voice ; she can no more help talking, 
 than a ball can help rolling down an in- 
 clined plane. She will quarrel with you 
 at dinner, for she is extremely peevish and 
 addicted to growling over her meals; and 
 by no means so nice as to what comes out 
 of her mouth as to what goes into it ; and 
 then, before you can fold your napkin, push 
 back your chair and try to make good youi 
 escape, she begins to lay open the errors, 
 failures, and weaknesses of her oldest and 
 best friends to your cold-blooded inspection, 
 with as little reserve as an old practitioner 
 lecturing over a " subject." Things that no 
 degree of intimacy could justify her in im- 
 parting, she pours forth to a person whom 
 she does not even treat as a friend ; bui 
 talk she must, and she had no other topic 
 at hand. Thus, at the end of a siege, guns 
 are charged with all sorts of rubbish for lack 
 of ammunition. 
 
 Mrs. Aurelia Sparr not only knows al 
 the modern languages, but enough of toe 
 ancient to set up a parson, and every dialect 
 of every county she has ever been in. I'' 
 you ask her the name of any thing, she will 
 give you a polyglot answer ; you may have 
 the satisfaction to know how the citizens oi 
 every town and the peasants of every pro- 
 vince express themselves, on a mailer you 
 may never have occasion to name again 
 But I earnestly recommend you never to 
 ask anything; it is better to go without 
 hearing one thing you do want to hear 
 than to be constrained to hear fifty things 
 that are no more to you than I to Hecuba — 
 not half so much as Hecuba is to me. Mrs. 
 Aurelia Sparr is not easy to deal with ; 
 she looks upon all politeness as affectation, 
 and all affectation as perfidy : she palsies 
 all the courtesies of life by a glum air ol 
 disbelief and dissatisfaction. When on 
 sees nobody else, one forgets that such 
 qualities as urbanity, grace, and benignity 
 exist, and is really obliged to say civil 
 things to one's self, to keep one's hand in. 
 Mrs. Aurelia Sparr is more eminent as a 
 chronicler than as a logician ; some of hei 
 conclusions and deductions are not self- 
 evident. For instance — she interprets a rea- 
 sonable conformity to the dress and man- 
 ners of persons of other countries, while 
 sojourning among them, into " hating one's 
 own country " Command of temper is 
 " an odious. Cold disposition.'' Addres!> 
 and dexterity in female works, what gooi 
 
 171 
 
THE TADJ^Ji BOOK. 
 
 »adies m England term notability, are 
 deemed by her '' frivolous vanity," kc. &.c. 
 'kc. She has learnt chemistry, and she 
 distils vexation and bitterness fro4:n every 
 person and every event — geometry, and 
 she can never measure her deportment to 
 circumstances — algebra, merely to multi- 
 ply the crosses of all whose fate makes them 
 parallel with her — navigation, and she does 
 but tack from one absurdity to another, 
 without making any way — mathematics, 
 and she never calculates how much more 
 agreeable a little good-nature would make 
 her than all her learning — history, and 
 that of her own heart is a blank — per- 
 spective, without ever learning to place self 
 at the " vanishing point" — and all lan- 
 guages, without ever uttering in any one of 
 ^liem a single phrase that could make the 
 eyes of the hearer glisten, or call a glow on 
 the cheek of sympathy. Every body allows 
 tliat Mrs. Aurelia Sparr is very clever — 
 poor, arid praise, what is it worth ? 
 
 Wim. 
 
 EWAllT'S OLD PORT. 
 
 To J. C Y, Esq. 
 
 On ueceiving from him a Presemt of 
 
 A WiME-STRAINER. 1825. 
 
 This life, dear C y,— who can doubt ?— 
 
 Resembles much friend Ewart's * wine ; 
 
 When first the ruby drops flow out, 
 How beautiful, how clear they shine ! 
 
 And thus awhile they keep their tint. 
 So free from ev'n a shade,— that some 
 
 Would smile, did you but dare to hint. 
 That darker drops would ever come. 
 
 But soon, alas, the tide runs short ; — 
 
 Each minute makes the sad truth plainer; 
 
 Till Life, like Ewart's crast-y Port, 
 
 When near its close, requires a strainer. 
 
 This, Friendship, can, alone, supply, — 
 
 Alone can teach the drops to pass. 
 If not with all their rosiest dye. 
 
 At least, unclouded, through the glass. 
 
 Nor, C J, could a boon be mine. 
 
 Of which this heart were fonder, vainer, 
 Than thus, if Life be like old wine, 
 To have thy friendship for its strainer I 
 
 E. 
 • A vender of capital old Port in Swallow-street. 
 
 For many years the goodness of Rlr. 
 Ewart's old Port has been duly appreciated 
 by his private friends. The preceding 
 
 verses, in The Tirnc^ of Monday, (March 5, 
 1827,) have disclosed "the secret," and 
 now, probably, he will " blush to find it 
 fame." The knowledge of his " ruby 
 drops " should be communicated to all wlio 
 find it necessary to " use a little wine for 
 their stomach's sake, and their often infir- 
 mities." Can the information be conveyed 
 in more agreeable lines ? 
 
 A NATURAL COMPLIMENT, 
 
 As the late beautiful duchess of Devon 
 snire was one day stepping out of her car. 
 riage, a dustman, who was accidentally 
 standing by, and was about to regale him- 
 self with his accustomed whiff of tobacco, 
 caught a glance of her countenance, and 
 instantly exclaimed, " Love and bless you, 
 my lady, let me light my pipe in your 
 eyes !" It is said that the duchess was so 
 delighted with this compliment, that she 
 frequently afterwards checked the strain of 
 adulation, which was constantly offered 
 to her charms, by saying, " Oh ! after the 
 dustman's compliment, all others are in- 
 sipid." 
 
 PERSIAN SONG OF HAFIZ. 
 By Sir William Jones. 
 
 Sweet maid, if thou wouldst charm my sight, 
 And bid these arms thy neck infold; 
 That rosy cheek, that lily hand. 
 Would give thy poet more delight 
 Than all Bocara's vaunted gold. 
 Than all the gems of Samarcand. 
 
 Boy ! let yon liquid ruby flow. 
 And bid thy pensive hfart be glad, 
 Whate'er the frowning zealots say ; — 
 Tell them their Eden cannot show 
 A stream so clear as Rocnabad, 
 A bower so sweet as Mosellay. 
 
 O 1 when these fair, perfidious maids. 
 Whose eyes our secret haunts infest, 
 Their dear desttactive charms display;— 
 Eacn glance my tender breast invades, 
 And robs my wounded soul of rest ; 
 As Tartars seize their deotin'd prey. 
 
 In vain with love our bosoms glow • 
 Can all our tears, can all our sighs. 
 New lustre to those charms impart? 
 Can cheeks, where living roses blow. 
 Where nature spreads her richest dyes. 
 Require the borrow'd gloss of art ' 
 
 172 
 
THE TABLE BOOK, 
 
 Speak not of fate : — ah ! cliange the theme. 
 And talk of odours, talk of wine. 
 
 Talk of the flowers that round as bloom :— 
 'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream : 
 To love and joy thy thoughts confine. 
 Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom. 
 Beauty has such resistless power. 
 That ev'n the chaste Egyptian dame 
 Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy ; 
 For her how fatal was the hour, 
 When to the banks of Nilus came 
 A youth so lovely and so coy I 
 But ah, sweet maid ! my counsel hear, — 
 (Youth shall attend when those advise 
 Whom long experience renders sage) 
 While music charms the ravish'd ear ; 
 While sparkling cups delight our eyes. 
 Be gay ; and scorn the frowns of age. 
 \VTiat cruel answer have I heard ! 
 And yet, by heaven, I love thee still : 
 Can aught be cruel from thy lip ? 
 Yet say, how fell that bitter word 
 From lips which streams of sweetness fill. 
 Which nought but drops of honey sip ? 
 Go boldly forth, my simple lay. 
 Whose accents flow with artless ease. 
 Like orient pearls at random strung : 
 Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say; 
 But ! far sweeter, if they please. 
 The nymph for whom these notes are sung. 
 
 » OUR LIVES AND PROPERTIES." 
 By Mr. William Hutton, F. A. S. S. 
 
 If we survey this little world, vast in our 
 idea, but small compared to immensity, we 
 shall find it crusted over with property, 
 fixed and movable. Upon this crusty 
 world subsist animals of various kinds ; 
 one of which, something short of six feet, 
 moves erect, seems the only one without a 
 tail, and takes the lead in the command of 
 this property. Fond of power, and con- 
 scious that possessions give it, he is ever 
 attempting, by force, fraud, or laudable 
 means, to arrive at both. 
 
 Fixed property bears a value according 
 to its situation ; 10,000 acres in a place 
 like London, and its environs, would be an 
 immen<!e fortune, such as no man ever pos- 
 sessed ; while 10,000, in some parts of the 
 globe, though well covered with timber, 
 would not be worth a shilling— no king 
 to govern, no subject to submit, no market 
 to exhibit property, no property to exhibit ; 
 instead of striving to get possession, he 
 would, if cast on the spot, strive to get 
 ftway. Thus assemblages of people mark a 
 place with value 
 
 Movable property is of two sorts ; that 
 wlijch arises from the earth, with the assist- 
 
 ance of man ; and the productions of art, 
 which wholly arise from his labour. A 
 small degree of industry supplies the wants 
 of nature, a little more furnishes the com- 
 forts of life, and a farther proportion affords 
 the luxuries. A man, by labour first re- 
 moves liis own wants, and then, with the 
 overplus of that labour, purchases the 
 labour of another. Thus, by furnishing a 
 hat for the barber, the hatter procures a wig 
 for himself: the tailor, by making a coat 
 for another, is enabled to buy cloth for his 
 own It follows, that the larger the num- 
 ber of people, the more likely to cultivate 
 a spirit of industry ; the greater tliat in- 
 dustry, the g'reater its produce ; conse- 
 quently, the more they supply the calls of 
 others, the more lucrative will be the re- 
 turns to themselves. 
 
 It may be asked, what is the meaning of 
 the word rich ? Some have termed it, a 
 little more than a man has ; others, as 
 much as will content him ; others again, 
 the possession of a certain sum, not very 
 small. Perhaps all are wrong. A man 
 maybe rich, possessed only of one hundred 
 pounds ; he may be poor, possessed of one 
 hundred thousand. He alone is rich 
 whose income is more than he uses. 
 
 Industry, though excellent, will perform 
 but half the work ; she must be assisted by 
 economy ; without this, a ministerial for- 
 tune will be defective. These two quali- 
 ties, separated from each other, like a knife 
 from the handle, are of little use; but, like 
 these, they become valuable when united. 
 Economy without industry will barely ap- 
 pear in a whole coat ; industry without 
 economy will appear in rags. The first is 
 detrimental to the community, by prevent- 
 ing the circulation of property; the last is 
 detrimental to itself. It is a singular re- 
 mark, that even industry is sometimes the 
 way to poverty. Industry, like a new cast 
 guinea, retains its sterling value ; but, like 
 that, it will not pass currently till it receives 
 a sovereign stamp : economy is the stamp 
 which gives it currency. 1 well knew a 
 man who began business with 1500Z. In- 
 dustry seemed the end for which he was 
 made, and in which he wore himself out. 
 While he laboured from four in the morn- 
 ing till eight at night, in the making of 
 gimlets, his family consumed twice his 
 produce. Had he spent less time at the 
 anvil, and more in teaching the lessons of 
 frugality, he might have lived in credit. 
 Thus ttie father was ruined by industry, 
 and his children have, for many ^ears, ap- 
 peared on the parish boois Soni e people 
 are more apt to get than to keev. 
 
 173 
 
THE TAV>UE BOOK. 
 
 Though a man, by his labour, may treat 
 *iimself with many things, yet he seldom 
 grows rich. Riches are generally acquired 
 fay purchasing the labour of others. He 
 who buys the labour of one hundred people, 
 may acquire ten times as much as bj' his 
 own. 
 
 What then has that capricious damsel, 
 Fortune, to do in this chain of argument? 
 Nothing. He who has capacity, attention, 
 and economy, has a fortune within himself. 
 She does not command him, he commands 
 her. 
 
 Having explained the word riches, and 
 pointed out the road to them, let us exa- 
 mine their use. They enable a man with 
 great facility to shake off an old friend, 
 once an equal ; and forbid access to an 
 inferior, except a toad-eater. Sometimes 
 they add to his name, the pretty appendage 
 of Rigiit Honourable, Hart, or Esq. addi- 
 tions much coveted, which, should he hap- 
 pen to become an author, are an easy 
 passport through the gates of fame. His 
 very features seem to take a turn from his 
 fortune, and a curious eye may easily read 
 in his face, the word consequence. They 
 clrange the tone of his voice from the sub- 
 missive to the commanding, in which he 
 well knows how to throw in a few graces. 
 His style is convincing. Money is of sin- 
 gular efficacy ; it clears his head, refines 
 his sense, points his joke. The v/eight of 
 his fortune adds weight to his argument. 
 If, my dear reader, you have been a silent 
 spectator at meetings for public business, 
 or public dinners, you may have observed 
 many a smart thing said unheeded, by the 
 man without money ; and many a paltry 
 one echoed with apphiuse, from tire man 
 with it. The room in silent attention hears 
 one, while the other can scarcely hear him- 
 self. Tliey direct a man to various ways of 
 being carried who is too idle to carry him- 
 self; nay, they invert the order of things, 
 for we often behold two men, who seem 
 hungry, carry one wlio is full fed. Tliey 
 add refinement to his palate, prominence to 
 his front, scarlet to his nose. They fre- 
 quently ward off old age. The ancient 
 rules of moderation being broken, luxury 
 enters in all her pomp, followed by a group 
 of diseases, with a physician in their train, 
 and the rector in his. Phials, prayers, 
 tears, and galley-pots, close the sad scene, 
 and the individual has the honour to rot in 
 state, before old age can advance. His 
 place may be readily supplied with 2l joyful 
 mourner.* 
 
 * History of Birmingham. 
 
 A MUSICAL CRASH. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. B , when residing ai 
 
 Canterbury, was reckoned a good violon- 
 cello player ; but he was not more dis- 
 tinguished for his expression on the instru- 
 ment, than for the peculiar appearance of 
 feature whilst playing it. In the midst of 
 the adagios of Corelli or Avison, the mus- 
 cles of his face sympathised with his fiddle- 
 stick, and kept reciprocal movement. His 
 sight, being dim, obliged him often tosnufi 
 the candles ; andy when he came to a bar's 
 rest, in lieu of snuffers, he generally em- 
 ployed his fingers in that office ; and, lest 
 he should offend the good housewife by 
 this dirty trick, he used to thrust the 
 spoils into the sound-holes of his violoncello. 
 A waggish friend resolved to enjoy him- 
 self " at the pai-son's expense," as he 
 termed it; and, for that purpose, popped 
 a quantity of gunpowder into B.'s instru 
 menl. Others were informed of the trick 
 and of course kept a respectable distance 
 The tea equipage being removed, musK 
 became the order of the evening ; and 
 
 after B had tuned his instrument, and 
 
 drawn his stand near enough to snuff hit 
 candles with ease, feeling himself in the 
 meridian of his glory, he dashed away at 
 
 Vanhall's 47th. B came to a bar'.s 
 
 rest, the candles •^ere snuffed, and he 
 thiust the ignited wick into the usual place; 
 fit frag or, bang went the fiddle to pieces, 
 and there was an end of harmony that 
 evening. 
 
 FASHIONABLE RELIGION. 
 A French gentleman, equall) tenacious 
 of his character for gallantry and devotion, 
 went to hear mass at the chapel of a fa- 
 vourite saint at Paris ; when he came 
 there, he found repairs were doing in the 
 building which prevented the celebration. 
 To show that he had not been defective in 
 his duty and attentions, he pulled out a 
 richly decorated pocket-book, and walking 
 wuh great gravity and many genuflexions 
 up the aisle, very carefully placed a card of 
 his name upon the principal altar. 
 
 A POLITE TOWN. 
 
 Charles II. on passing through Bodmin, 
 is said to have observed, that " this was the 
 politest town he had ever seen, as one half 
 of the houses appeared to be bowing, and 
 the other half uncovered." Since the days 
 of Charles, the houses are altered, but the 
 inhabitants still retain their politeness, 
 especially at elections. 
 
 174 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ANCIENT BEITISH PILLAR, VALLE CRUCIS ABBEY, NORTH WALES. 
 
 Who first uprear'd this venerable stone, 
 And how, by ruthless hands, the column fell, 
 And how again restor'd, I fain would teU. 
 
 A few years apjo, an artist made a water- 
 colour sketch of this monument, as a pic- 
 turesque object, in the romantic vicinage 
 of Llangollen ; from that drawing he per- 
 mitted the present, and the following are 
 some particulars of the interesting me- 
 morial. 
 
 Mr. Penuant, during his " Tour in 
 Wales," entered Merionethshire, " into that 
 portion for ever to be distinguished in the 
 Welsh annals, on account of the heio it 
 produced, who made such a figure in the 
 beginning of the fifteenth century." This 
 tract retains its former title, " Gl^n- 
 dwrdwy," or the valley of the Dee. It 
 
 once belonged to the lords of Dinas Bran. 
 After the murder of the two eldest sons of 
 the last lord, the property had been usurp- 
 ed by the earl of Warren, and that noble- 
 man, who appears to have been seized 
 with remorse for his crime, instead of 
 plunging deeper in guilt, procured from 
 Edward I. a grant of the territory to the 
 third son, from whom the fourth in descent 
 was the celebrated Owen Glyndwr.* 
 
 In this valley, about a quarter of a mile 
 from Valle Crucis Abbey, Mr. Pennant 
 
 * His quarrel with Howel Sale forms an article in 
 the Ecery-Bay Book, vol. il p. 1021—1032. 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 175 
 
 N 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 found tlie present monument. It was 
 thrown from its base, and lay in the hedge 
 of a meadow. He figures it by an engrav- 
 ing of the pillar in an upright position, 
 showing the fracture of the lower part as it 
 then appeared in relation to the square 
 socket-stone, its original supporter. Me. 
 Pennant calls it the "remainder of a round 
 column, perhaps one of the most ancient of 
 any Britib-h inscribed pillar now existing;" 
 and he thus proceeds : — 
 
 " It was entire till the civil wars of the 
 hist century, when it was thrown down and 
 broken, by sorne ignorant fanatics, who 
 thought it had too much the appearance of 
 a cross to be suffered to stand. It probably 
 bore tlie name of one; for the field it lies 
 in is still called ' Llwyn-y-Groes,' or the 
 Grove of the Cross, from the wood that 
 surrounded it. It was erected at so early 
 a period, that there is nothing marvellous 
 if we should perceive a tincture of the old 
 idolatry, or at least of the primeval cus- 
 toms of our country, in the mode of it when 
 perfect. 
 
 "The pillar had never been a cross ; not- 
 withstanding folly and superstition might, 
 in later times, imagine it to have been one, 
 and have paid it the usual honours. It 
 was a memorial of the dead ; an improve- 
 ment on the rude columns of Druidical 
 times, and cut into form, and surrounded 
 with inscriptions. It is among the first 
 lettered stones that succeeded the ' Meini- 
 hirion,' ' Meini Gwyr,' and ' Llechau.' 
 It stood on a great tumulus ; perhaps 
 always environed with wood, (as the mount 
 is at present,) according to the custom of 
 the most ancient times, when standing pil- 
 lars were placed ' under every green tree.' 
 
 "It is said that the stone, when complete, 
 was twelve feet high. It is novsr reduced 
 to six feet eight. The remainder of the 
 capital is eighteen inches long-. It stood 
 enfixed in a square pedestal, still lying in 
 the mount ; the breadth of which is five 
 feet thr<='e inches ; the thickness eighteen 
 inches. 
 
 " The beginning of the inscription gives 
 us nearly the time of its erection, ' Con- 
 cfnn filius Cateli, Cateli filius Brochmail, 
 Brochmail filius Eliseg, Eliseg filius Cnoil- 
 laine, Concenn itaque pronepos Eliseg edi- 
 , ficavit hunc lapidem proavo suo Eliseg.^ 
 
 " This Concenn, or Congen, was the 
 erandson of Brochmail Yseithroc, the same 
 who was defeated in 607, at the battle of 
 Chester. The letters on the stone were 
 copied by Mr. Edward Llwyd : the inscrip- 
 tion IS now illegible; but, from the copy 
 taken by tliat great antiquary, the alohabet 
 
 nearly resembles one fl f those m use m tne 
 sixth century. 
 
 " One of the seats of Concenn and Eliseg 
 was in this country. A township adjacent 
 to the column bears, from the last, the 
 name of Eglwyseg ; and the picturesque 
 tiers of rocks are called Glisseg for the same 
 reason. The habitation of this prince of 
 Powys in these parts was probably Dinas 
 Br§,n, which lies at the head of the vale of 
 Glisseg. Mr. Llwyd conjectures that this 
 place took its name from the interment of 
 Eliseg." 
 
 Mr. Pennant continues to relate that 
 " There are two ways from this pillar : the 
 usual is along the vale, on an excellent 
 turnpike road leading toRuthyn ; the other 
 is adapted only for the travel of the hoTse.Tien, 
 but far the more preferable, on account of 
 the romantic views. I returned by Valle 
 Crucis ; and, after winding along a steep 
 midway to the old castle, descended; and, 
 then crossing the rill of the Br&n, arrived 
 in the valley of Glisseg; long and narrow, 
 bounded on the right by the astonishin? 
 precipices, divided into numberless parallel 
 strata of white limestone, often givinsj 
 birth to vast yew-trees ; and, on the left, 
 by smooth and verdant hills, bordered by 
 pretty woods. One of the principal of the 
 Glisseg rocks is honoured with the name 
 of Craig-Arthur; another, at the end oi 
 the vale called Craig y Forwyn, or thn 
 Maiden's, is bold, precipitous, and termi- 
 nates with a vast natural column. This 
 valley is chiefly inhabited (happily) by an 
 independent race of warm and wealthy 
 yeomanry, undevoured as yet by the great 
 men of the country." 
 
 The " Tour in Wales " was performed 
 by Mr. Pennant in 1773 ; and his volume, 
 containing the preceding account of the 
 " Pillar of Eliseg," was published in 1778. 
 In the following year, the shaft was reared 
 from its prostrate situation on its ancient 
 pedestal, as appears by the following in- 
 scription on the column, copied by the 
 artist who made the present drawing of the 
 monument. 
 
 QUOD HUJUS VETEEIS MONUMEKTl 
 
 SUPEREST 
 
 mU EX OCTJLIS EEMOTUM 
 
 ET KEGLECTUM 
 
 TANDEM RESTITUIT 
 
 T. LLOYD 
 
 DE 
 TREVOR HALL 
 
 A.D. 
 
 M.DCC.LXX IX. 
 
 176 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 It is not in my power to add more 
 respecting this venerable memorial of 
 early ages than, that, according to a 
 printed itinerary, its neighbourhood is at 
 this time further remarkable for the self- 
 seclusiou of two ladies of rank. At about 
 two miles' distance is an elegant cottage, 
 situated on a knoll, the retreat of lady 
 Elizabeth Butler and Miss Pbnsonby ; who, 
 turning from the vanity of fashionable life, 
 have fixed their residence in this beautiful 
 vale. 
 
 Iar5 #are. 
 
 ACCOUNT OF A STONE-EATER. 
 By Father Paulian. 
 
 The beginning of May, 176G, was 
 brought to Avignon, a true lithophagus or 
 stone-eater. He not only swallowed Hints 
 of an inch and a half long, a full inch 
 broad, and half an inch thick ; but such 
 stones as he could reduce to powder, such 
 as marble, pebbles, &c. he made up into 
 paste, which was to him a most agreeable 
 and wholesome food. I examined this 
 man with all the attention T possibly could; 
 I found his gullet very large, his teeth ex- 
 ceedingly strong, his saliva very corrosive, 
 and his stomach lower than ordinary, which 
 I imputed to the vast number of flints he 
 had swallowed, being about five and twenty, 
 one day with another. 
 
 Upon interrogating his keeper, he told 
 me the following particulars. " This stone- 
 eater," says he, " was found three years ago 
 in a northern inhabited island, by some of 
 the crew of a Dutch ship, on Good Friday. 
 Since I have had him, I make him eat raw 
 flesh with his stones ; 1 could never get him 
 to swallow bread. He will drink water, 
 wine, and brandy ; which last liquor gives 
 him infinite pleasure. He sleeps at least 
 twelve hours in a day, sitting on the ground 
 with one knee over the other, and his chin 
 resting on his right knee. He smokes 
 almost all the time he is not asleep, or is 
 not eating." The keeper also tells me, that 
 some physicians at Paris got hirn blooded ; 
 that the blood had little of no serum, and 
 m two hours' time became as fragile as 
 coial. 
 
 This stone-eater hitherto is unable to 
 pronounce more than a few words, Oui, 
 noTi, caillou, bon. I showed him a fly 
 through a microscope : he was astonished 
 at the size of the animal, and could not be 
 'Tiduced to examine it. He has been taught 
 
 to make the sign of the cross, and was- bap- 
 tized some months ago in the chuich oi. Si 
 Come, at Paris. The respect he shews to 
 ecclesiastics, and his ready disposition to- 
 please them, afforded me the opportunity of 
 satisfying myself as to all these particular*; ; 
 and 1 am fully convinced that he is no 
 cheat.* 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A STONE 
 EATER. 
 
 A Fragment. 
 
 I was born by the side of a rocky cave 
 in the Peak of Derbyshire ; before I was 
 born, my mother dreamed I should be ar. 
 ostrich. I very early showed a disposition. 
 to my present diet; instead of eating the 
 pap offered to me, I swallowed the spoon, 
 which was of bard stone ware, made in 
 that country, and had the handle broken 
 off. My coral served me in the double 
 capacity of a plaything and a sweetmeat; 
 and as soon as I had my teeth, I nibbled a( 
 every pan and mug that came within mj 
 reach, in such a manner, that there was 
 scarcely a whole piece of earthenware to be 
 found in the house. I constantly swallowed) 
 the flints out of the tir.der-box, and so de- 
 ranged the economy of the family, that my 
 mother forced me to seek subsistence out 
 of the house. 
 
 Hunger, they say, will break stone walls : 
 this I experienced ; for the stone fences lay 
 very temptingly in my way, and I made 
 'many a comfortable breakfast on them. 
 On one occasion, a farmer who had lost 
 some of his flock the night before, finding 
 me early one morning breaking his fences,, 
 would hardly be persuaded that I had no 
 design upon his mutton — I only meant to 
 regale myself upon his wall. 
 
 When I went to school, I was a great 
 favourite with the boys ; for whenever there 
 was damson tart or cherry pie, I was well 
 content to eat all the stones, and leave 
 them the fruit. I took the shell, and gave 
 my companions the oyster, and whoever 
 will do so, I will venture to say, will be 
 well received through life. I must confess, 
 however, that I made great havock among 
 the marbles, of which I swallowed as many 
 as the other boys did of sugar-plums. I 
 have many a time given a stick of barley- 
 sugar for a de'icious white alley ; and it 
 used to be the diversion of the bigger boys 
 to shake me, and hear them rattle in my 
 
 • Gsntlemon's Magazine. 
 
 177 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 stomach. While I was there, I devoured 
 the greatest part of a stone chimney-piece, 
 which had been in the school time out of 
 mind, and borne the memorials of many 
 generations of scholars, all of which were 
 more swept away by my teeth, than those 
 of time. I fell, also, upon a collection of 
 spars and pebbles, which my master's 
 daughter had got together to make a grotto. 
 For "both these exploits I was severely flog- 
 ged. I continued, however, my usual diet, 
 except that for a change I sometimes ate 
 Norfolk dumplins, which I found agree 
 with me very well. I have now continued 
 this diet for thirty years, and do affirm it 
 to be the most cheap, wholesome, natural, 
 and delicious of all food. 
 
 I suspect the Antediluvians were Litho- 
 phagi : this, at least, we are certain of, that 
 Saturn, who lived in the golden age, was a 
 stone-eater ! We cannot but observe, that 
 those people who live in fat rich soils are 
 gross and heavy ; whereas those who in- 
 habit rocky and barren countries, where 
 there is plenty of nothing but stones, are 
 healthy, sprightly, and vigorous. For my 
 own part, I do not know that ever I was ill 
 in my life, except that once being over per- 
 uaded to venture on some Suffolk cheese, 
 
 gave me a slight indigestion. 
 
 I am ready to eat flints, pebbles, mar- 
 bles, freestone, granite, or any other stones 
 the curious may choose, with a good appe- 
 tite and without any deception. I am 
 promised by a friend, a shirt and coarse 
 frock of the famous Asbestos, that my food 
 and clothing may be suitable to each other. 
 
 FRANCIS BATTALIA. 
 
 In 1641, Hollar etched a print of Francis 
 Battalia, an Italian, who is said to have 
 eaten half a peck of stones a day. Re- 
 specting this individual, Dr. Bulwer, in his 
 " Artificial Changeling," says he saw the 
 man, that he was at that time about thirty 
 years of age ; and that " he was born with 
 two stones in one hand, and one in the 
 other, which the child took for his first 
 nourishment, upon the physician's advice; 
 and afterwards nothing else but three or 
 four pebbles in a spoon, once in twenty- 
 four hours." After his stone-meals, he w as 
 accustomed to take a draught of beer: 
 " and in the interim, now and then, a pipe 
 of tobacco ; for he had been a soldier in 
 Ireland, at the siege of Limerick ; and upon 
 his return to London was confined for some 
 time upon suspicion of imposture " 
 
 No. IX. 
 
 [From the " Two Angry Women of Abing- 
 don," a Comedy, by Henry Porter 
 1599.] 
 
 Proverb-monger. 
 
 Thu formal fool, yoar man, speaks nc aght bnt Pru 
 
 verbs ; 
 And, speak men what they can to him, he'll answer 
 With some rhyme-rotten sentence, or old saying. 
 Such spokes as th' Ancient of the Parish use 
 With " Neighbour, it's an old Proverb and a true. 
 Goose giblets are good meat, old sack better than new :" 
 Then says another, " Neighbour, thai is true." 
 And when each man hath drank his gallon round, 
 (A penny pot, for that's the old man's gallon), 
 Then doth he lick his lips, and stroke his beard. 
 That's glued together with the slavering drops 
 Of yesty ale ; and when he scarce can trim 
 His gouty fingers, thus he'll fillip it. 
 And with a rotten hem say, " Hey my hearts," 
 " Merry go sorry," " Cock and Pye, my hearts ;" 
 And then their saving-penny-proverb comes. 
 And that is this, " They that will to the wine, 
 By'r Lady, mistress, shall lay their penny to mine.*^ 
 This was one of this penny-father's bastards ; 
 For on my life he was never begot 
 Without the consent of some great Proverb-iuonger, 
 
 She Wit. 
 
 Why, she will flout the devil, and make blush 
 
 The boldest face of man that ever man saw. 
 
 He that hath best opinion of his wit. 
 
 And hath his brain-pan fraught with bitter jests 
 
 (Or of his own, or slol'n, or howsoever). 
 
 Let him stand ne'er so high in's own conceit. 
 
 Her wit's a sun that melts him down like butter. 
 
 And makes him sit at table pancake-wise. 
 
 Flat, flat, and ne'er a word to say ; 
 
 Yet she'll not leave him then, but like a tyrant 
 
 She'll persecute the poor wit-beaten man. 
 
 And so be-bang him with dry bobs and scoffs, 
 
 When he is down (most cowardly, good faith !) 
 
 As I have pitied the pool patient. 
 
 There came a Farmer's Son a wooing to her, 
 
 A proper man, well-landed too he was, 
 
 A man that for his wit need not to ask 
 
 What time a year 'twere need to sow hi» oats. 
 
 Nor yet his barley, no, nor ivhen to reap. 
 
 To plow his fallows, or to fell his trees. 
 
 Well experienced thus each kind of way ; 
 
 After a two months' labour at the most, 
 
 (And yet 'twas well he held it ont so long}. 
 
 He left his Love ; she had so laced his lips. 
 
 He could say nothing to her but " God be with ye. 
 
 Why, she, when men have dined, and call'd for ocwf* 
 
 Will strait maintain jests bitter to digest ; 
 
 And then some one will fall to argumect. 
 
 178 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 WTk) if ke 07v. -master her with reason, 
 rhen she'll beg\n to buffet him with mockji. 
 
 Master Goursey proposes to his Son a 
 Wife. 
 
 Frank Goursev. Ne'er trust me, father, the shape at 
 
 marriage. 
 Which I do see in others, seems so severe, 
 [ dare not put my youngling liberty 
 Under the awe of that instruction ; 
 And yet I grant, the limits of free youth 
 Going astray are often restrain'd by that. 
 But Mistress Wedlock, to my summer thoughts, 
 Will be too curst, 1 fear: O should she snip 
 My pleasure-aiming mind, I shall be sad ; 
 And swear, when I did marry, 1 was mad. 
 Old Goursey. But, hoy, let my experience teach thee 
 
 this; 
 Ofet in good faith thou speak'st not muck amiss) ; 
 When first thy mother's fame to me did come. 
 Thy grandsire thus then came to me his son, 
 And ev'n my words to thee to me he said ; 
 And, as thou say'st to me, to him I said. 
 But in a greater huff and hotter bloc>d : 
 I tell ye, on youth's tiptoes then 1 stood. 
 Says he (good faith, thiis was his very say). 
 When 1 was young, 1 was but Reason's fool ; 
 And went to wedding, as to Wisdom's school • 
 It taught me much, and much I did forget; 
 But, beaten much by it, I got some wit : 
 Though I was shackled from an often-scout. 
 Yet I would wanton it, when 1 was out ; 
 'Twas comfort old acquaintance then to meet. 
 Restrained liberty attain'd is sweet. 
 Thus said my father to thy father, son ; 
 And thou may'st do this too, as I have done. 
 
 Wandering in the dark all night. 
 
 when will this same Year of Night have end ? 
 Long-look'd for Day's Sun, when wilt thou ascend? 
 Let not this thief-friend misty veil of night 
 Encroach on day, and shadow thy fair light ; 
 Whilst thou comest tardy from thy Thetis' bed. 
 Blush forth golden-hair and glorious red. 
 stay not long, bright lanthern of the day. 
 To light my mist-way feet to my right way. 
 
 The pleasant Comedy, from which these 
 Extracts are taken, is contemporary with 
 some of the earliest of Shakspeare's, and is 
 no whit inferior to either the Comedy cf 
 Errors, or the Taming of the Shrew, for 
 instance. It is full of business, humour, 
 and merry malice. Its night-scenes are 
 pwuliarly sprightly and wakeful. The ver- 
 sification unencumbered, and rich with 
 compound epithets. Why do we go on 
 with ever new Editions of Ford, and Mas- 
 linger, and the thrice reprinted SelectiouB 
 of 'Dodsley ? what we want is a.s many 
 
 /olumes more, as these latter consist of^ 
 filled with plays (such as this), of which we 
 know comparatively nothing. Not a third 
 part of the Treasures of old English Dra- 
 matic literature has been exhausted. Are 
 we afraid that the genius of Shakspeare 
 would suffer in our estimate by the disclo- 
 sure ? He would indeed be somewhat 
 lessened as a miracle and a prodigy. But 
 he would lose no height by the confession. 
 When a Giant is shown to us, does it de- 
 tract from the curiosity to be told that he 
 has at home a gigantic brood of brethren, 
 less only than himself? Along with him, 
 not from him, sprang up the race of mighty 
 Dramatists who, compared with the Otways 
 and Rowes that followed, were as Miltons 
 to a Young or an Akenside. That he was 
 their elder Brother, not their Parent, is evi- 
 dent from the fact of the very few direct 
 imitations of him to be found in their 
 writings. Webster, Decker, Heywood^ and 
 the rest of his great contemporaries went 
 on their own ways, and followed their in 
 dividual impulses, not blindly prescribing 
 to themselves his tract. Marlowe, the true 
 (though imperfect) Father of our tragedy, 
 preceded him. The comedy of Fletcher is 
 essentially unlike to that of his. 'Tis out of 
 no detracting spirit that I speak thus, for 
 the Plays of Shakspeare have been the 
 strongest and the sweetest food of my mind 
 from infancy ; but I resent the comparative 
 obscurity in which some of his most valua* 
 ble co-operators remain, who were his dear 
 intimates, his stage and his chamber-fellows 
 while he lived, and to whom his gentle 
 spirit doubtlessly then awarded the full 
 portion of their genius, as from them to^ 
 ward himself appears to have been no 
 grudging of his acknowledged excellence. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 Cftararters!. 
 
 AGRESTILLA. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 There is a story in the Rambler of a lady 
 whom the great moralist calls Althea, who 
 perversely destroyed all the satisfaction of 
 a party of pleasure, by not only finding, but 
 seeking for fault upon every occasion, and 
 affecting a variety of frivolous fears and 
 apprehensions without cause. Female fol- 
 lies, iike " states and empires, have their 
 periods of declension ;" and nearly half a 
 century has passed away since it has been 
 deemed elegant, or supposed interesting, to 
 scream at a spider, shudder in a boat, or 
 
 179 
 
THE TABLE BOOR. 
 
 assert, with vehemence of terror, that a 
 gun, though ascertained not to be charged, 
 may still " go off." The tendency to fly 
 from one extreme to the other has ever been 
 the characteristic of weak minds, and the 
 party of weak minds will always support 
 itself by a considerable majority, both 
 among women and men. Something may 
 be done by those minor moralists, modestly 
 termed essayists and novelists, who have 
 brought wisdom and virtue to dwell in 
 saloons and drawing-rooms. Mrs. H. More 
 and Miss Edgeworth have pretty well writ- 
 ten down the affectation of assuming " the 
 cip, the whip, the masculine attire," and 
 the rage for varnishing and shoe-making 
 has of itself subsided, by the natural effect 
 of total incongruity between the means and 
 the end. Ladies are now contented to be 
 ladies, that is, rational beings of the softer 
 sex., and do not affect to be artists or me- 
 chanics. Nevertheless, some peculiarities 
 of affectation do from time to time shoot 
 up into notice, and call for the pruning- 
 kiiife of the friendly satirist. 
 
 Agrestilla is an agreeable, well-in- 
 formed person of my own sex, from whose 
 so-;iety 1 have derived great pleasure and 
 advantage both in London and Paris. A 
 few weeks since, she proposed to me to 
 accompany her to spend some time in a 
 small town in Normandy, for the benefit of 
 country air: to this plan I acceded witu 
 great readiness ; an apartment was secured 
 by letter, and we proceeded on our journey. 
 I have lived too long in the world ever 
 to expect unmixed satisfaction from any 
 measure, and long enough never to neglect 
 any precaution by which personal comfort 
 is to be secured. To this effect I had re- 
 presented, that perhaps it might be better 
 to delay fixing on lodgings till we arrived, 
 lest we should find ourselves bounded to 
 the view of a market-place or narrow street, 
 with, perchance, a butcher's shop opposite 
 our windows, and a tin-man or tallow- 
 chandler next door to us. Agrestilla re- 
 plied, that in London or Paris it was of 
 course essential to one's consideration in 
 society to live in a fashionable neighbour- 
 hood, but that nobody minded those things 
 " in the country." In vain I replied, that 
 consideration was not what I considered, 
 but freedom from noise and bad smells : I 
 was then laughed at for my fastidiousness, 
 ^ — ■' Who in the world would make difiicui- 
 ties about such trifles in the country, when 
 one might be out of doors from morning 
 till night !" 
 
 We arrived at the place of our destina- 
 tion ; my mind expanded with pleasure at 
 
 the sight of large rooms, wide staircases, 
 and windows affording the prospect of ver- 
 dure. The stone-floors and the paucity ot 
 window curtains, to say nothing of blinds 
 to exclude the sun, appeared to me incon- 
 veniences to be remedied by the expendi- 
 ture of a few francs ; but Agrestilla, as 
 pertinacious in her serenity as Althea in 
 her querulousness, decided that we ought 
 to take things in the rough, and make any. 
 thing do '• in the country." Scraps of 
 carpet and ells of muslin are attainable by 
 unassisted effort, stimulated by necessity, 
 and 1 acquired and maintained tolerable 
 ease of mmd and body, till we came to 
 discuss together the grand article of society. 
 My maxim is, the best or none at all. I 
 love conversation, but hate feasting and 
 visiting. Agrestilla lays down no maxim, 
 but her practice is, good if possible — if not, 
 second-best; at all events, a number of 
 guests and frequent parties. Though she 
 is not vain of her mind or of her person, 
 yet the display of fine clothes and good 
 dishes, and the secret satisfaction of shining 
 forth the queen of her company, make up 
 her enjoyment : Agrestilla's taste is gre- 
 garious. To my extreme sorrow and ap' 
 prehension, we received an invitation to 
 dine with a family unknown to me, and 
 living nine miles off! To refuse was im- 
 possible, the plea of preengagement is in- 
 admissible with people wlio tell you to 
 " choose your day," and as to pretending 
 to be sick, I hold it to be presumptuous and 
 wicked. The conveyance was to be a cart! 
 the time of departure six in the morning! 
 Terrified and aghast, I demanded, " How 
 are we to get through the day ?" No work ! 
 no books ! no subjects of mutual interest 
 to talk upon ! — " Oh ! dear me, time soon 
 passes ' in the country ;' we shall be three 
 hours goino, the roads are very bad, then 
 comes breakfast, and then walking round 
 the garden, and then dinner and coming 
 home early." This invitation hung over 
 my mind like an incubus, — like an eye- 
 tooth firm in the head to be wrenched out, 
 — like settling-day to a defaulter, or auricu- 
 lar confession to a ceremonious papist and 
 bad liver. My only hope was in the wea- 
 ther. The clouds seemed to be for ever 
 filling and for ever emptying, like the 
 pitchers of theDanaides. The street, court, 
 and garden became all impassable, without 
 the loan of Celestine's sabots (anglice 
 wooden shoes.) Celestine is a stout IN^or- 
 man girl, who washes the dishes, and wears 
 a holland-mob and a linsey-woolsey petti 
 coat. Certainly, thought I, in m.y foolish 
 security, while this deluge continues no- 
 
 180 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 L" 
 
 body will think of visiting " in the coun- 
 try." But vain and illusive was my hope ! 
 Agrestilla declared her intention of keepina; 
 her engagement " if it rained cats and 
 dogs;" and the weather cleared up on the 
 >ve of my execution, and smiled in derision 
 jf my woe. The cart came. Jemmy Daw- 
 son felt as much anguish in 'his, but he did 
 not feel it so long. We were lumbered 
 with inside packages, bundles, boxes, and 
 baskets, accumulated by Agrestilla ; I pro^ 
 posed their being secured with cords {lashed 
 is the sea-term) to prevent them from roll- 
 ing about, crushing our feet and grazing our 
 legs at every jolt. Agrestilla's politeness 
 supprest an exclamation of amazement, 
 that people could mind such trifles "in the 
 country !" — for her part, she never made 
 difficulties. — Being obliged to maintain the 
 equilibrium of my person by clinging to 
 each side of the cart with my two hands, I 
 had much to envy those personages of the 
 Hindu mythology, who are provided with 
 six or seven arms : as for my bonnet it was 
 crushed into all manner of shapes, my brain 
 was jarred and concussed into the incapa- 
 city to tell whether six and five make eleven 
 or thirteen, and my feet were " all mur- 
 'lered," as the Irish and French say. What 
 exasperated ray sufferings was the reflection 
 on nf;y own folly in incurring so much posi- 
 tive evil, to pay and receive a mere com- 
 pliment ! Had it been to take a reprieve 
 to a dear friend going to be hanged, to 
 carry the news of a victory, or convey a 
 ■surgeon to the wounded, I should have 
 thought nothing and said less of the matter; 
 but for a mere dinner among strangers, a 
 long day without interest and occupation ! 
 — really I consider myself as having half 
 mcurred the guilt of suicide. Six or seven 
 times al least, the horse, painfully dragging 
 us the whole way by the strain of every 
 nerve and sinew, got stuck in the mud, and 
 was to be flogged till he plunged out of it. 
 Moie than once we tottered upon ridges of 
 incrusted mud, when a very little matter 
 would have turned us over. I say nothing 
 about /Jjitland — I abhor and disdain a pun 
 — but we did nothing but cross ruts to 
 avoid puddles, and cress them back again 
 to avoid stones, and the ruts were all so 
 deep as to leave but one semicircle of the 
 wheel visible. I never saw such roads — 
 the Colossus of Rhodes would have been 
 knee-deep in them. At last we arrived — 
 Agrestilla as much out of patience at my 
 calling it an evil to have my shins bruised 
 black and blue, while engaged in a party of 
 pleasure ** in the conntry," as I to find the 
 expedition all pain and no pleasure. We 
 
 turned out of the cart in very bad condi- 
 tion ; all our dress " clean put on," as the 
 housewives say, rumpled and soiled, out 
 limbs stiff, our faces flushed, and by far too 
 fevered to eat, and too weary to walk. How 
 I thought, like a shipwrecked mariner, not 
 upon my own " fireside," as English no- 
 velists always say, but upon my quiet, 
 comfortable room, books, work, indepen- 
 dence, and otium with or without dignitate 
 (let others decide that.) Oh ! the fag of 
 talking when one has nothing to say, smil- 
 ing when one is ready to cry, and accept- 
 ing civilities when one feels them all to be 
 inflictions ! Of the habits, the manners, 
 the appearance, and the conversation of 
 our hosts, I will relate nothing; I have 
 eaten their bread, as the Arabs say, and 
 owe them the tribute of thanks and silence. 
 Agrestilla was as merry as possible all day; 
 she has lived in the company of persons of 
 sense and education, but — nobody expects 
 refinement " in the country !" In vain I 
 expostulate with her, pleading in excuse of 
 what she terms my fastidiousness, that I 
 cannot change my fixed notions of elegance, 
 propriety, and comfort, to conform tu the 
 habits of those to whom such terms are as 
 lingua franca to a Londoner, what he nei- 
 ther understands nor cares for. 
 
 It is easy to conform one's exterior tc 
 rural habits, by putting on a coarse strav 
 hat, thick shoes, and linen gown, but th< 
 taste and feeling of what is right, the men 
 tal perception must remain the same. No- 
 thing can be more surprising to an English 
 resident in a country-town of France, than 
 the jumble of ranks in society that has taken 
 place since the revolution. 1 know a young 
 lady whose education and manners render 
 her fit for polished society in Paris ; her 
 mother goes about in a woollen jacket, and 
 dresses the dinner, not from necessity, for 
 that I should make no joke of, but from 
 taste ; and is as arrant an old gossip as ever 
 lolled with both elbows over the counter of 
 a chandler's shop. — Her brother is a garde 
 du corps, who spends his life in palaces and 
 drawing-rooms, and she has one cousin a 
 little pastry-cook, and another a washer- 
 woman. — They have a lodger, a maiden 
 lady, who lives on six hundred francs per 
 annum, (about twenty-four pounds,) and of 
 course performs every menial oflSce for her- 
 self, and, except on Sundays, looks like an 
 old weed ing-woman ; her brother has been 
 a judge, lives in a fine house, buys books 
 and cultivates exotics. Low company is 
 tiresome in England, because it is ignorant 
 and stupid ; in France it is gross and dis- 
 gusting. The notion of being merry and 
 
 181 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 entertaining is to tell gross stories; the 
 demoiselles sit and say nothing, simper and 
 look pretty: what a pity it is that time 
 should change them into coarse, hard- 
 featured commires, like their mothers ! The 
 way in Normandy is to dine very early, and 
 remain ail the evening in the dinner-room, 
 instead of going into a fresh apartment to 
 take coffee. Agrestilla does not fail to 
 conform to the latter plan in Paris, because 
 people of fashion do so, and Agrestilla is a 
 fashionable woman, but she wonders I 
 should object to the smell of the dinner 
 " in the country." 1 have been strongly 
 tempted to the crime of sacrilege by robbing 
 the church for wax candles, none being to 
 be got at " the shop." My incapacity for 
 rural enjoyments and simple habits is ma- 
 nifest to Agrestilla, from my absurdly ob- 
 jecting to the smell of tallow-candles '' in 
 the country." Agrestilla's rooms are pro- 
 fusely lighted with wax in Paris, '■ but 
 nobody thinks of such a thing ' in the coun- 
 try ' for nearly a month or two,"— as if life 
 were not made up of months, weeks, and 
 hours ! 
 
 I am afraid, Mr. Editor, that I may have 
 wearied you by my prolixity, but since all 
 acumen of taste is to disappear, when we 
 pass the bills of mortality, I will hope that 
 my communication may prove good enough 
 lo be read — in the country. 
 
 N. 
 
 FEMALE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Joy cannot claim a purer bliss. 
 
 Nor grief a dew from stain more clear. 
 Than female friendsliip's meeting kiss. 
 
 Than female friendship's parting tear. 
 How sweet the heart's full bliss to ponr 
 To her, whose smile must crown the store 1 
 
 How sweeter still to tell of woes 
 To her, whose faithful breast would share 
 In every g^ei, in every care. 
 
 Whose sigh can lull fhem to repose ! 
 Oh ! blessed sighl there is no sorrow. 
 But from thy breath can sweetness borrow- 
 E'en to the pale and drooping flower 
 That fades in love's neglected hour • 
 E'en with her woes can friendsliip's pow'r 
 
 One happier feeling blend : 
 Tis from her restless bed to creep. 
 And sink like wearied babe to sleep, 
 Co the soft couch her sorrows steep. 
 
 The bcecm cf a friend. 
 
 Miss Mitford. 
 
 LINES TO A SPARROW. 
 
 Who comes to my Window EVEai 
 
 Morning for his Breakfast 
 
 Master Dicky, my dear. 
 
 You have nothing to fear, 
 Voiir proceedings I mean not to check, gir; 
 
 Whilst the weather benumbs. 
 
 We should pick up our crumbs, 
 So, I prithee, make free with a, peek, sii. 
 
 I'm afraid it's too plain 
 
 You're a villain in grain. 
 But in that you resemble your neighbours 
 
 For mankind have agfreed 
 
 It is right to suck seed. 
 Then, like you, hop the twig with their laboilM. 
 
 Besides this, master Dick, 
 
 You of trade have the trick. 
 In all hratiches you traffic at will, sir , 
 
 You have no need of shops 
 
 For your samples of hops. 
 And can ev'ry day take np your bill, lig. 
 
 Then in foreign affairs 
 
 You may give yourself oir». 
 For I've heard it reported at home, sir. 
 
 That you're on the best terms 
 
 With the diet of Worms, 
 And have often been tempted to Rome, sir. 
 
 Thus yon feather your nest 
 
 In the way you like best. 
 And live high without fear of mishap, sir; 
 
 You are fond of your grub. 
 
 Have a taste for some shrub. 
 And for gin — there you understand trap, si;. 
 
 Tho' the rivers won't Sow 
 
 In the frost and the snow. 
 And for fish other folks vainly try, sir ; 
 
 Yet you'll ^ve a treat. 
 
 For, in cold or in heat. 
 You can still take a. perch with &fi'j. sir. 
 
 In love, too, oh Dick, 
 
 (Tho' you oft when love-sick 
 On the course of good-breeding may trampU j 
 
 And though often henpeck'd. 
 
 Yet) you scorn to neglect 
 To set all mankind an cggsample. 
 
 Your opinions, 'tis true. 
 
 Are flighty a few. 
 Bat at this I, for one, will not grumble ; 
 
 So — your breakfast you've got. 
 
 And you're off like a shot. 
 Dear Dicky, your humble cumtumble.* 
 
 • Examiner Feb. 12, 131o, 
 
 182 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 HUT. ALDEESON, BELLMAN OF DURHAM. 
 
 And who gave thee that jolly red nose? 
 Brandy, cinnamon, ale, and cloves, 
 That gave me the jolly red nose. 
 
 Old Song. 
 
 THE BISHOP OF BUTTERBY. 
 
 A. Sketch, by one of his Prebendaries. 
 
 For the Table Book 
 
 I remember readina: in that excellent 
 little periodical. "The Cigar," of the red 
 nose of the friar of Dillow, which served 
 the holy man in the stead of a lantern, when 
 he crossed the fens at night, to visit the 
 fair lady of the sheriff of Gloucestershire. 
 Whether the nose of the well-known eccen- 
 tpc now under consideration ever lighted 
 his path, when returning from Shincliffe 
 
 feast, or Houghton-le-spring hopping — 
 whether it ever 
 
 " Brightly beam'd his path above. 
 And lit his way to his ladye love "— 
 
 this deponent knoweth not; bm, certainly, 
 if ever nose could serve for such purposes, 
 it is that of Hut. Alderson, which is the 
 reddest in the city of Durham — save and 
 excepting, nevertheless, the nose of fat 
 Hannah, the Elvet orange-woman. Yes 
 Hut. thou portly living tun! thou animated 
 lump of obesity! thou hast verily a mo?' 
 loUy nose ! Keep it out of my sight, T 
 
 183 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 pray thee ! Saint Giles, deiend me from 
 its scorchings! there is fire in its mere pic- 
 torial representation ! Many a time, I ween, 
 thou hast mulled thine ale with it, when 
 sitting with thy pot companions at Mor- 
 ralies ! 
 
 Hutchinson Alderson, the subject of the 
 present biographical notice, is the well- 
 known bellman of the city of Durham. Of 
 his ])arentage and education I am ignorant, 
 but I have been informed by him, at one of 
 his " visitations," that he is a native of the 
 place, where, very early in life, he was 
 " bound 'prentice to a shoemaker," and 
 where, after the expiration of his servitude, 
 he began business. During the period of the 
 threatened invasion of this nation by the 
 French, he enlisted in the Durham militia; 
 but 1 cannot correctly state what office he 
 held in the regiment ; tTie accounts on the 
 subject are very conflicting aud contradic- 
 tory. Some have informed me he was a 
 mere private, others that he was a corporal; 
 and a wanton wag tias given out th;it he 
 was kept by the regiment, to be used as a 
 beacon, in cases of extraordinary emer- 
 gency. Certain it is that he was in the 
 niiiitia, and that during that time the ac- 
 cident occurred which destroyed his hopes 
 of military promotion, and rendered him 
 unable to pursue his ordinary calling — I 
 allude to the loss of his right hand, which 
 happened as follows : — A Durham lady, 
 whose husband was in the habit ot employ- 
 ing Alderson as a shoemaker, had a 
 favourite parrot, which, on the cage door 
 being left open, escaped, and was shortly 
 afterwards seen flying from tree to tree in a 
 neighbouring wood. Alderson, on being 
 made acquainted with the circumstance, 
 proceeded with his gun to the wood, where, 
 placing himself within a few yards of the 
 bird, he fired at it, having previously 
 poured a little water into the muzzle, 
 which he thoughtlessly imagined would 
 have the effect of bringing down the bird, 
 without doing it material injury ; but, un- 
 happily, tire piece exploded, and shattered 
 his right hand so dreadfully, that imme- 
 diate amputation was rendered necessary. 
 
 Fo." some time after this calamity. Alder- 
 son's chief employment consisted in taking 
 care of gentlemen's horses, and cleaning 
 knives. He was then appointed street- 
 keeper ; and, during the short time he held 
 that office, discharged its duty in a very 
 impartial manner — I believe to the er.tire 
 satisfaction of all the inhabitants. He has 
 also, at different periods, been one of the 
 constables of the parish of Saint Mary le 
 Bow, About the year 1822, the office of 
 
 bellman to the city of Durham became va- 
 cant, by resignation, upon which Hut. im- 
 mediately offered himself as a candidate ; 
 and, from there being no opposition, and 
 his being a freeman, he was installed by 
 the unanimous voice of every member o{ 
 the corporation, and he has accordingly 
 discharged the duties of bellman ever since. 
 It is in that capacity our artist has repre- 
 sented him in the cut at the head of the 
 present sketch. But Hut. Alderson is the 
 wearer of other dignities. 
 
 About three miles from Durham is a 
 beautiful little hamlet, called Butterby, and 
 in ancient deeds Beautrove* and Beantro- 
 vensis, from the elegance of its situation ; 
 and certainly its designation is no mis- 
 nomer, for a lovelier spot the imagination 
 cannot picture. The seclusion of its walks, 
 the deep shade of its lonely glens, and the 
 many associations connected with it, inde- 
 pendently of its valuable mineral waters, 
 conspire to render it a favourite place o! 
 resort; and, were I possessed of the poetir 
 talent of veterinary doctor Marshall, 1 
 should certainly be tempted to immortalize 
 its many charms in a sonnet. Butterby 
 was formerly a place of considerable note ; 
 the old manor-house there, whose haunted 
 walls are still surrounded by a moat, was 
 once the residence of Oliver Cromwell, 
 whose armorial bearings still may be seen 
 over one of the huge, antique-fashioned 
 fire-places. In olden lime, Butterby had a 
 church, dedicated to saint Leonard, oi 
 which not a vinible vestige is remaining ; 
 though occasionally on the spot which an- 
 tiquaries have tixed upon as its site, divers 
 sepulchral relics have been discovered. Yet, 
 to hear many of the inhabitants of Durham 
 talk, a strantfer would naturally believe 
 that the hamlet is still in possession of 
 this sacred edifice ; for " Butterby-c/mrc^ " 
 is there spoken of, not as a plate adorning 
 the antiquarian page, nor even as a ruin to 
 attract the gaze of the moralizing tourist, 
 but as a real, substantial, bo rid fide struc- 
 ture : the fact is, that, in the slang of Dur- 
 ham, (for the modern Zionf hasits slang as 
 well as the modern Babylon,) a BuUerby 
 church-goer is one who does not frequent 
 any church ; and when such an one is 
 asked, " What church have you attended 
 to-day ?" the customary answer is, " I have 
 been attending service at Butterby.'' About 
 the year 1823, there appeared in one ol 
 the London journals an account of a mar- 
 nage, said to have been solemnized at But- 
 
 • Vide Mr. Dixon's View of Daruam. 
 t Il>i(L 
 
 1«4 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 rerby-churcli, between two parties who 
 never existed but in llie fertile brain of the 
 writer of the paragraph, " By the Rev. 
 ilutchiiison Alderson, rector." From that 
 ume, Hut. Alderson began to be desio-- 
 nated a clergyman, and was speedily dub- 
 bed A. M. Merit tvill rise, and therefore 
 the A. M. became D. D., and Alderson 
 himself enjoyed the waggery, and insisted 
 on the young gentlemen of the place touch- 
 mg their hats, and humbling themselves 
 when his reverence passed. 
 
 Not content with the honours which 
 already, like laurel branches, had encircled 
 his brow, Hut. aspired to still greater dis- 
 tinction, and gave out that Butterby was 
 a bishop's see, that the late parochial church 
 was a cathedral', and, in fine, that the late 
 humble rector was a lordly bishop — The 
 Right Reverend Hutchinson ALDr.usoM 
 Lord Bishop of Butterby, or Hut. But. 
 Having thus dubbed himself, he next pro- 
 ceeded to the proper formation of his cathe- 
 dral ; named about ten individuals as pre- 
 bends, (among whom were the writer of this 
 sketch, and his good friend his assistant 
 artist,) chose a dean and archdeacon, and 
 selected a few more humble individuals to 
 fill the different places of sexron, organist, 
 vergers, hell-ringers, &c., and soon began, 
 in the exercise of his episcopal functions, 
 to give divers orders, oral and written, re- 
 specting repairs of the church, preaching uS 
 sermons, &c. The last I recollect was a 
 notice, delivered to one of the prebends by 
 the bishop in propria persona., intimating 
 that, owing to the church having received 
 considerable damage by a high flood, he 
 would not be required to officiate there till 
 further notice. 
 
 A cathedral is nothing without a tutelary 
 saint, and accoidingly Butterby-church has 
 been dedicated to saint Giles. Several 
 articles have been wiitten, and privately 
 circulated, descriptive of the splendid archi- 
 tecture of this imaginary edifice ; every 
 arch has had its due meed of approbation, 
 and its saint has been exalted in .song, 
 almost as high as similar worthies of the 
 Roman catholic church. A legend has 
 been written — 1 beg pardon, foimd in one 
 of the vaults of Bear-park, — containing an 
 account of divers miracles performed by 
 saint Giles; which legend is doubtless as 
 worthy of credit, and equally true, as some 
 of Alban Butler's, or the miracles of prince 
 Hohenlohe and Thomas h Becket. Hap- 
 pening to have a correct copy of the compo- 
 Mtion to which I allude, I give it, with full 
 persuasion that by so doing I shall confp" a 
 signal obligation on the rest of my brother 
 
 prebends, some of whom are believers in ii 
 antiquity, though, I am inclined to think 
 it is, like the ancient poems found in Red 
 cliff'e-church, and published by the unfoi- 
 tunate Chatterton — all "■ Rowley powley,' 
 &.C. I have taken the liberty to modernize 
 the spelling. 
 
 SAINT GILES 
 
 His Holie Legend x 
 
 Written in Latin, by Father Peter, 
 
 J\JONK OF BeaUPAIRE, AND DONE INTO 
 
 English this Year of Redemption, 
 1^35, BY Master John Walton, 
 Schoolmaster, St. Magdalene her 
 Chapel Yard Durham: and dedi- 
 cated to our good Queen Mary 
 whom God long preserve. 
 
 O did ye ne'er hear of saint Giles, 
 
 Tlie saint of fam d Butterby steeple. 
 There ne'er was his like seen for miles, 
 
 Pardie, he astonied the people I 
 His face was as red as the sun, 
 
 His eyne were a couple of sloes, sir. 
 His belly was big as a tun. 
 
 And he had a huge bottle nose, sir ; 
 
 O what a strange fellow was ha ' 
 
 2. 
 
 Of woman he never was born. 
 
 And wagers have been laid upon it; 
 They found him at Finchale one morn, 
 
 Wrapp'd up in a heavenly bonnet : 
 The prior was taking his rounds. 
 
 As he was wont after his ftWcAfast, 
 He lieard most celestial sounds, 
 
 And saw something in a tree stick fast. 
 Like a bundle of dirty old clothes. 
 
 3. 
 
 Quite frighten'd, he fell on his knees. 
 
 And said thirteen aves and ten credos. 
 When the thing in the tree gave a sneeze. 
 
 And out popp'd a hand, and then three toes; 
 Now, when he got out of his faint. 
 
 He approach'd, with demeanour most humbi-a. 
 And what should he see but the saint, 
 
 Not a copper the worse from his tumble. 
 But lying all sound wind and limb. 
 
 Says the prio-r, " From whence did you com*, 
 
 Or liow got you into my garden ?" 
 But the baby said nothing but mum^ 
 
 And Eur the priest car'd not a.f(irdenr 
 At length, the saint open'd his gob. 
 
 And said, " I'ui from heaven, d'ye see, sir. 
 Now don't stand there scratching your noo. 
 
 But help rne down out of the tree, sir. 
 
 Or I'll soon set your conveaJ a-bZais 1^ 
 
 185 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The prior stood qnite in a maze. 
 
 To hear such an infant so ^uirerlj call. 
 So, humbling himself, he gave praise 
 
 To our lady for so great a miracle : 
 Saint Giles from the bush then he took. 
 
 And led him away to the priory; 
 Where for years he stuck close to his book, 
 
 A holie and sanctified friar, he 
 
 Was thought by the g»od folks all round, 
 
 6. 
 
 In sanctity he pass'd his days, 
 
 Onoe or twice exorcis'd :> demoniac ; 
 And, to quiet his doubts and his fears. 
 
 Applied to a flask of old Cogniac ; 
 To heaven he show'd the road fair. 
 
 And, if he saw sinner look glum or sad. 
 He'd tell him to drive away care. 
 
 And say, " Take a swig of good rum, my lad, 
 And it will soon g^ive your soul ease." 
 
 7. 
 In miracles too the saint dealt. 
 
 And some may be seen to this minute ; 
 At his bidding he'd make a rock melt, 
 
 Tho' Saint Sathanas might be in it: 
 One evening when rambling out. 
 
 He found himself stopp'd by the river, 
 So he told it to turn round about. 
 
 And let him go quietly over. 
 
 And the river politely complied 1 
 
 To Butterby often he'd stray. 
 
 And sometimes look in at the -well, sir; 
 And if you'll attend to the lay. 
 
 How it came by its virtues I'll tell, sir : 
 One morning, as wont, the saint call'd. 
 
 And being tremendously faint then. 
 He drank of the stuff tiU he ctall'd. 
 
 And out spake the reverend saint thea, 
 My blessing be on tiee for aye 1 
 9. 
 Thus saying he bent his way home. 
 
 Now mark the event which has foUow'd. 
 The fount has from that time become 
 
 A cure for sick folks — for it's haUow'd : 
 Acd many a pilgrim goes there 
 
 From many a far distant part, sir, 
 And, piously uttering a prayer. 
 
 Blesses the saint's oious heart, sir. 
 
 That gave to the fount so much grace. 
 10. 
 At Finchale bis saint ship did dwell. 
 
 Till the devil got into the cloister. 
 And left the bare walls as a shell. 
 
 And gulp'd the fat monks like an oyster • 
 So the saint was enforced to quit. 
 
 But swore he'd the fell legions all amuse. 
 And pay back their coin every whit, 
 
 Tho' bis hide should be flay'd like Bartholemew's, 
 And red as Saint Dunstan's red nose. 
 
 Another church straight he erected. 
 
 Which for its sanctity fam'd much is. 
 Where sinners and saints are protected. 
 And kept out of Belzebub's clutches; 
 And thus in the eve of his days 
 
 He still paternosters and aves sung, 
 His lungs were worn threadbare with praise. 
 Till death, who slays priors, rest gave his tongue 
 Ae4 sent him to sing in the spheres I 
 
 12. 
 
 It wo«ld be too long to tell here 
 
 Of how, when or where, the monks buried him 
 Suffice it to say, it seems clear 
 
 That somewhere or other they carried him. 
 His odd life by death was made even. 
 
 He popp'd off on one of Lent Sundays, 
 His corpse was to miracles given, 
 
 And his choristers sung " De profundis 
 Clamavi ad te Domine !" 
 
 Finis coronat opus. 
 
 Such is the extraordinary legend of sainl 
 Giles, which I leave the antiquaries to sii 
 in judgment on, and with which 1 quit the 
 subject of Butterby-church, wishing thai 
 its good bishop may long contmue in 
 peaceful possession of the see, and in full 
 enjoyment of all the honours and revenue? 
 connected therewith. 
 
 As relating to Butterby, I may be 
 allowed perhaps to mention, that this place 
 has aflbrded considerable amusement to 
 many younjr men of wit and humour 
 About twenty years ago, the law students, 
 then in Durham, instituted what they called 
 the " Butterby manor court," and were in 
 the habit of holding a sham court at a pub- 
 lic-house there. A gentleman, who is now 
 in London, and one of the most eminent 
 men in the profession, used to preside as 
 steward ; and was attended by the happy 
 and cheerful tenantry, who did suit and 
 service, constituted a homage, and per- 
 formed other acts and deeds, agreeable to 
 the purpose for which they were duly and 
 truly summoned, and assembled. 
 
 Hitherto, little has been said respecting 
 the personal appearance and character of 
 Hut. Alderson, and therefore, without fur- 
 ther circumvolution, I hasten to add, that 
 he is fifty years of age " and upwards," of 
 the middle size and rather corpulent, of a 
 very ruddy countenance, is possessed of a 
 vast fund of anecdote, and is at all times an 
 agreeable and humorous companion. He 
 may generally be seen parading the streets 
 of Durham, as represented by my brother 
 prebend. Considering his humble rank in 
 society, he is well-informed ; and if he has 
 
 186 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 diiy failing, it is what has given the beauti- 
 rul vermilion tint to that which, as it forms 
 the most prominent feature in his appear- 
 ance, is made one of the most prominent 
 features of my memoir. As a crier, I never 
 liked him — his voice is too piaiio, and wants 
 a little of the forte. 
 
 In leHgion, Hut. is a stanch supporter of 
 the establishment, and regularly attends di- 
 vine service at St. Mary-le-Bow, where " his 
 reverence" is allowed an exalted seat in the 
 organ gallery, in which place, but for his 
 sei vices, I fear my friend, Mr. Weathereil, 
 the organist, would have difficulty in draw- 
 ing a single tone from the instrument. His 
 aversion to dissenters is tremendous, and 
 he is unsparing in his censure of those who 
 do not conform to the church ; yet, notwith- 
 standing this, both Catholics and Unitarians 
 unaccountably rank amongst his prebends. 
 In politics, he is a whig of the old school, 
 and abominates the radicals. At elections, 
 (for he has a vote both for county and city, 
 being a leaseholder for livee, and a freeman,) 
 he always supports Michael Angelo Taylor 
 and Mr. Lambton. He prides himself on 
 his integrity, and I believe justly, for he is 
 one that will never be bought or sold ; if 
 thousands were offered to him to obtain his 
 vote, he would spurn the bribe, and throw 
 the glittering ore in the faces of those who 
 dared to insult his independent spirit. 
 
 It may amuse the reader, if I offer the 
 following as a specimen of the ridiculous 
 interruptions Hut. meets with when crying. 
 
 THRfct Kings — Ding dong ! ding don g ! 
 ding dong ! 
 
 Hut. To be sold by auction — 
 
 1 Boy. Speak up ! speak up ! Hut. 
 Hut. Hod your jaw — at the Queen's 
 
 heed in — 
 
 2 Boy. The town of Butterby. 
 
 Hut. I'll smash your heed wi' the bell — 
 the Queen's heed in the Bailya — a large 
 collection of — 
 
 3 Boy. Pews, pulpits, and organs. 
 
 Hut. I'll rap your canister — of valua- 
 ble — buihs the property of — 
 
 1 Boy. The bishop of Butterby. 
 
 Hut. Be quiet, you scamp — of a gentle- 
 Tian from Lunnon — the bulks may be 
 /iewed any time between the hours of ono 
 and three, by applying to— 
 
 2 Boy. Torr.my Sly — 
 
 Hilt. Mr. Thwaites on the premises : the 
 sale to commence at seven o'clock in the 
 evening prizizely. 
 
 All Huihl hooeh! hooeh! 
 
 Nut. I'll smash some o' your heeds wi' 
 the bell — I knaw thee. Jack! — mind, an' I 
 doant tell thee mither noo, thou daft fule ! 
 
 This farce is usually acted every day 
 in the streets of Durham ; and to be truly 
 enjoyed it should be witnessed. Having 
 nothing more of my own to say, I shall 
 conclude this sketch in the language of 
 Rousseau. — " Voila ce que j'ai fait, ce que 
 j'ai pense. J'ai dit le bien et le mal avec 
 la mt*me franchise. Je n'ai rien tu de mau- 
 vais, rien ajoute de bon ; et s'il m'est arrive 
 d'employer quelque ornement indifierent, 
 ce n'a jamais ete que pour remplir un ruide 
 occasionne par mon defaut de iin6ra.oire ; 
 j'ai pu supposer vrai ce que je savoia, avoir 
 pu I'dtre jamais ce que je savois etie 
 faux." * 
 
 11. I. P. 
 
 To show the high estimation in which 
 the above character is held by the inhabit- 
 ants of Durham and Northumberland, a 
 correspondent relates, that on Saturday 
 last a select party of gentlemen connected 
 with the above counties, and chiefly ot the 
 legal and medical professions, dined at the 
 Queen's-head tavern, Holboin; where, after 
 the healths of the king and royal family, a 
 gentleman present proposed the heallli oi 
 " the Rev. Dr. Alderson, bishop of But- 
 terby." In the course of the introductory 
 speech, allusion was made to Hut.'s many 
 acquirements, and to his lustrous qualities 
 as a living ornament of the ancient city oi 
 Durham. The toast was drunk amid the 
 most enthusiastic applause, and a dignitary 
 of •' Butterby-church " returned thanks for 
 the honour conferred on his exalted dio- 
 cesan. 
 
 March 12, 1827. 
 
 THE DRAYMAN. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Lie heavy on him, earth ! for he 
 Laid many a heavy load "n thee. 
 
 Epig. 23, Christmas Treat. 
 
 The drayman is a being distinct from 
 other men, as the brewer's horse is distinct 
 from other horses — each seems adapted to 
 tlie other's use : the one eats abundantly oi 
 grains, and prospers in its traces — the other 
 drinks porter by the canful, and is hardly 
 able to button his jerkin. Much of a dray- 
 
 * Les ComfessioBg, part i. Ut. i> 
 
 187 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 man s lite is spent witfi his master's team 
 and barrels. Early rising is iiis indispens- 
 able duty ; and, long ere the window-shut- 
 ters of London shopkeepers are taken 
 down, he, with his fellow stavesmen, are 
 seen half way through the streets to the 
 vender of what is vulgarly called " heavy 
 wet." Woe to the patience of a crowd, 
 wailing to cross the roadway, when the 
 long line-, in clattering gear, are passing re- 
 view, like a troop of unyielding soldiers. 
 The driver, with his whip, looks as im- 
 portant as a sergeant-major; equipped in 
 his coat of mail, the very pavement trem- 
 bles with his gigantic tread* Sometimes 
 his comrades ride on the shaft and sleep, 
 to the imminent risk of their lives. Arrived 
 at their destination, they move a slow and 
 sure pace, which indicates that "all things 
 should be taken easy," for " the woild was 
 not made in a day." 
 
 The cellar being the centre of gravity, 
 the empty vessels are drawn out,, and the 
 full ones drawn in ; but with as much 
 science as would require Hercules himself 
 to exercise, and Bacchus to improve. After 
 these operations are performed, what a 
 sight it is to behold the drayman at work 
 over his breakfast, in the taproom if the 
 weather is cold, or on a bench in view of 
 a prospect, if the sunshine appears : the 
 hunch of bread and meat, or a piece of 
 cheese deposited in the hollow of his hand, 
 which he divides into no small portions, 
 are enough to pall the appetite. The 
 manner in which he clenches the frothy 
 pot, and conducts it to his mouth, and the 
 long draft he takes, in gurgles down his 
 unshorn, summer-like throat, almost war- 
 rant apprehensions of supply not being 
 equal to demand, and consequent advance 
 of price. He is an entire proof of the 
 lusty quality of his master's porter, for he 
 is the largest opium-pill in the brewhouse 
 dispensary. While feeding on the fat of 
 the publican's larder, his horses are shak- 
 ing up the corn, so unfeelingly crammed 
 in hair-bags, to their reeking nostrils. The 
 drayman is a sort of rough give and take 
 fellow ; he uses the whip in a braiigle, and 
 his sayings are sometimes, like himself^ 
 lather dry. When he returns to the brew- 
 house, he is to be found in the stable, ac 
 the vat, and hr the lower apartments. To 
 guard against cold, he prefers a red night- 
 cap to a Welsh wig, and takes great care of 
 
 * I am here reminded of an old epigram on a " Fat 
 Doctor," in the Christmas Treat, xxxiii. 
 
 " When Tadloo treads the streets, the paviers cry 
 
 • Ood bless you, lirl' and lay their rammers by." 
 
 the grains, without making' scruples. He 
 is a good preparer, well versed m the art 
 of refinement — knows when his articles 
 work well, and is an excellent judge of 
 brown stout. At evening, as his tuin re- 
 lieves him, he takes his next day's orders 
 at the counting-house, and with clean apron 
 and face, goes to his club, and sometimes 
 even ventures to make a benefit speech in 
 behalf of the sick members, or a disconso- 
 late widow. Now and then, in his best 
 while " foul weather," he treats his wife 
 and nieces to " the Wells," or " the Roy- 
 alty," taking something better than beer in 
 his pocket, made to. hold his "bunch of 
 fives," or any other esteemed commodity. 
 At a " free and easy,'' he sometimes " rubs 
 up," and enjoys a " bit of 'bacco '' out of 
 the tin box, wherein he drops his half- 
 penny before he fills ; and then, like a true 
 Spectator, smokes the company in a gen- 
 teel way. If called upon for a song, he 
 either complains of hoarseness, or of a bad 
 memory ; but should he indulge the call of 
 his Vice on hi? right hand,, he may be 
 heard fifty yards in the wind, after which 
 he is " knocked down" with thund'rous 
 applause. He shakes his collops at a good 
 joke about the " tap," and agrees with Joe 
 Miller, that 
 
 " Care to our coflSn adds a nail n4 doubt,. 
 But every grin of laughter draws one out." 
 
 An old dog's-eared song-book is the com- 
 panion to a bung-plug, a slate memo- 
 randa, and sundry utensils, which are his 
 pocket residents. He is proud to wear a 
 pair of fancy garters below knee, and on 
 Mondays his neckcloth and stockings show 
 that he was " clean as a new pin yester- 
 day." Like an undertaker, he smells of 
 the beer to which he is attached, and rarely 
 loses sight of " Dodd's Sermon on Malt." 
 He ventures to play sly tricks with his 
 favourite horse, and will give kick for kick 
 when irritated. His language to his team 
 is puie low Dutch, untranslatable, but per- 
 fectly understood when illustrated by a cut 
 It may be said that he moves in his own 
 sphere ; for, though he drives through the 
 porter world, he spends much of his time 
 02it of the public-house, and is rarely 
 te-ipse. What nature denies to others, 
 custom sanctions in him, for " he eats, 
 drinks, and is mcTry." If a rough speci- 
 men of an unsophisticated John Bull were 
 required, I would present the drayman. 
 
 J.R.? 
 
 188 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 From thi. Spanish of Queveuo. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 '' En el mundo naciste, no a emmendarle." 
 In this wide world, beware to think, my friend. 
 Thy lot is cast to change it, or amend ; 
 But to perform thy part, and give thy share 
 Of pitying aid ; not to subdue, but bear. 
 
 If prudent, thon may'st know the world ; if wise, 
 In virtue strong, thou may'st the world despise ; 
 For good, be grateful — be to ill resign'd. 
 And to the better world exalt thy mind. 
 
 The peril of thy soul in, this world fear. 
 But yet th' Almighty's wondrous work revere ; 
 See all things good but man ; and chiefly see. 
 With eye severe, the faults that dwell in thee. 
 On them exert thine energies, and try 
 Thyself to mend, ere judge the earth and sky. 
 
 ACQUAINTANCE TABLE. 
 
 2 Glances make 
 2 Bows . . . 
 6 How d'je do's 
 4 Conversations . 
 
 1 Bow. 
 
 1 ilow d'ye do. 
 1 Conversation. 
 1 Acquaintance. 
 
 Origin of 
 MARKING THE KING'S DISHES 
 
 WITH THE cooks' NAMES. 
 
 King George II. was accustomed every 
 other year to visit his German dominions 
 with the greater part of the officers of his 
 household, and especially those belonging 
 to the kitchen. Once on his passage at 
 sea, his first cook was so ill with the sea- 
 sickness, that he could not hold up his 
 head to dress his majesty's dinner ; this 
 being told to the king, he was exceedingly 
 sorry for it, as he was famous for making a 
 Rhenish soup, which his majesty was very 
 fond of; he therefore ordered inquiry to 
 be made among the assistant-cooks, if any 
 of them could make the above soup. One 
 named Weston (, father of Tom Weston, the 
 player) undertook it, and so pleased the 
 King, that h* declared it was full as good 
 as that made by the first cook. Soon after 
 the kirg's return to England, the first cook 
 died ; when the king was informed of it, 
 he said, that his steward of the household 
 always appointed his cooks, but that he 
 would now name one for himself, and there- 
 fore asking if one Weston was still in the 
 
 kitchen, and being answered that he was, 
 **' That man," said he, " shall be my first 
 cook, for he makes most excellent Rhenish 
 soup." This favour begot envy among all 
 the servants, so that, when any dish was 
 found fault with, they used to say it was 
 Weston's dressing : the king took notice 
 of this, and said to the servants, it was 
 very extraordinary, that every dish he dis- 
 liked should happen to be Weston's; " in 
 future," said he, " let every dish be marked 
 with the name of the cook that makes it." 
 By this means the king detected their arts, 
 and from that time Weston's dishes pleased 
 him most. The custom has continued ever 
 since, and is still practised at the king's 
 table. 
 
 MONEY— WEIGHTS AND 
 MEASURES. 
 
 Pound, is derived from the Latin word 
 pondus. 
 
 Ounce, from uncia, or twelfth, being 
 the twelfth of a pound troy. 
 
 Inch, from the same word,, being the 
 twelfth of a foot. 
 
 Yard, from the Saxon word gyrd, or 
 girth, being originally the circumference 
 of the body, until Henry I. decreed that it 
 should be the length of his arm. 
 
 Halfpenny and Farthing. In 1060, 
 when William the Conqueror began to 
 reign, the Penny, or sterling, was cast, 
 with a deep cross, so that it might be 
 broken in half, as a HALF-penny, or in 
 quarters, for Fotirthings, or /«?-lhings, as 
 we now call them. 
 
 OLD MUG-HOUSES. 
 
 The int-ernal economy of a mug-house in 
 the reign of George I. is thus described by 
 a foreign traveller : — 
 
 At the mug-house club inLong-acre,v,'here 
 on Wednesdays a mixture of gentlemen, 
 lawyers, and tradesmen meet in a great 
 room, a grave old gentleman in his grey 
 hairs, and nearly ninety years of age, is 
 their president, and sits ii. an armed chair 
 some steps higher than the rest. A harp 
 plays all the while at the lower end of the 
 room ; and now and then some one of the 
 company rises and entertains the rest with 
 a song, (and by the by some are good mas- 
 ters.) Here is nothing drank but ale, and 
 every gentleman chalks on the table as it i3 
 brought in : every one also, as in a coffee- 
 house, retires when he pleases. 
 
 N. B. In the time of the parliament's 
 
 189 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Sitting, there are clubs composed of the 
 members of the commons, where most affairs 
 are digested before they are brought into 
 the house. 
 
 " AS DRUNK AS DAVID'S SOW." 
 
 A few years ago, one David Lloyd, a 
 Welchnian, who kept an inn at Hereford, 
 had a living sow with six legs which occa- 
 sioned great resort to the house. David also 
 had a wife who was much addicted to 
 drunkenness, and for which he used fre- 
 fjuently to bestow on her an admonitory drub- 
 bing. One day, having taken an extra cup 
 which operated in a powerful manner, and 
 dreading the usual consequences, she open- 
 ed the stye-door, let out David's sow, and 
 lay down in its place, hopmg that a short 
 unmolested nap would sufficiently dispel 
 the fumes of the liquor. In the mean time, 
 however, a company arrived to view the so 
 much talked of animal ; and Davy, proud 
 of his office, ushered ttiem to the stye, ex- 
 claiming, " Did any of you ever see such a 
 creature before ?" — " Indeed, Davy," said 
 one of the farmers, " I never before saw a 
 sow so drunk as thine in all my life !" — 
 Hence the term " as drunk as David's 
 
 50W." 
 
 Singular return. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 An inhabitant of the parish of Clerken- 
 wpII being called upon, a short time ago, 
 to fill up the blanks of a printed circular 
 under the following heads, in pursuance of 
 an act of parliament passed in the sixth 
 yea*- of his present majesty's reign, entitled 
 " An Act for consolidating and amending 
 the Laws relative to Jurors and Juries," 
 sent in his return as follows : — 
 
 " Street.'" 
 Raker-street — badly paved — rascally 
 lighted — with one old woman of a watch- 
 man. 
 
 " Title, Quality, Calling, or 
 Business." 
 No title — no quality — no calling, except 
 when my wife and sixteen children call for 
 bread and butter — and as for business, I 
 have none. Times are bad, and there's no 
 business to be done. 
 
 " Nature of Qualification ; whether 
 Freehold, Copyhold, oh Leasehold 
 Property." 
 
 No freehold property — no copyhold pro. 
 perty — no leasehold property. In fact, no 
 property at all ! I live by my wits, as one 
 half of the world live, and am therefore 
 NOT qualified. 
 
 Gaspard 
 
 Suburban ^cimietsf. 
 I. 
 
 ISLINGTON. 
 
 Thy fields, fair Islington ' begin to beai 
 
 Unwelcome buildings, and unseemly piles ; 
 The streets are spreading, and the Lord knows where 
 
 improvement's hand will spare the neig^b'ring stiles 
 The rural blandishments of Maiden Lane 
 
 Are ev'ry day becoming less and less, 
 While kilns and lime roads force us to complain 
 
 Of nuisances time only can suppress. 
 A few more years, and Copenhaoen House 
 
 Shall cease to charm the tailor and the snob; 
 And where attornies' clerks in smoke carouse. 
 
 Regardless wholly of to-morrow's job. 
 Some Claremont Row, or Prospect-Place shall 'iso, 
 
 Or terrace, p'rhaps, misnomer'd Paeadise 1 
 
 K. 
 HAGBUSH LANE. 
 
 Poor Haobtish Lane 1 thy ancient charms are jfoinu 
 
 To rack and ruin fast as tliey can go ; 
 And where but lately many a flow'r was groiving, 
 
 Nothing shall shortly be allow'd to grow I 
 Thy humble cottage, where as yet they sell 
 
 No " nut-brown ale," or luscious Stilton cheese — 
 Where dusky gipsies in the summer dwell, 
 
 And donkey drivers fight their dogs at ease, 
 Sh-ill feel ere long the lev'Uing hand of taste, 
 
 1 f that be taste which darkens ev'ry field ; 
 Tliy garden too shall likewise be displac'd. 
 
 And no more " cabbage " to its master yield ; 
 Bur, in its stead, some new Vauxhall perchance 
 
 Shall rise, renown'd for pantomime and dance ' 
 
 III. 
 
 HIGHGATE. 
 
 Already, Hiohoate I to thy skirts they bear 
 
 Bricks, mortar, timber, in no small degree, 
 And thy once pure, exhilarating air 
 
 Is growing pregnant with impurity ! 
 The would-be merchant has his " country box " 
 
 A few short measures from the dusty road. 
 Where friends on hunday talk about the stocks 
 
 Or praise the beauties of his " neat abode :'' 
 One deems the wall-flow'r garden, in the froat, 
 
 Unrivall'd for each aromatic bed ; 
 Another fancies that his old sow's gmnt 
 
 "Is so much Kke the country," and .t.-^Ic^ 
 Of Imni!; lorger do-yn in Crooked lane. 
 
 Resolves, at onoe, to " ruralize " again I 
 
 Islington. J. O, 
 
 1 
 
 190 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 SHEPHERD'S WELL, HAMPSTEAD. 
 
 The verdant lawns which rise above the riU 
 Are not unworthy Virgil's past'ral song. 
 
 On the west &ide of Hampsteail, in the 
 middle of one of the pleasant meadows 
 called Shepherd's fields, at the left-hand of 
 the footpath going from Belsize-house to- 
 wards the church, this arch, embedded above 
 and around by the green turf, forms a con- 
 duit-head to a beautiful sprmg: the specific 
 gravity of the fluid, which yields several 
 tuns a day, is little more than that of dis- 
 tilled water. Ilnmpstead abounds in other 
 springs, but they are mostly impregnated 
 with mineral substances. The water of 
 " Shepherd's wtll," therefore, is in continual 
 reCiuest, and those who cannot otherwise 
 conveniently obtain it, are supplied through 
 a few of the villagers, who make a scanty 
 living by carrying it to houses fc r a penny 
 i nail-full. There is no carriage-way to 
 
 the spot, and these poor thi..gs have mucn 
 hard work for a very little money. 
 
 I first knew this spring in my childhood, 
 when domiciled with a relation, who then 
 occupied Belsize-house, by being allowed to 
 go with Jeff the under-gardener, whose 
 duty it was to fetch water from the spring. 
 As I accompanied him, so a tame magpie 
 accompanied mc : Jeff slouched on with 
 his pails and yoke, and my ardour to pre- 
 cede was restrained by fear of some it 
 happening to Mag if I did not .ook after 
 the rogue. He was a wayward bird, 
 the first to follow wherever I went, but 
 alA'ays according to his own fashion; he 
 never put forth his speed till he found him- 
 self a long way behind, so that Jeft atways 
 led the van, and M'^e always brought up 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 191 
 
 O 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 tne rear, making up for long lagging by 
 long hopping. On one occasion, however, 
 as soon as we got out of the side-door from 
 the out-house yard into Belsize-Iane, Mag 
 bounded across the road, and over the 
 wicket along the meadows, with quick and 
 long hops, throwing *' side-long looks be- 
 hind," as if deriding my inability to keep 
 up -with hi-m, till he reached the well : there 
 we both waited for Jeff, who for once was 
 last, and, on whose arrival, the bird took his 
 station on the crown of the arch, looking 
 alternately down to the well and up at Jeff 
 It was a s\iltry day in a season of drought, 
 and, to Jeff's surprise, the water was not 
 easily within reach ; while he was making 
 efforts with the bucket, Mag seemed deeply 
 interested in the experiment, and flitted 
 about with tiresome assiduity. In a moment 
 Jeff rose in a rage, execrated poor Mag, 
 and vowed cruel vengeance on him. On 
 our way home the bird preceded, and Jeff, 
 to my continual alarm in behalf of Mag, 
 several times stopped, and threw stones at 
 him with great violence. It was not till 
 we were housed, that the man's anger 
 was sufficiently appeased to let him ac- 
 quaint me with its cause: and then I 
 learned that Mag was a "wicked bird," 
 who knew of the low water before he set 
 G«t, and was delighted with the mischief. 
 From that day, Jeff hated him, and tried to 
 maim him : the creature's sagacity in elud- 
 ing his brutal intent, he imputed to dia- 
 bolical knowledge; and, while my estima- 
 tion of Jeff as a good-natured fellow was 
 considerably shaken, I acquired a secret 
 fear of poor Mag. This was my first ac- 
 quaintance with the superstitious and dan- 
 gerous feelings of ignorance. 
 
 The water of Shepherd's well is remark- 
 able for not being subject to freeze. There 
 is another spring sometimes resorted to near 
 Kilburn, but this and the ponds in the Vale 
 of Health are the ordinary sources of public 
 supply to Hampstead. The chief incon- 
 venience of habitations in this delightful vil- 
 lage is the inadequate distribution of good 
 water. Occasional visitants, for the sake 
 of health, frequently sustain considerable 
 injury by the insalubrity of private springs, 
 and charge upon the fluid they breathe the 
 mischiefs they derive from the fluid they 
 drink. The localities of the place afford 
 almost every variety of aspect and temper- 
 ature that invalids require: and aconstnsit 
 sufficiency of wholesome water might be 
 easily obtained by a few simple arrange- 
 ments. 
 
 * 
 
 March 19, 1827. 
 
 #arn'rlt ^lapsf. 
 
 No. X. 
 
 [From the " Fair Maid of the Exchange," 
 a Comedy, by Thomas Hey wood, 
 1537.] 
 
 Cripple offers to fit Frank Golding with 
 ready made Love Epistles. 
 
 Franli. Of thy own writing ? 
 
 Crip. My own, I assure you. Sir. 
 
 Frank. Kalth, thou hast robb'd some sonnet-book oi 
 other. 
 And now would'st make me think they are thy own. 
 
 Crip. Why, think'st thou that I cannot write a Letter, 
 Ditty, or Sonnet, with judicial phrase. 
 As pretty, pleasing, and patnetical, 
 As the best Ovid-imitating dunce 
 In the whole town ? 
 
 Frank. I think thou can'st not. 
 
 Crip. Yea, I'll swear I cannot. 
 Yet, Sirrah, I could coney-catch the world, 
 Make myself famous for a sudden wit. 
 And be admired for my dexterity. 
 Were 1 disposed. 
 
 Frank. I prithee, how ? 
 
 Crip. Why, thus. There lived a Poet in this town, 
 (If we may term our modern writers Poets), 
 Sharp-witted, bitter-topgued ; his pen, of steel; 
 His ink was temper'd with the biting juice 
 And extracts of the bitterest weeds that grew 
 He never wrote but when the elements 
 Of fire and water tilted in his brain. 
 This fellow, ready to give up is ghost 
 To Lucia's bosom, did bequeath to me 
 His Library, which w.is just nothing 
 But rolls, and scrolls, and bundles of cast wit. 
 Such as durst never visit Paul's Church Yard. 
 Amongst 'em all I lighted on a quire 
 Or two of paper, fiU'd with Songs and Ditties, 
 And here and there a hungry Epigram ; 
 These I reserve to my own proper use. 
 And Pater-noster-like have conn'd them all. 
 I could now, when I am in company. 
 At ale-house, tavern, or an ordinary. 
 Upon a theme make an extemporal ditty 
 (Or one at least should seem extemporal). 
 Out of the abundance of this Legacy, 
 That all would judge it, and report it too. 
 To be the infant of a sudden wit. 
 And then were I an admirable fellow. 
 
 Frank. This were a piece of cunning. 
 
 Crip. I could do more ; for I could make enquiry. 
 Where the best-witted gallants use to dine, 
 Follow them to the tavern, and there sit 
 In the next room with a calve's head and brimstone, 
 And over-hear their talk, observe their humours, 
 Collect their jests, put them into a play, 
 And tire them too with payment to behold 
 What I have filch'd from them. This I could do 
 
 lyj 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 But O for shame that man shoiild so arraign 
 rheir own fee-simple wits for verbal theft T 
 Yet men there be that have done this and that, 
 And more by much more than the most of them. • 
 
 After this Specimen of the pleasanter 
 vein of Heywood, I am tempted to extract 
 some lines from his " Hierarchie of Angels, 
 1634;" not strictly as a Dramatic Poem, 
 but because the passage contains a string 
 of names, all but that of ffatson, his con- 
 temporary Dramatists. He is complaining 
 in a mood half serious, half comic, of the 
 disrespect which Poets in his own times 
 meet with from the world, compared with 
 the honors paid them by Antiquity. Then 
 they could afford them three or four sono- 
 rous names, and at full length ; as to Ovid, 
 the addition of Publius Naso Sulmensis ; 
 to Seneca, that of Lucius Annaeas Cordu- 
 bensis ; and the like. A^oiv, says he, 
 
 Our modern Poets to that pass are driven. 
 
 Those names are curtail'd which they first had gfiven ; 
 
 And, as we wish'd to have their memories drown'd. 
 
 We scarcely can afford them half their sound. 
 
 Greene, who had in both Academies ta'en 
 
 Degree of Master, yet could never gain 
 
 To be call'd more than Robin : who, had he 
 
 Profest ought save the Muse, served, and been free 
 
 After a sev'n years prenticeship, might have 
 
 (With credit too) gone Robert to his grave. 
 
 Marlowe, renown'd for his rare art and wit. 
 
 Could ne'er attain beyond the name of Kit; 
 
 Although his Hero and Leander did 
 
 Merit addition rather. Famous Kid 
 
 Was call'd but Tom. Tom Watson ; though he wrote 
 
 Able to make Apollo's self to dote 
 
 Upon his Muse ; for all that he could strive. 
 
 Yet never could to his full name arrive. 
 
 Tom Nash (in his time of no small esteem) 
 
 Could not a second syllable redeem. 
 
 Excellent Beaumont, in the foremost rank 
 
 Of the rarest wits, was never more than Frank. 
 
 Mellifluous Shakspeare, whose inchanting quill 
 
 Commanded mirth or passion, was but Will ; 
 
 • The full title of this Play is " The Fair Maid of 
 the Exchange, with the humours of the Cripple of Fen- 
 L'hurch." The above Satire against some Dramatic 
 Plagiarists of the time, is put into the mouth of the 
 Cripple, who is an excellent fellow, and the Hero of the 
 Comedy. Of his humour this extract is a sufficient 
 specimen ; but he is described (albeit a tradesman, yet 
 wealthy withal) with heroic qualities of mind and 
 body, the latter of which he evinces by rescuing his 
 Mistress (the Fair Maid) from tiiree robbers by the 
 main force of one crutch lustily applied ; and the 
 former by his foregoing the advantages which this 
 action gained him in her good opinion, and bestowing 
 His wit and finesse in procuring for her a husband, in 
 the person of his friend Golding, more worthy of her 
 beauty, than he could conceive bis own maimed and 
 halting limbs to be. It would require some boldness in 
 a dramatist now-a-days to exhibit such a Character ; 
 nnd some luck in finding a sufficient Actor, who would 
 be willing to personate the infirmities, together witi 
 Ihe virtues, of the Noble Cripple. 
 
 And famous Jonson, though his learned pen 
 Be dipt in Castaly, is still but Ben. 
 Fletcher, and Webster, of that learned pack 
 None of the meanest, neither was but Jack ; 
 Decker but Tom ; nor May, nor Middleton ; 
 And he's now but Jack Ford, that once were John. 
 
 Possibly our Poet was a, little sore, that 
 this contemptuous curtailment of their Bap- 
 tismal Names was chiefly exercised upon 
 his Poetical Brethren of the Drama. We 
 hear nothing about Sam Daniel, or Ned 
 Spenser, in his catalogue. The familiarity 
 of common discourse might probably take 
 the greater liberties with the Dramatic 
 Poets, as conceiving of them as more upon 
 a level with the Stage Actors. Or did their 
 greater publicity, and popularity in con- 
 sequence, fasten these diminutives upon 
 them out of a feeling of love and kindness ; 
 as we say Harry the Fifth, rather than 
 Henry, when we would express good will ? 
 — as himself says, in those reviving words 
 put into his mouth by Shakspeare, where 
 he would comfort and confirm his doubting 
 brothers : 
 
 Not Amnrath an Amurath succeeds, 
 But Harry Harry 1 
 
 And doubtless Heywood had an indistinct 
 conception of this truth, when (cming to 
 his own name), with that beautiful retract- 
 ing which is natural to one that, not Sati- 
 rically given, has wandered a little out of 
 his way into something recriminative, he 
 goes on to say : 
 
 Nor speak I this, that any here exprest 
 Should think themselves less worthy than the rest 
 Whose names have their full syllables and sound ; 
 Or that Frank, Kit, or Jack, are the least wound 
 Unto their fame and merit. I for my part 
 (Think others what they please) accept that heart. 
 Which courts my love in most familiar phrase ; 
 And that it takes not from my pains or praise. 
 If any one to me so bluntly come : 
 I hold he loves me best that calls me Tom. 
 
 C. L 
 
 ERRATA. 
 GARRici Plays, No. IX. 
 Col. 357. Last line but two of the last 
 extract — 
 
 " Blushing forth golden hair and glorious red " — 
 
 a sun-bright line spoiled : — 
 Blush for Blushing. 
 Last line but two of the extract preced- 
 ing the former, (the end of the old man's 
 speech) — 
 
 " Restrained liberty attain'd is sweet," 
 
 should have a full stop. 
 
 193 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 These little blemishes kill such delicate 
 things: prose feeds on grosser punctualities. 
 
 Will the reader be pleased to make the 
 above corrections wiih a pen, and allow 
 the fact of illness in excuse for editorial 
 mischance ? 
 
 SNUFF AND TOBACCO. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 In the year 1 797 was circulated the fol- 
 lowing : — 
 
 Proposals for Publishing by Subscrip- 
 tion, a History of Snuff and Tobacco, 
 in two Volumes. 
 
 Vol. I. to contain a Description of the 
 Nose — Size of Noses — A Digression on 
 Roman Noses — Whether long Noses are 
 symptomatic — Origin of Tobacco — Tobac- 
 co first manufactured into Snuif — Enquiry 
 who took the first Pinch — Essay on Sneez- 
 ing — Whether the ancients sneezed, and at 
 what — Origin of Pocket-handkerchiefs — ■ 
 Discrimination between Snuffing and tak- 
 ing Snuff; the former applied only to Can- 
 dles — Parliamentary Snufftakers — Trou- 
 bles in the time of Charles the First, as con- 
 nected with Smoking. 
 
 Vol. II. Snufftakers in the Parliamen- 
 tary army — Wit at a Pinch — Oval Snuff- 
 boxes first used by the Round-heads — 
 Manufacture of Tobacco Pipes — Disserta- 
 tion on Pipe Clay — State of Snuff during 
 the Commonwealth — The Union — Sco'ch 
 Snuff first introduced— found very pungent 
 and penetrating — Accession of George the 
 Second — Snuff-boxes then made of Gold 
 and Silver — George the Third — Scotch 
 Snuff first introduced at Court — The Queen 
 — German Snufl's in fashion — Female Snuff- 
 takers — Clean Tuckers, &,c. &c.— Index 
 and List of Subscribers. 
 
 In connection with this subject I beg 
 to mention an anecdote, related to 
 me by an old Gentleman who well re- 
 membered the circumstance : — 
 
 " When every Shopkeeper had a Sign 
 lianging out before his door, a Dealer in 
 Snaff and Tobacco on Fish Street Hill, car- 
 ried on a large trade, especia'.iy in To- 
 bacco, *"or ris Shop was greatly freauented 
 by Sailors from the Ships in the River. In 
 the course of time, a Person of the name or' 
 Farr opened a Shop nearly opposite, and 
 hung out his Sign inscribed 'The best To- 
 bacco by Farr.' This (like the Shoemaker's 
 inscription, ' Adam Strong Shoemaker/ -so 
 
 well known) attracted the attention of the 
 Sailors, who left the old Shop to buy ' ti\» 
 best Tobacco by far.' The old Shopkeeper 
 observing that his opponent obtained mucc 
 custom by his Sign, had a new one put up 
 at his Door inscribed ' Far better Tobacco 
 than the best Tobacco by Farr.' This had 
 its effect; his trade returned, and finally 
 his opponent was obliged to give up busi- 
 ness.'' 
 
 W. P. 
 
 THE SMOKER'S SONG. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 For tliy sake, Tobacco, I 
 Would do any thing bat tie 1 
 
 Cui.SLEi LAilS. 
 
 1. 
 
 There is a tiny weed, man, 
 
 That grows far o'er the sea man; 
 
 The jnice of which does more bewitch 
 Than does the gossip's tea, man. 
 
 2. 
 
 Its name is call'd tobacco, 
 
 'Tis used near and far man ; 
 The car-man chews — hut I will choose 
 
 The daintier cigar, man. 
 
 3. 
 
 'Tis dainty ev'n in shape, man — 
 So round, so smooth, so long, man I 
 
 If you're a churl, 'twill from you hurl 
 Your spleen — you'll sing a song, ma»l 
 
 If you will once permit it 
 
 To tonch your swelling lip, maa. 
 
 You soon shall see 'twill sweeter be 
 Than what the bee doth sip, m»n! 
 
 5. 
 
 If e'er you are in trouble. 
 
 This will your trouble still, man, 
 
 On sea and land 'tis at command. 
 An idle hour to kill, man 1 
 
 6. 
 
 And if the Mind god, Cupid, 
 
 Should strike you to the heart, man. 
 Take up a glass, and toast your lass — 
 
 And — ne'er from smoking part, maa 1 
 
 7. 
 
 And also if you're married, 
 
 In Hymen's chains fast bound, man; 
 To plcgue your wife out of lier life. 
 
 Smoke still the whole year round, "".jinl 
 
 8. 
 How sweet 'tis of an evemng 
 
 When wint'ry winds do 'jiow, mmt 
 As 'twere in spite, to take a pipe. 
 
 And smoke by th' fire's glow, man I. 
 
 194 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 9. 
 
 The sailor in hU ship, man, 
 H'ben wiJdly rolls the wave, man, 
 
 t-»is pipe will smoke, and crack his joke 
 A 00.- nis yawning grave, man I 
 
 la. 
 'Ihe soldier, in the tavern. 
 
 Talks of the battle's roar, man ; 
 With pipe in hand, he gives command. 
 
 And thus he lives twice o'er man 1 
 
 11. 
 
 All classes in this world, man. 
 Have each their own enjoyment. 
 
 But with a pipe, they're all alike— 
 'Tis every one's employment I 
 
 12. 
 Of all the var-ous pleasures 
 
 1 hat on this earth there are, man, 
 There's nought to me aftbrds such glee 
 
 As a pipe or sweet cigar, man ! 
 
 O. N. Y. 
 
 SIQ Customsf antr iBanmr^* 
 
 By JOHN AUBREY, 1678 
 Ex MS. Coll. Ashmol. Mus. OxroRD. 
 
 Education. 
 There were very few free-schools in 
 England before the Reformation. Youth 
 were generally taught Latin in the monas- 
 teries, and young women had their educa- 
 tion not at Hackney, as now, scilicit, anno 
 1678, but at nunneries, where they learnt 
 needle-work, confectionary, surgery, physic, 
 (apothecaries and surgeons being at that 
 time very rare,) writing, drawing, &c. Old 
 Jackquar, now living, has often seen from 
 his house the nuns of St. Mary Kingston, 
 in Wilts, coming forth into the Nymph Hay 
 with their rocks and wheels to spin, some- 
 times to the number of threescore and ten, 
 all whom were not nuns, but young girls 
 sent there for their education. 
 
 Chimneys. 
 Anciently, before the Reformation, ordi- 
 nary men's houses, as copyholders, and the 
 like, had no chimneys, but flues like louver- 
 holes ; some of them were in heing when I 
 was a boy. 
 
 Painted Cloths. 
 In the halls and parlours of great houses 
 were wrote texts of Scripture en the paint- 
 ed clotlLS. 
 
 Libels. 
 The lawyers say, that, before the time of 
 king Heury Vlil., flne shall hardly find 
 
 an action on the case as for slander, &c 
 once in a year, quod nota. 
 
 Christmas. 
 Before the last civil wars, in gentlemen's 
 houses at Christmas, the first dish ihat was 
 brought to the table was a boar's head 
 with a lemon in his mouth. At Queen's 
 College in Oxford they still retain this 
 custom ; the bearer of it brings it into the 
 hall, singing to an old tune an old Latin 
 rhyme, " Caput apri defero," &c. The first 
 dish that was brought up to the table on 
 Easter-day was a red heriing riding away 
 on horseback, i. e. a herring ordered by 
 the cook something after the likeness of a 
 man on horseback, set in a corn salad. 
 
 Easter. 
 The custom of eating a gammon of bacorr 
 at Easter, which is still kept up in many 
 parts of Plngland, was founded on this, viz 
 to show their abhorrence to Judaism at that 
 solemn commemoration of our Lord's 
 resurrection. In the Easter holydays was 
 the clerk's ale for his private benefit, and 
 the solace of the neighbourhood. 
 
 Salutations. 
 The use of " Your humble servant" 
 came first into England on the marriage oi 
 queen Mary, daughter of Henry IV. oi 
 Irance, which is derived from Fotre tres 
 humble serviteur. The usual salutation 
 before that time was, " God keep you !" 
 " God be with you !" and among the vul- 
 gar, " How dost do?" with a thump on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 Court Rudeness. 
 Till this time the court itself was un- 
 polished and unmannered. King James's 
 court was so far from being civil tc wo- 
 men, that the ladies, nay the queen herself, 
 could hardly pass by the king's apartment 
 without receiving some affront. 
 
 Travellers in France. 
 At the parish priests' houses in France, 
 especially in Languedoc, the table-cloth 
 is on the board all day long, and ready foi 
 what is in the house to be put thereon for 
 strangers, travellers, friars, and pilgrims; 
 so 'twas, I have heard my grandfather say, 
 in his grandfather's time. 
 
 Private Heralds. 
 Heretofore noblemen and gentlemen ot 
 fair estates had their heralds, who wore 
 their coat of arms at Christmas, and at 
 other solemn times, and cried " Large.sse" 
 thrice 
 
 195 
 
THE TABLE BOOK, 
 
 At Tomarton, in Gloucestershire, an- 
 ciently the seat of the Rivers, is a dungeon 
 thirteen or fourteen feet deep ; about four 
 feet high are iron rings fastened to the 
 wall, which was probably to tie offending 
 villains to, as all lords of manors had this 
 power over their villains,(or soccage tenants,) 
 and had all of them no doubt such places 
 for their punishment. It is well known, 
 all castles had dungeons, and so I believe 
 had monasteries, for they had often within 
 themselves power of life and death 
 
 In days of yore, lords and gentlemen 
 lived in the country like petty kings ; had 
 jura regalia belonging to their seigniories, 
 had their castles and boroughs, had gallows 
 within their liberties, where they could try, 
 condemn, and execute. Never went to 
 London but in parliament-time, or once a 
 year to do their homage to the king. 
 They always ate in gothic halls, at the high 
 table or oreille, (which is a little room at 
 the upper end of the hall, where stands a 
 table,) with the folks at the side-tables. The 
 meat was served up by watchwords. 
 Jacks are but of late invention. The poor 
 boys did turn the spits, and licked the 
 dripping for their pains. The beds of the 
 men-servants and retainers were in the 
 hall, as now in the grand or privy chamber. 
 
 Here in the hall, the mumming and the 
 loaf-stealing, and other Christmas sports, 
 were performed. 
 
 The hearth was commonly in the middle, 
 whence the saying, " Round about our 
 coal-fire." 
 
 A neat-built chapel, and a spacious hall, 
 were all the rooms of note, the rest more 
 small. 
 
 Private Armories. 
 Every baron and gentleman of estate 
 kept great horses for men at arms. Some 
 had their armories sufficient to furnish out 
 some hundreds of men. 
 
 Justices' Halls. 
 The halls of the justices of peace were 
 dreadful to behold; the screen was gar- 
 nished with corselets and helmets gaping 
 with open mouths, with coats of mail, 
 lances, pikes, halberds, brown bills, bat- 
 terdastors, and buckles. 
 
 Inns. 
 Public inns were rare. Travellers were 
 entertained at religious houses for three 
 days together, if occasion served. 
 
 Gentry Meetings. 
 The meeting of the gentry were not at 
 taverns, but in the fields or forests, with 
 
 hawks and hounds, and their bugle-noms 
 in silken bawderies. 
 
 Haivhing: 
 
 In the last age every gentleman-hke 
 man kept a sparrow-hawk, and the priest 
 a hobby, as dame Julian Berners teaches 
 us, (who wrote a treatise on field-sports, 
 temp. Henry VI. :) it was a divertisement 
 for young gentlewomen to manne sparrow- 
 hawks and merlines. 
 
 Church-houses — Poor'Tatea. 
 
 Before the Reformation there were no 
 poor's rates ; the charitable doles given at 
 religious houses, and church-ale in every 
 parish, did the business. In every parish 
 there was a church-house, to which be- 
 longed spits, pots, crocks, &c. for dressing 
 provision. Here the housekeepers met 
 and were merry, and gave their charity. 
 The young people came there too, and had 
 dancing, bowling, shooting at butts, &c. 
 Mr. A. Wood assures me, there were few 
 or no alms-houses before the time of king 
 Henry VIII, ; that at Oxford, opposite to 
 Christ church, is one of the most ancient in 
 England. In every church was a poor 
 man's box, and the like at great inns. 
 
 In these times, besides the jollities 
 above-mentioned, they had their pilgrim- 
 ages to several shrines, as to Walsingham, 
 Canterbury, Glastonbury, Bromholra, &c 
 Then the crusades to the holy wars were 
 magnificent and splendid, and gave rise to 
 the adventures of the knight-errant and 
 romances ; the solemnity attending proces- 
 sions in and about chuiches, and the per- 
 ambulations in the fields, were great diver- 
 sions also of those times. 
 
 Glass fVindoivs. 
 
 Glass windows^ except in churches and 
 gentlemen's houses, were rare before the 
 time of Henry VHI. In my own remem- 
 brance, before the civil wars, copyholders 
 and poor people had none. 
 
 Men's Coats. 
 
 About ninety years ago, noblemen's and 
 gentlemen's coats were of the bedels and 
 yeomen of the guards, i. e. gathered at 
 the middle. The benchers in the inns of 
 court yet retain that fashion in the make of 
 their gowns. 
 
 Church-bttildtng. 
 
 Captain Silas Taylor says, that m days 
 of yore, when a church was to be built, they 
 
 196 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 watched and prayed on the vigil of the 
 dedication, and took that point of the 
 horizon where the sun arose for the east, 
 which makes that variation, so that few 
 stand true, except those built between the 
 two equinoxes. I have experimented some 
 churches, and have found the line to point 
 lo that part of the horizon where the sun 
 rises on the day of that saint to whom the 
 church was dedicated. 
 
 Before the wake, or feast of the dedi- 
 cation of the church, they sat up all night 
 fasting and praying, (viz.) on the eve of 
 the wake. 
 
 New Moon. 
 
 In Scotland, especially among the High- 
 landers, the women make a courtesy to 
 the new moon ; and our English women in 
 this country have a touch of this, some of 
 them sitting astride on a gate or style the 
 first evening the new moon appears, and 
 say, " A fine moon, God bless her !" The 
 like I observed in Herefordshire. 
 
 Husbandry — Shepherds. 
 
 The Britons received the knowledge of 
 husbandry from the Romans ; the foot and 
 the acie, which we yet use, is the nearest 
 to them. In our west country, (and I be- 
 lieve so in the north,) they give no wages 
 to the shepherd, but he has the keeping so 
 many sheep with his master's flock. Plau- 
 tus hints at this in his Asinaria, act 3, 
 scene 1, "etiam Opilio," &c. 
 
 Architecture. 
 
 The Normans brought with them into 
 England civility and building, which, 
 though it was gothic. was yet magnificent. 
 
 Mr. Dugdale told me, that, about the 
 time of king Henry III., the pope gave a 
 bull, or patent, to a company of Italian 
 architects, to travel up and down Europe 
 to build churches. 
 
 Trumpets — Sheriffs' Trumpets. 
 
 Upon occasion of bustling in those daysj 
 ^reat lords sounded their trumpets, and 
 summoned those that held under tht-m. 
 Old sir Walter Long, of Draycot, kept a 
 trumpeter, rode with thirty servants and re- 
 tainers. Hence the sheriffs' trumpets at 
 this day. 
 
 Younger Brothers. 
 
 No younger brothers were to betake 
 themselves to trades, but were churchmen 
 or retainers to great men. 
 
 Learning, and learned Men. 
 From the time of Erasmus till anouf 
 twenty years last past, the learning was 
 downright pedantry. The conversation and- 
 habits of those times were as starched' as 
 their bands and square beards, and gravity- 
 was then taken for wisdom. The doctors 
 in those days were but old boys, when> 
 quibbles passed for wit, even in their ser- 
 mons. 
 
 Gentry and their Children. 
 
 The gentry and citizens ha^' little learn-- 
 ing of any kind, and their way of breeding, 
 up their children was suitable to the rest.. 
 They were as severe to their children as 
 their schoolmasters, and their schoolmas- 
 ters as masters of the house of correction : 
 the child perfectly loathed the sight of his- 
 parents as the slave his torture. 
 
 Gentlemen of thirty and forty years old 
 were to stand like mutes and fools bare- 
 headed before their parents ; and the 
 daughters (grown women) were to stand at 
 the cupboard-side during the whole time of 
 her proud mother's visit, unless (as the 
 fashion was) leave was desired forsooth 
 that a cushion should be given them to 
 kneel upon, brought them by the serving- 
 man, after they had done sufficient penance 
 in standing. 
 
 The boys (I mean the young fellow) had 
 their foreheads turned up and stiffened 
 with spittle : they were to stand mannerly 
 forsooth thus, the foretop ordered as before, 
 with one hand at the bandstring, and the 
 other behind. 
 
 Fans. 
 The gentlewomen had prodigious fans, 
 as is to be seen in old pictures, like that in- 
 strument which is used to drive feathers, 
 and it had a handle at least haflf a yard 
 long ; with these the daughters were often- 
 times corrected, (sir Edward Coke, lord 
 chief justice, rode the circuit with such a 
 fan ; sir William Dugdale told me he was 
 an eye-witness of it. The earl of Man- 
 chester also used such a fan,) but fathers 
 and mothers slashed their daughters in the 
 time of their besom discipline, when they, 
 were perfect women. 
 
 University Flogging. 
 
 At Oxford (and I believe at Cambridge; 
 the rod was frequently used by the tutors 
 and deans ; and Dr. Potter, of Trinity col- 
 lege, I knew right well, whipped his pupil 
 with his sword by his side, when he came 
 to take his leave of hi no. to go to I'le ians ot 
 courtj 
 
 im 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 YOUNa LAMBS TO SELL. 
 
 Young Iambs to sell ! young lambs to sell I 
 If I'd as much money as I could tell, 
 I'd not come here with lambs to sell I 
 Dolly and Molly, Richard and Nell, 
 Buy my young lambs, and I'LL use you well 1 
 
 This is a " London cry " at the present 
 time : the engraving represents the crier, 
 William Listen, from a drawing for which 
 he purposely stood. 
 
 This "public character" was born in the 
 Gallowgate in the city of Glasgow. He 
 became a soldier in the waggon-train, 
 commanded by colonel Hamilton, and 
 served under the duke of York in Holland, 
 where, on the 6th of October, 1799, he lost 
 his right arm and left leg, and his place in 
 the army. His misfortunes thrust distinc- 
 tion upon him. From having been a pri- 
 vate in the ranks, where he would have re- 
 
 mained a single undistinguishable cipher 0, 
 amongst a row of ciphers 00000000 
 he now makes a figure in the world ; and is 
 perhaps better known throughout England 
 than any other individual of his order in 
 society, for he has visited almost every 
 town with "young lambs to sell." He 
 has a wife and four children ; the latter are 
 constantly employed in making the "young 
 lambs," with white cotton wool for fleeces, 
 spangled with Dutch gilt, the head of flour 
 paste, red paint on the cheeks, two jet 
 black spots for eyes, horns of twisted shin • 
 ing tin, legs to correspond, and pink tap« 
 
 I 
 
 198 
 
THl^ TA'RTi'R P^OOK. 
 
 tied round the fieck for a graceful collar. 
 A full basket of tliese, and his son^-like 
 cry, attract the attention of the juvenile 
 population, and he contrives to pick up a 
 livmg, notwithstanding the " badness of the 
 times." The day after last Christmas-day, 
 his cry in Covent-garden allured the stage- 
 manager to purchase four dozen of " young 
 lambs," and at night they were "brought 
 out" at that theatre, in the basket of a 
 performer who personated their old pro- 
 orietor, and cried so as to deceive the 
 younger part of the audience into a belief 
 ihat lie was their real favourite of the streets. 
 I remember the first crier of "young 
 .anibs to sell !" He was a maimed sailor ; 
 and with him originated the manufacture. 
 If I am not mistaken, this man, many 
 years after I bad ceased to be a purchaser 
 of his ware, was guilty of some delin- 
 quency, for which he forfeited his life : his 
 cry was 
 
 Young lambs to sell ! young lambs to sell 1 
 Two for a penny young lambs to sell I 
 Two for a penny young lambs to sell — 
 Two for a penny young lambs to sell I 
 If I'd as much money as I could tell, 
 I wouldn't cry young lambs to sell ! 
 Young lambs to sell — young lambs to sell — 
 Two for a penny young lambs to sell! 
 Young lambs to se — e — 11, 
 Young la — a — mbs to sell I 
 
 Though it is five and thirty years ago 
 since I heard the sailor's musical " cry," it 
 still sings in my memory ; it was a tenor 
 of modulated harmonious tune, till, m the 
 last line but one, it became a thorough 
 bass, and rolled off at the close with a loud 
 swell that filled urchin listeners with awe 
 and admiration. During this chant his 
 head was elevated, and he gave his full 
 voice, and apparently his looks, to the 
 winds; but the moment he concluded, and 
 when attention was yet rivetted, liis ad- 
 dress became particular : his persuasive 
 eye and jocular address flashed round the 
 circle of " my little masters and mistresses," 
 and his hand presented a couple of his 
 snow white "fleecy charge," dabbled in 
 gold, "two for a penny !" nor did he re- 
 sume his song till ones and twos were in 
 the possession of probably every child who 
 had a halfpenny or penny at command. 
 
 The old sailor's " young lambs" were only 
 half the cost of the poor soldier's. It may 
 be doubted whether the materials of their 
 composition have doubled in price, but the 
 demand for " young lambs " has certainly 
 lessened, while the piesent manufacturer 
 has quite as many wants as tiie old one, 
 
 ard luckily possessing a monopoly of thf 
 manufacture, he therefore raises the pricp 
 of his articles to the necessity of his cir- 
 cumstances. It is not convenient to refer 
 to the precise chapter in the " Wealth of 
 Nation?,"or to verified tables of the increased 
 value of money, in order to show that the 
 new lamb-seller has not exceeded "an 
 equitable adjustment " in the arrangement 
 of his present prices; but it is fair to state 
 in his behalf, that he declares, notwith- 
 standing all the noise he makes, the carry- 
 ing on of the lamb business is scarcely 
 better than pig-shaving; " Sir," says he, 
 " it's great cry, and litlie ivool." From a 
 poor fellow, at his time of life, with only 
 half his limbs to support a large family 
 this is no joke. Not having been at his 
 native place for two and twenty years, the 
 desire to see it once more is strong within 
 him, and he purposes next Easter to turn 
 his face northwards, with his family, and 
 " cry " all the way from London to Glas- 
 gow. Let the little ones, therefore, in the 
 towns of his route, keep a penny or two by 
 them to lay out in " young lambs," and so 
 help the poor fellow along the road, in this 
 stage of his struggle through life. 
 
 * 
 
 March 19, 1827. 
 
 LINES ON HAPPINESS. 
 For the Table Book. 
 Like a frail shadow seen in maze. 
 
 Or some bright star shot o'f r the Ofie«n, 
 Is happiness, that meteor's blaze. 
 For ever fleeting in its motion. 
 
 It plays within our fancied g^^asp, 
 Like a phantasmagorian shndej 
 
 Pursued, e'en to the latest gasp. 
 It still seems hovering in the glad«. 
 
 Tis but like hope, and hope's, at best, 
 A star that leads the weary on, 
 
 Still pointing to the unpossessd 
 And palling that it beams upon 
 
 J. B. O. 
 
 HUMAN LIFE. 
 By Goethe. 
 That life is but a dream is the opinion of 
 many; it is mine. When I see the narrow 
 limits which confine the penetratina, active 
 genius of man ; when I see that all liis 
 powers are directed to satisfy mere neces- 
 sities, the only end of which is to prolong 
 a precarious or painful existence ; that his 
 greatest care, with regard to certain inquir- 
 ies, is but a blind resignation ; and that- 
 
 199 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 we only amuse ourselves with painting bril- 
 liant fiu^ures and smiling landscapes on the 
 wai-ls of our prison, whilst we see on all 
 sides the boundary which confines us; when 
 I consider these things I am silent : I ex- 
 amine myself; and what do I find ? Alas ! 
 more vaacue desires, presages, and visions, 
 than conviction, truth, and reality. 
 
 The happiest are those, who, like chil- 
 dren, think not of the morrow, amuse them- 
 selves with playthings, dress and undress 
 tlieiv dolls, watch with great respect befoie 
 the cupboard where mamma keeps the 
 sweetmeats, and when they get any, eat 
 them directly, and cry foi more; these are 
 certainly happy beinus. Many also are to 
 be envied, who dignify their paltry employ- 
 ments, sometimes even their passions, with 
 pompous titles ; and who represent them- 
 selves to mankind as beings of a superior 
 order, whose occupation it is to promote 
 their welfare and glory. But the man who 
 in all humility acknowledges the vanity of 
 these things ; observes with what pleasure 
 the wealthy citizen transforms his little 
 garden into a paradise ; with what patience 
 ihe poor man bears his burden ; and that 
 all wish equally to behold the sun yet a 
 little longer ; he too may be at peace. He 
 creates a world of liis own, is happy also 
 because he is a man ; and, however hmited 
 his sphere, he preserves in his bosom the 
 idea of liberty. 
 
 VALEDICTORY STANZAS^ 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 The flower is faded. 
 
 The sun-beam is fled. 
 The bright eye is shaded. 
 
 The loved one is dead : 
 Like a star in the mornmg— 
 
 When, mantled in gray, 
 Aurora is dawning — 
 
 She vanish'd away. 
 
 Like the primrose that blooini-th 
 
 Neglected to die. 
 Though its sweetness perfumeth 
 
 The ev'ning's soft sigh — 
 Like lightning in summer. 
 
 Like rainbows that shine 
 With a mild dreamy glimmer 
 
 In colours divine — 
 
 The kind and pure hearted, 
 
 The tender, the true. 
 Prom our love has departed; 
 
 With scarce an adieu : 
 So briefly, so brightly 
 
 In virtue she shone. 
 As snooting stars nightly 
 
 That blaze and are ifone, 
 
 The place of her slumbei 
 
 Is holy to me. 
 And oft as I number 
 
 The leaves of the tree. 
 Whose branches in sorrow 
 
 Bend over her urn, 
 I think of to-morrow 
 
 And silently mourn. 
 
 The farewell is spoken. 
 
 The ipirit subl'me 
 The last tio has broken. 
 
 That bound it to time ; 
 And bright is its dwelling 
 
 Its mansion of bliss — 
 How far, far excelling 
 
 The darkness of this I 
 
 Yet hearts still are beating, 
 
 And eyes stiil are wet — 
 True, our joys are ail fleeting 
 
 But who can forget ? 
 I know they must vanish 
 
 As visions depart. 
 But oh, can this banish 
 
 The thorn from my heart ' 
 
 The eve of affection. 
 
 Its tribute of tears 
 Sheds, with fond recollection 
 
 Of life's happy years ; 
 And tho' vain be the anguish 
 
 Indulg'd o'er the tomb, 
 Yet nature will languish 
 
 And shrink from its gloom. 
 
 Those lips — their least motion 
 
 Was music to me. 
 And, like light on the ocean. 
 
 Those eyes seem'd to be : 
 Are they mute — and for ewer? 
 
 The spell will not break ; 
 Are they closed — must I never 
 
 Behold them awake .' 
 
 When distress was around me 
 
 1 hy smiles were as balm, 
 That in misery found me. 
 
 And left me in calm : 
 Success became dearer 
 
 When thou wert with me. 
 And the clear sky grew clearer 
 
 When gaz'd on with thee. 
 
 Thott art gone — and tho' reason 
 
 My grief would disarm, 
 I feel there's a season 
 
 When grief has a charm ; 
 And 'tis sweeter, far sweeter 
 
 To sit by thy grave, 
 Than to follow Hope's mefwr 
 
 Down time's hasty wave. 
 
 In darkness we laid thee— 
 The earth for thy bed^— 
 
 The couch that we made tnet 
 I* press d by thee- dead : 
 
 200 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 fr soTTuw's film shrouded. 
 Our eyes could not see 
 
 The glory unclouded 
 That opened on thee. 
 
 rhon canst not, pore spirit. 
 Return to the dust. 
 
 But we may inherit- 
 So humbly we trust — 
 
 The joys without measure 
 To which thou art gone, 
 
 The regions of pleasure 
 Where tears are unknown. 
 
 H. 
 
 EFFECT OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 On the 30th of March, 1789, 360/. was 
 carried to the account of the public, in 
 consequence of the following note received 
 by the chancellor of the exchequer. 
 
 " Sir — You will herewith receive bank 
 notes to the amount of 360/. which is the 
 property of the nation, and which, as an 
 honest man, you will be so just as to apply 
 to the use of the state in such manner that 
 the nation may not suffer by its having 
 been detained from the public treasury. 
 You are implored to do this for the ease of 
 conscience to an honest man." 
 
 ^nettiote^ 
 
 HENRY THE GREAT. 
 
 Public Libel. 
 
 About 1605, Henry IV. of France at- 
 tempting to enforce some regulations re- 
 specting the annuities upon the Hotel de 
 Ville, of Paris, several assemblies of the 
 citizens were held, in which Francis Miron, 
 the pr^vot des marchands, addressed the 
 king's commissioners against the measures 
 with fervour and firmness. It was rumoured 
 amongst the people of Paris, that their 
 magistrate was threatened, for having ex- 
 erted himself too warmly in their behalf; 
 they crowded about his house, in order to 
 defend him, but Miron requested them to 
 retire, and not to render him really crimi- 
 nal. He represented that nothing injurious 
 was to be apprehended, for they had a king 
 as great and wise, as he was beneficent and 
 just, who would not suffer himself to be 
 hurried away by the instigations of evil 
 counsellors. Yet those whose conduct 
 Miron had arraigned, endeavoured to per- 
 suade Henry to punish him, and deprive 
 him of his office, for disobedient actions. 
 
 and seditious discourse. The king's an- 
 swer contained memorable expressions : — 
 " Authority does not always consist ii. 
 carrying thing? with a high hand : regard 
 must be paid to times, persons, and the 
 subject-matter. I have been ten years in 
 extinguishing civil discord, I dread its re- 
 vival, and Paris has cost me too much foi 
 me to risk its loss ; in my opinion, it 
 would unquestionably be the case, were I 
 to follow your advice; for I should be 
 obliged to make terrible examples, which, 
 in a few days, would deprive me of the 
 glory of clemency, and the affection of my 
 people ; and these 1 prize as much, and even 
 more than my crown. I have experienced, 
 on many occasions, the fidelity and probity 
 of Miron, who harbours no ill intentions, 
 but undoubtedly deemed himself bound, by 
 the duties of his office, to act as he has 
 acted. If unguarded expressions have 
 escaped him, I pardon them, on account of 
 his past services ; and, should he even de- 
 sire a martyrdom in the public cause, I will 
 disappoint him of the glory, by avoiding 
 to become a persecutor and a tyrant." 
 
 Henry ended the affair by receiving the 
 apology and submission of Miron, and re- 
 voking the orders concerning the annuities, 
 which had occasioned the popular alarm.* 
 
 LiBELTQus Drama. 
 On the 26th of January, 1607, a plea- 
 sant farce was acted at the Hotel de Bour- 
 gogne, at Paris, before Henry IV., his 
 queen, and the greater part of the princes, 
 lords, and ladies of the court. The subjecc 
 of the p^ece was a quarrel between a mar- 
 ried man and his wife. The wife told her 
 husband, that he staid tippling at the tavern 
 while executions were daily laid upon their 
 goods, for the tax which must be paid to 
 the king, and that all their substance was 
 carried away. " It is for that very reason," 
 said the husband in his defence, " that we 
 should make merry with good cheer ; for of 
 what service would all the fortune we could 
 amass be to us, since it would not belong 
 to ourselves, but to this same noble king. 
 I will drink the more, and of the very best : 
 monsieur the king shall not meddle with 
 that ; go fetch me some this minute ; march." 
 " Ah, wretch !" replied the wife, " would 
 you bring me and your children to ruin?" 
 During this dialogue, three officers of jus- 
 tice came in, and demanded the tax, and, 
 in default of payment, prepared to carry 
 away the furniture. The wife began a loud 
 
 201 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Jameniaticn ; at lengtli tlie husband asked 
 them who they were .' " We belong; to Jus- 
 tice," said the officers : " IIow, to Justice .'" 
 replied the husband ; " they who belong to 
 Justice act in anollier manner; I do not 
 oelieve that you are wliat you say." Dur- 
 ing thir altercation the wife seized a trunk, 
 upon whicii she seated iierself. The officers 
 commanded her, " in the king's name," to 
 open it ; and after much dispute the trunk 
 was opened, and out jumped three devils, 
 who carry away the three officers of justice. 
 The magistrates, conceiving themselves 
 to have been insulted by this performance, 
 caused the actors to bevarrested, and com- 
 mitted them to prison. On the same day 
 they were discliarged, by express command 
 of the king, who magnanimously told those 
 that complained of the affront, " You are 
 fools ! If any one has a right to take offence, 
 it is I, who Inve received more abuse than 
 any of you. I pardon the comedians from 
 my heart; for the rogues made me laugh 
 till I cried again.'"* 
 
 CUSTOM AT SCARBOROUGH. 
 
 The fish-market is held on the sands, by 
 the sides of the boats, which, at low water, 
 are run upon wheels with a sail set, and 
 are conducted by the fishermen, who dispose 
 cf their cargoes in the h UnwiTig manner. 
 
 One of the female fishmongers inquires 
 the price, and bids a groat • the fishermen 
 ask a sum in the opposite t^xireme : the one 
 bids up, and tlie other reduces the demand, 
 till they meet at a reasonable point, when 
 she bidder surldeniy exclaims, " llet !" 
 This practice seems to be borrowed from 
 the Dutch. The purchase is afterwards 
 retailed among the regular, or occasional 
 .surrounding customeis. 
 
 LINES TO A BARREL ORGAN. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 How many thoughts from thee I culli 
 
 Music's humWost vehicle ! 
 
 Kroin thy caravan of sounds. 
 
 Constant in its daily rounds. 
 
 Some s\ich pleasure do 1 tind 
 
 As '.vhen, t]orne upon the wind, 
 
 Tne well-known " bewilder'd ch'.m"3 " 
 
 Plaintively recall those times, 
 
 (T onjjsinc lost jn sorrow's shade,) 
 
 When, in some sequesler'd glade. 
 
 Their simple, stammering tongues would try 
 
 Scjiue heart-moving melody. — 
 
 Oldest musical delight 
 
 Of my boyish daye ! the sight 
 
 • L'Kto-re. Hist. d'Kenri IV. 
 
 Or sound of theu would charm my feet. 
 
 And make my joy of heart eompiete— 
 
 How thou luredst listeners 
 
 To thy crazy, yearninj^ airs ! — 
 
 Harmonious, grumbling volcano 1 
 
 INIurm'ring sounds in small yiaw, 
 
 Or screaming forth a shrill soprano. 
 
 Mingled with the growling bass. 
 
 Fragments of some air I trace, 
 
 Stifled by the notes which cram it— 
 
 Sc.itter'd ruins of the gamut I — 
 
 Sarcophagus of harmony I 
 
 Orpheus' casket ! guarded by 
 
 A swain who lives by what he earna 
 
 From the music which he chums : 
 
 P'very note thou giv'st by turns.— 
 
 Not i'indar's lyre more varit-ty 
 
 Possets'd Than thou I no cloy'd satiety 
 
 Feel'st thou at thy perpetual feast 
 
 Of sound; nor weariness the least: 
 
 Thy task's perform'd with right goodwill. •• 
 
 Thou art a melodious mill ! 
 
 Notes, like grain, are dribbled in. 
 
 Thou grindest them, and fill'st the bin 
 
 Of melody with plenteous store. 
 
 Thy tunes are like the parrot's lore, 
 
 Kothing of them dost thou wot. 
 
 But rcpealest them by rote. — 
 
 Curiou", docile instrument! 
 
 To skilltss touch obedient: 
 
 Like a mine of richest ore. 
 
 Inexhaustible in ktore. 
 
 Yielding at a child's command 
 
 All thy wealth unto its hand. 
 
 Harmonicon peripatetic 1 
 
 What clue to notes so oft erratic 
 
 Hast tkou, by which the ear may follow 
 
 Through thy labyrinthine hollow, 
 
 Which its own echo dost consume. 
 
 As stoves devour their own fume. — 
 
 Mysterious fabric ! cage-like chest 1 
 
 Behind whohe gilded bars the nest 
 
 Of unfledg'd melodies is hid 
 
 'Neath that brazen coverlid. — 
 
 In thy bondage-house of song. 
 
 Bound in brazen fetters strong. 
 
 Immortal harmonies do groan 1 
 
 Doleful sounds their stifled moan. 
 
 A vulture preys upon their pangs, 
 
 Kound whose neck their prison hangs , 
 
 Like that tenanted strong box 
 
 By eagle found upon the rocks 
 
 Of Brobdingnag's gigantic isle. 
 
 Like Sysiphus, their endless toil 
 
 Is hopeless : their tormentor's claw 
 
 Turns the wheel (his will's their law) 
 
 Which all their joints and members rack*. 
 
 Ne'er will his cruelty relax. — 
 
 Miniature in shape and sound 
 
 Of that gr-ind instrument, which roual 
 
 Old cathedral walls dovh send 
 
 Its pealing Toice ; whose tones do bleud 
 
 The clangor of the trumpet's throut, 
 
 >»id the silver-sti-iueed lute. — 
 
 202 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 To what else shall I compare thee ?- 
 Turther epithets I'll spare thee. 
 Honest and despised thing. 
 To thy memory I cling. 
 Spite of all thy faults, I own 
 I lore thy " eld, familiar " tone. 
 
 Gaston. 
 
 MINISTERIAL FAVOUR. 
 A gentleiran who had been long attached 
 to cardinal Mazarine, reminded ihe cardinal 
 of his many promises, and his dilatory per- 
 formanct;. Mazarine, who had a great re- 
 gard for him, and was unwilling to lose 
 his friendship, took his hand, and explained 
 the many demands made upon a person in 
 his situation as minister, which it would be 
 oolitic to satisfy previously to other re- 
 quests, as they were founded on services 
 done to the state. Tlie cardinal's adherent, 
 not very confident in his veracity, replied, 
 " My lord, all the favour I now ask at your 
 hand is, that whenever we meet in public, 
 you will do me the honour to tap me on 
 the shoulder in an unreserved manner." 
 The cardinal smiled, and in the course of 
 two or three years tapping, his friend be- 
 came a wealthy man, on the credit of these 
 attentions to him; and Mazarine and his 
 confidant laughed at the public security 
 wiiich enriched the courtier at so little ex- 
 pense to the state. 
 
 DUDLEY OF PORTSMOUTH. 
 
 I'm 
 
 A GOING 
 
 l'> 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Barbers are not more celebrated by a 
 desire to become the most busy citizens of 
 jthe state, than by the expert habit in which 
 they convey news. Many a tale is invented 
 out of a mere surmise, or whisper, for the 
 gratification of those who attend barbers' 
 [shops. An old son of the scissors and 
 -razor, well known at Portsmouth, was not, 
 I however, quite so perfect a joA/ziologist, as 
 his more erudite and bristling fraternity. 
 One evening, as he was preparing his 
 fronts, and fitting his comb "to a hair," 
 two supposed gentlemen entered his shop 
 to be dressed ; this being executed with 
 much civility and despatch, a wager was 
 laid with old Dudley, (for that was his 
 name,) that he could not walk in a ring 
 three feet in diameter, for one hour, and 
 utter no other words tlian " I'm a going 1" 
 Two poundson eachside was onthecounter; 
 the ring was drawn in chalk; the money chinks 
 fcd in the ear, and old Dudley mov-d in the 
 
 circle of his orbit. "I'm a going !— I'm a 
 going ! — I'm a going !" were the only words 
 which kept time with his feet during the 
 space of fifty-five minutes, when, on a sud- 
 den, one of the gentlemen sprang forward, 
 and taking up the money, put it into liis 
 pocket. This device thiew old Dudley ofil 
 li'S guard, and he exclaimed, "That's not 
 fair !'' — " Enough !" rejoined the sharpers, 
 " you've lost the wager." They depaited, 
 leaving him two pounds minus, and to this 
 day old Dudley is saluted by the appella- 
 tion of " I'm a going !'' 
 
 Jehoiada. 
 
 ROYAL DECISION. 
 
 In the reign of George I. the sister or 
 judge Dormer being married to a gentle- 
 man who afterwards killed a man very 
 basely, the judge went to move the king 
 for a pardon. It; was impossible that he 
 could offer any thing to the royal ear in ex- 
 tenuation of the crim.e, and therefore he 
 was the more earnest in expressing his 
 hope that his majesty would save him and 
 his family from the infamy the execution of 
 the sentence would bring upon them. " So, 
 Mr. Justice," said the king, " what vou 
 propose to me is, that I should transfer the 
 infamy from you and your family, to ine 
 and my family; but I shall do no such 
 thing." Motion refused. 
 
 Biosrap!)iana. 
 
 REV. THOMAS COOKE. 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir — In reply to the inquiries of yout 
 correspondent G. J. D. at p. 136, I beg to 
 state, that the person he alludes to was the 
 translator of Hesiod, immortalized by Pope 
 in his Dunciad. 
 
 The Rev. Thomas Cooke was a profound 
 Greek and Latin scholar, and consequently 
 much better versed in the beauli«s of 
 Homer, &c. than the irritable translator of 
 the Iliad and Odyssey: his remarks on, and 
 expositions of Pope's glaring misconcep- 
 tions of many important passages of the 
 ancient bard drew down the satirical ven- 
 geance of his illustrious translator. 
 
 It would, however, appear that Pope 
 was not the assailant in the first instance 
 for in the Appendix to the Dunciad we 
 find " A list of Books, Papers, and V erses, 
 in which our author (Pope) was abused, 
 before the pablication of that Poem ;" and 
 among the said works "The Battle of tl« 
 
 iO'i 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Poets, an heroic Poem, by Thomas Cooke, 
 printed for J. Roberts, folio, 1725," is par- 
 ticularly mentioned. In book ii. of the 
 Dunciad, we have the following line, — 
 " Cooke shall be Prior, and Concanen Swift :" 
 
 to which the following note is appended: — 
 
 " The man here specified that a thing 
 called The Battle cf the Poets in which 
 Philips and Welsted were the heroes, and 
 Swift and Pope utterly routed." 
 
 Cooke also published some " malevolent 
 things in the British, London, and daily 
 journals, and at the same time wrote letters 
 to Mr. Pope, protesting his innocence.'' 
 
 His chief work was a translation of 
 "' Hesiod, to which Theobald writ notes, 
 and half notes, which he carefully owned." 
 
 Again, in the testimonies of authors, 
 which precede the Dunciad, we find the 
 following remark: — 
 
 " Mr. Thomas Cooke, 
 " After much blemishing oar author's 
 Homer, crieth out 
 
 " But in his other works what beauties shins. 
 While sweetest music dwells in ev'ry linel 
 These he adrnir'd, on these he stamp'd his praise. 
 And bade them live t' enlighten future days !" 
 
 I have somewhere read that Cooke was 
 a native of Sussex ; that he became famous 
 for his knowledge of the Greek and Latin 
 languages while at Cambridge ; and was 
 ultimately settled in some part of Shrop- 
 shire, where he soon became acquainted 
 with the family of the youi.ig lady celebrated 
 by his muse, in the fifth number of the 
 Table Book, and where he also greatly dis- 
 tinguished himself as a clergyman, and 
 preceptor of the younger branches of the 
 neighbouring gentry and nobility This 
 may in some measure account for the re- 
 spectable list of subscribers alluded to 
 by G. J. D. 
 
 It is presumed, however, that misfortune 
 at length overtook him ; for we find, in the 
 " Ambulator, or London and its Environs," 
 under the head " Lambeth," that he lies 
 interred in the church-yard of that parish, 
 and that he died extremely poor : he is, 
 moreover, designated " the celebrated 
 translator of Hesicd, Terence, Sec." 
 
 I have seen the poem entitled " The 
 Immortality of the Soul," mentioned by 
 G. J. D., though I have no recollection of 
 its general features or merit ; but of " The 
 Battle of the Poets " I have a copy ; and 
 what renders it more rare and valuable is, 
 that it was Mr. Cooke's own impression of 
 the work, and has several small produc- 
 tions upon various occasions, written, 1 
 
 presume, with his own hand, each having 
 the signature "Thomas Cooke," on the 
 blank leaves at the commencement of the 
 book. 
 
 On my return fiom the continent, I shall 
 have no objection to intrust this literary 
 curiosity to your care for a short time, 
 giving you the liberty of extracting any 
 (and all if you think proper) of the pieces 
 written on the interleaves : and, in the 
 mean time, I will do myself the pleasure of 
 selecting one from the number, for inser- 
 tion in the Taile Book, which will, at 
 least, prove that Mr. Cooke's animosity 
 was of transient duration, and less virulent 
 than that of Pope. 
 
 It is possible that at some future time I 
 may be able to enlarge upon this subject, 
 for the better information of your corres- 
 pondent ; and 1 beg, in the interim, to re- 
 mark that there is no doubt the Annual 
 Register, from about the year 1760 to 
 1765, or works of that description, will 
 fully satisfy his curiosity, and afford him 
 much more explanation relative to Mr. 
 Cooke than any communications from 
 existing descendants. 
 
 In Mr. Cooke's copy of " The Battle of 
 the Poets," the lines before quoted run 
 thus : — 
 
 " But in his other works what beauttes shine — 
 What sweetness also dwells in ev'ry line 1 
 These all admire — these bring him endless praise 
 And crown his temples with unfading bays !" 
 
 I remain, sir, 
 Your obedient servant and subscriber, 
 
 Oxford, Jan. 'i9, 1827. 
 
 VERSES, 
 
 OcCaSIONED BV THE 1.AMENTED De.ITH 
 
 OF Mr. Alexander Pope. 
 
 Pope ! though tliy pen has strove with heedless rage 
 
 To make my name obnoxious to the age. 
 
 While, dipp'd in gall, and taniish'd with the spleen 
 
 It dealt in taunts ridiculous and mean, 
 
 Aiming to lessen what it could not reach. 
 
 And giving license to ungrateful speech. 
 
 Still I forgive its enmity, and feel 
 
 Regrets I would not stifle, nor conceal ; 
 
 For though thy temper, and imperious son]. 
 
 Needed, at times, subjection and eontronl. 
 
 There was a majesty — a march of sense — 
 
 A proud display of rare intelligence. 
 
 In many a line of that transcendent pen. 
 
 We never, perhaps, may contemplate sjain— 
 
 An energy peculiarly its own. 
 
 And sweetness perfectly before unknown ! 
 
 204 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Then deigB, thoij mignt.y master of the lyre I 
 C accept what justice and remorse inspire ; 
 Jastice that prompts the willing muse to tell, 
 None ever wrote so largely and so well — 
 Remorse that feels no future bard can fill 
 The vacant chair with half such Attic skill, 
 Or leave behind so many proofs of taste, 
 As those rich poems dulness ne'er disgrac'd I 
 
 Farewell, dear shade ! all enmity is o'er. 
 Since Pope has left us for a brighter shore. 
 Where neither rage, nor jealousy, nor hate. 
 Can rouse the little, nor offend the great ; 
 Where worldly contests are at once forgot. 
 In the bright glories of a happier lot j 
 And where the dunces of the Dunciad see 
 Thy genius crown'd with immortality 1 
 
 Thomas Cooke. 
 
 DUKE OF YORK 
 
 Albanv and Clarence. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 In the History of Scotland, there is a re- 
 mark which may be added to the account 
 of the dukes of York, at col. 103 ; viz. 
 
 Shire of Perth. — That part of the county 
 called Braidalbin, or Breadalbane, lies 
 amongst the Grampian-hills, and gives 
 title to a branch of the family of Campbell; 
 where note that Braid Albin, in old Scotch, 
 signifies the highest part of Scotland, and 
 Drum-Albin, which is the name of a part 
 thereof, signifies the ridg-e or back of Scot- 
 land. Hence it is collected that this is the 
 country which the ancients called Albany, 
 and part of the residence of the ancient 
 Scots, who stili retain the name, and 
 call themselves " Albinkich," together with 
 the ancient language and habit, continuing 
 to be a hardy, brave, and warlike people, 
 and very parsimonious in their way of 
 living ; and from this country the sons of 
 the royal family of Scotland took the title 
 or " duke of Albany ;" and sirce the union 
 of the two crowns, it has been found 
 amongst the royal titles of the dukes of 
 York. 
 
 Respecting the dukedom of Clarence, 
 which is originally derived from Clare, in 
 Suffolk, king Edward HI. in the thirty- 
 sixth year of his reign, for default of issue 
 male in the former family, created his 
 tliird son, Lionel, by reason of his marriage 
 witn the {);randaughter of the late earl of 
 Clare, duke of Clarence, being a word of a 
 fuller sound than the monosyllable " Clare." 
 
 m. 
 
 DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 Lord George Germain was of a remark, 
 ably amiable disposition ; and his domes- 
 tics lived with him rather as humble friends 
 than menial servants. One day entering 
 his house in Pall-mall, he observed a large 
 basket of vegetables standing in the hall, 
 and inquired of the porter to whom they 
 belonoed, and from whence they came ? Old 
 John irr.mediately replied, " They are ours, 
 my lord, from our country-house." — '' Very 
 well," rejoined his lordship. At that in- 
 stant a carriage stopped at the door, and 
 lord George, turning round, asked what 
 coach it was? " Ours," said honest John. 
 " And are the children in it ours too ?" 
 said his lordship, smiling. " Most cer 
 tainly, my lord," replied John, with the 
 utmost gravity, and immediately ran to lif* 
 them out. 
 
 A LITERARY CHARACTER. 
 
 I have long maintained a distinguishea 
 station in our modern days, but I cannot 
 trace my origin to ancient times, though 
 the learned have attempted it. After the 
 revolution in 1688, I was chief physician 
 to the king ; at least in my absence he ever 
 complained of sickness. Had I lived in 
 ancient days, so friendly was I to crowned 
 heads, that Cleopatra would have got off 
 with a sting ; and her cold arm would have 
 felt a reviving heat. I am rather a friend 
 to sprightliness than to industry; I have 
 often converted a neutral pronoun into a 
 man of talent : I have often amused myj-elt 
 with reducing the provident ant to ind' 
 gence ; I never meet a post horse withou 
 giving him a blow ; to some animals I am 
 a friend, and many a p'lppy has yelped for 
 aid when I have deserted him. 1 am a 
 patron of architecture, and can turn every 
 thing into brick and mortar; and so honest 
 withal, that whenever I can find a pair ot 
 stockings, I ask for their owner. Not even 
 Lancaster has carried education so far as 1 
 have: I adopt always the system of inter 
 rogatories. I have already taught my \n\ 
 to ask questions of fact ; and my poultr) 
 questions of chronology. With mv trees I 
 share the labours of my laundry; they scour 
 my linen ; and when I find a rent, 'tis I 
 who make it entire. 
 
 In short, such are my merits, that what- 
 ever yours may be, you can never be more 
 than half as good as 1 am. 
 
 205 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ANSWER 
 
 TO THE PRECEDING. 
 K literary character you view, 
 Known to the moderns only — W : 
 [ was physician to king William; 
 When absent, he would say, " how — ill I am 1" 
 In ancient days if I had liv'd, the asp 
 Which polson'd Egypt's queen, had been a — Wasp ; 
 And the death- coldness of th' imperial arm 
 With life reviving had again been — Warm. 
 A friend to sprightliness, that neuter it 
 By sudden pow'rl've chang'd into a — Wit. 
 The vainly-provident industrious ant 
 With cruel sport I oft reduce to — Want ; 
 Whene'er I meet with an unlucky hack, 
 I give the creature a tremendous — ^\'hack 
 And many a time a pur'py cries for help. 
 If I desert capridously the — Whelp. 
 A friend to architecture, I turn all 
 (^As quick as Chelt'nham builders) into — Wall. 
 I'm honest, for whene'er I find some hose, 
 I seek the owner, loud exclaiming — Whose ? 
 Farther than Lancaster I educate. 
 My system's always to interrogate; 
 Already have I taught my very hat 
 Questions ot fact to ask, and cry out — What? 
 Questions of time my poultry, for the hen 
 Cackles chronology, enquiring — When ? 
 My laundry's labour I divide with ashes ; 
 It is with them the laundress scours and — Washss: 
 And if an ugly rent I find, the hole 
 Instantly vanishes, becoming — Whole. 
 In short, my merits are so bright to view 
 How good soe'er you may be, just or true. 
 You can but halve my worth, for I am — douhlt you. 
 Cheltenham. 
 
 TEIE MERRY MONARCH, 
 AND " BLYTHE COCKPEN." 
 While Charles II. was sojourning in 
 Scotland, before the battle of Worcester, 
 his chief confidant and associate was the 
 laird of Cockpen, called by the nick-uaming 
 fashion of the times, " Blythe Cockpen." 
 He followed Charles to the Hague, and by 
 his skill in plajtng Scottish tunes, and his 
 sagacity and wit, much delighted the merry 
 monarch. Charles's favourite air was 
 ^' Brose and Butter ;" it was played ta 
 him when he went to bed, and he was 
 awakened by it. At the restoration, how- 
 ever, Blythe Cockpen shared the fate of 
 many other of the royal adherents ; he was 
 forgotten, and wandered upon the lends he 
 •once owned in Scotland, poor and un- 
 friended. His letteis to the court were 
 unpresented, or disregarded, till, wearied 
 and incensed, he travelled to London; 
 but his mean garb not suiting the rich 
 doublets of court, he vras not allowed to 
 approach the royal presence. At length, 
 
 he ingratiated himself with the king's 
 organist, who was so enraptured with Cock- 
 pen's wit and powers of music, that he re- 
 quested him to play on the organ before 
 the king at divine service. His exquisite 
 skill did not attract his majesty's notice 
 till, at the close of the service, instead of 
 the usual tune, he struck up " Brose and 
 Butter," with all its energetic merriment. 
 In a moment the royal organist was ordered 
 into the king's presence. "My liege, it 
 "was not m€ 1 it wa-s not me !" he cried, 
 and dropped upon his knees. " You !' 
 cried his majesty, in a rapture, "you could 
 never play it in your life — where's the 
 man ? let me see him." Cocl;pen pre- 
 sented himself on his knee. " Ah, Cock- 
 pen, is that you? — Lord, man, I was like 
 to dance coming out of the church 1" — " f 
 once danced too,'' said Cockpen, "but that 
 was when I had land of my own to danct 
 on." — " Come with me," said Charles 
 taking him by the hand, " you shall dance 
 to Brose and Butter on your own land? 
 again to the nineteenth generation ;'' and 
 as far as he could, the king kept his prO' 
 mise. 
 
 SINGULAR INTERMENT. 
 
 The following curious entry is in the 
 register of Lymington churcl, under the 
 year 1736 : — 
 
 " Samuel Baldwin, esq. sojourner in this 
 parish, was immersdd, without the Needles, 
 sans cMmonie, May 20." 
 
 This was performed in consequence ol 
 an earnest wish the deceased had expressed, 
 a little before his dissolution, in order to 
 disappoint th-e intention of his wife, who 
 had repeatedly assured him, in their domes- 
 tic squabbles, (which were very frequent,) 
 that if she survived him, she would revenge 
 her conjugal sufferings, by dancing on his 
 grave. 
 
 ODD SIGNS. 
 
 A gent'eman lately travelling through 
 
 Grantham, in Lincolnshire, observed the 
 
 following lines under a sign-post, on which 
 
 was placed an inhabited bee-hive. 
 
 Two wonders, Grantham, now are thine. 
 The highest spire, and a living sign. 
 
 The same person, at another public- 
 house in the country, where London porter 
 was sold, observed the figure of Britannia 
 engraved upon a tankard, in a reclining 
 posture; underneath was the followinS 
 motto : — 
 
 Pray Scp-PouTm. 
 
 206 
 
ELVET BKIDGE, DURHA^. 
 
 The above engraving is from a litho- 
 graphic view, published in Durham in 
 1820: it was designed by Mr. Bouet, a 
 very ingenious French gentleman, resident 
 there, whose abilities as an artist are of 
 a superior order. 
 
 Elvet bridge consists of nine or ten 
 arches, and was built by the excellent 
 bishop Pudsey, about the year 1170. It 
 was repaired ^n the time of bishop Fox, 
 who held the see of Durham fron) 1494 to 
 1502, and granted an " indulgence " to all 
 who should contribute towards defraying 
 the expense; an expedient frequently re- 
 'orted to in Catholic times for the forward- 
 
 ing of great undertakings. It was as^am 
 improved, by widening it to twice U' 
 breadth, in 1806. 
 
 Upon this bridge there were two chapels, 
 dedicated respectively to St. James and 
 St. Andrew, one of which stood on the «ile 
 of the old house close to the bridge, 
 at present inhabited by Mr. Adamson, a 
 respectable vete.rinary surgeon ; the other 
 stood on the site of the new houses on the 
 south side of the bridge, occupied by Mr. 
 Fenwick and Mr. Hopper. About three 
 years ago, while clearing away the rubbish, 
 preparatory to the erection of the lattei 
 houses, some remains of the old chapeJ 
 
 Vol. ill. 
 
 207 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 were discovered : an arch was in alvery per- 
 fect state, but unfortunately no drawing 
 was made. 
 
 It is believed by some, that another 
 chapel stood on, or near Elvet bridge, dedi- 
 cated to St. Magdalen ; and the name of 
 the flight of steps leading from Elvet bridge 
 to Saddler-street, viz. the Maudlin, or Mag- 
 dalen-steps, rather favours the supposition. 
 On the north side of Elvet bridge is a 
 building, erected in 1632, formerly used as 
 the house of correction, but which, since 
 the erection of the new gaol, was sold to 
 the late Stephen Kemble, Esq., and is now 
 the printing and publishing office of the 
 Durham Chronicle. The ground cells are 
 miserable places : some figures, still visible 
 on many of the walls, as faces, ships, 8cc. 
 show to what resources the poor fellows 
 confined there were driven to amuse them- 
 selves. This building is said to be haunted 
 by the restless sprite of an old piper, who, 
 as the story is, was brought down the river 
 by a flood, and, on being rescued from the 
 water, became an inmate of the house of 
 correction, where he died a few years after- 
 wards. The credulous often hear his bag- 
 pipes at midnight. Every old bridge seems 
 to have its legend, and this is the legend 
 of Elvet brid^^e. 
 
 The buildit'.gs represented by the en- 
 graving in the distance are the old gaol, 
 and a few of the adjoining houses. This 
 gaol, which stood to the east of the castle. 
 and contiguous to the keep, was originally 
 the great north gateway to the castle, and 
 was erected by bishop Langley, who held 
 the see of Durham from 140t> to 1437. It 
 divided Saddler-street from the North 
 Bailey, and was a fine specimen of the 
 architecture of the age, but, from its con» 
 fined situation, in a public ])art of the 
 city, it was adjudged to be a nuisance, and 
 was accordingly destroyed in 1820. On 
 the west side of it is erected an elegant 
 subscription library and news-room, and on 
 the opposite a spacious assembly-room ; 
 these form a striking contrast to the spot in 
 the state here represented. The present 
 county gaol is at the head of Old Elvet ; it 
 is a splendid edifice, and so it should be, 
 considering that it cost the county 120,000/. 
 
 Of bishop Pudsey, the builder of Elvet 
 bridge, the following account is given in 
 Hegg's Legend of St. Cuthbert. Speaking 
 of St. Goodrick, of whom there are par- 
 ticulars in the Every-Day Book, Hegg 
 says, " Thus after he had acted ail the 
 Tiiracles of a legend, he ended his scene in 
 the yeare 1170, not deserving that honour 
 confei''ed on his cell by the forenamed 
 
 bishop Pusar (Pudsey), who told him he 
 should be seven yeares blind before bis 
 death, so that the bishop deferring his re- 
 pentance till the tyme of his blindness, 
 (which Goodrick meant of the eyes of his 
 understanding) dyed unprovided for de.uh. 
 But if good works be salisfactorie, then 
 died he not in debt for his sinnes, who re- 
 payred and built many of the episcopall 
 manors, and founded the manor and 
 church at Darlington, and two hospitals 
 one at Alverton, and the other at SAer- 
 hurne, neare Durham. ;He built also Elvet 
 bridge, with two chapels upon it, over the 
 Weer ; and, lastly, built that beautiful work 
 the Galilee, now the bishop's-corisistory, and 
 hither translated saint Bede's bones, which 
 lye enterred under a tomb of black marble." 
 
 From the above extract, as punci;uated in 
 all the printed copies I have seen, it would 
 appear that Hegg intended to represent 
 both the chapels as being over the IVeer, 
 whereas only one was so situated, the other 
 being on one of the land arches. To render 
 this passage correct, the words " with two 
 chapels upon it" should have been inserted 
 in a .parenthesis, which would make the 
 : passage stand thus, " He built also ElTel 
 bridge, (with two chapels upon it,) over 
 ■the Weer." Hegg, with all his humour, is 
 frequently obscure ; and his legend, which 
 was forsometime in manuscript, has suffered 
 by the inattention of transcribers; there 
 are three different copies in print, and ail 
 vary. The edition printed by the late Mr. 
 Allan of Darlington, from a manuscript 
 in the library of Corpus Chrisli College, 
 Oxford, and since reprinted by Mr. Hogget 
 of Durham, is the most correct one, and 
 from that the above extract is taken. 
 
 Bishop Pudsey's memory must always be 
 dear to the inhabitants of the county of 
 Durham, as probably no man ever con- 
 ferred greater service on the county. It 
 was he who, in order to supply the defici- 
 ency of Doomsday-book, caused a general 
 survey to be made of all the demesne lands 
 and possessions in his bishopric. This 
 survey is recorded in a small folio of twenty- 
 four, pages, written in a bad hand, and 
 called " Bolden Buke," now in the archives 
 at Durham. It contains inquisitions, or 
 verdicts of all the several tenures of lands, 
 services, and customs; all the tenants' 
 names of every degree ; how much each of 
 them held at that time, and what rents 
 were reserved for the same. This book has 
 been produced, and read in evidence on 
 several trials at law, on the part of the suc- 
 ceeding bishops, in order to ascertain theii 
 property. 
 
 2U8 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 No. XI. 
 
 [From "Jack Drum's Entertainment," a 
 Comedy, Author unknown, loOI.] 
 
 The free humour of a Noble Housekeeper. 
 
 Fortune (o Knight). I was not born to be my cradle's 
 drudge, 
 To clioke and stifle \ip my pleasure's breath. 
 To poison with the venom'd cares of thrift 
 My private sweet of life : only to scrape 
 A heap of muck, to fatten and manure 
 The barren virtues of my progeny. 
 And make them sprout 'spite of their want of worth ; 
 No, I do wish my girls should wish me live ; 
 Wliich few do wish that have a greedy sire. 
 But still expect, and gape with hungry lip. 
 When he'll gi\e up his gouty stewardship. 
 
 Frund. Then I wonder, 
 Yon not aspire unto the eminence 
 Ai 11 . ipight of pleasing life. To Court, to Court — 
 'I li:'i' 'iirnish, there spread, there stick in pomp, 
 Like a bright diamond in a Lady's brow. 
 There plant your fortunes in the flownng spring. 
 And get the Sun before you of Respect. 
 There trench yourself within the people's love. 
 And glitter in the eye of glorious grace. 
 What's wealth without respect and mounted place ? 
 
 Fortune. Worse and worse ! — I am not yet dis- 
 traught, 
 I long not to be squeez'd with my own weight. 
 Nor hoist up all my sails to catch tlie vvind 
 Of the drunk reeling Commons. I labour not 
 To have au avvful presence, nor be feared. 
 Since who is fear'd still fears to be to feared. 
 I care not to be like the Horeb calf, 
 One day adored, and next pasht all in pieces. 
 Nor do I envy'Polyphemian puffs, 
 Switzers' slopt greatness. I adore the Sun, 
 Yet love to live within a temperate zone. 
 Let who will climb ambitious glibbery rounds, 
 And lean upon the vulgar's rotten love, 
 I'll not corrival him. The ;un will give 
 As great a shadow to my trunk as his ; 
 And after death, like Chessmen having stoou 
 In play, for Bishops some, for Knights, and Pawns, 
 We all together shall be tumbled up 
 Into one bag. 
 
 Let hush'd-calm quiet rock my life asleep ; 
 And, being dead, my own ground press my bones ; 
 Whilst some old Beldame, hobbling o'er my grave. 
 May mumble thus : 
 ' Here lies a Knight whose Money was his Slave " 
 
 [From the " Changes," a Comedj^, by- 
 James Shirley, 1632.] 
 
 Excess of Epithets, enfeebling to Poetry. 
 Friend. Master Caperwit, before yoa read, pray tell 
 me, 
 Have your verses aay Adjectivt'* ? 
 
 would yoii have a poem 
 
 Caperwit. Adjectives 
 
 without 
 Adjectives ? they're the Hower, th.3 grj.ce of all our Ian 
 
 guage. 
 A well-chosen Epithet doth give new soul 
 To fainting Poesy, and makes every verse 
 A Bride I With Adjectives we bait our lines, 
 When we do fish for Gentlewomen's loves. 
 And with their sweetness catch the nibbling ear 
 Of amorous ladies ; with the music of 
 These ravishing nouns we charm the silken tribe. 
 And make the Gallant melt with apprehension 
 Of the rare Word. I will maintain "t against 
 A bundle of Grammarians, in Poetry 
 The Substantive itself cannot sa6.sisi 
 Without its Adjective. 
 
 Friend. But for all that. 
 Those words would sound more full, methinks, that are 
 
 not 
 So larded ; and if I might counsel you. 
 You should compose a Sonnet clean W'thout 'em. 
 A row of stately Substantives would march 
 Like Switzers, and bear all the fields before 'em ; 
 Carry their weight; shew fair, like Deeds EnroU'd; 
 Not Writs, tliat are first made and after fill'd. 
 Thence first came up the title of Blank Verse ; — 
 You know. Sir, what Blank signifies ? — when the sense, 
 First framed, is tied with Adjectives like points. 
 And could not hold together without.wedges : 
 Hang 't, 'tis pedantic, vulgar Poetry. 
 Let children, when they versify, stick here 
 And there these piddling words for want of matter 
 Poets write Masculine Numbers. 
 
 [Frotn the " Guardian," a Comedy, b.y 
 Abraham Cowley, 1650. This was the 
 first Draught of that which he published 
 afterwards under the title of the " Cutter 
 of Coleman Street ;" and contains the 
 character of a Foolish Poet, omitted in 
 the latter. I give a few scraps of this 
 character, both because the Edition is 
 scarce, and as furnishing no unsuitable 
 corollary to the Critical Admonitions in 
 the preceding Extract. — The " Cutter " 
 has always appeared to me the link be- 
 tween the Comedy of Fletcher and of 
 ■ Congreve. In the elegant passion of 
 the Love Scenes it approaches the former ; 
 and Puny (the character substituted for 
 the omitted Poet) is the Prototype of the 
 half wilted Wits, the Brisks and Dapper 
 Wits, of the latter.] 
 
 Doggrell, the foolish Poet, described. 
 
 Cutter. the very Emblem of poverty and poor 
 
 poetry. The feet are worse patched of his rhymes, 
 than of his stockings. If one line forget itself, and run 
 out beyond his elbow, while the next keeps at horat 
 (like him'), and dares not show bis head, ht calls thai 
 an Ode. • • • 
 
 2oy 
 
THE TABLE BOOK". 
 
 TtJ)it},a. Nay, they mocked and 4eeiea at ns, as we 
 suLg the Psalm the last Sunday night. 
 
 Cutter. That was that mungrel Rhymer ; by this 
 light he envies his brother poet John Stemhold,, be- 
 cause He cannot reach his heights. • • * 
 
 Doggrell (reciting his own versus."; Thus pnde doth 
 still with beauty dwell, 
 A<nd like the Baltic ocean swell. 
 
 Blade. Why the Baltic, Doggrell ? 
 
 Doggrell. Why the Baltic ! — this 'tis not to liavc 
 read the Poets. • • • 
 
 She looks like Niobe on the doonntain's top. 
 
 ' Cutter. That Niobe, Doggrell, you have used worse 
 
 than Phcfibus did. Not a dog looks melancholy hit 
 
 he's compared to Niobe. He beat a villainous Tapster 
 
 'tother day, to make him look like Niobe. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 ANCIENT WAGGERY. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 [From the " Pleasant Conceits of old Hob- 
 son, the merry Londoner; full of hu- 
 j mourous Discourses and merry Merri- 
 i ments :— 1607."] 
 
 Hoiv Maister Hobson hung out a larrterne 
 . and candlelight. 
 
 In the beginning of queen Elizabeth's 
 reign, when the order of hanging out lan- 
 terne and candlelight first of all was brought 
 up,* the bedell of the warde where Maister 
 Hobson dwelt, in a dark evening, crieing 
 up and down, " Hang out your lauternes ! 
 Hang out your lanternes 1" using no other 
 wordes, Maister Hobson tooke an emptie 
 lanterne, and, according to the bedells call, 
 hung it out. This flout, by the lord mayor, 
 was taken in ill part, and for the same 
 offence Hobson was sent to the Counter, 
 but being released, the next night follow- 
 ing, thinking to amend his call, the bedell 
 cryed out, with a loud voice, " Hang out 
 your lanternes and candle !" Maister Hob- 
 son, hereupon, hung out a lanterne and 
 candle unlighted, as the bedell again com- 
 manded ; whereupon he was sent again to 
 the Counter; but the next night, the bedell 
 being better advised, cryed " Hang out 
 your lanterne and candle light ! Hang out 
 your lanterne and candle light !" which 
 Maister Hobson at last did, to his great 
 commendations, which cry of lanterne and 
 candle light is in right manner used to 
 this day. 
 
 'How Maister Hobson found out the Pye- 
 stealer. 
 In Christmas Holy-dayes when Maister 
 
 » The custom 01 hanging out lanterns before lamps 
 >re in use was earlier thaL queen Elizabeth's reign. 
 
 Hobson's wife had many pyes in the oven, 
 one of his servants had stole one of them 
 out, and at the tauerne had merrilie eat it. 
 It fortuned, the same day, that some of his 
 friends dined with him, and one of the 
 best pyes were missing, the stealer thereof, 
 after dinner, he found out in this manner. 
 He called all his servants in friendly sort 
 together into the hall, and caused each of 
 them to drinke one to another, both wine 
 ale, and beare, till they were all drunke ; 
 then caused hee a table to be furnished 
 with very goode cheare, whereat hee like- 
 wise pleased them. Being set altogether, 
 he saide, " Why sit ye not downe fellows .'" 
 — " We bee set already," quoth they. — 
 " Nay," quoth Maister Hobson, " he that 
 stole the pye is not yet set." — " Yes, that 
 I doe !" quoth he that stole it, by whicl 
 means Maister Hobson knewe what was 
 become of the pye ; for the poor fellowe 
 being drunke could not keepe his owni 
 secrett?. 
 
 THE FIRST VIOLET. 
 
 The spring is come : the violet's gone. 
 The first-bom child of the early sun ; 
 With us she is but a winter flower. 
 The snow on the hills canuot blast her bower- 
 And she lifts up her head of dewy bine 
 To the youngest sky of the self-same hue. 
 
 And when the spring comes with her host 
 Of flowers — that flower beloved the most. 
 Shrinks from the crowd that may confuse 
 Her heavenly odour and virgin hues. 
 
 Pluck the others, but still remember 
 Their herald out of dim December — 
 The morning star of all the flowers. 
 The pledge of daylight's lengthened hours 
 Nor, midst the roses, e'er forget 
 The virgin — virgin violet. 
 
 YORKSHIRE SAYING. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 " Let's begin again like the Clfrs 
 OF Beeston." 
 
 The clerk of Beeston, a small village 
 near Leeds, one Sunday, after having sung 
 a psalm about half way through the first 
 verse, discovered he had chosen a wrong 
 tune, on which he exclaimed to the singers, 
 " Stop lads, we've got into a wrong metre, 
 let's begin again !" Hence the origin of 
 the saying, so common in Leeds and the 
 neighbourhood, " Let's begin again, like 
 the clerk of Beeston." 
 
 T Q. M 
 
 210 
 
TEIE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 TO COrsFENTMENT. 
 
 I. 
 
 Spark of pure celestial fire, 
 Port of all the world's desire, 
 Paradise of eirthly bliss. 
 Heaven of the other world and this ; 
 Tell me, where thy court abides. 
 Where thy glorious chariot rides ? 
 
 II. 
 
 Eden knew thee for a day. 
 
 But thou wouldst no longer stay ; 
 
 Outed for poor Adam's sin, 
 
 By a flammg cherubin ; 
 
 Yet thou lov'st that happy shade 
 
 Where thy beauteous form was made, 
 
 And thy kindness still remains 
 
 To the woods, and flow'ry plains. 
 
 III. 
 
 Happy David found thee there, 
 Sporting in the open air ; 
 As he led his flocks along. 
 Feeding on his rural song : 
 But when courts and honours had 
 Snatch'd away the lovely lad. 
 Thou that there no room cou'dst 6Qd, 
 Let him go and staid behind. 
 
 IV. 
 
 His wise son, with care and pain, 
 Search'd all nature's frame in vain ; 
 For a while content to be, 
 Search'd it round, but found not thee ; 
 Beauty own'd she knew thee not, 
 Plenty had thy name forgot: 
 Music only did arer. 
 Once you came and danc'd with her.* 
 
 PIETRE METASTASIO. 
 
 This celebrated Italian lyric and dra- 
 matic poet was born at Rome, in 1698, of 
 parents in humble life, whose names were 
 Trapassi. At ten years of age, he was dis- 
 tinguished by his talents as an improvvisa- 
 tore. The eminent jurist, Gravina, who 
 amused himself with writing bad tragedies, 
 was \v\lking near the Campus Martius one 
 summer's evening, in company with the 
 abbe Lorenzini, when they heard a sweet 
 and powerful voice, modulating verses with 
 the greatest fluency to the measure of the 
 
 • From OuDton's "Athenian Spoit." 
 
 canto improvviso. On approaching the shop 
 of Trapassi, whence the melody proceeded, 
 they were surprised to see a lovely boy 
 pouring forth elegant verses on the persons 
 and objects which surrounded him, and 
 their admiration was increased by the 
 graceful compliments which he took an 
 opportunity of addressing to themselves. 
 When the youthful poet had concluded, 
 Gravina called him to him, and, with many 
 encomiums and caresses, offered him a 
 piece of money, which the boy politely de- 
 clined. He then inquired into his situation 
 and employment, and being struck with the 
 intelligence of his replies, proposed to h's 
 parents to educate him as his cwn child. 
 They consented, and Gravina changed his 
 name from Trapassi to Metastasio, and gave 
 him a careful and excellent education for 
 his own profession. 
 
 At fourteen years of age, Metastasio 
 produced his tragedy of " Giustino," which 
 so pleased Gravina, that he took him to 
 Naples, where he contended with and ex- 
 celled some of the most celebrated impro- 
 visatori of Italy. He still, however, con- 
 tinued his study of the law, and with a 
 view to the only two channels of prefer- 
 ment which prevail at Rome, also assumed 
 the minor order of priesthood, whence his 
 title of abate. In 1718, death deprived 
 him of his patron, who bequeathed to him 
 the whole of his personal property, amount- 
 ing to fifteen thousand crowns. Of too 
 liberal and hospitable a disposition, he 
 gradually made away with this provision 
 and then resolved to apply more closely to 
 the law. He repaired to Naples, to study for 
 that purpose, but becoming acquainted with 
 Brugnatelli, usually called " the Romanina," 
 the most celebrated actress and singer in 
 Italy, he gave himself up entirely to har- 
 mony and poetry. The extraordinary suc- 
 cess of his first opera, " Gli Orti Esperidi," 
 confirmed him in this resolution, and joining 
 his establishment to that of " the Romani- 
 na " and her husband, in a short time he 
 composed three new dramas, " Cato in 
 Utica," " Ezio," and " Semiramide." He 
 followed these with several more of still 
 greater celebrity, until, in 1730, he received 
 and accepted an invitation from the court 
 of Vienna, to take up his residence in that 
 capital, as coadjutor to the imperial laureate, 
 Apostolo Zeno, whom he ultimately suc- 
 ceeded. From that period, the life of 
 Metastasio presented a calm uniformity tor 
 upwards of half a century. He retained 
 the favour of the imperial family undimi- 
 nished, for his extraordinary talents were 
 admirably seconded by the even tenoi o' 
 
 iii 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 his private character, and avoidance of wishing to learn its language ; that he had 
 
 court intrigue. Indefatigable as a poet, he 
 composed no less than twenty-six operas, 
 and eight oratorios, or sacred dramas, be- 
 sides cantatas, canzoni, sonnets, and minor 
 pieces to a great amount. The p letical 
 charactetistics of Metastasio are sweetness, 
 correctness, purity, simplicity, gentle pathos, 
 and refined and elevated sentiment. There 
 is less of nature than of elegance and beauty 
 in his dramas, which consequently appear 
 insipid to those who have been nourished 
 wiih stronger poetic aliment. 
 
 Dr. Burney, who saw Metastasio at the 
 age of seventy-two, describes him as look- 
 ing like one of fifty, and as the gayest and 
 handsomest man, of his time of life, he had 
 ever beheld. He died after a short illness 
 at Vienna, in April 1782, having completed 
 his eighty -fourth year, leaving a consider- 
 able property in money, books, and valua- 
 bles. Besides his numerous works, which 
 have been translated into most of the Euro- 
 pean languages, a large collection of his 
 letters, published since his death, supplied 
 copious materials for his biography.* 
 
 Mrs. Piozzi gives an amusing account of 
 Metastasio in his latter days. She says: — 
 
 ' Here (at Vienna) are many ladies of 
 fashion very eminent for their musical abili- 
 ties, particularly mesdemoiselles de Marti* 
 nas, one of whom is member of the acade- 
 mies of Berlin and Bologna : the celebiated 
 Metastasio died in their house, after having 
 lived with the family sixty-five years more 
 or less. They set his poetry and sing it 
 very finely^ appearing to recollect his con- 
 versation and friendship with infinite ten- 
 derness and delight. He was to have been 
 presented to the pope the very day he died, 
 and in the delirium which immediately 
 preceded dissolution, raved much of the 
 supposed interview. Unwilling to hear of 
 death, no one was ever permitted to men- 
 tion it before him ; and nothing put him so 
 certainly out of humour, as finding that 
 rule transgressed. Even the small-pox was 
 not to be named in his presence, and who- 
 ever did name that disorder, though uncon- 
 scious of the offence he had given, Metas- 
 tasio would see no more." 
 
 Mrs. Piozzi adds, " The other peculiari- 
 ties I could gather from Miss Marti nas 
 were these ; that he had contentedly lived 
 Lalf a century at Vienna, without ever even 
 
 never given more than five guineas English 
 money in all that time to the poor; that he 
 always sat in the same seat at church, but 
 never paid for it, and that nobody dared 
 ask him for the trifling sum ; that he was 
 grateful and beneficent to the friends who 
 began by being his protectors, but who, in 
 the end, were his debtors, for solid benefits 
 as well as for elegant presents, which it was 
 his delight to be perpetually making. He 
 left to them at last all he had ever gained, 
 without the charge even of a single legacy; 
 observing in his will, that it was to them 
 he owed it, and that other conduct would 
 in him have been injustice. He never 
 changed the fashion of his wig, or the cut 
 or colour of his coat, so that his portrait, 
 taken not very long ago, looks like those of 
 Boileau or Moliere at the head of their 
 works. His life was arranged with such 
 methodical exactness, that he rose, studied, 
 chatted, slept, and dined, at the same hours, 
 for fifty years together, enjoying uninter- 
 rupted health, which probably gave him 
 that happy sweetness of temper, or habitual 
 gentleness of manners, which was never 
 ruffled, except when his sole injunction was 
 forgotten, and tlie death of any person 
 whatever was unwittingly mentioned before 
 him. No solicitation had ever prevailed on 
 him to dine from home, nor had his nearest 
 intimates ever seen him eat more than a 
 biscuit with his lemonade, every meal being 
 performed with even mysterious privacy to 
 the last When his end approached by 
 rapid steps, he did not in the least suspect 
 that it was coming; and mademoiselle 
 Martinas has scarcely yet done rejoicing in 
 the thought that he escaped the preparations 
 he so dreaded. Latterly, all his pleasures 
 were confined to music and conversation ; 
 and the delight he took in hearing the lady 
 he lived with sing his songs, was visible to 
 every one. An Italian abate here said, 
 comically enough, ' Oh! he always looked 
 like a man in the state of beatification 
 when mademoiselle de Martinas accom- 
 panied his verses with her fine voice and 
 brilliant finger.' The father of Metastasio 
 was a goldsmith at Rome, but his son had 
 so devoted himself to the family he lived 
 with, that he refused to hear, and took 
 pains not to know, whether he had in his 
 latter days any one relation left in the 
 world." 
 
 We have a life of Metastasio, chieily de- 
 rived from his correspondence, by Dr 
 Burney. 
 
 • n*nersil Biog. Diet. Dint, of Musicians. 
 
 212 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 A DEATH-BED: 
 
 In a Letter to R. H. Esq. of B . 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 I called upon you this morning, and 
 found that you were gone to visit a dying 
 friend. I had been upon a like errand. 
 Poor N. R. has lain dying now for almost a 
 week ; such is the penalty we pay for having 
 enjoyed through life a strong constitution. 
 Whether he knew me or not, I know not, 
 or whether he s-aw me through his poor 
 glazed eyes ; but the group I saw about 
 him 1 shall not forget. Upon the bed, or 
 about it, were assembled his Wife, their 
 two Daughters, and poor deaf Robert, 
 lookinap doubly stupified. There they were, 
 and seemed to have been sitting all the 
 week. I could only leach out a hand to 
 Mrs. R. Speaking was impossible in that 
 mute chamber. By this time it must be all 
 over with him. In him I have a loss the 
 world cannot make up. He was my friend, 
 and my father's friend, for all the life that T 
 can remember. I seem to have made 
 fooUsh friendships since. Those are the 
 friendships, which outlast a second genera- 
 tion. Old as I am getting, in his eyes I 
 was still the child he knew me. To the 
 last he called me Jemmy. I have none to 
 call nie Jemmy now. He was the last link 
 
 that bound me to B -. You are but of 
 
 yesterday. In him I seem to have lost the 
 old plainness of manners and singleness of 
 heart. Lettered he was not ; his reading 
 scarcely exceeding the Obituary of the old 
 Gentleman's Magazine, to which he has 
 never failed of having recourse for these 
 last fifty years. Yet there was the pride of 
 literature about him from that slender peru- 
 sal; and moreover from his office of archive 
 keeper to your ancient city, in which he 
 must needs pick up some equivocal Latin ; 
 which, among his less literary friends as- 
 sumed the airs of a very pleasant pedantry. 
 Can I forget the erudite look with which 
 having tried to puzzle out the text of a 
 Black lettered Chaucer in your Corporation 
 Library, to which he was a sort of Libra- 
 rian, he gave it up with this eonsolatory 
 reflection — " Jemmy," said he, " I do not 
 Know what you find in the'^e very old books, 
 but I observe, there is a deal of very indif- 
 ferent spelling in them." His jokes (for he 
 had some) are ended; but they were old 
 Perennials, staple, and always as good as 
 new. He had one Song, that spake of the 
 ' flat bottoms of our foes coming over in 
 darkness," and alluded to a threatened In- 
 nsioii, many years since blown over ; this 
 
 be reserved to be sung on Christmas Night; ' 
 which we always passed with him, and he 
 sang- it with the freshness of an impending, 
 event. How his eyes would sparkle when 
 he came to the passage : 
 
 We'll still mate 'em run, and we'll still make 'em 
 
 sweat. 
 In spite of the devil and Brussels' Gazette I 
 
 What is tlie Brussels' Gazette now ? I cry, 
 while I endite these trifles. His poor girls 
 who are, I believe, compact of solid good- 
 ness, will have to receive their afflicted 
 mother at an unsuccessful home in a petty 
 
 village in shire, where for years they 
 
 have been struggling to raise a Girls' School 
 with no effect. Poor deaf Robert (and the 
 less hopetiil for being so) is thrown upon a 
 deaf world, without the comfort to his 
 father on his death-bed of knowing him 
 provided for. They are left almost pro- 
 visionless. Some life assurance there is ; 
 
 but, I fear, not exceeding . Their hopes 
 
 musv be from your Corporation, which their 
 father has served for fifty years. Who or 
 what are your Leading Members now, I 
 know not. Is there any, to whom without 
 impertinence you can represent the true 
 circumstances of the family? You canno» 
 say good enough of poor R., and his poor 
 Wife. Oblige me, and the dead, if you 
 can. 
 
 London, 10 Feb. -1827. I* 
 
 LINES 
 
 FOR THE 
 
 Table Book. 
 
 What seek'st thou on the heathy lea. 
 
 So frequent and alone ? 
 What in the violet cans't thou see ? 
 
 What iu the mossy stone ? 
 
 Yon evening sky's empurpled dye 
 
 Seems dearer to thy gaze 
 Than wealth or fame's enrapt'ring name, 
 
 Or beauty's 'witching blaze, 
 
 Go, mingle in the busy tlirong 
 
 That tread th' imperial mart ; 
 There listen to a sweeter song 
 
 Than ever thrill'd thy heart. 
 
 The treasures of a thousand lands 
 Shall pour their wealth before thee ; 
 
 Friends proffer thee their eager hands 
 And envious fools adore thee. 
 
 Ay — I will seek that busy throng. 
 And turn, with aching breast. 
 
 From scenes of tort'ring care and wrong- 
 To solitude and rest I 
 
 February 21, 1827. Amicus.. 
 
 213 
 
THE TABLE BOOK, 
 
 WAVERLEY. 
 
 Tt is a curious, yet well authenticated 
 fact, that the novel of " Waverley " — the 
 Srst, and perhaps the best, of the prose 
 writing of sir Walter Scott — remained for 
 HQore than ten years unpublished. So far 
 oack as 1805, the late talented Mr. John 
 Ballantyne announced " Waverley " as a 
 work preparing for publication, but the an- 
 aounce excited so little attention, that the 
 iesign was laid aside for reasons which 
 every reader will guess. In those days of 
 peace and innocence, the spirit of literary 
 speculation had scarcely begun to dawn in 
 Scotland ; the public taste ran chiefly on 
 poetry ; and even if gifted men had arisen 
 capable of treading in the footsteps of 
 Fielding', but with a name and reputation 
 inestablished, they must have gone to Lon- 
 don to find a publisher. The " nQagician " 
 himself, with all his powers, appears to have 
 neen by no means over sanguine as to the 
 jltimate success of a tale, which has made 
 millions laugh, and as many weep; and in 
 autumn he had very nearly delivered a por- 
 tion of the MSS. to a party of sportsmen 
 who visited him in the country, and were 
 complaining of a perfect famine of wad- 
 ding. * 
 
 a gDtincj: ^rti^t'ss 3lttter 
 
 FROM SW^ITZERLAND. 
 
 From the letter of an English artist, now 
 abroad, accompanied by marginal sketches 
 with the pen, addressed to a young relation, 
 [ am obligingly permitted to take the fol- 
 lowing — 
 
 EXTRACT, 
 
 InterJaken, Switzerland. 
 Sunday, Sept. 10, 1826. 
 
 1 arrived at Geneva, after a ride of a day 
 and a iiight, from Lyons, through a delight- 
 ful mountainous country. The steam-boat 
 carried me from Geneva to Lausanne, a 
 very pretty town, at the other end of the 
 fine lake, from whence I went to Berne, 
 one of the principal towns in Switzerland, 
 and the most beautiful I have seen yet. It 
 js extremely clean, and therefore it was 
 quite a treat, after the French towns, which 
 are filthy. 
 
 Berne is convenient resid%nce, both in 
 sunny and wet weather, for all the streets 
 have arcades, under which the shops are iti 
 this way, 
 
 • The Xiires. 26th March, {rom an " Edinburgh paper.' 
 
 so that people are not obliged to walk ii; 
 the middle of the street at all. The town 
 is protected by strong fortifications, but the 
 ramparts are changed into charming lawn.s 
 and walks. There are also delightful ter- 
 races on The river side, commanding the 
 surrounding country, which is enchanting — 
 rich woods and fertile valleys, swelling 
 mountains, and meadows like vel'vet; and, 
 beyond all, the snowy Alps, 
 
 At Berne I equipped myself as mosi 
 pt^rsons do who travel on foot through 
 Switzerland ; I have seen scores of youno 
 men all in the same pedestrian costume. J 
 give you a sketch, that you may have s 
 better idea of it. 
 
 The dress is a light sort of smock-frock, 
 with a leather belt round the waist, a straw 
 hat, a knapsack on the back, and a small 
 bottle, covered with leather, to carry spirits, 
 fastened round the neck by a leather strap 
 The long pole is for climbing up the moun- 
 tains, and jumping over the ice 
 
 From Berne I arrived at Thun. The fine 
 lake of Thun is surrounded by mountains 
 of various forms, and I proceeded along it 
 to this place. I have been on the lake of 
 Brientys and to Lauterbrunnen, where 
 there is the celebrated waterfall, called the 
 " Stubach ;" it falls about 800 feet ; the 
 rocks about it are exceedingly romantic, 
 and close to it are the snowy mountains, 
 among which I should particularize the 
 celebrated " Yung frow," which has never 
 been ascended. 
 
 Inteiiaken is surrounded by mountains, 
 
 1 
 
 214 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 md its scenery for sketches delicious. It 
 ;s a vilhige, built nearly all of wood ; the 
 
 houses are the prettiest things 1 ever sa^ 
 thev are in this wa,Y, 
 
 but much more btautiful than I can show 
 in a small sketch. They are delicately 
 clean, and mostly have fine vines and 
 plenty of grapes about them. The stones 
 on the roof are to keep the wood from 
 being blown off. Then the people dress 
 so well, and all look so happy, that it is a 
 pleasure to be among them. I cannot un- 
 derstand a word they say, and yet they are 
 all civil and obliging. If any childien 
 happen to see me drawing out of doors, 
 they always run to fetch a chair for me 
 The women are dressed in this manner. 
 
 The poor people and ladies are in the 
 »irae style exactly: the caps are made of 
 horsehair, and the hair dressed quite plain 
 in front, and plaited behind almost to the 
 ground with black ribbons. They wear 
 silver chains from each side of the bosom, 
 to pass under the arms, and fasten on 
 the back. They are not all pretty, but 
 they are particularly clean and neat. There 
 's nothing remarkable in the met.'s dress. 
 
 only that I observe on a Sunday they weai 
 white nightcaps : every man that I can sef 
 now out of my window has one on ; and 
 they are all playing at ball and nine-pins, 
 just as they do in France. There is an- 
 other kind of cap worn here midc of silk; 
 this is limp, and does not look so well 
 They have also a flat straw hat. 
 
 The women work much more than the 
 men ; they even row the boats on the 
 lakes. All the Swiss, however, are very 
 industrious; and I like Switzerland altoge- 
 ther exceedingly. I leave this place to- 
 morrow, and am going on to the beautiful 
 valley of Somen, (there was a view of it in 
 the Diorama,) and then to the lake of the 
 fo'.ir cantons, or lake of Lucerne, and 
 round the canton of the Valais to Geneva, 
 and from thence for the lakes of Italy. If 
 you examine a map for these places, it will 
 be an amusement for you. 
 
 Lady Byron has been here for two days; 
 she is making a tour of Switzerland. There 
 are several English passing through. I can 
 scarcely give you a better notion of the 
 situation of this beautiful little village, than 
 by saying that it is in a vallev between two 
 lakes, and that there are tlie most charming 
 walks you can imagine to the eminences oi 
 the river side, and along the borders of the 
 lakes. There are more goats here than in 
 Wales : they all wear a little bell round 
 tlieir neck ; and the sheep and cows bein^ 
 similarly distinguished, the movement oi 
 the flocks and herds keep an incessant 
 tinkling, and relieve the stillnes.* of the 
 beauteous scenerv. 
 
 215 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 <Btttm (Sreen i¥larnagfd» 
 
 THR BLACKSMITH. 
 
 On Friday, March 23, at Lancaster Lent 
 assizes 1827, before Mr. baron Mullock, 
 tame on the trial of an indictment against 
 Edward Gibbon Wakefield and William 
 Wakefield, (brothers,) Edward Thevenot, 
 (their servant,) and Frances the wife of 
 Edward Wakefield, (father of the brothers,) 
 for conspiring by subtle stratagems and 
 false representations to take and carry away 
 Ellen Turner, a maid, unmarried, and within 
 the age of sixteen years, the only child and 
 heiress of William Turner, from the care of 
 the Misses Daulby, who had the education. 
 and governance of Miss Turner, and caus- 
 ing her to contract matrimony with the 
 said Edward Gibbon Wakefield, without 
 the knowledge and consent of her father, 
 to her great disparagement, to her father's 
 discomfort, and against the king's peace. 
 Thevenot was acquitted ; t!ie other defend- 
 ants were found " guilty," and the bro- 
 thers stood committed to Lancaster-castle. 
 
 To a second indictment, under the statute 
 of 4 and 5 Philip and Mary, against the 
 brothers,. for the abduction of Miss Turner, 
 they withdrew their plea of " not guilty," 
 and pleaded " guilty "to the fifth count. 
 
 In the course of the defence to the first 
 indictment, David Laing, the celebrated 
 blacksmith of Gretna-green, was examined ; 
 and. indeed, the trial is only mentioned in 
 these pages, for the purpose of sketching 
 this anomalous chaiacter as he appeared in 
 the witness-box, and represented his own 
 proceedings, according to The Tbnes' re- 
 port : — viz. 
 
 In appearance this old man was made to 
 assume a superiority over his usual com- 
 panions. Somebody had dressed him in a 
 black coat, and velvet waistcoat and breeches 
 of the same colour, with a shining pair of 
 top boots — the shape of his hat, too, re- 
 sembled the clerical fashion. He seemed 
 a vulgar fellow, though not without shrewd- 
 ness and that air of familiarity, which he 
 might be supposed to have acquired by the 
 freedom necessarily permitted by persons 
 of a better rank of life, to one who was 
 conscious he had the power of performing 
 for them a g'uilty, but important ceremony. 
 
 On entering the witness-box, he leaned 
 forward towards tiie counsel em])loyed to 
 examine him, with a ludicrous expression 
 of s;ravity upon his features, and accom- 
 panied every answer with a knitting of his 
 wrinkled brow, and significant nodding of 
 hi.s head, which gave peculiar force to his 
 
 quaintness of phraseology, and occasion- 
 ally convulsed the court with laughter. 
 
 He was interrogated both by Mr. Scarle>* 
 and Mr. Coltman in succession. 
 
 Who are you, Laing? 
 
 Why, I live in Springfield. 
 
 Well, what did you do in this affair? 
 
 Why, I was sent for to Linton's, where 
 I found two gentlemen, as it may be, and 
 one lady. 
 
 Did you know them ? 
 
 I did not. 
 
 Do you see them in court ? 
 
 Why, no I cannot say. 
 
 What did you do .' 
 
 Why I joined them, and' then got '.lie 
 lady's address, where she come fiom, and 
 the party's i believe. 
 
 What did they do then ? 
 
 Why, the gentleman wrote down the 
 names, and the lady gave way to it. 
 
 In fact, you married them after the usual 
 way ? 
 
 Yes, yes, I married them after the Scotch 
 form, that is, by my putting on the ring on 
 the lady's finger, and that way. 
 
 Were they both agreeable ? 
 
 yes, I joined their hands as man ana 
 wife 
 
 Was that the whole of the ceremony — 
 was it the end of it ? 
 
 1 wished them well, shook hands with 
 them, and, as I said, they then both em- 
 braced each other very agreeably. 
 
 What else did you do ? 
 I thinki told the lady that I generally had 
 a present from 'em, as it maybe, of such a 
 thing as money to buy a pair of gloves, 
 and she gave me, with her own hand, a 
 twenty-shilling Bank of England note to 
 buy them. 
 
 Where did she get the note? 
 How do I know. 
 
 What did the gentleman say to you ? 
 Oh, you ask what did he treat me with. 
 No, I do not; wiiat did he say to you? 
 He did nothing to me; but I did to him 
 what I have done to many before, that is, 
 you must know, to join them together ; join 
 hands, and so on. I bargained many in 
 that way, and she was perfectly agreeable, 
 and made no objections. 
 
 Did you give them a certificate? 
 Oh ! yes, I gave it to the lady. 
 [Here a piece of paper was identified by 
 this witness, and read in evidence, pur- 
 porting to certify that P>dward Gibbon 
 Wakefield and Ellen Turner had been 
 duly married according to the form 
 required by the Scottish law. This 
 paper, except the names and dates. 
 
 216 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 was a prwited register, at the top of 
 which was a rudely executed wood- 
 cut, apparently of the royal arms ] 
 
 Did the genileman and lady converse 
 freely with you ? 
 
 O, yes ; he asked me what sort of wine 
 they had in Linton's house, and I said they 
 had three kinds, with the best of Shump'me 
 (Champagne.) He asked me which 1 would 
 take, and I said Shumphie, and so and so ; 
 while they went into another room to dine, 
 I finished the wine, and then off I came. I 
 returned, and saw them still in the very 
 best of comfortable spirits. 
 
 Mr. Scarlett. — We have done with you, 
 Laing. 
 
 Mr. Brougham. — But wiy turn is to 
 eome with you, my gentleman. What did 
 you get ior this job besides the Shumphie ? 
 Did you get money as well as Shumphie? 
 
 Yes, sure I did, and so and so. 
 
 Well, how much ? 
 
 Thirty or forty pounds or thereabouts, as 
 may be. 
 
 Or fifty pounds, as it may be, Mr. Black- 
 smith? 
 
 May be, for I cannot say to a few pounds. 
 I am dull of hearing. 
 
 Was this marriage ceremony, which you 
 have been describing, exactly what the law 
 and church of Scotland require on such 
 occasions, as your certificate (as you call it) 
 a.iserts ? 
 
 yes, it is in the old common form. 
 What ! Do you mean in the old common 
 
 form of the church of Scotland, fellow ? 
 
 There is no prayer-book required to be 
 produced, I tell you. 
 
 Will you answer me when I ask you, 
 what do you mean by the old ordinary 
 form of the church of Scotland, when this 
 transaction has nothing whatever to do with 
 that church ? W^ere you never a clergyman 
 of that country 1 
 
 Never. 
 
 How long are you practising this delight- 
 ful art ? 
 
 Upwards of forty-eight years I am doing 
 these marriages. 
 
 How old are you ? 
 
 1 am now beyond seventy-five. 
 
 What do you do to get your livelihood ? 
 
 I do these. 
 
 Pretty doing it is ; but how did you get 
 your livelihood, say, before these last pre- 
 cious forty-eight years of your life? 
 
 I was a gentleman. 
 
 What do you call a gentleman? 
 
 Being sometimes poor, sometimes rich. 
 
 Come now, say what was your occupa- 
 tion before vou took to this trade? 
 
 I followed many occupations 
 
 Were you not an ostler? 
 
 No, I were not. 
 
 What else were you then? 
 
 Why, I was a merchant once. 
 
 That is a travelling vagrant pedlar, as 1 
 understand your term ? 
 
 Yes, may be. 
 
 Were you ever any thing else in the way 
 of calling I 
 
 Never. 
 
 Come back now to what you call the 
 marriage. Do you pretend to say that it 
 was done after the common old form of the 
 church of Scotland ? Is not the general 
 way by a clergyman ? 
 
 That is not the general way altoge- 
 ther. 
 
 Do you mean that the common ordinary 
 way in Scotland is not to send for a clergy- 
 man, but to go a hunting after a fellow like 
 you? 
 
 Scotland is not in the practice altogethei 
 of going after clergymen. Many does not 
 go that way at all. 
 
 Do you mean to swear, then, that the 
 regular common mode is not to go before a 
 cleigyman ? 
 
 I do not say that, as it may be. 
 
 Answer me the question plainly, or else 
 you shall not so easily get back to this 
 good old work of yours in Scotland as you 
 think ? 
 
 1 say as it may be, the marriages in Scot- 
 land an't always done in the churches. 
 
 I know that as well as you do, for the 
 clergyman sometimes attends in private 
 houses, or it is done before a justice depute; 
 but is this the regular mode? 
 
 I say it ent no wrong mode — it is law. 
 Re-examhied by Mr. Scarlett. 
 
 Well, is it the irregular mode? 
 
 No, not irregular, but as it may be un- 
 regular, but its right still. 
 
 You mean your own good old unregular 
 mode ? 
 
 Yes ; I have been both in the courts oi 
 Edinburgh and Dublin, and my marriages 
 have always been held legal. 
 
 What form of words do you use ? 
 
 Why, you come before me, and say — 
 
 Mr. Scarlett. — No, I will not, for I do 
 not want to be married ; but suppose a 
 man did who called for your services, wnat 
 is he to do ? 
 
 Why, It is I that do it. Surely 1 ask 
 them, before two witnesses,, do you take 
 one and other for man and wife, and they 
 say they do, and I then declare them to be 
 man and wife for ever more, and so and so^ 
 in the Scotch way you observe. 
 
 217 
 
The Court. — Mr. Attorney, (addressing 
 Mr. Scarlett, who is attorney-general for 
 the county palatine,) is it by a fellow like 
 this, that you mean to prove the custom of 
 the law of Scotland as to valid marriage ? 
 
 Here the blacksmith's examination ter- 
 minated. 
 
 THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 €tm\ttit Btosrapfip. 
 
 JAMES CHAMBERS. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 Oh, how delightful to the soul of man. 
 
 How like a renovatins: spirit comes, 
 
 Fanninj^ his cheek, the breath of infant Spring- ! 
 
 Morning awakens in tlie orient sky 
 
 With purpler light, beneath a canopy 
 
 Of lovely clouds, their edges tipped with gold ; 
 
 And from his palace, like a deity. 
 
 Darting his lustrous eye from pole to pole. 
 
 The glorious sun comes forth, the vernal sky 
 
 To walk rejoicing. To the bitter north 
 
 Retire wild winter's forces — cruel winds — 
 
 And griping frosts — and magazines of snow — 
 
 And deluging tempests. O'er the moisten'd fields 
 
 A tender green is spread ; the bladed grass 
 
 Shoots foith exuberant ; th' awakening trees. 
 
 Thawed by the delicate atmosphere, put forth 
 
 Expanding buds ; while, with mellifluous throat. 
 
 The warm ebullience of internal joy. 
 
 The birds hymn forth a song of gratitude 
 
 To him who sheltered, when tlie storms were der'p. 
 
 And fed them through the winter's cheerless gloom. 
 
 Beside the garden path, the crocus now 
 Puts forth its head to woo the genial breeze. 
 And finds the snov/drop, hardier visitant, 
 Already basking in the solar ray. 
 Upon the brook the water-cresses float 
 More greenly, and the bordering reeds exalt 
 Higher their speary summits. Joyously, 
 From stone to stone, the ouzel flits along, 
 Startling the linnet from the hawthorn bough ; 
 While on the elm-tree, overshadowing deep 
 The low-roofed cottage white, the blackbird sits 
 Cheerily hymning tke awakened year. 
 
 Turn to the ocean — how the scene is changed . 
 Behold the small waves melt upon tlie shore 
 With chastened murmur ! Buoyaotly on high 
 The sea-gulls ride, weaving a sportive dance. 
 And turning to the sun their snowy plumes. 
 With shrilly pipe, from headland or from cape, 
 E.merge the line of plovers, o'er the sands 
 Fast sweeping; while to inland marsh the hern. 
 With undulating wmg scarce visible. 
 Far up the azure concave journies on I 
 ITpon the sapphire deep, its sails unfurl'd, 
 Tardily glides along the fisher's boat, 
 Its shadow moving o'er the moveless tide ; 
 Tki bright wave flashes from the rower's oar. 
 Glittering in the sun, at measured intervals ; 
 And, casually borne, the fisher's voice* 
 Floats solemnly along the watery waste ; 
 Theskepherd boy, enveloped in h's plaid, 
 On the green oank, with blooniing' furze o'ertopped, 
 Listens, ana answers with responsive note. 
 
 This unfortunate being, well known bv 
 the designation of " the poor poet,'' wa's 
 born at Soham, in Cambridgeshire, in 1748, 
 where his father was a leather-seller, but 
 having been unfortunate in business, and 
 tnarrying a second wife, disputes and family 
 broils arose. It was probably from this 
 discomfort in his paternal dwelling-place, 
 that he left home never to return. At first, 
 and for an uncertain period, he was a maker 
 and seller of nets and some small wares. 
 Afterwards, he composed verses on birth- 
 days and weddings, acrostics on names 
 and such like matters. Naturally mild and 
 unassuming in his manners, he attracted 
 the attention and sympathy of many, and 
 by this means lived, or, rather, suffered 
 life ! That his mind was diseased there 
 can be no doubt, for no sane beina^ would 
 have preferred an existence such as his. 
 What gave the first morbid turn to his feel- 
 ings is perhaps unknown. His sharp, lively, 
 sparkling eye might have conveyed an idea 
 that he had suffered disappointment in the 
 tender passion ; while, from the serious 
 tendency of many of his compositions, it 
 may be apprehended that religion, or false 
 notions of religion, in his very young days, 
 operated to increase the unhappiness that 
 distressed his faculties. Unaided by edu- 
 cation of any kind, he yet had attained to 
 write, although his MSS. were scarcely in- 
 telligible to any but himself; he could spell 
 correctly, was a very decent grammarian, 
 and had even acquired a smattering ol 
 Latin and Greek. 
 
 From the age of sixteen to seventy years, 
 poor Chambers travelled about the county 
 of Suffolk, a sort of wandering bard, gaining 
 a precarious subsistence by selling his own 
 effusions, of which he had a number printed 
 in cheap forms. Among the poorer people ot 
 the country, he was mostly received with a 
 hearty welcome; they held him in great 
 estimation as a poet, and sometimes be- 
 stowed on him a small pecuniary recom- 
 pense for the ready adaptation of his poeti- 
 cal qualities, in the construction of verses 
 on certain occasions suitable to their taste 
 or wishes. Compositions of this nature 
 were mostly suggested to him by his muse 
 during the stillness of night, while reposing 
 in some friendly barn or hay-loft. When 
 so inspired, he would immediately arise and 
 commit the effusion to paper. His memory 
 was retentive, and, to amuse his hearers, hf 
 would repeal most of bis pieces by heart 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 iil8 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 He wandered for a considerable time in the 
 west of Suffolk, particularly at Haverhill ; 
 and Mr. John Webb, of that place, in his 
 poem entitled " Haverhill," thus notices 
 him : — 
 
 An napless oatcast, on wlione natal day 
 No star propitioui beam'd a kindly ray. 
 By some malignant infinfince doom'd to roam 
 The world's wide dreary waste, and know no home. 
 Yet heav'n to cheer him as he pass'd along, 
 Infus'd in life's sour cup the sweets of song. 
 Upon his couch of straw, or bed of hay. 
 The poetaster tun'd the acrostic lay : 
 On him an humblt- muse her favours shed. 
 And nightly musings earn'd his daily bread. 
 Meek, unassuming, modest shade ! forgive 
 This frail attempt to make thy memory live. 
 Minbtrel, adieu 1 — to me thy fate'f unknown ; 
 Since last I saw you, many a year has flown. 
 Full oft has summer poured her fervid beams, 
 A»d winter's icy breath congeal'd the streams. 
 Perhaps, lorn wretch 1 unfriended and alone 
 In hovel vile, thou gav'st thy final groan ! 
 Clos'd the blear'd eye, ordain'd no more to weep. 
 And sunk, unheeded sunk, in death's long sleep I 
 
 Chambers left Haverhill, never to return 
 to it, in the year 1790. In peregrinating 
 the country, which he did in every change 
 of sky, through storms, and through snow, 
 or whatever might betide, he was often 
 supported entirely by the spontaneous be- 
 nevolence of those who witnessed his wan- 
 derings. In his verses on a snow storm, he 
 says : — 
 
 This vile raiment hangs in tatters ; 
 
 No warm garment to defend : 
 O'ei my flesh the chill snov/ scatters , 
 
 No snag j-ial friend I 
 
 About four years before his death, while 
 sojourning in Woodbridge, sleeping in a 
 miserable hut on the barrack ground, and 
 ■daily wandering about the town, with every 
 visible mark of misery to distress the eye, 
 his con' ition became a libel upon the feel- 
 ings of the inhabitants of the place ; a few 
 ■gentlemen determined he should no longer 
 -wander in such a state of wretchedness, 
 offered to clothe and cleanse nim, and 
 provide a comfortable room, bed, 8cc, and 
 a person to shave him and wash for him ; 
 and they threatened, if he would not comply, 
 Ao take him home to where he belonged. 
 
 His aversion to a poor-house amounted 
 '0 horror: he expresses somewhat to that 
 effect in one of his poems — 
 
 'Mongst Belial's sons of contention and strife. 
 To breathe out the transient remains of my liff ! 
 
 who desired to assist him. His wretched 
 hovel was emptied, its miserable accumu- 
 lations were consigned to the flames, and 
 he was put into a new habitation, clothed 
 from head to foot, and so metamorphosed, 
 that but few knew him at first sight. A 
 bedstead and bedding, a chair, table, and 
 necessary crockery were provided for his 
 comfort, bat the poor creature was often 
 heard to exclaim, of the cleansing and 
 burning, that " it was the worst day's work 
 he ever met with," After a few short weeks 
 he left this home, and a shilling a week 
 allowed him by a gentleman, besides some 
 weekly pence, donatifms from ladies in the 
 town, for a life of wandering privation and, 
 at times, of absolute want, until the closing 
 scene of his weary pilgrimage. He I reathed 
 his last on the 4th of January, 1827, in an 
 unoccbpied farm-house belonging to Mr 
 Thurston of Stradbroke, where he had been 
 permitted the use of two rooms. Within 
 a few days before, he had been as well as 
 usual, but he suddenly became ill, and had 
 the attention of two women, neighbours, 
 who provided him warm gruel, and a few 
 things his situation required. Some one 
 had given him a warm blanket, and when 
 he died there was food in the house, with 
 tenpence halfpenny in money, a few scraps 
 of poetry, and a bushel of wheat which he 
 had gleaned in the harvest. A decent coffin 
 and shroud were provided, and he was 
 buried in Stradbrook churchyard * 
 
 Chambers was literally one of the poor 
 at all times; and hence his annals are short 
 and simple. Disregard of personal ap- 
 pearance was natural to his poverty-stricken 
 circumstances and melancholy disposition ; 
 for the wheel of his fortune was fixed t.j 
 habit, as by a nail in a sure place, to con- 
 stant indigence. Neglected in his youth, 
 and without fixed employment, he brooded 
 throughout life on his hopeless condition, 
 without a friend of his own rank who 
 could participate in his sorrows. He was a 
 lonely man, and a wanderer, who had neither 
 act nor part in the common ways of the 
 world. 
 
 WaurtalL 
 
 A Dramatic Sketch. 
 Tor the Table Book 
 Characters — Mr. Greenfat, Mrs. Greenfat, 
 Masters Peter and Humphrey Greenfat, 
 Misses Theodosia and Arabella Green- 
 fat, and Mr, John Eelskin. 
 
 This dread operated in behalf of those • The Ipswic-h Journal, Januar/ 31. 18^7. 
 
 I'ly 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Seeji dhpersedlt) in varioui parts of the 
 gardens. 
 
 Master Peter. Oh my ! what a sweet 
 place! Why, the lamps are thicker than 
 the pears in our garden, at Walworth : 
 what a load of oil they must barn ! 
 
 Miss Arabdla. Mamma, is that the lady 
 mayoress, with the ostridge feathers, and 
 the pink satin gown ? 
 
 Mrs. Greenfut. No, my love ; that's 
 Miss Biddy Wilkins, of Gutter-lane ! (To 
 a vjaifer) You rude fellow, you've trod on 
 my dress, and your nasty foot has torn off 
 one of my flounces. 
 
 Miss fheodosia. John, (<o Mr. Eelskiv^ 
 how very pretty that hilluminated walk 
 /ooks. Dear me I do you see the fountain ? 
 How vastly reviving this hot weather, 
 isn't it ? 
 
 Mr. Eelskin. A\\, my beloved Theo- 
 dosia ! how should I notice the beauties of 
 the scene in your company — when your 
 eyes are brighter than the lamps, and your 
 voice is sweeter than the music ? In vain 
 the fiddlers fiddle, and the singers sing;, I 
 CTiXi hear nothing — listen to nothing — but 
 my adoiable Theodosia ! 
 
 Master Humphrey. La, papa, what's that 
 funny round place, with flags on the top, 
 and ballad women and men with cocked 
 hats inside ? 
 
 Mr. Greenfat. That's the Hawkestraw. 
 
 Mrs. Greenfat. Hush, my dear; it's 
 vulgar to talk loud. Dosee, my love, don't 
 tiang so on Mr. John's arm, you'll quite 
 fatigue him. That's Miss Tunstall — Miss 
 Tunstall's going to sing. Now, my pretty 
 Peter, don't talk so fast. 
 
 Miss Arabella. Does that lady sing in 
 French, mamma? 
 
 Mrs Greenfat. No, child, it's a senthe- 
 mental air, and they never have no mean- 
 ing ? 
 
 Miss Theodosia. That's the overthnre to 
 Friedshots ; Eelskin, do you like it ? 
 I Mr. Eelskin. On your piano I should. 
 ! But shall I take you out of this glare of 
 I light? Would you choose a ramble in the 
 ' dark walk, and a peep at the puppet-show- 
 cosmoraraas ? 
 i Mr. Greenfat. I hates this squalling. 
 
 {Bell rings.) What's that for? 
 j Mr. Eelskin. That's for the fant-toe- 
 sheeni, and the balancmg man. 
 I Mr. Greenfat. Well then, let's go and 
 .ook at Mr. Fant-toc-sheeni. 
 
 Mrs. Greenfat. Oh, goodness, how I'm 
 squeedged. Pray don't push so, sir — I'm 
 astonished at your rudeness, mam ! You've 
 
 trod on my corn, and lamed me for the 
 evening! 
 
 Mr. Greenfat. Sir, how dare you suffer 
 your v/ife to tread on my wife's toes ? 
 
 Master Peter. My stars, sister, he's goi 
 a bagginette on his nose ! 
 
 Mrs. Greenfat. Mr. John, will you put 
 little Humphy on your shoulder; and 
 show him the fant-oh-see-ne ? 
 
 Master Humphrey. I can see now, 
 mamma ; there's Punch and Judy, mam- 
 ma ! Oh, my ! how well they do dance ! 
 
 Mr. Greerfat. I can see this in the streets 
 for nothing. 
 
 Mrs. Greenfat. Yes, Mr Greenfat, but 
 not in such good company ! 
 
 Mr. Eelskin. This, my beautiful Theo- 
 dosia, is the musical temple ; it's very ele- 
 gant — only it never plays Them paint- 
 ings on the walls were painted by Mungo 
 Parke and Hingo Jones ; the archatechture 
 of this room is considered veiy tine! 
 
 Master Peter. Oh, I'm so hot. {Bell 
 rings.) 
 
 Mr. Eelskin. That's for the hyder-haw- 
 lies. We'd better go into the gallery, and 
 then the ladies won't be in the crowd. 
 
 Mr. Greenfat. Come along then : w^e 
 want to go into the gallery. A shilling 
 a-piece, indeed ! I wonder at your impu- 
 derrce ! Why, we paid three and six- 
 pence a head at the door. 
 
 Mr. Eelskin. Admission to the gallery 
 is hextra. 
 
 Mr. Greenfat. Downright robbery ! — I 
 won't pay a farthing more. 
 
 Miss Arabella. See, mamma, water and 
 fire at once ! — how droll ! 
 
 Mrs. Greenfat. Pray be kind enough to 
 take off your hat, sir ; my little boy can't 
 see a bit. Humphy, my dear, hold fast by 
 the railing, and then you won't lose your 
 place. Oh, Mr. John, how very close and 
 sultry it is ! 
 
 Mr. Greenfat. What outlandish hussey's 
 that, eh, John ? 
 
 Mr. Eelskin. That's the female juggler, 
 sir. 
 
 Miss Theodosia. Are those real knives, 
 do you think, John ? 
 
 Mr. Eelskin. Oh, no doubt of it; only 
 the edges are blunt to prevent mischief 
 \\ ho's this wild-looking man ? Oh, this is 
 the male juggler : and now we shall have a 
 duet of juggling ! 
 
 Mrs. Greenfat. Can jou see, Peter?— 
 Bella, my love, can you see? Mr. John, 
 do you take care of Dosee ? Well, I pur- 
 test I never saw any thing half so wouder- 
 ful : did you, Mr. Greenfat J 
 
 i2U 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Mr Green/at. Never : I wonder when it 
 will be over ? 
 
 Mr. EeUkln. We'd better not go away ; 
 rhe ballet will begin presently, and I'm 
 sure you'll like the dancing, Miss, for, ex- 
 cepting the Westrisis, and your own sweet 
 self, 1 never saw better dancing. 
 
 Miss Theodosia. Yes, I loves dancing; 
 and at the iLst Cripplegate ball, the master 
 of the ceremonies paid me several compli- 
 ments. 
 
 Miss Arabella. Why do all the dancers 
 wear plaids, mamma ? 
 
 Mrs. Greenfat. Because it's a cool dress, 
 dear. 
 
 Mr. Greenfat. Well, if a girl of mine 
 whisked her petticoats about in that man- 
 ner, I'd have her horsewhipped. 
 
 Mr. Eelskin. Now we'll take a stroll till 
 the concert begins again. This is the ma- 
 rine cave — very natural to look at, Miss, 
 but nothing but paint and canvass, I as- 
 sure you. This is the rewolving evening 
 war for the present; after the fire-works, it 
 still change into his majesty, King Georg-e. 
 Yonder's the hermit and his cat. 
 
 Master Peter. Mamma, ices that old 
 man always sit there ? 
 
 Mrs. Greenfat. I'm sure I don't know, 
 child ; does he, Mr. Eelskin ? 
 
 Mr. Greenfat. Nonsense — it'-s all gam- 
 mon ! 
 
 Mr. Eelskin. This way, my angel ; the 
 concert has recommenced. 
 
 Miss Theodosia. Oh, that's Charles Tay- 
 lor; I likes his singing ; he's such a merry 
 fellow : do hancore him, John. 
 
 Mrs. Greenfat. Dosee, my dear, you're 
 too bold ; it was a very impnreiit song : I 
 declare I'm quite ashamed of you ! 
 
 Mr. Greenfat. Never mince matters ; 
 always speak your mind, girl. 
 
 Mr. Eelskin. The fire-works come next. 
 Suppose we get nearer the Moorish tower, 
 and look for good places, as Mr. G. dis- 
 likes paying for the gallery. Now you'll 
 not be afeard ; there'll not be the least 
 danger, depend. 
 
 Mrs. Greenfat, Is there much smoke, 
 Mr. John ? — Do they fire many cannons ? 
 — I hates cannons — and smoke makes me 
 cougi). (Bell rings.) Run, run, my dears — 
 Humphy, Peter, Bella, run ! Mr. Greenfat, 
 run, or we shall be too late ! Eelskin and 
 Dosee are a mile afore us ! What's that 
 red light? Oh, we shall all be burnt! 
 What noise is that ? — Oh, it's the bomb in 
 the Park ! — We shall all be burnt ! 
 
 Mr. Greenfat. Nonsense, woman, don't 
 frighten the children ! 
 
 Miss Theodosia. Now you're sure the 
 
 rockets won't fall on my new pink bonnet, 
 nor the smoke soil my French white dress, 
 nor the smell of the powder frighten me 
 into fits? — Now you're quite sure of it, 
 John? 
 
 Mr. Eelskin. Quite sure, my charmer: I 
 have stood here repeatedly, and never had 
 a hair of my head hurt. See, Blackmore is 
 on the rope ; there he goes up — up — up I 
 — Isn't it pretty. Miss ? 
 
 Miss Theodosia. Oh, delightful ! — Does 
 he never break his neck? 
 
 Mr. Eelskin. Never — it's insured ! Now 
 he descends. How they shoot the maroons 
 at him ! Don't be afeard, lovee, they sha'n't 
 hurt you. See, Miss, how gracefully he 
 bows to you. — Isn't it terrific ? 
 
 Miss Theodosia. Is this alii — I thought 
 it would last for an hour, at least. John, 
 I'm so hungry ; I hope papa means to have 
 supper ? 
 
 Master Peter. Mamma, I'm so hungry. 
 Muster Humphrey. Papa, I'm so dry. 
 Miss Arabella. Mamrna, I want some- 
 what to eat. 
 
 Mrs. Greenfat. Greenfat, my dear, we 
 must have some refreshments. 
 
 Mr. Greenfat. Refreshments ! where will 
 you get them ? All the boxes are full. 
 — Oh, here's one. Waiter! what, the devil, 
 call this a dish of beef? — It don't weia,h 
 three ounces ! Bring half a gallon of stout, 
 and plenty of bread. Can't we have some 
 water for the children ? 
 
 Mr. Eelskin. Shouldn't we have a little 
 wine, sir? — it's more genteeler. 
 
 Mr. Greenfat. Wine, Eelskin, wine ! — 
 Bad sherry at six shillings a bottle ! — 
 Couldn't reconcile it to my conscience 
 — We'll stick to the stout. 
 
 Mrs. Greenfat. Eat, my loves. — Some 
 more bread for Bella. — There's a bit of fat 
 for you, Peter. — Humphy, you shall have 
 my crust. — Pass the stout to Dosee, Mr 
 John. — Don't drink it all, my dear ! 
 
 Mr. Greenfat. Past two o'clock ! — Shame- 
 ful ! — Waiter, bring the bill. Twelve shil- 
 lings and eicjhtpence — abominable! — 
 Charge a shilling a pot for stout — mon- 
 strous ! Well, no matter ; we'll walk home. 
 Come along. 
 
 Master Peter. Mamma, I'm so tired. 
 Miss Arabella. Mamma, my legs ache 
 so. 
 
 Master Huinphrey. Papa, I wish you'd 
 carry me. 
 
 Mr. Greenfat. Come along — it wil' be 
 five o'clock before we get home ! 
 
 [Exeunt omnes 
 H. 
 
 221 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 1 
 
 TO MV TEA-KETTLE. 
 
 TO MY TEA-POT. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 I. 
 
 For many a vtrse inspired by tea. 
 
 1. 
 Mt Tea-pot I while thy lips pour fcrth 
 
 (A never-failing muse to me) 
 
 For me a stream of matchless worth. 
 
 My Kettle, let this tribute flow. 
 
 I'll pour forth my rhymes for the*', 
 
 Thy charms to blazon. 
 
 Don Juan's verse is gross, they say ; 
 
 And tell thy modest worth, although 
 
 But I will pen a grocer lay. 
 
 Thy face be brazen. 
 
 Commencing — " Amo tea." 
 
 2. 
 Let others boast the madd'ning bowl, 
 
 2. 
 Yes — let Anacreon's votary sip 
 
 That raises but to sink ttie soul. 
 
 His flowirg bowl with feverish lip. 
 
 Thoa art the Bacchus that alone 
 
 And breathe abominations ; 
 
 I wish to follow : 
 
 Some day he'll be bowl'd out for it — 
 
 From thee I tipple Helicon, 
 
 He's brewing mischief, while I sit 
 
 My best Apollo ! 
 
 And brew my Tea-potation$ 
 
 3. 
 
 'Tis night — my children sleep— no noise 
 
 3. 
 
 After fatigue, how dear to me 
 
 Is heard, except thy cheerful voice ; 
 
 The maid M'ho suits me to a T, 
 
 For when the wind would gain mine ear, 
 
 And makes the water bnbbla. 
 
 Thou siug'st the faster — 
 
 From her red hand when 1 receive 
 
 As if thou wert resolv'd to cheer 
 
 The evergreen, I seem to give 
 
 Thy lonely master. 
 
 At T. L. no trouble. 
 
 4. 
 And 80 thou dost : those brazen lun^ s 
 
 4. 
 
 I scorn the hop, disdain the malt. 
 
 Vent no deceit, like human tongues : 
 
 I hate solutions sweet and salt. 
 
 That honest breath was never known 
 
 Injurious 1 vote 'em ; 
 
 To turn informer : 
 
 'For tea my faithful palate yearns ; 
 
 And for thy feelings — all must own 
 
 Thus — though my fancy never turns. 
 
 That none are warmer. 
 
 It always is tea-totuml 
 
 5. 
 Bat late, another eye and ear 
 
 5. 
 
 Yet some assure me whilst I sip, 
 
 Would mark thy form, thy music hear : 
 
 That thou hast stain'd thy silver lip 
 
 Alas 1 how soon our pleasures fly. 
 
 With sad adulterations — 
 
 Returning never ! 
 
 Slow poison drawn from leaves of sloe. 
 
 That ear is deaf— that friendly eye 
 
 That quickly cause the quick to go. 
 
 Is clos'd for ever I 
 
 And join their dead relations. 
 
 6. 
 Be thon then, now, my friend, my guide. 
 
 6. 
 
 AnntMalaprop new drinks noyeau 
 
 And humming wisdom by my side. 
 
 In.stead of Tea, and well 1 know 
 
 Teach me so patiently to bear 
 
 That she prefers it greatly : 
 
 Hot-water troubles. 
 
 She says, " Alas 1 I give up Tea, 
 
 That they may end, like thine, in air. 
 
 There's been so much adultery 
 
 And turn to bubbles. 
 
 7. 
 Let me support misfortune's fire 
 
 Among the grocers lately !" 
 
 7. 
 She warns me of Tea-dealers' tricks — 
 
 Unhurt ; and, when I fume with ire, 
 
 Those double-dealing men, who mix 
 
 Whatever friend my passion sees. 
 
 Unwholesome drugs with some Tea 
 
 And near me lingers. 
 
 'Tis bad to sip — and yet to give 
 
 Let him still handle me with ease 
 
 Up sipping's worse , we cannot live 
 
 Nor burn his fingers. 
 
 " Nee sine Tea, nee cum Tea." 
 
 8. 
 Oi may my memory, like thy front, 
 
 8. 
 Yet still, tenacious of my Tea, 
 
 When I am cold, endure the brunt 
 
 I think the grocers send it me 
 
 Of vitriol envy's keen assaults. 
 
 Quite pure, ('tis what they call so.) 
 
 And shine the brighter. 
 
 Heedless of warnings, still I get 
 
 And ev'ry nib— that makes my faults 
 
 " Tea ver.:ente die, et 
 
 Appear the lighter. 
 
 Tea decedente," also. 
 
 Sam Sam'.s Sou 
 
 Sam Sam's Sow 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 222 
 
STEATFOED UPON AVON CHUECH. 
 
 From a sepia drawing, oblio^intjly com- 
 ! .nunicated by J. S. J., the reader is presented 
 with this view of a church, " hallowed by 
 being the sepulchral enclosure of the re- 
 mains of the immortal Shakspeare." It 
 exemplifies the two distinct styles, the 
 early pointed and that of the fourteenth 
 "lentury. The tower is of the first con- 
 srniction ; the windows of the transepts 
 dossess a preeminent and profuse display 
 t>r the muUions and tracery characteristic 
 ff the latter period.* 
 
 • Mr. Carter, in the Gentleraaii'a Mag-azine, 1816. 
 
 This structure is spacious and handsome 
 and was formerly collegiate, and dedicated 
 to the Holy Trinity. A row of limes 
 trained so as to form an arched avenue 
 form an approach to the great door. A 
 representation of a portion of this pleasant 
 entrance is in an rngraving: of the church 
 in the " Gentleman's Magazine " for 1807 
 
 Another opportunity will occur for rela 
 ting particulars respecting the venerabl? 
 edifice, and the illustrious bard, whose birth 
 and burial at Stratford upon Avon confe/ 
 on the town imperishable fame. 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 223 
 
 Q 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 (iarn'cfe ^lapsi. 
 
 No. XTI. 
 [From the " Brazen Age/' an Historical 
 Play, by Thomas Heywood, 1613.] 
 
 Vcnns courts Adonis. 
 
 Venus. Why doth Adonis fly the Queen of Love, 
 And shun this ivory girdle of my arms ? 
 To be thus scarf d the dreadful God of War 
 Would give me conqner'd kingdoms. For a kiss, 
 But half like this, I could command the Sun 
 Rise 'fore his hour, to bed before his time ; 
 And, being love-sick, change his golden beams. 
 And make his face pale as his sister Moon. 
 Look on me, Adon, with a stedfast eye. 
 That in these chrystal glasses I may see 
 My beauty that charms Gods, makes Men amazed 
 And stown'd with wonder. Doth this roseat pillow 
 Offend my Love ? 
 
 With my white fingers will I clap thy cheek ; 
 Whisper a thousand pleasures in thy ear. 
 
 Adonis. Madam, you are not modest. 1 eSeiSt 
 The unseen beauty that adorns the mind; 
 This looseness makes you foul in Adon's eye. 
 [f you will tempt me, let me in your face 
 Read blusfulness and fear ; a modest fear 
 Would make your cheek seem much more beautiful. 
 
 Venus. wert thon made of stone, 
 
 I have heat to melt thee ; I am Queen of Love. 
 There is no practive art of dalliance 
 Of which I am not mistress, and can nse. 
 I have kisses tliat can murder unkind wards, 
 And strangle hatred that the gall sends forfla; 
 Touches to raise thee, were thy spirits half dead ; 
 Words that can pour afifection down thy ears. 
 Love me ! thou cari'st not chuse ; thou shalt not chuse. 
 
 Adonis. Madam, you woo not well. Men covet not 
 These profferM pleasures, but love sweets denied. 
 These prostituted pleasures surfeit still ; 
 Where's fear, jr doubt, men sne with best good will. 
 
 Venus. Thou canst instruct the Queen of Love in 
 love. 
 Thou shalt not, Adon, take me by the hand ; 
 Yet, if thou needs will force me, take my palm, 
 I'll frown on him : alas 1 ray brow's so smooth. 
 It will not bear a wrinkle. — Hie thee hence 
 Unto the chace, and leave me ; but not yet : 
 ['11 sleep this night upon Endym ion's oauk. 
 On which the Swain was courted by the Moon. 
 Dare not to come ; thou art in our disgrace : 
 Yet. if thou come. I can afford thee place 
 
 Phcsbvs jeers Vulcan. 
 
 Vul. Good morrow, Phoebus ; what's I he news 
 abroad ? — 
 For thou see'st all things in the world are done. 
 Men act by day-light, or the sight of sun. 
 
 Phoeb. Sometime I cast my eye upon the sea. 
 To see the tumbling seal or porpoise play. 
 There see I merchants trading, and their sails 
 Big-bisUied with the wind ; sea fights sometimes 
 Else with their sn.oKe-thick clouds to dark my beams_ 
 5aiDetim«& I 1% aiy face up n tne earth. 
 
 With my warm fervour to give metals, trees. 
 
 Herbs, plants and flowers, life. Here in gardens walk 
 
 Loose Ladies with their Lovers arm in arm. 
 
 Yonder the laboring Plowman drives his team. 
 
 Further I may behold main battles pitcht ; 
 
 And whom I favour most (by the wind's help) 
 
 I can assist with my transparent rays. 
 
 Here spy I cattle feeding ; forests there 
 
 Stored with wild beasts ; here shepherds with their 
 
 lasses, 
 Piping beneath the trees while their flocks graze. 
 In cities I see trading, walking, bargaining. 
 Buying and selling, goodness, badness, all things— 
 And shine alike on alL 
 
 Vtil. Thrice happy Phoebus, 
 That, whilst poor Vulcan is confin'd to Lemnos, 
 Hast every day these pleasures. What news else ? 
 
 Phceb. No Emperor walks forth, but I see his state ; 
 Nor sports, but I bis pastimes can behold, 
 I see all coronations, funerals. 
 Marts, fairs, assemblies, pageants, sights and shows. 
 No -hunting, but I belter see the chace 
 TJian they that rouse the game. What see I not ? 
 There's not a window, but my lieams break in ; 
 No chink or cranny, tut my rays pierce through ; 
 And there I see, O Vulcan, wcmdrous things : 
 Things that thyself, nor any God besides. 
 Would give belief to. 
 And, shall I tell thee, Voloan,, 'tother day 
 What I beheld? — I saw flie great God Mars^ 
 
 Vul. God Mars — 
 
 Phceb. As I w£is peeping through a cranny, a-bed— 
 
 Vol. Abed I with whom ? — some pretty Wench, I 
 iwarrant. 
 
 Phceh. She was a pretty Wench. 
 
 Vul. Tell me, good Phoebus, 
 That, when 1 meet him, I may float God Mars ; 
 Tell me, but tell me truly, on thy life. 
 
 Phceb. Not to dissemble, Vulcan, 'twas fliy Wife I 
 
 The Peers of Greece go in quest oj 
 Hercules, and find him in woman's weeds, 
 spinning with Omphale. 
 
 Jason. Our business was to Theban Hercules. 
 'Twas told us, he remain'd with Omphale, 
 The Theban Queen. 
 
 Telamon, Speak, which is Omphale ? or which Al 
 cides? 
 
 Pollux. Lady, our purpose was to Hercules ; 
 Shew us the man. 
 
 Omphale. Behold him here. 
 
 Atreus. Where ' 
 
 Omphale. There, at his task. 
 
 Jason. Alas, tkis Hercules ! 
 This is some base effeminate Groom, not he 
 That with his puissance frighted all the earth. 
 
 Hercules. Hath Jason, Nestor, Castor, Telamon, 
 Atreus, Pollux, all forgot their friend ? 
 We are the man. 
 
 Jason. Woman, we know thee not : 
 We came to seek the Jove bom Hercules, 
 That in his cradle strangled Juno's snakes. 
 And triumph'd in the brave Olympic games. 
 He that the Cleonean lion slew. 
 
 224 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 rh' Erimanthian boar, t!ie bull of Marathon, 
 The Lernean hydra, and the wing^ed hart 
 
 Telamon. We would see the Thebaa 
 That Cacus slew, Busiris sacrificed. 
 And to his horses hurl'd stera Diomed 
 To be devoured. 
 
 Pollux. That freed Hesione 
 From the sea whale, and after ransack'd Troy, 
 And with his owq hand slew Xaomedon. 
 
 Nestor. He by whom Dercilus and Albion fell ; 
 He that CEcaliaand Betricia won. 
 Atre«s. That monstrous Geryon with his three heads 
 vanquish t. 
 With Linus, Lichas that usurpt in Thebes, 
 And captived there his beauteous Megara. 
 
 PoUmc. That Hercules by whom the Centaurs fell. 
 Great Achelous, the Stymphalides, 
 And the Cremona giants : where is he ? 
 
 Telamon. That trait'rous Nessus with a shaft tran»> 
 fixt. 
 Strangled Anthens, purged Augeus' stalls. 
 Won the bright apples of th' Hesperides. 
 
 Jason. He that the Amazonian baldriek won ; 
 That Achelous with his club subdued, 
 And won from him the Pride of Caledon, 
 Fair Deianeira, that now mourns in Thebes 
 For absence of the noble Hercules 1 
 Atreus. To him we came; but, since he lives not 
 here, 
 Come, Lords ; we will return these presents back 
 Unto the constant Lady, whence they came. 
 Hercules. Stay, Lords — 
 Jason. 'Mongst women ? — 
 Hercules. For that Theban's sake. 
 Whom you profess to love, and came to se^k. 
 Abide awhile : and by my love to Greece, 
 I'll i)ring before you that lost Hercules, 
 For whom you came to enquire. 
 Telamon. It works, it works — 
 Hercules. How have I lost mj^elf I 
 Did we all this ? Where is that spirit become, 
 That was in us ? no marvel, Hercules, 
 That thou be'st strange to them, that thus disguised 
 Art to thyself unknown ! — hence with this distaflf. 
 And base effeminate chares ; hence, womanish tires ; 
 And let me once more be myself again. 
 Your pardon, Omphale ! 
 
 I cannot take leave of this Drama with- 
 out noticing^ a touch of the truest pathos, 
 which the writer has put into the mouth of 
 Meleager, as he is wasting away by the 
 operation of the fatal brand, administered 
 to him by his wretched Mother. 
 
 My flame enoreaseth still — Oh father CEnens ; 
 Ana you Althea, whom I would call Mother, 
 But that my genius prompts me thou'rt unkind : 
 ind yet farewell I 
 
 What is the boasted " Forgive me, but 
 forgive me !" of the dying wife of Shore in 
 Howe, compared with these three little 
 •vords ? 
 
 C.L. 
 
 ST. MARGARET'S AT CLIFF. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Stand still. How fearful 
 
 And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low 1 
 
 The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air. 
 
 Show scarce so gross as beetles : half way down 
 
 Hangs one that gathers samphire ; dreadful trade I 
 
 Methinks he seems no bigger than his head : 
 
 The fishermen that walk upon the beach 
 
 Appear like mice ; and yon tall anchoring bark, 
 
 Diminish'd to her cock ; her cock, a buoy. 
 
 Almost too small for sight : the murmuring surge. 
 
 That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes. 
 
 Cannot be heard so high.— 
 
 Shakspeake. 
 
 The village of St. Margaret's at Cliff is 
 situated at a small distance from the South 
 Foreland, and about a mile from the high 
 road half way between Dover and Deal. 
 It was formerly of some consequence, on 
 account of its fair for the encouragement 
 of traders, held in the precincts of its 
 priory, which, on the dissolution of the 
 monastic establishments by Henry VHI., 
 losing its privilege, or rather its utility, (for 
 the fair is yet held,) the village degenerated 
 into an irregular group of poor cottages, a 
 decent farm-house, and an academy for 
 boys, one of the best commercial school 
 establishments in the county of Kent. The 
 church, though time has written strange 
 defeatures on its mouldering walls, still 
 bears the show of former importance; but 
 its best claim on the inquisitive stranger is 
 the evening toll of its single bell, which is 
 generally supposed to be the curfew, but is 
 of a more useful and honourable character. 
 It was established by the testament ot 
 one of its inhabitants in the latter part of 
 the seventeenth century, for the guidance 
 of the wanderer from the peril of the 
 neighbouring precipices, over which the 
 testator fell, and died from the injuries he 
 received. He bequeathed the rent of a piece 
 of land for ever, to be paid to the village 
 sexton for tolling the bell every evening 
 at eight o'clock, when it should be dark 
 at that hour 
 
 The cliffs in the range eastward of Dover 
 to the Foreland are the most precipitous, 
 but not so high as Shakspeare's. They are 
 the resort of a small fowl of the widgeon 
 species, but something less than the wid- 
 geon, remarkable for the size of its egg, 
 which is larger than the swan's, and of a 
 pale green, spotted with brown; it makes 
 its appearance in May, and, choosing the 
 most inaccessible part of the precipice, de- 
 posits its eggs, two in number, in holes. 
 
 225 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 how made it is difficult to prove : when the 
 voung bird is covered with a thin down, 
 and before any feathers appear, it is taken 
 on the back of the parent, carried lo ihe 
 sea, and abandoned to its own resources, 
 which nature amply supplies means to em- 
 ploy, in the myriads of mackerel fry that 
 at that season colour the surface of the deep 
 with a beautiful pale green and silver. 
 This aquatic wanderer is said to confine its 
 visit to the South Foreland and the seven 
 cliffs at Beachy-head, and' is known by the 
 .lame of Willy. Like the gull, it is unfit 
 for the table, but valuable for the downy 
 softness of its feathers. 
 
 It was in this range of Dover cliffs that 
 Joe Parsons, who for more than forty years 
 had exclusively gathered samphire, broke 
 his neck in 182:^. Habit had rendered the 
 highest and most difficult parts of these 
 awful precipices as familiar to this man as 
 the level below. Where the overhanging 
 rock impeded his course, a rope, fastened 
 to a peg driven into a cliff above, served 
 him to swing himself from one projection 
 to another: in one of these dangerous at- 
 tempts this fastening gave way, and he fell 
 to rise no more. Joe had heard of Shak- 
 speare, and felt the importance of a hero. 
 It was his boast that he was a king too 
 powerful for his neighbours, who dared not 
 venture to disturb him in his domain; that 
 nature alone was his lord, to whom he paid 
 no quittance. All were free to forage on his 
 grounds, but none ventured. Joe was twice 
 wedded ; his first rib frequently attended 
 and looked to the security of his ropes, and 
 would sometimes terrify him with threats to 
 cast him loose ; a promise of future kind- 
 ness always ended the parley, and a thrash- 
 ing on the next quarrel placed Joe again in 
 peril. Death suddenly took Judith from 
 this vale of tears ; Parsons awoke in the 
 night and found her brought up in an ever- 
 lasting roadstead : like a true philosopher 
 and a quiet neighbour, Joe took his second 
 nap, and when day called out the busy 
 world to begin its matin labour, Joe called 
 in the nearest gossip to see that all was 
 done that decency required for so good a 
 wife. His last helpmate survives her hap- 
 Itess partner. No one has yet taken posses- 
 sion of his estate. The inquisitive and 
 firm-nerved stranger casts his eyes below in 
 vain : he that gathered samphire is himself 
 garnered. The anchored bark, the skiff, 
 the choughs and crows, the fearful precipice, 
 and the stringy root, growing in unchecked 
 abundance, bring the bard and Joe Parsons 
 to remembrance, but no one now attempts 
 tte " dreadful trade." 
 
 E. B. 
 
 TO A SEA- WEED 
 Picked up after a Storm. 
 
 Exotic 1 — from the soil no tiller ploughs, 
 
 Save the rude surge ; — fresh stripling from a grov* 
 Above whose tops the wild sea-monsters rove , 
 
 — Have not the genii harbour'd in thy boughs, 
 
 Thou filmy piece of wonder I — have not those 
 Who still the' tempest, for thy rescue strove, 
 And stranded' thee thus fair, the might to prove 
 
 Of spirits, that the caves of ocean house ? 
 
 How else, from capture of the giant-spray, 
 Hurt-free escapest thou, slight ocean-flower? 
 
 — As if Arachne wove, thus faultless lay 
 The full-develop'd forms of fairy-bower ; 
 
 — Who that beholds thee thus, nor with dismay 
 Recalls thee struggling thro' the storm's dark hour 1' 
 
 MARRIAGE (JF THE SEA. 
 
 The doge of Venice, accompanied by 
 the senators, in the greatest pomp, mar- 
 ries the sea every year. 
 
 Those who judge of institutions by their 
 appearance only, think this ceiemony an 
 indecent and extravagant vanity ; they ima 
 gine that the Venetians annually solem- 
 nize this festival, because they believe 
 themselves to be masters of the sea. Bui 
 the wedding of the sea is performed with 
 the most noble intentions. 
 
 The sea is the symbol of the repubhc: 
 of which the doge is the first magis- 
 trate, but not the master ;. nor do the Veni- 
 tians wish that he should become so. Among 
 the barriers to his domination, they lank 
 this custom, which reminds him that he has 
 no more authority over the republic, which 
 he governs with the senate, than he has 
 over the sea, notwithstanding the marriage 
 he is obliged to celebrate with her. The 
 ceremony symbolizes the limits of his power, 
 and the nature of his obligations. 
 
 OLD COIN INSCRIPTIONS. 
 
 To read an inscription on a silver coin: 
 which, by much wear, is become wholly 
 obliterated, put the poker in the lire ; when 
 red hot, place the coin upon it, and the 
 inscription will plainly appear of a greenish 
 hue, but will disappear as the coin cools. 
 This method was practised at the Mint to 
 discover the genuine coin when the silver 
 was last called in. 
 
 • Poems and Translations froai SchilleT. 
 
 226 
 
THE:.TABLE.BOOK. 
 
 THE LADY AND THE TROUBADOUR. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Emongarde, daughter of Jacques de Tournay, Lord of Croiton, In Provence, becoming cnamoarea df a 
 Troubadour, by name Enguilbert de Marnef, who was bound by a vow to repair to the Camp of the Cru- 
 saders in Palestine, besought him on the eve of his departure to suffer her to accompany him : da Marmef 
 at first resolutely refused ; but at length, overcome by her affectionate solicitations, assented, and was 
 joined by her the same night, after her flight from her father's chastel, in (he garb of a guild brother of 
 *he joyeuse science. 
 
 UHHONIQtTE DE PoUTAILLia.^ 
 
 Enguilbert ! oh Enguilbert, the sword is in thine hand. 
 
 Thou hast vowed before our Lady's shrine to seek the Sainted land 
 
 — Thou goest to fight for glory — but what will glory be, 
 
 If thou lov'st me, and return'st to find a tomb and dust for me ? 
 
 Look on me Enguilbert, for I have lost the shame 
 
 That should have stayed these tears and prayers from one of Tournay's name^ 
 
 — Look on me, my own bright-eyed Love — oh wilt thou leave me — say 
 
 To droop as sunless flowers do, lacking thee — light oimy day ? 
 
 Oh say that I may wend with thee — I'll doff my woman's 'tire. 
 Sling my Father's sword unto my side, and o'er my back my lyre : 
 I'll roam with thee a Troubadour, by day — by night, thy bride--- 
 — Speak Enguilbert — say yes, or see my heart break if denied. 
 
 Oh shouldst fnou fall, my Eng-uilbert, whose lips thy wounds will close?— 
 Who but thine own fond Emeugarde should watch o'er thy repose ? 
 And pierced, and cold her faithful breast must be e'er spear or sword 
 Should ought of harm upon thee wreak, my Troubadour — my Lord. 
 
 — Nay smile not at my words, sweet-heart — the Goss hatli slender beak 
 But brings its quarry nobly down — I love tho' I am weak 
 — My Blood hath coursed thro' Charlemagne's veins, and better it should fiow 
 Upon the field with Infidels', than here congeal with woe. 
 
 — Ah Enguilbert — my soul's adored ! the tear is in thine eye ; 
 Thou wilt not — can'st not leave me like the widowed dove to die . 
 
 No — no — thine arm is round me — that kiss on my hot brow 
 
 Spoke thy assent, my bridegroom love, — we are one /or ever now. 
 
 J. J.K. 
 
 THE GOLDEN TOOTH. Two years afterwards, Ingosteterus, an- 
 
 In 1593, it was reported that a Silesian ^^^" learned man wrote against the 
 
 111 io»o, = p opinion which RuUandus had given on this 
 
 child seven years old, had lost all its teeth, ^^^^^ RuUandus immediately re- 
 
 and that a golden tooth had grown in the ,. , - & , ^ uus iiumeuidieiy re 
 
 . f * . 1 j„ ,ui„ ^„o "pned. in a most elegant and erudite disser- 
 
 place of a natural double one. tation 
 
 In 1595, Horstius, professor of medicine t u' ■ i j •, i 
 
 ill ijyj, ^^"'*''";'^ , , Libavius, a very learned man, compiled 
 
 jn he university of Hemstadt, wrote the ^^j ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^.^^ ^^^ P 
 
 history of this golden tooth. He a,d t ^^^ subjoined his remarks upon it. 
 
 «as partly a natural event, and partly m- ^^^^^ ^^^ P ^^ ^ 
 
 rf "'^M^' 1 rh^'rltfans o these erudite writings to posterity, but 
 
 tothischiW.to console the Christians for ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^B ^^^ J^i^./' j^. 
 
 '""r^'^l'TlT^l^l^h.. Hr.w nn ^^^h examined it, and foun'd it a natural 
 
 In the same year, Rullandus drew up tooth artificially gilt. 
 
 aaother account of the golden tooth. 
 
 .227 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 I LE REVENANT. 
 
 ' There are but two classes of persons in the world— 
 those who are hanged, and those who are not 
 hanged : and it has been my lot to belong to the 
 former." 
 
 There is a pathetic narrative, under 
 the preceding title and motto in " Black- 
 wood's Edinburgh Magazine," of the pre- 
 sent month, (April, 1827.) It is scarcely 
 possible to abridge or extract from it, and 
 be just to its writer. Perhaps the following 
 specimen may induce curiosity to the peru- 
 sal of the entire paper in the journal just 
 named. 
 
 " I have been hanged, and am alive" 
 says the narrator. " I was a clerk in a 
 Russia broker's house, and fagged between 
 Broad-street Buildings and Bat?on's coffee- 
 house, and the London-docks, from nine in 
 the morning to six in the evening, for a 
 salary of fifty pounds a-year. I diil this— 
 not contentedly — but I endured it ; living 
 sparingly in a little lodging at Islington 
 for two years ; till I fell in love with a 
 poor, but very beautiful girl, who was 
 honest where it was very hard to be honest; 
 and worked twelve hours a-day at sewing 
 and millinery, in a mercer's shop in Cheap- 
 side, for half a guinea a-week. To make 
 short of a long tale — this girl did not know 
 how poor I was ; and, in about six months, 
 I committed seven or eight forgeries, to 
 the amount of near two hundred pounds. 
 I was seized one morning — I expected it 
 for weeks — as regularly as I awoke — every 
 morning — and carried, after a very few 
 questions, for examination before the lord 
 mayor. At the Mansion-house 1 had no- 
 thing to plead. Fortunately my motions 
 had not been watched; and so no one but 
 myself was implicated in the charge — as no 
 one else was really guilty. A sort of in- 
 stinct to try the last hope made me listen 
 tQ the magistrate's caution, and remain 
 silent ; or else, for any chance of escape I 
 had, I might as well have confessed the 
 whole truth at once. The examination 
 lasted about half an hour ; when I was 
 fully committed for trial, and sent away to 
 Newijate. 
 
 " The shock of my first arrest was very 
 slight indeed ; indeed I almost question if 
 it was not a relief, rather than a shock, to 
 me. For months, I had known perfectly 
 that my eventual discovery was certain. I 
 tried to shake the thought of this off; but 
 it was of no use — I dreamed of it even in 
 my sleep ; and I never entered our count- 
 mg-house of a morning, or saw, my master 
 take up the cash-book in the course of the 
 
 day, that my heart was not up in my 
 mouth, and my hand shook so that I could 
 not hold the pen — for twenty minutes after, 
 wards, I was sure to do nothing but blun^ 
 der. Until, at last, when I saw our chie) 
 f:lerk walk into the room, on new year's 
 morning, with a police officer, I was as ready 
 for what followed, as if I had had six 
 hours' conversation about it. I do not be- 
 lieve I showed — for I am sure I did not 
 feel it — either surprise or alarm. My 
 * fortune,' however, as the officer called 
 it, was soon told. I was apprehended on 
 the 1st of January; and the sessions being 
 then just begun, my time came rapidlj 
 round. On the 4th of the same month, the 
 London grand jury found three bills against 
 me for forgery ; and, on the evening of the 
 5th, the judge exhorted me to 'prepare for 
 death ;' for ' there was no hope that, in 
 this world, mercy could be extended to 
 me.' 
 
 " The whole business of my trial and 
 sentence passed over as coolly and for- 
 mally as I would have calculated a ques- 
 tion of interest, or summed up an under- 
 writing account. I had never, though I 
 lived in London, witnessed the proceedings 
 of a criminal court before ; and I could 
 hardly believe the composure and indifier- 
 ence — and yet civility — for there was no 
 show of anger or ill-temper — with which I 
 was treated ; together with the apparent 
 perfect insensibility of all the parties round 
 me, while I was rolling on — with a speed 
 which nothing could check, and which in- 
 creased every moment — to my ruin ! I was 
 called suddenly up from the dock, when 
 my turn for trial came, and placed at the 
 bar; and the judge asked, in a tone which 
 had neither seventy about it, nor compas- 
 sion — nor carelessness, nor anxiety — nor 
 any character or expression whatever that 
 could be distinguished — ' If there was anv 
 counsel appeared for the prosecution?' A 
 barrister then, who seemed to have some 
 consideration — a middle aged, gentlemanly- 
 looking man — stated the case against me — 
 as he said he would do — very ' fairly and 
 forbearingly ;' but, as soon as he read the 
 facts from his brief, ' that only' — I heard an 
 officer of the gaol, who stood behind me, 
 say — ' put the rope about my neck.' My 
 master then was called to give his evi- 
 dence ; which he did very temperately — 
 but it was conclusive. A young gentle- 
 man, who was my counsel, asked a few 
 questions in cross-examination, after he 
 had carefully looked over the indictment : 
 but there was nothing to cross-examin? 
 upon — I knew that well enough — though I 
 
 228 
 
 1 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 .^as thanfeful for the interest he seemed to 
 rake in my case. The judge then told me, 
 1 thought more gravely than he had spoken 
 oefore — ' That it was time for tee to speak 
 in my defence, if I had any thing to say.' 
 I had nothing to say. I thought one mo- 
 ment to drop down upon my knees, and beg 
 for mercy ; but, again — I thought it would 
 only make me look ridiculous ; and I only 
 answered — as well as I could — ' That I 
 would not trouble the court with any de- 
 fence.' Upon this, the judge turned round, 
 with a more serious air still, to the jury, 
 who stood up all to listen to him as he 
 spoke. And I listened too — or tried to 
 listen attentively — as hard as I could ; and 
 yet — with ail I could do — 1> could not keep 
 my thoughts from wandering ! For the 
 sight of the court — iall so orderly, and re- 
 gular, and composed, and formal, and well 
 satisfied — spectators and all — while I was 
 running on with the speed of wheels upon 
 smooth soil downhill, to destruction- 
 seemed as if the wnole trial were a dream, 
 and not a thing in earnest ! The barristers 
 sat round the table, silent, but utterly un- 
 concerned, and two were looking over 
 their briefs, and another was reading a 
 newspaper; and the spectators in the galle- 
 ries looked on and listened as pleasantly, 
 as though it were a matter not of death 
 going on, but of pastime or amusement ; 
 and one very fat man, who seemed to be 
 the clerk of the court, stopped his writing 
 when the judge began, but leaned back in 
 his chair, with his hands in his breeches' 
 pockets, except once or twice that he took 
 a snuif ; and not one living soul seemed to 
 take notice — they did not seem to know 
 the fact — that there was a poor, desperate, 
 helpless creature — whose days were fast 
 running out — whose hours of life were even 
 with the last grains in the bottom of the 
 sand-glass — among them ! I lost the whole 
 of the judge's charge — thinking of I know 
 not what — in a sort of dream — unable to 
 steady my mind to any thing, and only bit- 
 ing the stalk of a piece of rosemary that 
 lay by me. But I heard the low, distinct 
 whisper of the foreman ot the jury, as he 
 brought in the verdict — ' Guilty,' — and 
 the last words of *'>e judge, saying — ' that 
 I should be hanged by the neck until I 
 was dead ;' and bidding me ' prepare my- 
 self for the next life, for that ray crime was 
 one that admitted of no mercy in this.' 
 The gaoler then, who had stood close by 
 me all the while, put his hand quickly 
 upon my shoulder, in an under v)ice, tell- 
 mg nie, to 'Come along!' Go).? down 
 'he liall steps, two other officers met me; 
 
 and, placing me between them, without' 
 saying a word, hurried me across the yard- 
 in the direction back to the prison. As- 
 the door of the court closed behind us, I' 
 saw the judge fold up his papers, and the' 
 jury being sworn in the next case. Two 
 other culprits were brought up out of the 
 dock ; and the crier called out for — ' The 
 prosecutor and witnesses against James- 
 Hawkins, and Joseph Sanderson, for bur- 
 glary !' 
 
 " I had no friends, if any in such a case 
 could have been of use to me — no relatives 
 but two ; by whom — I could not complain 
 of them — I was at once disowned. — There 
 was but one person then in all the world 
 that seemed to belong to me ; and that one 
 was Elizabeth Clare! And, when I thought 
 of hei, the idea of all that was to happen to 
 myself was forgotten — I covered my face 
 with my hands, and cast myself on the 
 ground ; and I wept, for I was in despera- 
 tion. — She had gone wild as soon as she 
 had heard the news of my apprehension — 
 never thought of herself, ' at confessed her 
 acquaintance with me. The result was, 
 she was dismissed from her employment — 
 and it was her only means of livelihood. 
 
 "She had been every where — to my mas- 
 ter — to the judge that tried me — to the 
 magistrates — to the sheriff's — to the alder- 
 men — she had made her way even to the 
 secretary of state ! My heart did misgive 
 me at the thought of death ; but, in despite 
 of myself, I forgot fear when I missed her 
 usual time of coming, and gathered from 
 the people about me how she was em- 
 ployed. I had no thought about the success 
 or failure of her attempt. All ray thoughts 
 were — that she was a young girl, and 
 beautiful — hardly in her senses, and quite 
 unprotected — without money to help, or a 
 friend to advise her — pleading to strangers 
 — humbling herself perhaps to menials, 
 who would think her very despair and 
 helpless condition, a challenge to infamy 
 and insult. Well, it mattered little ! The 
 thing was no worse, because 1 was alive to 
 see and suffer from it. Two days more, 
 and all would be over; the demons that 
 fed on human wretchedness would have 
 their prey. She would be homeless — pen- 
 nyless — friendless — she would have been 
 the companion of a forger and a felon ; it 
 needed no witchcraft to guess- the termina- 
 tion. 
 
 " We hear curiously, and read every day. 
 of the visits of friends and relatives to 
 wretched criminals condemned to die. 
 Those who read and hear of these things 
 the most curiously, have little impiessioi 
 
 229 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ot the sadness of the reality. It was six 
 (Jays after my first apprehension, when 
 Elizabeth Clare came, for the last time, to 
 visit me in prison ! In only these short 
 six days her beauty, health, strength — all 
 were gone ; years upon years of toil and 
 ■sickness could not have left a more worn- 
 out wreck. Death — as plainly as ever 
 death spoke — sat in her countenance — she 
 was broken-hearted, When she came, I 
 had not seen her for two days. I could 
 not speak, and there was an officer of the 
 prison with us too : I was the property of 
 the law now ; and my mother, if she had 
 lived, could not have blest, or wept for me, 
 without a third person, and that a stranger, 
 being present. I sat down by her on my 
 bedstead, which was the only place to sit 
 on in my cell, and wrapped her shawl 
 close round her, for it was very cold wea- 
 ther, and I was allowed no fire ; and we 
 sat so for almost an hour without exchang- 
 ing a word. — 
 
 ***** 
 " She was got away, on the pretence that 
 she might make one more effort to save me, 
 with a promise that she should return 
 again at night. The master was an elderly 
 man, who had daughters of his own ; 
 and he promised — for he saw I knew how 
 I he matter was — to see Elizabeth safe 
 through the crowd of wretches among 
 whom she must pass to quit the prison. 
 She went, and I knew that she was going 
 for ever. As she turned back to speak as 
 the door was closing, I knew that I had 
 seen her for the last time. The door of my 
 cell closed. We were to meet no more on 
 earth. I fell upon my knees — I clasped 
 my hands — my tears burst out afresh — and 
 I called on God to bless her.". 
 
 The mental and bodily sufferings of the 
 condemned man in his cell, his waking 
 dreams, and his dead sleep till the morn- 
 mg of execution, thoug'h of intense interest 
 in the narrative, are omitted here that the 
 reader may at once accompany the criminal 
 to the place of execution 
 
 " I remember beginning to move for- 
 ward through the long arched passages 
 which led from the press-room to the scaf- 
 fold. 1 saw the lamps that were still burn- 
 ing — for the dayli^'ht never entered here ; [ 
 heard the quick tolling of the bell, and the 
 deep voice of the chaplain reading as he 
 walked before us — 
 
 * J am the resurrection and the life, saiih 
 the Lord; he that believeth in ine, 
 though he were dead, shall live. And 
 
 though after my skin worms destro; 
 this body, yet in my flesh shall I sei 
 Godl' 
 
 " It was the funeral service — the order 
 for the grave — the office for those that were 
 senseless and dead — over us, the quick and 
 the living 
 
 " I felt once more — and saw ! I felt the 
 transition from these dim, close, hot, lamp- 
 lighted subterranean passages, to the open 
 platform and steps at the foot of the scaf- 
 fold, and to day. I saw the immense 
 crowd blackening the whole area of the 
 street below me. The windows of the 
 shops and houses opposite, to the fourth 
 story, choked with gazers. I saw St. 
 Sepulchre's church through the yellow fog 
 in the distance, and heard the pealing of 
 its bell. I recollect the clouiV, misty 
 morning ; the wet that lay upon the scaf- 
 fold — the huge dark mass of building, the 
 prison itself, that rose beside, and seemed 
 to cast a shadow over us— the cold, fresh 
 breeze, that, as I emerged from it, broke 
 upon my face. I see it all now — the whole 
 horrible landscape is before me. Tijt 
 scaffold — the rain — the faces of the multi- 
 tude — the people clinging to the house-tops 
 — the smoke that beat heavily downwards 
 from the chimneys — the waggons filled with 
 women, staring in the inn-yards opposite — 
 the hoarse low roar that ran through the 
 gathered crowd as we appeared. I never 
 saw so many objects at once so plainly 
 and distinctly in all my life as at that one 
 glance; but it lasted only for an instant. 
 
 " From that look, and from that instant, 
 all that followed is a blank " 
 
 To what accident the narrator owes his 
 existence is of little consequence, compared 
 with the moral to be derived from the sad 
 story. — " The words are soon spoken, and 
 the act is soon done, which dooms a 
 wretched creature to an untimely death; 
 but bitter are the pangs — -and the suffer- 
 ings of the body are among the least of 
 them — that he must go through before he 
 arrives at it !" 
 
 In the narrative there is more than seems 
 to be expressed. By all who advocate or 
 oppose capital punishment — by every being 
 with a human heart, and reasoning powers 
 — it should be read complete in the pages 
 of " Blackwood/' 
 
 230 
 
THE T4BLE BOOX. 
 
 BLIND WILLIE, THE NEWCASTLE MINSTREL. 
 
 Lang may wor Tyneside lads sae true, 
 
 In heart byeth blithe an' mellow. 
 Bestow the p aise that's fairly due 
 
 To this bluff, honest fellow — 
 And whea he's hamper'd i' the dust, 
 
 StUl i' wor memory springin*. 
 The times we've run tni like to brust 
 
 To hear blind "Willie slngin . 
 
 vViLLiAM Purvis, or, as he is generally 
 styled, blind Willie, is a well-known cha- 
 racter, and native of Newcastle, where he 
 has resided since his infancy. He was born 
 blind, and is the son of Margaret Purvis, 
 who died in All Saints' workhouse, February 
 7, 1819, in her hundredth year. 
 
 Willie is, indeed, as the ingenious Mr. 
 Sykes calls him in his " Local Records," a 
 " famous musician," for he has long been 
 celebrated for his minstrelsy throughout 
 the northern counties, but more particularly 
 so in Northumberland. In Newcastle, 
 
 Kbwcastle Sonq. 
 
 Willie is respected by all — from the rudest 
 to the gentlest hear* all love him — children 
 seize his hand as he passes — and he is ever 
 an equally welcome guest at the houses of 
 the rich and the hovels of the pitmen. The 
 hoppings of the latter are cheered by the 
 soul-inspiring sound of his viol : nay, he 
 is, I may truly say, a very particle of a 
 pitman's existence, who, after a hard day's 
 labour, considers it a pleasure of the most 
 exquisite nature to repair to some neigh- 
 bouring pot-house, there to enjoy Willie's 
 rausic, and listen to .the rude ballads he i^ 
 
 231 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 in the habit of composing and smging to 
 the accompaniment of his own music. 
 Poor Willie 1 may he live long and live 
 nappy. When he dies many a tear will 
 *aU from eyes that seldom weep, and hearts 
 that know little of the more refined sensa- 
 tions of our nature will heave a sigh. Wil- 
 lie will die, but not his fame will die. In 
 many of thosp. humorous provincial songs, 
 
 with whii _.ewcastle abounds more than 
 
 any other town I am acquainted with — the 
 very airs as well as the words of which pos- 
 sess a kind of local nationality — " Blind 
 Willie " is the theme. These songs are the 
 admiration of all who know how to appre- 
 ciate genuine humour; several of them have 
 been sung for years, and I venture to pro- 
 phecy, will be sung by future generations. 
 
 Among the characters who have noticed 
 " Willie " may be mentioned the present 
 duke of Northumberland, sir Matthew 
 White Ridley, the late Stephen Kembie, 
 Esq. and the admiri.ble comedian Mat- 
 thews. Sir Matthew White Ridley is a 
 most particular favourite with " Willie," 
 and it is no uncommon occurrence to hear 
 Willie, as he paces along the streets of 
 Newcastle,muttering to himself " S ir Maffa ! 
 sir Maffa ! canny sir Maffa ! God bless sir 
 Maffa!" 
 
 One of Willie's greatest peculiarities is 
 thus alluded to by Mr. Sykes : — ■" He has 
 travelled the streets of Newcastle time out 
 of mind without a covering upon his head. 
 Several attempts have been made, by pre- 
 senting him with a hat, to induce him to 
 wear one, but after having suffered it for a 
 day or two it is thrown aside, and the min- 
 strel again becomes uncovered, preferring 
 the exposure of his pate to the ' pelting of 
 the pitiless storm.' " The likeness that ac- 
 companies this notice is from a large quarto 
 engraving, published at Newcastle, and 
 will doubtless be acceptable to numerous 
 readers of that populous district wherein 
 blind Willie is so popular. 
 
 FARMERS. 
 
 IN 
 
 1722. 1872. 
 
 Man to the plough • Man taliy-k.o : 
 
 , Wife to the cow ; Miss piano ; 
 
 Girl to the sow ; Wife silk and satin ; 
 
 Boy to the mow ; Boy Greek and Latiu ; 
 
 S nd your rents will be netted. And you'll all be Oazctted 
 
 G.- 
 
 • rk€ Timtt 
 
 A REVERIE. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 On a cool delightful evening which 
 
 succeeded one of the scorching days oi 
 last summer, 1 sallied forth for a walk in 
 
 the neighbourhood of the city of . 
 
 Chance led me along a path usually much 
 frequented, which was then covered thick 
 with the accumulated dust of a long 
 drought ; it bore the impression of a thou- 
 sand busy feet, of every variety of form and 
 size ; from the first steps of the infant, 
 whose nurse had allowed it to toddle his 
 little journey to the outstretched arms of 
 her who was almost seated to receive him, 
 to the hobnailed slouch of the carter, whose 
 dangling lash and dusty jacket annoyed tht 
 well-dressed throng. But three pair oi 
 footsteps, which were so perfect that the) 
 could not long have preceded my own. 
 more than all, attracted my attention ; 
 those on the left certainly bore the impress 
 of the delicately formed foot of a female; 
 the middle ones were shaped by the ample 
 square-toed, gouty shoe of a senior; and 
 those on the right were as certainly placed 
 there by the Wellington boot of some 
 dandy ; they were extravagantly right and 
 left, the heel was small and high, for the 
 middle of the foot did not tread on earth. 
 — My imagination was instantly at work, 
 to tenant these "leathern conveniences;" 
 the last-mentioned I felt so certain were 
 inhabited by an officer of the lancers, or an 
 hussar who had witnessed Waterloo's bloody 
 fight, that I could almost hear the tinkle ol 
 his military spur. I pictured him young, 
 tall, handsome, with black raustachios, dark 
 eyes, and, as the poet says, 
 
 " His nose was large with curved line 
 Which some men call the aquiline. 
 And some do say the Romans bore 
 Such noses 'fore them to the war.' 
 
 The strides were not so long as a tall man 
 would make, but this I accounted for b\ 
 supposing they were accommodated to the 
 hobbling gait of the venerable gentleman 
 in the centre, who I imagined " of the 
 old school," and to wear one of those few 
 self-important wigs, which remain in thi.' 
 our day of sandy scratches. As these pow- 
 dered coverings never look well without a 
 three cocked hat, I had e'en placed one 
 upon it, and almost edged it with gold lace, 
 which, however, would not do — it had 
 rather too much of by-gjone days : — to m\ 
 " mind's eye '' he was clothed in a snutl- 
 coloured suit, and one of his feet, which 
 
 232 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 was not too gouty to admit of a leather 
 shoe, had upon it a large silver buckle. 
 My " high fancy" formed the lady a charm- 
 ing creature, sufficiently en bon point, with 
 an exceedingly genteel figure ; not such as 
 two parallel lines would describe, but rather 
 broad on the shoulders, gently tapering to 
 the waist, then gradually increasing in a 
 delicately flowing outline, such as the " sta- 
 tue that enchants the world" would exhibit, 
 if animated and clothed in the present 
 fashionable dress ; her voice, of course, 
 was dehghtful, and the mild expression of 
 her face to be remembered through life — 
 it could not be forgotten ; in short, she was 
 as Sterne says, " all that the heart wishes 
 or the eye looks for in woman." My reverie 
 had now arrived at its height, my canvass 
 was full, my picture complete, and I was 
 enjoying the last delicate touches of creative 
 fancy, when a sudden turn in the road 
 placed before me three persons, who, on a 
 moment's reflection, I felt constrained to 
 acknowledge as the authors of the footsteps 
 which had led me into such a pleasing de- 
 lusion ; but — no more like the trio of my 
 imagination, than " Hyperion to a satyr!" 
 The dandy had red hair, the lady a red 
 nose, and the middle man was a gouty 
 sugar-baker ; all very good sort of people, 
 no doubt, except that they overthrew my 
 aerial castle. I instantly retraced my 
 steps, and was foolish enough to be sulky, 
 nay, a very " anatomie of melancholy ;'' 
 till a draught of " Burton's " liquid amber 
 at supper made me friends with the world 
 
 again 
 
 Eta. 
 
 HIGHLAND TRADITION. 
 
 Macgregor. 
 
 About the middle of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, the eldest son of Lamond, of Cowel, 
 in Argyleshire, was hunting the red deer m 
 Glenfine. At the same time the only son 
 of Macgregor, of Glenstrae, the chief of 
 that once powerful clan, was on a similar 
 excursion in the same place, which was the 
 boundary between the extensive territories 
 of these two great families. Young La- 
 mond had pierced a prime hart with an 
 arrow ; and the noble animal, galled by the 
 shaft, which stuck in the wound, plunged 
 into the river, and bent his course into 
 Macgregor's country. He was followed by 
 Lamond, who outran all his companions. 
 It unfortunately fell out, that a hart had 
 oeen wounded by the young Macgregor at 
 the tame time, among his own hills. The 
 
 two deer crossed each other in their flight, 
 and the first that fell was claimed by both 
 the hunters. The youths, flushed by the 
 ardour of the chase, and totally unknown 
 to each other, hotly disputed. They were 
 armed, as was the fashion of those days, 
 and fought, and the young Macgregor fell. 
 Lamond cut his way through the attend- 
 ants, but was keenly pursued. Having 
 wonderful fleetness of foot, he made his 
 way forward; and ignorant of the country 
 and of the people, and almost exhausted 
 with thirst, hunger, anguish, and fatigue, 
 rushed into the house of Macgregor of 
 Glenstrae, on whose mercy he threw him- 
 self, telling him that he had slain a man. 
 Macgregor received him, and had given 
 him refreshment, when the pursuers arrived, 
 and told the unfortunate man the woful 
 tale — that his son had fallen — his only 
 child — the last of his ancient race — the 
 hope of his life — the stay of his age. The 
 old man was at this period left surrounded 
 by enemies crafty and powerful — he, friend- 
 less and alone. The youth was possessed 
 of every virtue that a father's heart could 
 wish ; his destroyer was nov/ in his hands; 
 but he had pledged his promise for his 
 safety, and that pledge must be redeemed. 
 It required all the power and influence of 
 the aged chief to restrain the fury of his 
 people from slaying young Lamond at the 
 moment ; and even that influence, great as 
 it was, could only protect him, on an as- 
 surance that on the next morning his life 
 should be solemnly sacrificed for their 
 beloved Gregor. 
 
 In the middle of the night, Macgregor 
 led Lamond forth by the hand, and, aware 
 of his danger, himself accompanied him to 
 the shore of Lochfine, where he procured a 
 boat, made Lamond enter it, and ordered 
 the boatmen to convey him safely across 
 the loch into his own country. '' I have 
 now performed my promise," said the old 
 man, " and henceforth I am your enemy — 
 beware the revenge of a father for his only 
 son !" 
 
 Before this fatal event occurred, the 
 persecution against the unfortunate Mac- 
 gregors had commenced, and this sad acci- 
 dent did not contribute to diminish it. The 
 old laird of Glenstrae struggled hard to 
 maintain his estate and his independence, 
 but his enemies prevailed against him. The 
 conduct of young Lamond was grateful and 
 noble. When he succeeded to the ample 
 possessions of his ancestors, he beseeched 
 old Macgregor to take refuge under his 
 roof. There the aged chief was treated as 
 a father, and ended his days. 
 
 233 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 HY-JINKS. 
 
 A Scotch Amusement. 
 
 This is a drunken sort of game. — The 
 qwff, or cup, is filled to the brim, then one 
 of the company takes a pair of dice, and 
 cries " By-jinks," and throws. The num- 
 ber he casts points out the person that must 
 drink; he who threw beginning at himself 
 number one, and so round, till the number 
 of the person agree with that of the dice, 
 (which may fall upon himself, if the num- 
 ber be within twelve,) then he sets the dice 
 to him, or bids him take them. He on 
 whom they fall is obliged to drink, or pay 
 a small sum of money as forfeit; then he 
 throws and so on : but if he forgets to cry 
 " Hy-jinks" he pays a forfeiture. Now, he, 
 on whom it falls to drink, gets all the for- 
 feited money in the bank, if he drinks, 
 and orders the cup to be filled again, and 
 then throws. If he errs in the articles, he 
 loses the privilege of drawing the money. 
 The articles are (1 drink ;) 2 draw ; 3 fill ; 
 4 cry " Hy-jinks;" 5 count just ; 6 choose 
 your double man ; viz. when two equal 
 numbers of the dice is thrown, the person 
 whom you choose must pay double forfeit, 
 and so must you when the dice is in his 
 hand. 
 
 A rare project this, and no bubble I can 
 assure you, for a covetous fellow may save 
 money, and get himself as drunk as he can 
 desire in less than an hour's time * 
 
 S. S. S. 
 
 THE SILENT CLUB. 
 
 There was at Amadan a celebrated aca- 
 demy. Its first rule ^yas framed in these 
 words : — 
 
 " The members of this academy shall 
 think much — write little — and be as mute 
 as they c;tn." 
 
 A candidate offered himself — he was too 
 .ate— the vacancy was filled up — they 
 knew his merit, and lamented their disap- 
 pointment in lamenting his own. The 
 president was to announce the event ; he 
 desired the candidate should be intro- 
 duced. 
 
 He appeared with a simple and mo- 
 dest air, the sure testimony of merit. The 
 president rose, and presented a cup of pure 
 •svater to him, so full, that a single drop 
 
 • Notes on Allan Ramsay's Elegy upon Maggy 
 Johnston. 
 
 more would have made it overflow ; w 
 this emblematic hint he added not a word 
 but his countenance expressed deep afflic. 
 tion. 
 
 The candidate understood that he could 
 not be received because the number was 
 complete, and the assembly full; yet he 
 maintained his courage, and began to think 
 by what expedient, in the same kind oj 
 language, he could explain that a supernu- 
 merary academician would displace no- 
 thinjy, and make no essential difference in 
 the rule they had prescribed. 
 
 Observing at his feet a rose, he picked it 
 up, and laid it gently upon the surface of 
 the water, so gently that not a drop of 
 it escaped. Upon this ingenious reply, the 
 applause was universal ; the rule slept or 
 winked in his favour. They presented im- 
 mediately to him the register upon which 
 the successful candidate was in the habit 
 of writing his name. He wrote it accord- 
 ingly ; he had then only to thank them in 
 a single phrase, but he chose to thank them 
 without saying a word. 
 
 He figured upon the margin the number 
 of his new associates, 100; then, having put 
 a cipher before the figure 1, he wrote 
 under it — " their value will be the same" — 
 0100. 
 
 To this modesty the ingenious president 
 replied with a politeness equal to his ad- 
 dress : he put the figure 1 before the 100, 
 and wrote, " they will have eleven times the 
 value they had — 1100." 
 
 CHARLESTOWN UGLY CLUB.* 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 By a standing law of this " ugly club," 
 their club-room must always be the ugliest 
 room in the ugliest house of the town. The 
 only furniture allowed in this room is a 
 number of chairs, contrived with the worst 
 taste imaginable ; a round table made by a 
 back-woodsman ; and a Dutch looking- 
 glass, full of veins, which at one glance 
 would make even a handsome man look a 
 perfect " fright." This glass is frequently 
 sent to such gentlemen as doubt their 
 qualifications, and neglect or decline to 
 take up their freedom in the club. 
 
 When an ill-favoured gentleman first 
 arrives in the city, he is waited upon, in 
 a civil and familiar manner, by some of the 
 members of the club, who inform him that 
 they would be glad of his company on the 
 next evening of their meeting; and the 
 
 See eel. S63. 
 
 234 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 getUleman commonly thanks the deputation 
 for the attention of the club, to one so un- 
 worthy as himself, and promises to consider 
 the matter. 
 
 It sometimes happens, that several days 
 elapse, and the " strange" gentleman thinks 
 no more of the club. He has perhaps re- 
 peatedly looked into his own glass, and won- 
 dered what, in the name of sense, the club 
 could have seen in his face, that should 
 entitle him to the distinction they would 
 confer on him. 
 
 He is, however, waited upon a second 
 time by the most respectable members of 
 the whole body, with a message from the 
 president, requesting him not to be diffident 
 of his qualifications, and earnestly desiring 
 " that he will not fail to attend the club 
 the very next evening — the members will 
 feel themselves highly honoured by the pre- 
 sence of one whose appearance has already 
 attracted the notice of the whole society." 
 
 " Zounds !" he says to himself on perus- 
 ing the billet, " what do they mean by 
 teasing me in this manner? I am purely 
 not so ugly," (walking to iiis glass,) " as 
 to attract the notice of the whole town on 
 first setting my foot upon the wharf!" 
 
 " Your nose is very long," cries the 
 spokesman of the deputation. " Noses," 
 od)b the strange gentleman, " are no crite- 
 rion of ugliness: it's true, the tip-end of 
 mine would form an acute angle with a 
 base line drawn horizontally from my under 
 lip; but I defy the whole club to prove, 
 that acute angles were ever reckoned ugly, 
 from the days of Euclid down to this mo- 
 ment, except by themselves." 
 
 " Ah, sir," answers the messenger, " how 
 liberal has nature been in bestowing upon 
 you so elegant a pair of lantern jaws! be- 
 lieve me, sir, you will be a lasting honour 
 to the club." 
 
 " My jaws," says the ugly man in a pet, 
 " are such as nature made them : and 
 Aristotle has asserted, that all her works 
 are beautiful." 
 
 The conversation ends for the present. 
 The deputation leaves the strange gentle- 
 man to his reflections, with wishes- and 
 hopes that he will consider further. 
 
 Another fortnight elapses, and the strange 
 gentleman, presuming the club have for- 
 gotten him, employs the time in assuming 
 petit-maitre ai-rs, and probably makes ad- 
 vances to young ladies of fortune and 
 beauty. At the expiration of this period, 
 he receives a letter from a pretended female, 
 (contrived by tlie club,) to the following 
 purport :— 
 
 " My dear s^r, 
 
 " There is such a congeniality between 
 your countenance and mine, that I cannot 
 help thinking you and I were destined for 
 each other. 1 am unmarried, and have a 
 considerable fortune in pine-barren land, 
 which, with myself, 1 wish to bestow upon 
 some deserving man ; and from seeing you 
 pass several times by my window, 1 know 
 of no one better entitled to both than your- 
 self. I am now almost two years beyond 
 my grand climacteric, and am four feet fo^r 
 inches in height, rather less in circumfer- 
 ence, a little dropsical, have lovely red ht,'r 
 and' a fair complexion, and, if the doctor 
 do not deceive me, I may hold out twent) 
 years longer. My nose is, like yours, rather 
 longer than common ; but then to compen 
 sate, I am universally allowed to have 
 chiirming eyes. They somewhat incline to 
 each other, but the sun himself looks ob- 
 liquely in winter, and cheers the earth with 
 his glances. Wait upon me, dear sir, to- 
 morrow evening. 
 
 " Yours till death, &c. 
 
 " M. M." 
 
 *' What does all this mean V cries the 
 ugly gentleman, " was ever man tormented 
 in this manner ! Ugly clubs, ugly women 
 imps and fiends, all in combination to 
 persecute me, and make my life miserable ! 
 I am to be ugly, it seems, whether I will oi 
 not." 
 
 At this critical juncture, the president ol 
 the club, who is the very pink of ugliness 
 itself, waits upon the strange gentleman 
 and takes him by the hand. " My deai 
 sir," says he, •' you may as well walk with 
 me to the club as not. Nature has designed 
 you for us, and us for you. We are a set 
 of men who have resolution enough to dare 
 to be ugly ; and have long let the world 
 know, that we can pass the evening, and 
 eat and drink together with as much social 
 glee and real good humour as the hand- 
 somest of them. Look into this Dutcb 
 glass, sir, and be convinced that we canno* 
 do without you." 
 
 " If it must be so, it must," cries the 
 ugly gentleman, " there seems to be no 
 alternative ; I will even do as you say !" 
 
 It appears from a paper in " The American 
 Museum " of 1790, that by this mode the 
 " ugly club" of Charleston has increased, 
 is increasing, and cannot be diminished 
 According to the last accounts, " strange " 
 gentlemen who do not comply with invita- 
 tions to join the club in person are elected 
 " honorary " members, and their names 
 enrolled nolens volens. 
 
 P. N. 
 
 2.O0 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 SUMMER DRINKS. 
 
 Imperial. 
 Take two gallons of water, two ounues 
 of ginger bruised, and two lemons ; boil 
 them together ; when lukewarm., pour the 
 whole on a pound and a half of loaf sugar, 
 and two ounces of cream of tartar ; add 
 four table spoonfuls of yeast, and let them 
 work together for six hours ; then strain 
 the liquor, and bottle it off in small stone 
 bottles : it will be ready for use in a few 
 hours. 
 
 Sherbet. 
 
 Take nine Seville oranges and three 
 lemons, grate off the yellow from the rinds, 
 and put the raspings into a gallon of water, 
 with three pounds of double refined sugar, 
 and boil it to a candy height ; then take it 
 off the fire, and add the pulp of the oranges 
 and lemons ; keep stirring it till it be 
 .ihnost cold, then put it in a vessel for use. 
 Lemon Water. 
 
 Put two slices of lemon, thinly pared, 
 into a tea-pot, with a little bit of the peel, 
 and a bit of sugar, or a large spoonful of 
 capillaire, pour in a pint of boiling water, 
 and stop it close for two hours. 
 Ginger Beer. 
 
 To four gallons of water, put three 
 pounds of brown sugar, two ounces of gin- 
 ger, one ounce and a half of hops, and 
 aboui half a pound of fern-root cut small; 
 boil these together till there be about three 
 gallons. To colour it, burn a little sugar 
 and put it in the liquor. Pour it into a 
 vessel when cold, add two table-spoonfuls 
 of barm, and then proceed as with common 
 beer. 
 
 CABBAGE, AND TAILORS. 
 
 The Roman name Brassica came, as is 
 supposed, from " prEeseco," because it was 
 cut off from the stalk : it was also called 
 Caulis in Latin, on account of the good- 
 ness of its stalks, and from which the Eng- 
 lish name Cole, Colwort, or Colewort, is 
 derived. The word cabbage, by which all 
 the varieties of this plant are now impro- 
 perly called, mean-s the firm head or ball 
 that is formed by the leaves turning close 
 over each other ; from that circumstance we 
 say the cole has cabbaged. — From thence 
 arose the cant word applied to tailors, who 
 formerly worked at the private houses of 
 their customers, where they were often ac- 
 cused of cabbaging : which means the roll- 
 ing up pieces of cloth instead of the list 
 and shreds, which they claim as their due.* 
 
 Phillips's Histt of CulUvftted Vegetables. 
 
 APRIL. 
 From the French of Remy Bellea^;, 
 
 Apbil ! sweet month, the daintiest of all. 
 Fair thee befall : 
 
 April 1 fond hope of fruits that lie 
 In buds of swathing cotton wrapt, 
 There closely lapt 
 
 Nursing their tender infancy — 
 
 April ! that dost thy yellow, green, and bla«, 
 Around thee strew. 
 
 When, as thou go'st, the grassy floor 
 Is with a million flowers depaint. 
 Whose colours quaint 
 
 Have diaper'd the meadows o'er— 
 
 April! at whose glad coming zephyrs nse 
 With whisper'd sighs, 
 
 Then on their light wings brush away. 
 And hang amid the woodlands fresh 
 Their aery mesh. 
 
 To tangle Flora on her way- 
 April ! it is thy hand that doth unloclt 
 From plain and rock. 
 
 Odours and hues, a balmy store, 
 That breathing lie on Nature's breast, 
 So richly blest. 
 
 That earth or heaven can ask no more — 
 
 April ! thy blooms, amid the tresses laid 
 Of my sweet maid, 
 
 Adown her neck and bosom flow ; 
 And in a wild profusion there, 
 Her shining hair 
 
 With them hath blent a golden glow — 
 
 April ! the dimpled smiles, the playful grace. 
 That in the face 
 
 Of Cytherea haunt, are ttine ; 
 And thine the breath, that, from the skies, 
 The deities 
 Inhale, an offering at thy shrine — 
 
 •Tis thou that dost with summons blythe and soft 
 High up aloft. 
 
 From banishment these heralds bring. 
 These swallows, that along the air 
 Send swift, and bear 
 
 Glad tidings of the merry spring. 
 
 April! the hawthorn and the eglantine. 
 Purple woodbine, 
 
 Streak'd pink, and lily-cup and rose. 
 And thyme, and marjoram, are spreading. 
 Where thou art treading. 
 
 And their sweet eyes for thee unclose. 
 
 The little nightingale sits singing aye 
 On leafy spray. 
 
 And in her fitful strain doth run 
 A thousand and a thousand chanp'et. 
 With voice that ranges 
 
 Through every sweet division. 
 
 i 
 
 236 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Apnl ! it IS when thon dost come again. 
 That love is fam 
 
 With gentlest breath the fires to wake, 
 That cover'd up aad slumbering lay. 
 Through many a day 
 
 When winter's chill our veins did slake. 
 
 Sweet month, thou seest at this jocund prime 
 Of the spring time. 
 
 The hives pour out their lusty young. 
 And hear'st the yellow bees that ply, 
 With laden thigh, 
 
 Murmuring the flow'ry wilds among. 
 
 May shall with pomp his wavy wealth unfold. 
 His fruits xif gold, 
 
 His fertilizing dews, that swell 
 In manna on each spike and stem 
 And like a gem. 
 
 Red honey in the waxen cell. 
 
 Who will may praise him, but my voice shall be. 
 Sweet month for thee ; 
 
 Thou that to her do'st owe thy name, 
 Who saw the sea-wave's foamy tide 
 Swell and divide, 
 
 Whence forth to life and light she came. 
 
 ETYMOLOGY. 
 
 The following are significations of a few 
 common terms : — 
 
 Steward literally means the keeper of 
 the place ; it is compounded of the two old 
 words, stede and ward : by the omission of 
 the first d and e the word steward is 
 formed. 
 
 Marshal means one who has the care of 
 horses : in the old Teutonic, mare was syno- 
 nymous with horse, being applied to the 
 kind ; scale signified a servant. 
 
 Mayor is derived from the Teutonic 
 Meyer, a lover of might. 
 
 Sheriff is compounded of the old words 
 shyre and reve — an officer of the county, 
 one who hath the overlooking of the shire. 
 
 Veonta7i is the Teutonic word gemen, 
 corrupted in the spelling, and means a 
 commoner. 
 
 Groom signifies one who serves in an 
 inferior station. The name of bridegroom 
 was formerly given to the new-married 
 man, because it was customary for him to 
 wait at table on his bride and friends on 
 his wedding day. 
 
 All our words of necessity are derived 
 from the German ; our words of luxury and 
 those used at table, from the French. The 
 sky, the earth, the elements, the names of 
 animals, household goods, and articles of 
 'ood, are the same in German as in Eng- 
 
 lish ; the fashions of dress, and every thing 
 belonging to the kitchen, luxury, and orna- 
 ment, are taken from the French ; and to 
 such a degree of exactness, that the names 
 of animals which serve for the ordinary 
 food of men, such as ow, calf, sheep, when 
 alive, are called the same in English as in 
 German ; but when they are served up for 
 the table they change their names, and are 
 called beef, veal, mutton, iSiev the French.* 
 
 ORGANS. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 A few particulars relative to organs, in 
 addition to those at col. 260, may be in- 
 teresting to musical readers. 
 
 The instrument is of so great antiquity, 
 that neither the time nor place of invention, 
 nor the name of the inventor, is identified ; 
 but that they were used by the Greeks, and 
 from them borrowed by the Latins, is gene- 
 rally allowed. St. Jerome describes one 
 that could be heard a mile off; and says, 
 that there was an organ at Jerusalem, 
 which could be heard at the Mount of 
 Olives. 
 
 Organs are affirmed to have been first 
 introduced into France in the reign oi 
 Louis I., A. D. 815, and the construction 
 and use of them taught by an Italian priest, 
 who learned the art at Constantinople. By 
 some, however, the introduction of them 
 into that country is carried as far back as 
 Charlemagne, and by others still further. 
 
 The earliest mention of an organ, in the 
 northern histories, is in the annals of the 
 year 757, when the emperor Constantine, 
 surnamed Copronymus, sent to Pepin ol 
 France, among other rich presents, a " mu- 
 sical machine," which the French writers 
 describe to have been composed of" pipes 
 and large tubes of tin," and to have imitated 
 sometimes the " roaring of thunder,'' and, 
 at others, the " warbling of a flute." 
 
 Bellarmine alleges, that organs were first 
 used in churches about 660. According to 
 Bingham, they were not used till after the 
 time of Thomas Aquinas, about a. d. 
 1250. Gervas, the monk of Canterbury, 
 who flourished about 1200, says, they were 
 in use about a hundred years before his 
 time. If his authority be good, it would 
 countenance a general opinion, that org-an- 
 were common in the churches of Italy. 
 Germany, and England, about the ten > 
 century. 
 
 March, 1 827. 
 
 • Dnteuk 
 
 237 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 PERPLEXING MARRIAGES. 
 At Gwennap, in Cornwall, in March 
 1823, Miss Sophia Bawden was married 
 to Mr. R. Bawden, both of St. Day. By 
 this marriage, the father became brcther-in- 
 law to his son ;. the mother, mother-in-law 
 to her sister ; the mother-in-law of the son, 
 Ills sister-in-law ; the sister of the mother- 
 in-law, her daughter-in-law ; the sister of 
 the daughter-m-law, her mother-in-law; 
 the son of the father, brother-in-law to his 
 mother-in-law, and uncle to his brothers 
 and sisters ; the wife of the son, sister-in- 
 law to her father-in-law, and aunt-in-law to 
 her husband ; and the offsprinsf of the son 
 and his wife would be grandchildren to 
 their uncle and aunt, and cousins to their 
 father. 
 
 In an account of Kent, it is related that 
 one Hawood had two daughters by his 
 first wife, of which the eldest was married 
 to John Cashick the son, and the youngest 
 to John Cashick tiie father. This Cashick 
 the father had a daughter by his first wife, 
 v^hom old Hawood married, and by her 
 had a son : with the exception of the for- 
 mer wife of old Cashick, all these persons 
 were living at Faversham in February, 
 1650, and his second wife could say as 
 folows :^ 
 
 My father is my son, and ] My sister is my daughter, 
 I'm mother's mother ; | I'm grandmother to my brother. 
 
 STEPS RE.TRACED. 
 
 Catherine ae Medicis made a vow, that 
 if some concerns which she had undertaken 
 terminated successfully, she would send a 
 pilgrim on foot to Jerusalem, and that at 
 every three steps he advanced, he should 
 go one step back. 
 
 It was doubtful whether there could be 
 found a man sutRciently strong and patient 
 to walk, and go back one step at every 
 third. A citizen of Verberie, who was a 
 merchant, offered to accomplish the queen's 
 vow most scrupulously, and her majesty 
 promised him an adequate recompense. 
 The queen was well assured by constant in- 
 Quiiies that he fulfilled his engagement with 
 exactness, and r-^ his return, he received a 
 considerable sum of money, and was en- 
 nobled. His coat of arms were a cross 
 aud a branch of palm-tree. His descend- 
 ants preserved the arms ; but they dege- 
 nerated from theu- nobility, by resuming 
 the commerce which their ancestor quit- 
 ted.* 
 
 • IfouT. Histi de Dvch. de Valois. 
 
 street Cirrularsi. 
 
 No. I. 
 For the Table Book. 
 WHISTLING JOE. 
 
 He wKistles as he goes for want of bread.* 
 
 Old books deolare, — in Plutiis' shade, 
 Wiiistling was once a roaring trade, — 
 
 Great was the call for nerve and gristle , 
 That Charon, with his Styx in view. 
 Pierced old Phlegethon through and tlrouffh, 
 
 And whiet-ied in the ferry- whistle— 
 
 That Polyphemns whistled when 
 He p-layed the pipe r in a pen. 
 
 And, sought UlyssRs' bark to launch , 
 That Troy, King Priam had not lost, 
 But for the whistlprs that were horsedt 
 
 Within the horse's wooden paunch. 
 
 Jupiter was a whist-ling wight, 
 And Juno heard him with delight ; 
 
 And Boreas was a reedy swain, 
 Awak'ning Venus from the sea : 
 But of the Moderns ? — Joe is he 
 
 That whistles in the streets for gaio. 
 
 You wonder as you hear the tone 
 Sound like a herald in a zone 
 
 Distinctly clear, minutely sweet; 
 You list and Joe is dancing, now 
 You laugh, and Joe returns a bow 
 
 Returning in the crooked street. 
 
 He scrapes a stick across bis ana 
 
 And knocks his knees, m need, to -charm ,'4. 
 
 Instead of tabor and a fiddle, 
 Et omne solis,- — on his sole 1 
 He, solus omnis, like a pole 
 
 Supports his body in the middle. 
 
 Thus, of the sprites that creep, or ueg. 
 With w'ither'd arm, or wooden leg, 
 
 Uncatalogued in. Bridewell's missal ; 
 Joe is the fittest for relief, 
 He whistles gladness m his grief, 5 
 
 And hardly earns it for his whistle. 
 
 J. R. P. 
 
 • Vide Dryden's Cymon, 
 
 " He whistled as he went for want of thought." 
 t This word rhymes with lost, to oblige the cockneys. 
 I Like the punning clown in the stocks, that whistlfti 
 Over the wood laddie I 
 
 " Whistle I and I will come to thee mr 1ot»."* 
 
 238 
 
 m 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The Thursday before Good Friday. 
 
 There are ample particulars of the pre- 
 sent usages on this day at the chapel royal, 
 I St. James's, in the Every-Day Book, with 
 accounts of celebrations in other coun- 
 tries ; to these may be added the cere- 
 monies at the court of Vienna, recently 
 I related by Dr. Bright : — 
 
 " On the Thursday of this week, which 
 ' was the 24th of March, a singular reli- 
 gious ceremony was celebrated by the 
 court. It is known in German catholic 
 countries by the name of the Fussivas- 
 chung, or the ' washing of the feet.' The 
 large saloon, in which public court enter- 
 I tainmenls are given, was fitted up for the 
 ; purpose ; elevated benehes and galleries 
 I were constructed round the room for the 
 reception of the court and strangers ; and 
 in the a-^ea, upon two platforms, tables 
 1 were spread, at one of which sat twelve 
 men, and at the other twelve women. They 
 had been selected from the oldest and 
 most deserving paupers, and were suitably 
 clothed in black, with handkerchiefs and 
 square collars of white muslin, and girdles 
 round their waists. 
 
 j " The emperor and empress, with the 
 archdukes and archduchesses, Leopoldine 
 and Clementine, and their suites, having 
 all previously attended mass in the royal 
 chapel, entered and approached the table 
 to the sound of solemn music. The Hun- 
 I garian guard followed, In their most splen- 
 did uniform, with their leopard-skin jackets 
 falling from their shoulders, and bearing 
 trays of different meats-, which the emperor, 
 empress, archdukes, and attendants, placed 
 on the table, in three successive courses, 
 before the poor men and women, who 
 lasted a little, drank each a glass of wine, 
 and answered a few questions put to them 
 by their sovereigns. The tables were then 
 removed, and the empress and her daugh- 
 ters the archduchesses, dressed in black, 
 with pages bearing their trains, approached. 
 Silver bowls were placed beneath the bare 
 feet of the aged women. The grand cham- 
 berlain, in a humble posture, poured water 
 upon the feet of each in succession, from a 
 golden urn, and the empress wiped them 
 with a fine napkin she held in her hand. 
 The emperor performed the same cere- 
 nr^ny on the feet of the men, and the rite 
 concluded amidst the sounds of sacred 
 music.'' 
 
 "Visiting thk Churches" in Fr'n<'- 
 
 On Good Friday the churches are all 
 dressed up; canopies are placed over the 
 altars, and the altars themselves are de- 
 corated with flowers and other ornaments, 
 and illuminated with a vast number of wax 
 candles. In the evening every body of every 
 rank and description goes a round of visit> 
 to them. The devout kneel down and re- 
 peat a prayer to themselves in each ; but 
 the majority only go to see and be seen — 
 to admire or to criticise the decorations o< 
 the churches and of each other — to settle 
 which are arranged with the most taste, 
 which are the most superb. This may be 
 called ihe feast of caps, for there is scaicely 
 a lady who has not a new cajy for the occa- 
 sion. 
 
 Easter Sunday, on the contrary, is the 
 feast of hats ; for it is no less general for 
 the ladies on that day to appear in new hats. 
 In the time of the convents, the decoration 
 of their churches for Passion-week was an 
 object in which the nuns occupied them- 
 selves with the greatest eag-erness. No 
 gill dressing for htr tnst ball ever bestowed 
 more pains in placing her crnaments to the 
 best advantage than they bestowed in de- 
 corating their altars. Some of the churches 
 which we visited looked very well, and 
 very showy : but the weather was warm ; 
 and as this was the first revival of the 
 ceremony since the revolution, the crowd 
 was so great that they were insupportably 
 hot. 
 
 A number of Egyptians, who had accom 
 panied the French aimy on its evacuation 
 of Egypt, and were settled at Marseilles, 
 were the most eager spectators, as indeed 1 
 had observed them to be on all occasions 
 of any particular religious ceremonies being 
 performed I never saw a more ugly or 
 dirty-looking set of people than they were 
 in general, women as well as men, but they 
 seemed fond of dress and ornament. They 
 had swarthy, dirty-looking complexions, 
 and dark hair; but were not by any means 
 to be considered as people of colour. Their 
 hair, though dark, had no affinity with that 
 of the negroes ; for it was lank and greasy, 
 not with any disposition to be woolly. 
 Most of the women had accompanied 
 P'rench officers as c/ierejamzes; the Egyptian 
 ladies were indeed said to have had in 
 general a great taste for the French ofli 
 cers.* 
 
 • Miss Phiraptra. 
 
 Vol 111. 
 
 239 
 
 K 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 PHLEBOTOMY. 
 
 Bleeding was much in fashion in the 
 middle ages. In the fifteenth century, it 
 was the subject of a poem ; and Robert 
 Boutevylleyn, a founder, claimed in the 
 abbey of Pipewell four bleedings per an- 
 num. Among the monks this operation 
 was termed " minution." 
 
 In some abbeys was a bleeding-house, 
 called " Fleboto-maria." There were cer- 
 tain festivals when this bleeding was not 
 allowed. The monks desired often to be 
 bled, on account of eating meat. 
 
 In the order of S. Victor, the brethren 
 were bled five times a year; in September, 
 before Advent, before Lent, after Easter, 
 and at Pentecost, which bleeding lasted 
 three days. After the third day they came 
 to Mattins, and were in the convent; on 
 the fourth day, they received absolution in 
 the chapter. In anot' er rule, one choir 
 was bled at the same time, in silence and 
 Dsalmody, sitting in order in a cell * 
 
 OLD CEREMONIES, &c. 
 Order of the Maunday, made at 
 Greenwich on the 19th of March, 
 1572; 14 Eiiz From No. 6183 Add. 
 MSS. in the British Museum. 
 
 Extracted by W. H. Dewuurst 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 FrRST. — The hall was prepared with a 
 long table on each side, and formes set by 
 them ; on the edges of which tables, and 
 under those formes, were lay'd carpets and 
 cushions, for her njajestie to kneel when 
 she should wash them. There was also 
 another table set across the upper end of 
 the hall, somewhat above the foot pace, for 
 the chappelan to stand at. A little beneath 
 the midst whereof, and beneath the said 
 foot pace, a stoole and cushion of estate 
 was pitched for her majestic to kneel at 
 during the service time. This done, the 
 holy water, basons, alms, and other things, 
 being brought into the hall, and the chap- 
 pelan and poore folkes having taken the 
 said places, the laundresse, armed with a 
 faire towell, and taking a silver bason filled 
 with warm water and sweet flowers, washed 
 their feet all after one another, and wiped 
 the same with his towell, and soe making a 
 crosse a little above the toes kissed them. 
 After hym within a little while followed the 
 subalmoner, doing likewise, and after hym 
 the almoner hymself also. Then lastly, her 
 rrjaiestie came into the hall, and after some 
 
 singing and prayers made, and the gospi;! 
 of Christ's washing of his disciples' feei 
 read, 39 ladyes and gentlewomen (for soe 
 many were the poore folkes, according to 
 the number of the yeares complete of her 
 majestie's age,) addressed themselves with 
 aprons and towels to waite upon her majes- 
 tie, and she kneeling down upon the 
 cushions and carpets, under the feete of 
 the poore women, first washed one foote of 
 every one of them in soe many several 
 oasons of warm water and sweete flowers, 
 brought to her severally by the said ladies 
 and gentlewomen, then wiped, crossed, and 
 kissed them, as the almoner and others had 
 done before. When her majestie had thus 
 gone through the whole number of 39, (of 
 which 20 sat on the one side of the hall, 
 and 19 on the other,) she resorted to the 
 first again, atid gave to each one certain 
 yardes of broad clothe, to make a gowne, so 
 passing to them all. Thirdly, she beg-an at 
 the first, and gave to each of them a pair 
 of shoes. Fourthly, to each of them a 
 wooden platter, wherein was half a side of 
 salmon, as much ling, six red herrings, and 
 cheat lofes of bread.* Fifthly, she began 
 with the first again, and gave to each of 
 them a white wooden dish with claret wine. 
 Sixthly, she received of each waiting lady 
 and gentlewoman their towel and apron, 
 and gave to each poore woman one of the 
 same ; and after this the ladies and gentle- 
 women waited noe longer, nor served as 
 they had done throwe out the courses be- 
 fore. But then the treasurer of the cham- 
 ber (Mr. Heiinace) came to her majestie 
 with 39 small white purses, wherein were 
 also 39 pence, (as they saye,) after the 
 number of yeares to her majesties said age, 
 and of him she received and distributed 
 them severally. Which done, she received 
 of him soe manye leather purses alsoe, each 
 containing 10 sh. for the redemption of her 
 majesties gown, which (as men saye) by 
 ancient ordre she ought to give some of 
 them at her pleasure ; but she, to avoide 
 the trouble of suite, which accustomablie 
 was made for that preferment, had changed 
 that rewarde into money, to be equally 
 divided amongst them all, namely, 20 sh. a 
 peice, and she alsoe delivered particularly 
 to the whole companye. And so taking 
 her ease upon the cushion of estate, and 
 hearing the quire a little while, her majes- 
 tie withdrew herself, and t' e company de- 
 parted : for it was by that time the sun was 
 setting. 
 
 W. L(ambert.) 
 
 • Fosbrokfl's British Monachism. 
 
 • Manchet, or cheat-b.ead. 
 
 240 
 
 J 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Taken by W. II. Dewhurst from the same msS. 
 
 Extracts Jrom the churchwarden's acconipts of the parish of St. Helen, in Abingdon, 
 Berkshire, /row the first year of the reign of Philip and Mary, to the thirty-fourth 
 of (,>. EUzuheth, now in tiie possession of tiie Rev. Mr. George Benson. 
 With some Observations on them, by the late professor J. Ward. 
 
 Ann. MDLV. or 1 & 2 0/ Phil, and Mary. 
 Payde for makeinge the roode, ar.d peynt- 
 
 ing the same 
 
 for makeinge the herse lights, and 
 
 paschall tapers 
 
 for makeinge the roode lyghtes 
 
 for a leajend 
 
 for a hoUie water pott 
 
 Ann. MDLVI. or 2 & 3 0/ P. and M. 
 
 Payde for a boke of the articles 
 
 for a shippe of frankencense 
 
 for new wax, and makeinge the herse 
 
 lights 
 
 for the font taper, and the paskall 
 
 taper . . 
 
 Receyved for the holye loof lyghts 
 
 for the rode lyghtes at Christmas . . . 
 at the buryall and monethes myrtd of 
 
 George Chynche 
 
 for 12 tapers, at the yeres mynd of 
 
 Maister John Hide 
 
 at the buriall and monethes mynd of 
 
 the good wiif Braunche 
 
 Ann. MDLVII. or 3 & 4 0/ P. and M. 
 Receyved of the parishe of the rode lyghts 
 
 at Christmas 
 
 of the I'lirke for the holye loft 
 
 at the buryall of Rich. Balle^d for 4 
 tapers 
 
 Payde for peynting the roode of Marie 
 and John, the patron of the chnrche 
 
 to fasten the taliernacle where the 
 patron of the church now standeth 
 
 for the roode Marie and John, with 
 the patron of the churche 
 
 for makeing the herse lygUs 
 
 for the roode Marie and John, and the 
 patron of the churche 
 
 to the sextin, for watching the sepul- 
 ter two nyghts 
 
 to the suffrigan for hallowing the 
 churche yard, and other imple- 
 ments of the church 
 
 for the waste of the pascall and for 
 holye yoyle 
 
 Ann. MDLVIII. MDLIX. or 4 & 5 0/ P. 
 ^ Jl/. and 1 & li of Eliz. 
 
 Receyved for roode lyghts at Xmas, 1558. 
 
 for roode lyghts at Xmas, 1559 
 
 at Ester, for the pascall lyghte, 1558 
 for waxe to tliense the church on 
 
 Ester daye 
 
 at Ester, for the pascall lyghte, 1559 
 
 for the holie loflf, 1558 
 
 for the hoLie loff, 1553 
 
 Pa.yde to the bellman for meate, drinke, 
 and cooles, watching the sepnlture 
 
 for the communian boke 
 
 for takeing down the altere 
 
 for 4 song bokes and a sawter 
 
 Ann. MDLX. or 3 of Eliz. 
 Payde for tymber and makeing the com- 
 munion table 
 
 for a carpet for do 
 
 11 
 
 10 
 5 
 6 
 
 1 
 6 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 2 
 20 
 
 5 
 
 8 
 
 6 
 33 
 
 k3 
 
 7 
 
 4 
 2ob 
 
 
 
 22 
 
 
 
 21 
 
 12 
 
 4 
 
 21 
 36 
 
 9 
 
 8 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 6 
 
 8 
 
 
 
 8 
 
 18 
 3 
 
 
 8 
 
 7 
 
 
 
 
 
 8 
 
 30 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 10 
 
 6 
 
 3ob. 
 
 
 20 
 
 
 8 
 
 Payde for mending and paving the place 
 
 where the aultere stoode 
 
 for too dossin of morres belles 
 
 for fower new saulter bockes 
 
 for gathering the herse lyghtes 
 
 Ann. MDLXI. or 4 of EUz. 
 Payde for 4 pownde of candilles upon 
 
 Cristmas daye in the morning for the 
 masse 
 
 for a table of the conimandementes 
 and cealender, or rewle to tind out 
 the lessons and spallmes, and for 
 the frame 
 
 to the somner for bringing the order 
 for the roode lofte 
 
 to the carpenter for takeing down the 
 roode lofte, and stopping the holes 
 in the wall, where tlie ioisces stoode 
 
 to the peynter for wrigtmg the scrip- 
 ture, where roode lofte stoode and 
 overtliwarte the same isle 
 
 to tiie clarkes for maynteyning and 
 repeyring the song bokes in the 
 quyre 
 
 Ann. MDLXII. or 5 of Eliz. 
 Payde for a bybill for the church .. 
 
 Ann. MDLXIV. or 7 of Eliz. 
 
 Payde for a communion boke 
 
 for reparations of the cross in the 
 market place 
 
 Ann. MDLXV. or 8 of Eliz. 
 
 Payde for too bokes of common prayer 
 
 agaynste invading of the Turke . . . 
 
 for a repetition of the communion 
 
 boke 
 
 Ann. MDLXVI. or 9 of Eiiz. 
 Payde for setting up Robin Hoode's 
 
 bowere . 
 
 Ann. MDLXXIII. or 16 of Eliz. 
 Payde for a quire of paper to make four 
 
 bokes of Geneva salmes 
 
 for 2 bockes of common prayer new 
 sett forth 
 
 Ann. MDLXXIV. or 17 of Eliz. 
 Payde for candilles for the church at 
 Cristmas 
 
 Ann. MDLXXVI. MDLXXVII. or 19 & 
 
 -0 of Eliz. 
 Payde for a r.ew byble 
 
 for a booke of common prayer 
 
 for wrytyng the commandements in 
 the quyre, and peynting the same. 
 
 Ann. MDLXXVIII. or 21 of Eliz. 
 Payde for a booke of the articles 
 
 Ann. MDXCI. or 34 of Eliz. 
 Payde for an houre glasse for the pulpitt. 
 
 Ann. MDLXIII. or 6 of Eliz. 
 Payde for a boke of Wendsdayes fasting, 1 
 
 which contayns omellies 
 
 15 
 
 8 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 10 
 
 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 
 
 18 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 15 
 
 40 
 7 
 
 
 
 
 19 
 
 
 
 
 
 10 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 241 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Observatioxs, &c. on the phecedjng 
 Charge*. 
 
 The churchwarden's accounts of a parti- 
 cular parish* may in themselves be thought, 
 •ustly, as a matter of no great consequence, 
 and not worthy of much regard. But these 
 seem to deserve some consideration, as they 
 relate to a very remarkable period in our 
 history, and prove by facts the great altera- 
 tions "that were made in religious affairs 
 •jnder the reigns of queen Mary and queen 
 Elizabeth, together with the time and man- 
 ner of putting them into execution ; and 
 may therefore serve both to confirm and 
 illustrate several things related by our ec- 
 clesiastical historians. 
 
 1. We find mention made in these ex- 
 tracts of the rood and rood loft. By the 
 former of which was meant either a crucifix, 
 or the image of some saint erected in popish 
 churches. And here that name is given to 
 the images of saint Mary and saint John, 
 and to saint Helen, the patroness of the 
 church. These images were set in shrines, 
 or tabernacles, and the place where they 
 stood was called the rood loft, which was 
 commonly over or near the passage out of 
 the body of the church into the chancel. 
 In 1548, the tirst of king Edward VI., all 
 images and their shrines were ordered to be 
 taken down, as bishop Burnett informs us. 
 But they were restored again on the acces- 
 sion of queen Mary., as we find here, by 
 the first article. 
 
 2. The ship for frankincense, mentioned 
 in the year 1556, was a small vessel in the 
 form of a ship or boat, in which the Koman 
 catholics burn frankincense to perfume their 
 churches and images. 
 
 3. The boke of articles, purchased in 
 1556, seems to be that which was printed 
 and sent over the kingdom by order of 
 queen Mary, at the end of the year 1554, 
 containing instructions to the bishops for 
 visiting the clergy. 
 
 4. We find frequent mention made of 
 lights and other expenses at a funeral, the 
 months mind, the years and two years mind, 
 and the oljit of deceased persons, which 
 were masses performed at those seasons for 
 the rest of their souls ; the word mind, 
 mean'vg the same as memorial or remem- 
 brance. And so it is used in a sermon yet 
 extant of bishop Fisher, entitled A morn- 
 yngc rememhrance had at the monteth mi)ide 
 of the most noble prynces Margarete, coun- 
 tesse of Richmonde and Darbye, &c. As 
 
 * Fuller's Hist, of Waltham Abbey, p. 13. T. 
 Lewis's Hist, of the Jingiisi Translatioa of ihe Bible, 
 p. 193 
 
 to the term obits, services of that kind seem 
 to have been annually performed. The 
 office of the mass for each of these solemni. 
 ties may be seen in the Romcn Mis.tjl, 
 under the title of Missal pro defuitetis 
 And it appears by the different sums here 
 charged, that the expenses were suited to 
 persons of all ranks, that none might be 
 deprived of the benefit which was supposed 
 to accrue from them. 
 
 5. It was customary in popish countries 
 on Good Friday to erect a small building, 
 to. represent the sepulchre of our Saviour. 
 In this they put the host, and set a person 
 to watch both that night and the next. On 
 the following morning very early, the host 
 being taken out, Christ is risen. This was 
 done here in 1557 and two following years, 
 the last of which was in the reign of queen 
 Elizabeth. Du Fresne has given us a par- 
 ticular account of this ceremony as per- 
 formed at Rouen in France, where three 
 persons in female habits used to go to ihe 
 sepulchre, in which two othtrs were placed 
 to represent angels, who told them Christ 
 was risen. {Latin Glossary, under the words 
 Sepulchro officinnm) The buildmg men- 
 tioned must have been very slight, since 
 the whole expense amounted to no more 
 than seventeen shillings and sixpence. 
 
 6. In the article of umic to ihense the 
 church, under the year 1558, the word thcuse 
 is, I presume, a mistake for cense, as they 
 might use wax with the frankincense in 
 censing or perfuming i.'.e churcti. 
 
 7. In 1559 the altar was taken down, 
 and in 1560 the communion table was put 
 in its place, by order of queen Elizabeth. 
 
 8. Masses for the dead continued to this 
 time, but here, instead of a moneths mynde, 
 the expression is a months monument. Bui 
 as that office was performed at the altai, 
 and this being taken down that year, the 
 other could not be performed. And yet we 
 have the word mass applied to the service 
 performed on Christmas-day the year fol- 
 lowing. 
 
 9. The morrice hells, mentioned under 
 the year 1560 as purchased by the parish 
 were used in their monice dances, a diver- 
 sion then practised at their festivals; in 
 which the populace might be indulged from 
 a political view, to keep them in good 
 humour. 
 
 10. In 1561 the rood loft was taken 
 down, and in order to obliterate its remem- 
 brance, (as had been done before in the 
 reign of king Edward VI.,) some passages 
 out of the Bible were painted in the place 
 where it stood, which could give but little 
 (itfence, since the images had been removed 
 
 242 
 
THE TABLE fcOOR. 
 
 the preceding year by the queen's injunc- 
 tion, on the representation of the bishops. 
 
 11. In 1562 a Bible is said to have been 
 bought for the church, which cost ten shil- 
 lings. This, J suppose, was the Geneva 
 Bible, in 4to., both on account of its low 
 price, and because that edition, having the 
 division of verses, was best suited for public 
 use. It was an English translation, which 
 had been revised and corrected by the Eng- 
 lish e.xiles at Geneva, in queen Mary's reign, 
 and printed there in 1560, with a dedica- 
 tion to queen Elizabeth. In the year 1576 
 we find another Bible was bought, which 
 was called the New Bible, and is said to 
 have cost forty shillings ; which must have 
 been the large folio, usually called arch- 
 bishop Parker's Bible, printed at London, 
 in 1568, by Richard Jugge, the queen's 
 printer. They had prayer-bo oka, psalters, 
 and song-books, for the churches in the 
 beginning of this reign, as the whole Bible 
 was not easily to be procured. 
 
 12. In 1565 there is a charge of sixpence 
 for two common prayer-books against in- 
 vading the Turke. It was then thought the 
 common cause of the Christian states in 
 Europe to oppose the progress of the 
 Turkish arms by all methods, both civ'i 
 and religious. And this year the Tuiks 
 made a descent upon the Isle of Malta, 
 where they besieged the town and castle of 
 St. Michael four months, when, on the ap- 
 proach of the Christian fleet, they broke up 
 the sieee, and suffered considerable loss in 
 their flight. (Thuanus, lib. 38.) And as the 
 war was afterwards carried on between 
 them and the emperor Maximillian in Hun- 
 gary, the like prayer-books were annually 
 purchased for the parish till the year 1569 
 inclusive.* 
 
 13. In 1566 there is an article of eight- 
 eenpence for setting up Robin Hoode's 
 bowere. This, I imagine, might be an ar- 
 bour or booth, erected by the parish, at 
 some festival. Though for what purpose it 
 leceived that name T know not, unless it 
 <i(as designed for archers. 
 
 14. In 1573 charge is made of paper for 
 four bookcs of Geneva psalms. It is well 
 known, that the vocal music in parochial 
 churches received a great alteration under 
 the reign of queen Elizabeth, being changed 
 from antiphonyes into metrical psalmody, 
 which is here called the Geneva psalms. 
 
 15. In the year 1578 tenpence were paid 
 for a book of the articles. These articles were 
 agreed lo ana subscribed for by both houses 
 
 • Pref ad Camdeni " Elii." p. xxix. L i. R. 
 
 of convocation in 1562, and printed the 
 year following. But in 1571, being again 
 revised and ratified by act of parliament, 
 they seem to have been placed in churches. 
 
 16. The last article in these extracts is 
 fourpence for an houre glass for the pulpit. 
 liow early the custom was of using hour 
 glasses in the pulpit. I cannot say; but 
 this is the first instance of it I ever met 
 with. 
 
 It is not to be thought that the same re- 
 gulations were all made within the same 
 time in all other places. That depended 
 with the several bishops of their dioceses, 
 and according to their zeal for the Reforma- 
 tion. Abingdon lies in the diocese of Sa- 
 lisbury, and, as bishop Jewel, who was first 
 nominated to that see by queen Elizabeth, 
 and continued in it till the year 1571, 
 was so great a defender of the refortned 
 religion, it is not to be doubted but every 
 thing was there carried on with as much 
 expedition as was judged consistent with 
 prudence. 
 
 (Sarrirk f lap^* 
 
 No. XIII. 
 
 [From the " Battle of Alcazar, a Tragedy, 
 1594.] 
 
 Mnhj Mahamet, driven from Ms throne 
 into a desnrt, robs the Lioness to feed hii 
 fainting Wife Calipolis. 
 
 Muly. Hold thee, Calipolis ; feed, and faint no more 
 This flesh I forced from a Lioness ; 
 Meat of a Princess, for a Princess' meat. 
 Learn by her noble stomach to esteem 
 Penury plenty in extremest dearth ; 
 Who, when she saw her foragement bereft. 
 Pined not in melancholy or childish fear; 
 But, as brave minds are strongest in extremes. 
 So she, redoubling her former force. 
 Ranged through the woods, and rent the breeding 
 
 vaults 
 Of proudest savages, to save herself. 
 Feed then, and faint not, fair Calipolis; 
 For, rather than fierce famine shall prevail 
 To gnaw thy entrails with her thorny teeth. 
 The conquering Lioness shall attend on thee. 
 And lay huge hear>s of slaughter'd carcases 
 As bulwarks in her way to i^eep her back. 
 I will provide thee of a princely Ospray, 
 That, as she flieth ovei fish in pools. 
 The fish shall turn their glistering bellies np. 
 And thou ."hall take the liberal choice of all. 
 Jove's stately Bird with wide-commanding wing 
 !-hall hove- still about thy princely head. 
 
 Wd 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 And beat down fowl* by sboals into thy ]a)i. 
 Fef d then, and faint not, fail Caljpolis.* 
 
 [From the " Seven Champions of Christen- 
 dom," by John Kirk, acted 1638.] 
 
 Calib, the Witch, in the opening Scene, 
 til a Storm. 
 
 Calib. Ha! louder a little ; so, that burst was weJi. 
 Again ; ha, ha I houHe, house your heads, ye fear- 
 -strugk mortal fools, when Calib's consort plays 
 A hunts-up to het. How rarely doth it languell 
 In mine ears ! these are mine organs ; the toad. 
 The bat, the raven, and the fell whistling bird. 
 Are all my anthem-singing quiristers. 
 Such sapless roots, and liveless wither'd woods, 
 Are pleasanter to me than to behold 
 The jocund month of May, in whose green head of youth 
 The amorous Flora strews ner various flowers. 
 And smiles to see bow brave she !.as leckt her girl. 
 But pass we JVIay, as game fir fangled fools. 
 That dare not set a foot in Art's dark, sec- 
 •ret, and bewitching path, as Calib has. 
 Here is my mansion 
 Within the rugjjed bowels of this cave, 
 This crag, this cliff, this den ; which to behold 
 Would freeze to ice the hissing trammels of Medusa. 
 Yet here enthroned I sit, more richer in my spells 
 And potent charms, than is tlie stately Mountain Queen, 
 Drest with the beauty of her sparkling gems. 
 To vie a lustre 'gainst the heavenly lamps. 
 But we are sunk in these autipodes ; so choakt 
 With darkness is great Calib's cave, that it 
 Can stifle day. It can ? — it shall — for we do loath the 
 
 light; 
 And, as our deeds are black, we hug the night. 
 But Where's this Boy, my Georoe, my Love, my Life, 
 Whom Calib lately dotes on more than life ? 
 I must not have him wander from my love 
 Farther than summons of my eye, or beck. 
 Can call him back again. But 'tis my liend- 
 -begotfen and defopm'd Issnef, misleads him : 
 For which I'll rock him in a storm of hail. 
 And dash him 'gainst the pavement on the rocky den ; 
 He must not lead my Joy astray from me. 
 The parents of that Boy, begetting him. 
 Begot and bore the issue of their deaths. 
 Which donej, the Child I stole. 
 Thinking alone to triumph in his death, 
 And bathe my body in his popular gore ; 
 But dove-like Nature favour'd so the Child, 
 
 • This address, for its barbaric splendor of concep- 
 tion, extravagant vein of promise, not to mention some 
 idiomatic peculiarities, and the very structure of the 
 versa, savours strongly of Marlowe ; but the real 
 author, I believe, is unknown. 
 
 + A sort of young Caliban, her son, who presently 
 enters, complaining of a "bloody coxcomb" which the 
 Young Saint George had given him. 
 
 % Calib had killed the parents cf the Yonng Saint 
 (}iK)i;e. 
 
 That Calib's killing knife fell from tier hand} 
 And. 'stead of stabs, I kiss'd the red-Upt Boy, 
 
 [From " Two Tragedies in One," by Ro' 
 bert Yarrington, who wrote in the itirn 
 of Elizabeth.] 
 
 Truth, the Chorus, to the Spectators. 
 
 All you, the sad Spectators of this Act, 
 Whose hearts do taste a feeling pensivenes* 
 Of this unheard-of savage massacre : 
 Oh be far off to harbour such a thought. 
 As this audacious murderer put in act ! 
 I see your sorrows flow up to the brim, 
 And overflow your cheeks with brinish tears: 
 But though this sight bring surfeit to the eye. 
 Delight your ears with pleasing harmony. 
 That ears may countercheck vour eyes, and say, 
 " Why shed you tears ? this deed is but a Play."* 
 
 Murderer to h.a Sister, about to stow 
 away the trunk of the body, having severed 
 it from the limbs. 
 
 Hark, Rachel I I will cross the water strait, 
 And fling this middle mention of a Maa 
 Intc <<ome ditch. 
 
 It IS curious, that this old Play comprises 
 the distinct action of two Atrocities; the 
 cne a vulgar murder, committed m our 
 own Thames Street, with the names and 
 incidents truly and historically set down ; 
 the other a Murder in high life, supposed 
 to be acting at the same time in Italy, the 
 scenes alternating between that country and 
 England : the Story of the latter is mutatis 
 mutandis no other than that of our own 
 " Babes in the Wood," transferred to Italy, 
 from delicacy no doubt to some of the 
 family of the rich Wicked Uncle, who 
 might yet be living. The treatment of the 
 two diflers as the romance-like narratives 
 in " God's Revenge against JVlurder," m 
 which the Actors of the Murders (with the 
 triiiing exception that they were Murderers) 
 aie represented as most accomplished and 
 every way amiable young Gentlefolks ot 
 either sex — as much as that differs from the 
 honest unglossing pages of the homely 
 Newgate Ordinary. 
 
 C.L. 
 
 • The whole theorv of the reason of our delight ii: 
 Tragic Representations, which has cost so manf 
 elaborate chapters of Criticism, is condensed in thes» 
 four last lines : Aristotle quintessentialised. 
 
 244 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Clbe ^ni Bear (Sartitu 
 
 AT BANKSIDE, SOUTHWARK. 
 
 Bear Baiting — Masters of the Bears 
 
 AND Dogs — Edward Alleyn — The 
 
 Falcon Tavern, &c. 
 
 The Bull and the Bear baiting, oh the 
 Bankside, seem to have preceded, in point 
 of time, the several other ancient theatres 
 of the metropolis. The precise date of their 
 erection is not ascertained, but a Bear- 
 garden on the Bankside is mentioned by one 
 Crowley, a poet, of the reign of Henry VIII., 
 as being at that time in existence. He 
 mforms us, that the exhibitions were on a 
 Sunday, that they drew full assemblies, and 
 that the price of admission was then one 
 halfpenny ! 
 
 ' What follie is this to keep with danger, 
 A great mastive dog, and fowle ouglie bear ; 
 Aud to this end, to see (hem two fight, 
 With terrible tearings, a ful ouglie sight. 
 And methinkes those mec are most fools of al, 
 Whose store of money is but very smal ; 
 And yet every Sunday they wil surely spend 
 One penny or two, the bearxvard's living to mend. 
 
 " At Paris garden each Sunday, a man shal not fail 
 To find two or three hundred for ihe bearwards vale. 
 One halfpenny apiece they use for to give, 
 When some have no more in their purses, I believe ; 
 Wei, at the last day, their conscience wil declare. 
 That the poor ought to have al that they may spare, 
 [f you therefore give to see a bear tight. 
 Be sure God his curse upon you wil light !'' 
 
 Whether these " rough games," as a 
 certam author terms them, were then ex- 
 iubited in the same or similar amphitheatres, 
 to those afterwards engraved in our old 
 plans, or in the open air, the extract does 
 not inform us. Nor does Slowe's account 
 iflbrd any better idea. lie merely tells us, 
 that there were on the west bank " two 
 bear gardens, the old and the new ; places, 
 wherein were kept beares, bulls, and othf- 
 oeasts to be bayted ; as also mastives in 
 several keneis, nourished to bayt them. 
 These beares and other beasts," he adds, 
 " are there kept in plots of ground, scaf- 
 folded about, for the beholders to stand 
 safe." 
 
 In Aggass's plan, taken 1574, and the 
 plan of Braun, made about the same time, 
 these plots of ground are engraved, with 
 the addition of two circi, for the accommo- 
 dation of the spectators, bearing the names 
 of the "Bowll Baytyng, and xheBeare Bayt- 
 irLge." In both plans, the buildings appear 
 to be completely circular, and were evi- 
 
 dently intended as humble imitations of 
 the ancient Roman amphnheatre. They 
 stood in two adjoining fields, separated only 
 by a small slip of land ; but some differences 
 are observable in the spots on which they 
 are built. 
 
 In Aggas's plan, which is the earliest, 
 the disjoining slip of land contains only one 
 large pond, common to the two places of 
 exhibition ; but in Braun, this appears- 
 divided into three ponds, besides a similar 
 conveniency near each theatre. The use of 
 these pieces of water is very well explained 
 in Brown's Travels, (1685) who has given 
 a plate of the " Elector of Saxony his beare 
 garden at Dresden," in which is a large 
 pond, with several bears amusing them- 
 selves in it; his account of which is highly 
 curious : 
 
 " In the hunting-house, in the old town," 
 says he, '• are tifteen bears, very well pro- 
 vided for, and looked unto. They have 
 fountains and ponds, to wash themselves in, 
 wherein they much delight : and near to 
 the pond are high ragged posts or trees, set 
 up for the bears to climb up, and scaffolds 
 made at the top, to sun and dry themselves; 
 where they will also sleep, and come and 
 go as the keeper calls them." 
 
 The ponds, and dog-kennels, for the 
 bears on the Bankside, are clearly marked 
 in the plans alluded to; and the construc- 
 tion of the amphitheatres themselves may 
 be tolerably well conceived, notwithstand- 
 ing the smallness of the scale on which 
 they are drawn. They evidently consisted, 
 within-side, of a lower tier of circular seats 
 for the spectators, at the back of which. 
 a sort of screen ran all round, in part opet , 
 so as to admit a view from without, evident 
 in Braun's delineation, by the figures who 
 are looking through, on the outside. The 
 buildings are unroofed, and in both plans 
 shown during the time of performance, 
 which in Aggas's view is announced by the 
 display of little flags or streamers on the 
 top. The dogs are tied up in slips near 
 each, ready for the sport, and the com- 
 batants actually engaged in Braun's plan. 
 Two little houses for retirement are at the 
 head of each theatre. 
 
 Thd amusement of bear-baiting in Eng- 
 land existed, however, long before the 
 mention here ma e of it. In the North- 
 umberland Household Book, compiled in 
 the reign of Henry VII , enumerating " al 
 maner of rewardis customable usede yearely 
 to be yeven by my Lorde to stranaers, as 
 players, mynstraiUs, or any other strangers, 
 whatsomever they be,"' are the follow- 
 ing. 
 
 245- 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE BEAR GARDEN IN SOUTHWARK, A.D. 1574. 
 Feom the long Pbint of London by Vischer called the Antwerp View. 
 
 Ftirst, my Lorde usifh and accustcmyth to gy(F 
 3'erely, the Kinge or the Queeue's barwarde. If 
 they have one, when they custome to com unto 
 hym, yearely — vj. s. viij. d." 
 ' Item, my Lorde usith and accustomyth to e^vfe 
 yerly, when his Lordshipe is at home, to his bar- 
 ward, when he roiiiyth to my Lorde in Christmas, 
 with his Lordshippe's beests, for makynge of his 
 Lordship pastyme, the said xij. days — xx. s." 
 
 It made one of the favourite amusements 
 of the romantic age of queen Elizabeth, 
 and was introduced among the princely 
 pleasures of Keniiworth in 1575, where the 
 droll author of the account introduces the 
 bear and dogs deciding their ancient grudge 
 per duelium.* 
 
 • Princely Pleas^ircs of Keniiworth, p. 2'i, quoted by 
 V", "ennant. in his Account of London, p. 36. 
 
 " Well, Syr (says he), the bearz wear 
 brought foorth in too coourt, the dogs set 
 too them, too argu the points eeven face to 
 face, they had learnd coounsell allso a both 
 parts : what may they be coounted parciall 
 that are retained but a to syde, I ween. 
 No wery feers both tou and toother eager 
 in argument : if the dog in pleadyng 
 woold pluk the bear by the throte, the bear 
 with trauers woould claw him again by the 
 skaip, confess and a list ; but a voyd a 
 coold not that waz bound too the bar: and 
 hiz counsell toll'd him that it coold be toe 
 him no poliecy in pleading. Thearfore 
 thus with fending and proouing, with 
 plucking and tugging, skratting and byting, 
 by plain tooth and nayll, a to side and 
 toother, such erspes of blood and leather 
 was thear between them, az a month's 
 
 246 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 THE BEAK GARDEN IN SOUTH WARE, A.D. 1648. 
 
 FfiOM THE LAEGB FOUR-SHEET ViEW OF LoNDON BY HOLLAE. 
 
 TEE LAST KNOWN KEPEESENTATION OF THE PLACE. 
 
 ickins', I ween, wyl not recoover, and yet 
 remain az far oout az eiier they wear. It 
 waz a sport very pleazaunt of iheez beastys : 
 '0 see the bear with hiz pink nyez leerine: 
 ifter hiz ermiiez approch, the nimblness and 
 v\ayt of ye dog too take his auauntage, and 
 the fors and experiens of the bear agayn to 
 a^ioyd the assauts : if he wear bitten in one 
 place, hoow he woold pynch in anoother 
 too get fiee : that if he wear taken onez, 
 :hen what shyft with byting, with clawyng, 
 with roiing, torsing and tumbling, he woold 
 work to wynde bymself from them ; -and 
 when he was lose, to shake hiz earz twyse 
 or thryse wyth the blud and the slaver 
 dboout hiz fiznamy, was a matter of a goodly 
 releef." 
 
 It is not to be wondered at, that an 
 amusement, thus patronised by the great, 
 and even by royalty itself, ferocious as it 
 was, should be the delight of the vulgar, 
 w!lo^e untutored taste it was peculiarly cal- 
 culated to please. Accordingly, bear-baiting 
 seems to have been amazingly frequented, 
 at this time, especially on Stnidays. On 
 one of these days, in 1582, a dire accident 
 befell the spectators. The scaffolding sud- 
 denly gave way, and multitudes of people 
 were killed, or miserably maimed. This 
 was looked upon as a judgment, and as 
 
 such was noticed by divines, and other eravi 
 characters, in their sermons and writings 
 The lord mayor for that year (sir Thoma> 
 Blanke) wrote on' the occasion to the lord 
 treasurer, " that it gave great reason to 
 acknowledge the hand of God, for breach of 
 the Lord's Day," and moved him to redres> 
 the same. 
 
 Little notice, however, was taken of his 
 application; the accident was forgot; and 
 the barbarous amusement soon followed as 
 much as ever, Stowe assuring us, in his 
 work, printed many years afterwards, "that 
 for baiting of bulls and bears, they were, 
 till that time, much frequented, namely, in 
 beargardens on the Bankside." The com- 
 monalty could not be expected to reform 
 what had the sanction of the highest ex- 
 ample, and the labours of the moralist were 
 as unavailing as in the case of pugilism in 
 the piesent day. 
 
 In the succeeding reign, the general in- 
 troduction of the drama operated as a check 
 to the practice, and the public taste took a 
 turn. One of these theatres gave place to 
 "the Globe;" the other remained long 
 after. This second theatre, which retained 
 its original name of the " Pear-baitino-," 
 was rebuilt on a larger scale, about the 
 beginuing of James the First's reign : and 
 
 247 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 of an octagonal form instead of round, as 
 before ; in which respect it resembled the 
 other theatres on the Bankside. The Jlrxt 
 engraving in this article contains a view of 
 it in this state, from the long print of Lon- 
 ilon by Vischer, usually called the Antwerp 
 view. In this representation, the slips, or 
 (log-kennels, are again distinctly marked, 
 ■IS well as tlie ponds. The secowrf engraving, 
 from Hollar's view about 1648, shows it as 
 it was a third time rebuilt on a larger scale, 
 and again of the circular shape, when 
 • plays" and prize-fighting were added to 
 the amusements exhibited at it. 
 
 In the reign of James I. the " Bear- 
 garden" was under the protection of 
 royalty, and the mastership of it made a 
 patent place. The celebrated actor Alleyn 
 enjoyed this lucrative post, as keeper of 
 the king's wild beasts, or master of the 
 royal bear-garden, situated on the Bank- 
 side, in Southwark. The profits of this 
 place are said by his biographer to have 
 been immense, sometimes amounting to 
 500/ a year; and well account for the great 
 fortune he raised. A little before his death 
 he s'.ld his share and patent to his wife's 
 father, Mr. Hinchtoe, for 5Q01. 
 
 We have a good account of the " Bear- 
 oaiting-," in the reign of Charles II., by one 
 Mons. Jorevin, a foreig'ner, whose observa- 
 tions on this country were published in 
 1672,* and who has given us the following 
 curious detail of a visit he paid to it : — 
 
 " We went to see the Bergiardin, by 
 Sodoark,f which is a great amphitheatre, 
 where combats are fought between aU sorts 
 of animals, and sometimes men, as we once 
 saw. Commonly, when any fencing-mas- 
 ters are desirous of showing their courage 
 and their great skill, they issue mutual chal- 
 lenges, and, before they engage, parade 
 the town with drums and trumpets sound- 
 ing, to inform the public there is a challenge 
 between two brave masters of the science 
 of defence, and that the battle will be fought 
 on such a day. We went to see this com- 
 bat, which was performed on a stage in the 
 middle of this amphitheatre, where, on the 
 flourishes of trumpets, and the beat of 
 drums, the combatants entered, stripped to 
 their shirts. On a signal from the drum, 
 they drew their swords, and immediately 
 began the fii;"ht, skirmishing a long time 
 without any wounds. They were both very 
 skdful and courageous. The tallest had the 
 
 • Republished in the Antiquarian Repertory, Ed. 
 1806, under the title of " A Description of England and 
 Ireland, in the 17th Century, by Mons. Jorevin." vol. 
 W. p^549. 
 
 t Bear-garden, Southveark 
 
 advantage over the least; for, according to 
 the English fashion of fencing, they endea- 
 voured rather to cut, than push in the 
 Fie'ich manner, so that by his height he 
 had the advantage of being able to strike 
 his antagonist on the head, against which, 
 the little one was on his guard. He had, 
 in his turn, an advantage over the great 
 one, in being able to give him the Jarnac 
 stroke, by cutting him on his right ham, 
 which he left in a manner quite unguarded. 
 So that, all things considered, they were 
 equally matched. Nevertheless, the tall 
 otie struck his antagonist on the wrist, 
 which he almost cut off; but this did not 
 prevent him from continuing the fight, after 
 he had been dressed, and taken a glass or 
 two of wine to give him courage, when he 
 t >ok ample vengeance for his wound; for a 
 little afterwards, making a feint at the ham, 
 the tall man, stooping in order to parry it, 
 laid his whole head open, when the little 
 one gave him a stroke, which took off a 
 slice of his head, and almost all his ear. 
 For my part, I think there is an inhumanity, 
 a barbarity, and cruelty, in permitting men 
 to kill each otlier for diversion. The sur- 
 geons immediately dressed them, and bound 
 up their wounds ; which being done, they 
 resumed the combat, and both being sen- 
 sible of their respective disadvantages, they 
 therefore were a long time without giving 
 or receiving a wound, which was the cause 
 that the little one, failing to parry so ex- 
 actly, being tiied with this long battle 
 received a stroke on his wounded wrist, 
 which dividing the sinews, he remained 
 vanquished, and the tall conqueror receivet 
 the applause of the spectators. For m\ 
 part, I should have had more pleasure iti 
 seeing the battle of the bears and dogs, 
 which was fought the following day on the 
 same theatre." 
 
 It does not appear at what period thf 
 Bear-baiting was destroyed, but it was. 
 probably, not long after the above period 
 Strype, in his first edition of Stowe, pub- 
 lished 1720, speaking of " Bear Alley," oi 
 this spot, says, " Here is a glass-house, and 
 about the middle a new-built court, well 
 inhabited, called Bear-garden Square ; st 
 called, as built in the place where the Bear- 
 garden formerly stood, until removed to 
 the other side of the water; which is rnore 
 convenient for the butchers, and such like, 
 who are taken with such rustic sports as 
 the baiting of bears and bulls." The theatre 
 was evidently destroyed to build this then 
 new court.* 
 
 • LonJ. Illustrat. 
 
 24'8' 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 A«^rorcling to an entry in the Parochial 
 B'^'^ks in 158(5, one Morgan Pope agreed 
 to pay the parish of St. Saviour, Southwark, 
 for the Bear-garden, and the ground where 
 the dogs were kept, 6s.8d. arrears and 6*. 8rf. 
 for tithes. 
 
 The old Bear-garden at Bankside, and 
 (he Globe theatre wherein Shakspeare's 
 plays were originally performed, and he 
 himself sometimes acted, was in the manor 
 or liberty of Paris Garden. Near this, and 
 in the same manor, were the Hope, the 
 Swan, and the Rose theatres. It appears 
 from '' an ancient Survey on vellum made 
 in the reign of queen Elizabeth," ihat 
 " Olde Paris Garden Lane " ran from 
 Bankside, in the direction of the present 
 Blackfriars-road, to stairs at the river's-side 
 near to, or perhaps on the very spot now 
 occupied by, the Surry end of Blackfriars- 
 bridge, and opposite to this lane in the road 
 of the Bankside stood an old stone cross, 
 which, therefore, were it remaining, would 
 now stand in Blackfriars-road, near Hol- 
 land-street, leading to the present P'al- 
 con glass-house, opposite to which site 
 was the old Falcon tavern, celebrated for 
 having been the daily resort of Shakspeare 
 and his dramatic companions. Till of late 
 years, the Falcon inn was a house of great 
 business, and the place from whence coaches 
 went to all parts of Kent, Surry, and 
 Sussex. In 1805, before the old house was 
 taken down, Mr. Wilkinson, of Gornhill, 
 caused a drawing to be made, and published 
 an engraving of it. "The Bull and Bear 
 Baiting" were two or three hundred yards 
 eastward of the Falcon, and beyond were 
 the Globe and the other theatres just men- 
 tioned, " The site of the Old Bear-garden 
 retaining its name, is now occupied by Mr. 
 Bradley's extensive iron-foundery, in which 
 shot and shells are cast for the govern- 
 ment."* 
 
 The royal officer, called the " master of 
 the bears and dogs," under queen Elizabeth 
 and king James L, had a fee of a farthing 
 per day. Sir John Darrington held the 
 office in 1600, when he was commanded 
 on a short notice to exhibit before the queen 
 in the Tilt-yard ; but not having a proper 
 stock of animals, he was obliged to apply 
 to Kdward AUeyn, (the founder of Dulwich- 
 college,) and Philip Henslow, then owner 
 of tLe Bear-garden in Southwark, for their 
 assistance. On his death, king James 
 granted the office to sir William Steward, 
 who, it seems, interrupted AUeyn and 
 Henslow as not having a license, and yet 
 
 Manning and Bray's Sorry. 
 
 refused to take their stock at a reasonabU 
 price, so that they were obliged to buy his 
 patent. Alleyn and Henslow complained 
 much of this in a petition to the king, coi - 
 taining many curious circumstances, which 
 Mr. Lysons has published at length. Alleyn 
 held this office till his death, or very near 
 it : he is styled by it in the letters patent 
 for the foundation of his college in 1620 
 Among his papers there is a covenant from 
 Peter Street, for the building at the Bear- 
 garden, fifty-six feet long and sixteen wide, 
 the estimate of the carpenter's work being 
 sixty-five pounds. 
 
 The latest patent discovered to have been 
 granted for the office of master of the bears 
 and dogs is that granted to sir Sanders 
 Duncombe in 1639, for the sole practising 
 and profit of the fighting and combating of 
 wild and domestic beasts in England," for 
 fourteen years. 
 
 This practice was checked by the parlia- 
 ment in 1642. On the 10th of December 
 in that year, Mr. Whittacre presented in 
 writing an examination of the words ex- 
 pressed by the master of the Bear-garden, 
 " that he would cut the throats of those 
 that refused to subscribe a petition :" where- 
 upon it was resolved, on the question "that 
 Mr. Godfray, master of the Bear-garden, 
 shall be forthwith committed to Newejate — 
 Ordered, the masters of the Bear-garden, 
 and all other persons who have interest 
 there, be enjoined and required by this 
 house, that for the future they do not per- 
 mit to be used the game of bear-baiting in 
 these times of great distraction, till this 
 house do give further order herein." The 
 practice, huwevei, did not wholly discon- 
 tinue in the neighbourhood of London til 
 I 750. Of late years this public exhibitior. 
 was revived in Duck-lai e, Westminster, and 
 at the present time is not wholly sup- 
 pressed. 
 
 i.iterature» 
 
 A NEW POEM. 
 "AHABjin four Cantos. By S. R. J ackscn." 
 
 Mr. Jackson, the author of several poems, 
 whose merits he deems to have been dis- 
 regarded, puts forth " Ahab," with renewed 
 hope, and a remarkable address. He 
 says — 
 
 " Reader, hast thou not seen a solitary 
 buoy floating on the vast ocean ? *h9 v'ves 
 dash against it, and the broad keel ot the 
 vessel sweeps over and presses it down, 
 yet it rises again to the surface, prepared 
 
 249 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 for every assault — 1 am like that buoy. 
 Thrice have I appeared before you, thrice 
 have the waves of neglect passed over me, 
 and once more I rise, a candidate for your 
 i;ood opinion. My wish is not merely to 
 succeed, but to merit success, Palmam 
 qui meruit ferat, was the motto of one who 
 will never be forgotten, and I hope to 
 quote it without seeming to be presump- 
 tuous. I am told by some who ate deemed 
 competent judges, "thft I am deserving of 
 encouragement, and I here solicit it. 
 
 " During the printing of this woik, one 
 has criticised a rough rhyme, another cried 
 — 'Ha! what you turned poet?' and 
 giving his head a significant shake, said, 
 ' better mind Cocker.' ' So I would,' I 
 replied, ' but Cocker won't mind me.' In 
 all the various changes of my life the Muse 
 has not deserted me: beloved ones have 
 vanished — friends have deceived — but she 
 has remained faithful. One critic has 
 advised this addition, another that curtail- 
 ment ; but remembering the story of the 
 old man and the boy, and the ass, I plod 
 on : not tliat I am indifferent to opinion — 
 far from it ; but there are persons whose 
 advice one cannot take — who find fault 
 merely for the sake of ta.king, and impale 
 an author from mere spleen. 
 
 " The poem now submitted to your notice 
 is founded on the 21st and 22d chapters in 
 the First Book of Kings : in it I have en- 
 deavoured to show, that crime always 
 brings its own punishment; that whenever 
 we do wrong, an inward monitor reminds 
 us of it: and have sought to revive in the 
 spirits of Englishmen that patriotic feeling 
 which is daily becoming more dormant. 
 
 •' At this season,* v/hen the leaves are 
 falling fast, booksellers, as well as trees, gel 
 cold-hearted — they will not purchase; nor 
 can I blame them, for if the tide of public 
 opinion sets in against poetry, they would 
 oe wrong to buy what they cannot sell. 
 Yet they might, some of them at least, 
 treat an author more respectfully ; they 
 might look at his work, it would not 
 take them a long time to do so ; and 
 they could then tell if it would suit them 
 or not. Unfortunately, a manuscript need 
 wt be in verse, and it will be worth 
 nothing. I fancy the booksellers are like 
 the hoise in the team, they have carried 
 /he poet's bells so long that they liave be- 
 come weary of the jingle. Be this as it 
 may, I have tried, and could not get a 
 purchaser. It was true I had published 
 before, but my productions eair-*^ out un- 
 
 • Michaelmas. 1826. 
 
 aided, and remained unnoticed. I had m 
 patron's name to herald mine. I sem 
 copies to the Reviews, but, with the excep- 
 tion of the Literary Chronicle and Gentle- 
 man's Magazine, they were unnoticed. The 
 doors to publicity being thus closed against 
 me, what could I do, but fail, as bettei 
 bards have done before me ■" 
 
 There is an affecting claim in the ver- 
 sified conclusion of the preface. 
 " 'Tis done ! the work of many a pensirp Jiour 
 
 !s o'er : the fruit is gather'd from the tree, 
 Warrri'd by care's sun, and by affliction's shower 
 
 Water'd and ripen'd in obscurity. 
 Few hopes have I that it may welcome be ; 
 
 Yet do I not give way to black despair; 
 Small barks have liv'd through many a stormy sea, 
 
 Small birds wing'd far their way through boundless 
 air 
 
 And joy's sweet rose tow'fd o'er the weeds of envious 
 care. 
 
 " With these feelings I submit my poerr 
 to notice, and but request such patronage 
 as it may deserve.*' 
 
 The follo\Ving invocation, which com 
 mences the poem, will arrest attention. 
 
 " God ! whom mv fathers worshipp'd, God of all. 
 
 From mid thy throne of brightness hear my call: 
 
 And though unworthiest I of earthly things. 
 
 To wake the harp of David's silent strings ; 
 
 Though, following not the light which in my path 
 
 Shone bright to guide me, I have brav'd thy wrath 
 
 And walk'd with other men in darkness, yet, 
 
 If penitent, my heart its sins regret — 
 
 If, bending lowly at thy shrine, I crave 
 
 Tliy aid to guide my bark o'er life's rough wave, 
 
 Till all the shoals of error safely past, 
 
 In truth's calm haven I repose at last: 
 
 0, let that sweet, that unextinguish'd beam 
 
 Which fondly came to wake me from my dream. 
 
 Again appear my wand'ring steps to guide, 
 
 I,est my soul sink, and perish in its pride. 
 
 I ask not, all-mysterious as Thou art. 
 
 To see Thee, but to feel Thee in my heart ; 
 
 Unfetter'd by the various rules and forms 
 
 That bound the actions of earth's subtle worms. 
 
 From worldly arts and prejudices free, 
 
 To know that Thon art God, amd worship Thee. 
 
 And, whether on the tempest's sweeping wing 
 
 Thou comes-t, or the breath that wakes the spring . 
 
 If in the thunder's roar thy voice I hear. 
 
 Or the loud blast that marks the closing year ; 
 
 Or in the g-entle music of the breeze, 
 
 Stirring the leaves upon the forest trees ; 
 
 Still let me feel thy presence, let mB bear 
 
 In mind that Thou art with me every where. 
 
 And oh I since inspiration crimes from Thee 
 
 To mortal mind, like rain uiito the tiee. 
 
 Bidding it flourish and put forth its fruit. 
 
 So bid my soul, whose voice has long been matti 
 
 Awaken ; give me words of fire to sing 
 
 The de<-ds and fall of Israel's hapless kiny. 
 
 250 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Perhaps the reader may be iuriher pro- 
 pitiated in the author's behalf by the 
 
 " Dedication." 
 
 "To THE Rev. Christopher Benson, M. A. 
 
 Prebendary of Woicester, and Rector of 
 St. Giles in the Fields. 
 
 " Sir — Being wholly unused to patronap;e, 
 I know not how to invoke it, but by plainly 
 saying, that I wish for protection to what- 
 ever may be deemed worthy of regard in 
 the following pages. 
 
 " I respectfully dedicate the poem to you, 
 sir, from a deep sense of the esteem whore- 
 in you are held ; and, I openly confess, 
 with considerable anxiety that you may 
 approve, and that your name may sanction 
 and assist my eflforts. 
 
 " In strictness perhaps I ought to have 
 solicited your permission to do this ; but, 
 with the wishes I have expressed, and con- 
 scious of the rectitude of my motives, I 
 persuade myself that you will see I could 
 not afford to hazard your declining, from 
 private feelings, a public testimony of un- 
 feigned respect, from a humble and 
 unknown individual. 
 
 " I am, sir, your most obedient 
 
 And sincerely devoted servant, 
 " Samuel Richard Jackson. 
 " Sept. 29, 1826." 
 
 Mr. Jackson has other oflTspring besides 
 the productions of his muse, and their infant 
 voices may be imagined to ])roclaim in 
 plain prose that the present volume, and it 
 is a volume — a hundred pages in full sized 
 octavo — is published for the author, by 
 Messrs. Sherwood and Co. " price 4.^. in 
 boards." — Kind-hearted readers will take 
 the hint. 
 
 PULPIT CLOCKS, AND HOUR 
 GLASSES. 
 
 In the annals of Dunstable Priory is 
 *his item: " In 1433, made a cluck over 
 the pulpit." 
 
 A stand for an /iOM?\^fo,?s still remains in 
 many pulpits A rector of Bibury used to 
 preach two hours, regularly turning the 
 glass. After the text, the esquire of the 
 parish withdrew, smoked his pipe, and 
 returned to the blessing. Lecturers' pulpits 
 have also hour-glasses. The priest had 
 sometimes a watch found him by the 
 parish.* 
 
 • Foibroke's British Monachisnu 
 
 (faster. 
 
 RESTORATION OF THE CATHOLIC 
 RELIGION IN FRANCE. 
 
 The catholic religion was that in which 
 the French were brought up ; and they 
 were, from habit at least, it not from con. 
 viction, attached to it: so far was its over- 
 throw from meeting with the general ap- 
 probation and concurrence of the nation, 
 that if it was acquiesced in for a. time, it was 
 merely from a feeling of inability to avert 
 the blow ; and the persecution which ii 
 experienced only served, as all persecution 
 does, to endear the object of it more 
 "itrongly to them. 
 
 Such would have been the effect, even ii 
 tlie attempt made had only been to substi- 
 tute by force some other mode of faith in 
 its place ; but when the question was to 
 annihilate religion itself, no sane mind 
 could possibly dream of ultimate success. 
 The sense of dependence upon some un- 
 seen power far above our comprehension, 
 is a principle inherent in human nature ; — 
 no nation has yet been discovered, how 
 remote soever from civilisation in its cus- 
 toms and manners, in which some ideas 
 of a power superior to all earthly ones 
 were not to be found. 
 
 The French are generally characterised 
 as fond of novelty, and always seeking 
 after it with eagerness ; and yet, however 
 paradoxical it may appear, it is no less 
 true, that in many respects no people 
 adhere more tenaciously to ancient habits 
 and customs. Nothing contributed so es- 
 sentially to the final overthrow of the vio- 
 lent revolutionists — no, not even the horror 
 excited by the torrents of blood which thej 
 shed — as their endeavouring all at once to 
 deprive the people of many habits and 
 customs which they particularly cherished ; 
 nor did any thing contribute more strongly 
 to Bonaparte's power, than his restoring 
 them. 
 
 These reflections were suggested to Miss 
 Plumtre by one of the most remarkable 
 scenes that occurred while she was at Paris — 
 the pi-ocession to the church ot Notre-Dame 
 on Easter Siniday, for the public restora- 
 tion of the catholic worship. The free 
 exercise of their religion had been for 
 several months allowed to the people, and 
 the churches, which had long been shut, 
 were reopened ; but this was the first 
 occasion on which the constituted autho 
 rities had, as a body, assisted in any leli- 
 gious ceremony. As to the reestablish- 
 ment of religion being grateful to th« 
 
 .251 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 people, not a doubt remained in her mind ; 
 every opportunity which had been afforded 
 her of investigating the matter, since she 
 lirst landed in France, had given her so 
 strong a conviction of it, that it could not 
 be increased by any thing she was about to 
 witness. But another experiment which 
 was to be made on tlie occasion was a 
 greater subject of curiosity ; and this was, 
 tliar the procession and ceremonies were to 
 be in some sort a revival of the ancient 
 court splendour and pageantry. 
 
 Deeply impressed with this kind of curi- 
 osity, and knowing that the only way 
 <o be fully informed of the sentiments of 
 the people was to make one among them, 
 slie and her friends took their stations 
 m the square before the great entrance 
 to the Palais-royal, where a double rank 
 of soldiers formed a lane to keep a passage 
 clear for the procession. They procured 
 chairs from a neighbouring house, which 
 served as seats till the cavalcade began, 
 and then they stood on them to see it pass. 
 She describes the ceremonies in the follow- 
 ing manner. 
 
 The square was thronged with people, 
 and we could with the utmost facility 
 Attend to the sentiments uttered by the 
 circle round us. The restoration of reli- 
 siion seemed to engage but a small part of 
 their attention — that was an idea so familiar 
 to them, that it had almost ceased to excite 
 emotion ; but they were excessively occu- 
 pied by speculations on the procession, 
 which report had said was to be one of 
 the most magnificent sights ever seen in 
 Prance, at least since the banishment of 
 royalty with all its brilliant train of ap- 
 pendages. 
 
 At length it began : — It consisted firs* 
 of about five thousand of the consular 
 guard, part infantry, part cavalry ; next 
 followed the carriages of the senate, the 
 legislative body, the triburKite, and all th». 
 public officers, with those of the foreign 
 ambassadors, and some private carriages 
 After these came the eight beautiful cream- 
 coloured horses which had been just be- 
 fore presented to Bonaparte by the king of 
 Spain, each led by a young Mameluke, in 
 the costume of his country ; and then 
 Roustan, Bonaparte's Mameluke, friend, 
 and attendant, upon all occasions. Then 
 came the coach with the three consuls, 
 drawn by eight horses, with three footmen 
 behind, who, with the coachmen, were all 
 in rich Hveries, green velvet laced with 
 ((old, and bags : the servants of some of 
 the great public officers were also in bags 
 Tnd liveries. About a hundred dragoons 
 
 following the consular carnage closed the 
 procession. 
 
 A sort of cynical philosopher who stood 
 near us made a wry face every now ana 
 then, as the procession passed, and once 
 or twice muttered in his teeth, Qui est-ce 
 (jui pent dire que cet homme la ii'a point de 
 I' ostentation? " Who will pretend to say 
 that this man is not ostentatious ?" But 
 the multitude, after having been lavish ai 
 " charmaut .'" " superbe J" " magnijique r 
 and other the like epithets, to all that pre- 
 ceded the consular carriage, at last, wiien 
 they saw that appear with tlie eight horses, 
 and the rich liveries and bags, gave a 
 general shout, and exclaimed. Ah, vuilv 
 encore la bourse et la livree ! — oh, comme 
 frt est beau ! — Comme fa fait plaisir I voila ! 
 qui coynmence veritahlemeut un peu a pren- 
 dre conleur ! " Ah ! see there again the 
 bag and the livery ! — Oh, how handsome 
 that is ! — What pleasure it gives to see itl 
 — This begins indeed to assume something 
 like an appearance !" Nor in the plea- 
 sure they felt at the revival of this parade, 
 did the idea seem once to intrude itself, of 
 examining into the birth of him who pre- 
 sided over it, or his pretensions to being 
 their chief magistrate : it was enough that 
 their ancient hobby-horse was restored, 
 and it was matter of indifference to them 
 by whom the curb which guided it was 
 held. Among those whom I had a more 
 paiticular opportunity of observing, was a 
 well-dressed and respectable-looking man, 
 about the middle age, who from his appear- 
 ance might be supposed some creditable 
 tradesman. He had been standing by me 
 for some time before the procession began, 
 and we had entered into conversation ; he 
 was eloquent in his eulogium of Bonaparte, 
 for having made such an extraordinary 
 [)rogress in calming the spirit of faction, 
 which had long harassed the country; and 
 particularly he spoke with exultation of his 
 liaving so entirely silenced the Jacobins, 
 that there appeared every reason to hope 
 tiiat their influence was fallen, never to 
 rise again. He was among the most eager 
 in his expressions of admiration of the 
 procession ; and at the conclusion of it, 
 turning to me, he said, with a very tri- 
 umphant air and manner, Comme les Ja- 
 cobins seront hel)ite de tout ceci. " How 
 the Jacobins will be cast down with all 
 this !" 
 
 While the procession was passing, the 
 remarks were confined to general exclama- 
 tion, as the objects that presented them- 
 sidves struck the fancy of the spectators ; 
 but when all was gone by, comparisons in 
 
 152 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 abundance began to fly about, between the 
 splendour here displayed, and the mean 
 appearance of every thing during the reign 
 of Jacobinism, which all ended to the dis- 
 advantage of the latter, and the advantage 
 of the present system : I'orit ^toit si nies(jiiiiie 
 dans ce terns la — Ceci est digue d'une na- 
 tion telle que la France. " Every thing was 
 so mean in those days — This is worthy of 
 such a nation as France." Some, who 
 were too much behind to have seen the 
 consular cairiage, were eager in their in- 
 quiries about it. They could see, and had 
 admired, the bags and liveries, but tliey 
 could not tell what nurabe-r of horses there 
 were to the carriage ; and they learned, 
 with great satisfaction, that there were 
 eight. y]h, c'est bien, they said, c'est 
 comme autrefois — enfin nous reconnoissons 
 Hutrepays. " Ah, 'tis well — 'tis as formeily 
 — at length we can recognise our own 
 country again." And then the troops — 
 never was any thing seen plus superbe, plus 
 magnifique — and they were all French, no 
 Swiss guards. Here the ancien regime 
 came in for a random stroke. 
 
 After discussing these things for a while, 
 the assembly dispersed into different parts 
 of the town, some going towards the churcli, 
 to try whether any thing further was to be 
 ieen there ; but most went to walk in the 
 gardens of the Thuilleries, and other parts, 
 ;o see the preparations for the illumination 
 .n the evening, and thus pass the time 
 away till the procession was likely to re- 
 turn. We employed ourselves in this 
 manner ; and, after walking about for near 
 two hours, resumed our former stations. 
 Here we saw the procession return in the 
 same order that it had gone ; when it was 
 received with similar notes of approbation. 
 In the evening there was a concert for the 
 public in the gardens of the Thuilleries, 
 and the principal theatres were opened to 
 the public gratis. The chateau and gar- 
 dens of the Thuilleries were brilliantly illu- 
 mmated, as were the pubhc ofhces and 
 the theatres, and there were fireworks in 
 different parts of the town. 
 
 A very striking thing observable in this 
 day, was the strong contrast presented be- 
 tween a great gathering together of the 
 people in France and in England ; and I 
 must own that this contrast was not to the 
 advantage ofmy own fellow-countrymen. On 
 such occasions honest John Bull thinks he 
 does not show the true spirit of liberty, 
 unless he jostles, squeezes, elbows, and 
 pushes his neighbours about as much as 
 possible. Among the Parisian populace, 
 on the contrary, there is a peaceableness of 
 
 demeanour, a sp>irit of order, and ar enaea 
 vour in each individual to accomm&d.ite 
 liis neighbour, which I confess I tl.ouglij 
 far more pleasing — shall I not say also 
 more civilized — than honest John's free- 
 born elbowing and pushing. All tht' 
 liberty desired by a Frenchman on such 
 occasions, is that of walking about quietly 
 to observe all that passes, and of imparting 
 his observations and admiration to his, 
 neighbour ; for talk he must — he would 
 feel no pleasure unless he had some one to 
 whom his feelings could be communicated. 
 
 We went the next morning to see the 
 decorations of Notre-Dame, before they 
 were taken down. All that could be done 
 to give the church a tolerable appearance 
 had been effected ; and when full of com- 
 pany its dilapidated state might perhaps be 
 little seen ; but empty, that was still very 
 conspicuous. The three consuls sat tou;e- 
 ther under a canopy, Bonaparte in the 
 middle, with Cambaceres on his righ) 
 hand, and Lebrun on his left. Opposite 
 to them sat cardinal Caprara, the pope's 
 legate, under a corresponding canopy. 
 
 A very curious circumstance attending 
 this solemnity was, that the sermon was 
 preached by the very same person who had 
 y^reached the sermon at Kheims on the 
 coronation of Louis XVL, Monsieur Bois- 
 gelin, then archbishop of Aix, in Provence, 
 now archbishop of Tours. His discourse 
 was allowed by all who heard it to be a 
 very judicious one. He did not enter into 
 politics, or launch into fulsome flattery of 
 those in power; but dwelt yjrincipally on 
 the necessity of an established religion, no* 
 only as a thing right in itself, but as essen- 
 tial to the preservation of good morals 
 among the people — illustrating his argu- 
 ment by the excesses into which they had 
 been led during the temporary abandon- 
 ment of religion, and bestowing com- 
 mendation upon those by whom it had 
 Deen restored.* 
 
 Easter at Portaferry, Belfast, &t. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 On Easter Monday several hundred o' 
 young persons of the town and neighbour- 
 hood of Portaferry, county of Down, resort, 
 dressed in their best, to a pleasant wall 
 near that town, called " The Walter.'' Th( 
 avowed object of each person is to see tht 
 fun, which consists in the men kissing thf 
 females, without reserve, whether married 
 
 • Miss Plumt>tre 
 
 253 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 or single. This morle of salutation is quite 
 a mailer of course; it. is never taken amiss, 
 nor with much show of coyness ; the 
 female must be very ordinary indeed, who 
 returns home without having received at 
 least a dozen hearty busses. Tradition is 
 silent as to the origin of this custom, which 
 of late years is on the decline, especially :u 
 the respectability of the attendants. 
 
 On the same day several thousands of 
 the working classes of the town and vicinity 
 of Belfast, county of Antrim, resort to the 
 Cave-hill, about three miles distant, where 
 the day is spent in dancing, jumping, run- 
 ning, climbing the rug'^ed rocks, and drink- 
 ing. Here many a rude brawl takes place, 
 many return home with black eyes and 
 bloody noses, and in some cases with 
 oroken bones. Indeed it is with them the 
 greatest holiday of the year, and to not a 
 few it furnishes laughable treats to talk 
 about, till the return of the following spring. 
 On this evening a kind of dramatic piece 
 is usually brought forward at the Belfast 
 theatre, called "The Humours of the Cave- 
 hill." 
 
 S. M. S. 
 
 OLD MAP OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 In the year 1545 was publishea at Ant- 
 werp, the Cosmography of Peter A planus, 
 " expurgated from all faults,'' by Gemma 
 Prisms, a physician and mathematician of 
 Louvain. It is sufficient to say, that in 
 this correct " expurgated " work, Scotland 
 is an island, of which York is one of the 
 :;hief cities * 
 
 PEN BEHIND THE EAR— PAPER, 
 
 The custom of carrying a pen behind the 
 ear, lately common, is ancient. In the life 
 of S. Odo is the following passage : " He 
 saw a pen sticking above his ear, in the 
 manner of a writer." 
 
 Mabillon says, that he could find no 
 pa])er books more ancient than the tenth 
 century : but the pen made of a feather 
 was certainly common in the seventh cen- 
 tury ; and though ascribed to the classical 
 ancients, by Montfaucon's mistaking a pas- 
 sage of Juvenal, it is first mentioned by 
 Adrian de Valois, a writer of the fifth cen- 
 tury. This rather precedes Beckmann, 
 who places the first certain account of u to 
 Isadore.f 
 
 » Fosbroke's British MonachibL>i. 
 Ibid. 
 
 Suburban ^onnetd. 
 
 IV. 
 
 HAMPSTEAD. 
 
 Hampstkap \ I doubly venerate thy name. 
 
 Because 'twas in thy meadows that 1 grew 
 Enamoar'd of that literary fame 
 
 Which youthful poets eagerly pursue. 
 And first beheld that bc^iuty-beaining form, 
 
 Which death too quickly tore from my embrat^a 
 That peerless girl, whose blushes were as warm 
 
 As ever glow'd upon a virgin face I 
 Hense, lovely village ! I am still thy deI)tor, 
 
 For pleasures now irrevocably flown — 
 For that transcendant maid, who, when I met hat 
 
 Alon^r thy meadows musing, and alone, 
 Look'd like a spirit from the realms above. 
 Sent down to prove the sov'reignty of Love 1 
 
 V. 
 
 THE NEW RIVER. 
 
 Thou pleasaat river I in the summer time 
 
 About tliy margin 1 delight to stray. 
 Perusing Byron's captivating rhyme. 
 
 Ana urinking inspiration from his lay 
 For there is something in thy placid streim 
 
 That gives a keener relish to his son,^. 
 And makes the spirit of his numbers seem 
 
 More fascinating as I move along : — 
 There is besides upon thy waves a moral. 
 With which it were ridiculous to quarrel ; 
 For, like the current of our lives, th;'y flow 
 Thro' multifarious channels, till they go 
 Down into darV;ness, and preserve no more 
 The " form and feature" they possess'd before ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 MINERVA TERRACE, ISLINGTON 
 
 Ye, who are anxious for a " country seat," 
 
 Pure air, green meadows, and suburban views, 
 Rooms snug and light, not over large, but neat. 
 
 And gardens water'd with refreshing dews. 
 May find a spot adapted to your taste. 
 
 Near Barnsbury-parA, or rather Barnsbury-toion, 
 Where ev'ry thing looks elegant and chaste, 
 
 And wealth reposes on a bed of down ! 
 I, therefore, strongly recommend to those 
 
 ^V^lo want a pure and healthy situation. 
 To choose Minerva Terrace, and repose 
 
 '}t{\Ast prospects worthy of their admiration ;- 
 How long they'll last is quite another thing. 
 Not longer, p'rhaps, than the approaching spnng I 
 
 J.G, 
 
 IslinFtnn, March 25, 1827. 
 
 204 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 LONDON CRIES. 
 
 " Buy a fl"e singing-bird ! 
 
 The cners of slnojing: birds are extinct : 
 rt'e have only the hud-sellers. This en- 
 gravinof, therefore, represents a by-gone 
 character: it is from a series of etchings 
 called the " Cries of London," by Marcellus 
 Lauron, a native of the Hague, where he 
 was born in 1653. He came to England 
 with his father, by whom he was instructed 
 in painting. He drew correctly, studied 
 nature diligently, copied it closely, and so 
 surpassed his contemporaries in drapery, 
 that sir Godfrey Kneller employed him to 
 clothe his portraits. He likewise excelled 
 in imitating the different styles of eminent 
 masters, executed conversation pieces of 
 considerable merit, and died at London in 
 1705. His "London Cries" render his 
 name familiar, on accountof the popularity 
 which these performances still possess, and 
 there being among them likenesses of 
 several " remarkable people " of the times. 
 "Lauron's Cries" are well known to col- 
 lectors, with whom the portrait of a pedlar, 
 if a " mentioned print," is quite as covet- 
 ible as a peer's. 
 
 Mr. Fenn of East Dereham, Norfolk, 
 writing to the llev. Mr. Granger, who was 
 the Linnaeus of " engraved British port- 
 raits," sends him 9. private etching or two 
 of a " Mr. Orde's doing," and says, " He 
 is a fellow of King's College, Cambridge, 
 and is exceedingly lucky in taking oft any 
 peculiarity of person. Mr. Orde is a gen- 
 tleman of family and fortune, and in these 
 etchings makes his genius a conveyance of 
 his charity, as he gives the profits arising 
 from the local sale of the impressions in 
 the University, to the originals from whom 
 he draws his likenesses. — Kandal, the 
 Orangeman, got enough by the sale of him- 
 self to equip himself from head to foot : 
 he always calls his oranges, &c. by some 
 name corresponding to the time he sells 
 them; as, at the commencement, Com- 
 mencement oranges ; at a musical enter- 
 tainment, Oratorio oranges. By this hu- 
 mour he is known throughout the Univer- 
 sity, where he is generally called Dr.Randal. 
 His likeness, manner, and gait, are exactly 
 taken off. — The Cla-e-hall fruit-woman too 
 
 VUL. III. 
 
 255 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 IS very striking, as indeed are all the etch- 
 ings."* 
 
 Mr. Malcolm tells of a negro-man 
 abroad, who cried ^'balloon lemons, qua- 
 lity oranges, quality lemons, holiday limes, 
 with a certain peculiarity, and whimsicality, 
 that recommended him to a great deal of 
 custom. He adventured in a lottery, ob- 
 tained a prize of five thousand dollars, be- 
 came raving mad, through excess of joy, 
 and died in a few days." 
 
 Lauron's " London Cries '' will be fur- 
 ther noticed : in the mean time it may 
 suffice to say, that this is the season where- 
 in a few kidnappers of the feathered tribe 
 walk about with their little prisoners, and 
 tempt young fanciers to " buy a fine sing- 
 ing bird.'' 
 
 April 9, 1 827, * 
 
 0uvvitk llagd* 
 
 No. XIV. 
 
 LFrom the " Arraignment of Paris," a 
 Dramatic Pastoral, by George Peel, 
 1584.J 
 
 Flora dressex Ida Hill, to honour the 
 coming of the Three Goddestes. 
 
 Flora. Not Iris in her pride and bravery 
 Adorns her Arch with such variety ; 
 Nor doth the Milk-white Way in frosty night 
 Appear so fair and beautiful in sight. 
 As done these fields, and groves, and sweetest bowers, 
 Bestrew'd and deck'd with parti-colour'd flowers. 
 Along the bubbling brooks, and silver glide. 
 That at the bottom doth in silence slide, 
 Tlie watery flowers and lilies on the banks 
 Like blazing comets burgeon all Ln ranks ; 
 Under the hawthorn and the poplar tree. 
 Where sacred Phoebe may delight to be : 
 The primrose, and the purple hyacinth. 
 The dainty violet, and the wholesome minth ; 
 The double daisy, and the cowslip (Queen 
 Of summer flowers), do over-peer the green ; 
 And round about the valley as ye pass. 
 Ye may ne see (for peeping flowers) the grass.— 
 They are at hand by this. 
 Juno hath left her chario: long ago. 
 And hath return'd her peacocks by her Rainbow ; 
 And bravely, as becomes the Wife of Jove, 
 Doth honour by her presence to our grove : 
 Fair Venus she hath let her sparrows fly. 
 To tend on her, and make her melody ; 
 Her turtles and her swans unyoked be. 
 And flicker near her side for company : 
 Pallas hath set her tigers loose to feed, 
 
 • I,etteFS.betw«en Rer. J. Granger, &r. 
 
 Commanding them to wait when she hath need: 
 And hitherward with proud and stately pace. 
 To do us honour in the sylvan cbace. 
 They march, like to the pomp of heav'n above, 
 Juno, the Wife and Sister of King Jove, 
 The warlike Pallas, and the Queen of Love. 
 
 The Muses, and Country Gods, assembh 
 to welcome the Goddesses. 
 
 Pomona. 
 
 with country store like friends w» 
 
 venture forth. 
 Think'st, Faunus, that these Goddesses will take out 
 gifts in worth ? 
 Faunus. Nay, doubtless ; for, 'shall tell thee. Dame, 
 'twere better give a thing, 
 A sign of love, unto a mighty person, or a King, 
 Than to a rude and barbarous swain both bad and 
 
 basely born : 
 Fob qenti.t takes the gentleman that on thi 
 
 CLOWN WILL SCORIf. 
 
 The IVelcoming Song. 
 
 Country Gods. O Ida, Ida, Ida, happy hill ! 
 This honour done to Ida may it continue still ! 
 
 Muses. Ye Country Gods, that in this Ida wouae, 
 Bring down your gifts of welconie. 
 For honour dene to Ida. 
 
 Gods. Behold in sign of joy we sing. 
 And signs of joyful welcome bring. 
 For honour done to Ida. 
 
 Pan. The God of Shepherds, and his mates. 
 With country cheer salutes your States: 
 Fair, wise, and worthy, as you be ! 
 And thank the gracious Ladies Three, 
 For honour done to Ida. 
 
 Paris. QSiione. 
 
 Paris. CEnone, while we bin disposed to walk. 
 Tell me, what shall be subject of our talk. 
 Thou hast a sort of pretty tales in store ; 
 'Dare say no nymph in Ida's woods hath more. 
 Again, beside thy sweet alluring face. 
 In telling them thou hast a special grace. 
 Then prithee, sweet, aSbrd siime pretty thmg, 
 Some toy that from thy pleasant wit doth sprint. 
 
 (En. Paris, my heart's contentment, and my choice 
 Use thou thy pipe, and I will use my \'oice ; 
 So shall thy just request not be denied, 
 Ajid time well spent, and both be satisfied. 
 
 Paris. Well, gentle nymph, although thou is ow 
 wrong, 
 That can ne tune my pipe unto a song. 
 Me list this once, CEnone, for thy sake. 
 This idle task on me to undertake. 
 
 (They sit under a tree together.) 
 
 (En. And whereon then shall be my roundeliy ? 
 For thou hasi bear^l iny store long since, 'dare sa»i— 
 
 256 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 How Saturn did divide his kingdoiin tho' 
 To Jove, tc Neptune, and to Dis below : 
 How mighty men made foul successless war 
 Against the Gods, and State of Jupiter: 
 How Phorcyas' 'ympe, that was so trick and fair, 
 That tani!;led Neptune in her golden hair. 
 Became a Go'^on for her lewd ni-isdeed ; — 
 A. pre*'/ fable, Paris, for to read ; 
 A piece of cunning, trust nie for the nonce, 
 That wealth and beauty alter men to stones : 
 How Salmacts, resembling Idleness, 
 r-irns men to women all Ihro' wantonness : 
 ■^How Pluto ranght Qiie«n Pluto's daughter thence. 
 And what did follow of that love-otfence : 
 Of Daphne turn'd into the Laurel Tree, 
 That shews a myrror of virginity : 
 How fair Narcissus, tooting on his shade. 
 Reproves disdain, and tells how form doth vade ; 
 iHow cunning Philomela's needle tells. 
 What force in love, what wit in sorrow, dwells : 
 What pains unhappy Souls abi'de in Hell, 
 They say, because on Earth they lived not well, — 
 Ixion's wheel, proud Tantal's pining woe, 
 Prometheus' torment, and a many moe ; 
 'How Danaus' daughters ply their endless task ; 
 What toil the toil of Sysiphus doth ask. 
 All these are old, an'd known, I know ; yet, if thou wilt 
 
 have any, 
 'Chuse some of these; for, trust me else, CEnone hath 
 
 not many. 
 Paris. Nay, what thou wilt , but since my cunning 
 
 not compares with thine, 
 'Begin some toy that I can play upon this pipe of mine. 
 CEn. There is a pretty Sonnet then, we call it 
 
 Cupid's Curse: 
 "They that do change old love for new, pray God« they 
 
 change for worse," 
 
 (Tkej/ sing.) 
 
 (En. Fair, and fair, and twice so fair. 
 
 As fair ps any may be. 
 The fairest shepherd on our green, 
 
 A Love for any Lady. 
 
 Paris. Fair, and fair, and twice so fair. 
 
 As fair as any may be, 
 Thy Love is fair for thee alone. 
 
 And for no other Lady. 
 
 (En. My Love is fair, my Love is gay. 
 And fresh as bin the flowers in May, 
 And of my Love my roundelay. 
 My merry, merry, merry roundelay. 
 Concludes with Cupid's Curse : 
 They that do change old love for new. 
 Pray Gods they change for worse. 
 
 Both. \ ^^''"' *"*1 ^^''' ^"^ ](^repeatcd.) 
 ^ Fair, and fair, &c. ' 
 
 (En. My Love can pipe, my Ix)ve can sing. 
 My Love can many a pretty thing. 
 And of his lovely praises rioif 
 ■My merry, merry, naerry rounil'lays 
 
 Amen to Cupid's Curse : 
 
 They that do change old love for new. 
 
 Pray Gods they change for worse. 
 
 n ,, i Fair, and fair, &o. 1 , * j ^ 
 
 Both. ] ' [{repeated.) 
 
 l Fair, and fair, &c. > 
 
 To MY ESTEEMED FrIEND, AND EXCELLENT 
 
 Musician, V. N., Esq. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 I conjure you in the name of all the 
 Sylvan Deities, and of the Muses, whom 
 you honour, and they reciprocally love and 
 honour you, — rescue this old and passion- 
 ate Ditty — ithe very flower of an old for- 
 gotteji Pastoral, which had it been in all 
 parts equal, the Faithful Shepherdess of 
 Fletcher had been but a second name in 
 
 this sort of Writing rescue it from the 
 
 profane hands of every common Composer: 
 and in one of your tranquillest moods, 
 when you have most leisure from those sad 
 thoughts, which sometimes unworthily beset 
 you ; yet a mood, in itself not unallied to 
 tile better sort of melancholy ; laying by 
 for once the lofty Organ, with which you 
 shake the Temples ; attune, as to the Pipe 
 of Paris himself, to some milder and more 
 love-according instrument, this pretty 
 Courtship between Paris and his (then- not 
 as yet-forsaken) CEnone. Oblige me; and 
 all more knowing Judges of Music and of 
 Poesy ; by the adaptation of fit musical 
 numbers, which it only wants to be the 
 rarest Love Dialogue in our language. 
 Your Implorer, 
 
 " For the nonce." 
 
 The original of nonce, an old word used 
 'by Georg^e Peel, is uncertain : it signi- 
 fies purpose, intent, design. 
 
 I s-aw a wolf 
 Nursing two whelps ; I saw her little ones 
 In wanton dalliance the teat to crave. 
 While she her neck wreath'd from them /or tlie nonci:. 
 
 Spenser. 
 They used at first to fume the fish in a house built 
 for the NONCE. 
 
 Carew. 
 When in your motion you are hot. 
 And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepared him 
 A chalice for the nonce. 
 
 257 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Such a l!c;lit and metall'd dance ; 
 SskW you never ; 
 
 And they lead men for the nonok. 
 That turn round like grindle stones. 
 
 Ben Jonsoit. 
 
 A voider /or the nonce, 
 I wrong the devil should I pick their bones. 
 Cleaveland. 
 
 Coming ten times /or the nonce, 
 
 I never yet could see it flow but once. 
 
 Cotton. 
 
 These authorities, adduced by Dr. John- 
 son, Mr. Archdeacon Nar^s conceives to 
 have sufficiently explained the meaning of 
 the word, which, though obsolete, is still 
 " provincially current." He adds, that it is 
 sometimes written nones, and exemplifies 
 the remark by these quotations : — • 
 
 The mask of Monkes, devised for the nones. 
 
 Mirror for Magistrates. 
 
 And cunningly contrived them for the nones 
 In likelv rings of excellent device. 
 
 Drayton. 
 
 We also find " for the nones" in 
 Chaucer. 
 
 THE BANQUET OF THE DEAD, OR 
 GENERAE BIBO'S TALE. 
 
 A Legend ov Kirby Malhamuale 
 Church-yakd, Craven, Yorkshire. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Come all ye jovial farmers bold, ana damsels sweet 
 
 and fair, 
 Ajid listen unto me awhile a doleful tale you'll hear. 
 Bloody Squire, or Derbyshire Tragedy. 
 
 Proem. 
 
 On Sheep-street-hill, in the town of Skip- 
 ton, in Craven, is a blacksmith's-shop, 
 commonly called " the parliament-house." 
 During the late war it was the resort of all 
 the eccentric characters in the place, who 
 Avere in the habit of assembling there for 
 the purpose of talking over the political 
 events of the day, the knowledge whereof 
 was gleaned from a daily paper, taken in 
 by Mr. Kitty Cook, the occupier of the 
 premises, and to the support of which the 
 va'-ioLis members contributed. One win- 
 ter's morning in the year 1814, owing to a 
 very heavy snow, the mail was detained im 
 us road to the great discomfiture and vexa- 
 tion of the respectable parliamentary mem- 
 oers, who were all as usuai aI 'heir posts at 
 xrtH riour of nine. There happened on that 
 
 morning to be a full house, and I very well 
 recollect that Tom Holderd, General Bibo, 
 Roger Bags, Duke Walker, Town Gate 
 Jack, and Bill Cliff of Botany,* all of 
 whom are since dead, were present. After 
 the members had waited a long time, with- 
 out the accustomed " folio of four pages " 
 making its appearance, general Bibo arose 
 and turning to the speaker, who in pensive 
 melancholy was reclining on the anvil, he 
 thus addressed him : — 
 
 " Mr. Speaker, I am convinced that the 
 mail will not arrive to day, (hear ! hear!) 
 and therefore, that the members of this 
 honourable house may not, at the hour of 
 twelve, which is fast approaching, go home 
 to their dmners without having something 
 to communicate to their wives and families, 
 J will, with your permission, relate one of 
 those numerous legendary tales, with which 
 our romantic distiict so much abounds — 
 May I do so?" 
 
 Kitty upon this gave the anvil a thunder- 
 ing knock, which was his usual signal oj 
 assent, and the general proceeded to relate 
 the full particulars, from which is extracted 
 tlie lollowing 
 
 It was the 14th day of July, in the year 
 17 — , when the corpse of a villager was 
 interred in the romantic church-yard of 
 Kirby Malhamdale. The last prayer of 
 the sublime burial service of the English 
 church was said, and the mourners had 
 taken a last lingering look at the narrow 
 tenement which enshrined mortality. All 
 had departed, with the exception of the 
 sexton, a village lad of the name of Kitchen, 
 and a soldier, whose long, flowing, silvery 
 hair and time-worn frame bespoke a very 
 advanced age ; he was seated on a neigh- 
 bouring stone. The grave v\as not entirely 
 filled up, and a scull, the melancholy rem- 
 nant of some former occupier of the same 
 narrow cell, was lying beside it. Kitchen 
 took up the scull, and gazed on the sockets, 
 eyeless then, but which had contained orbs, 
 that perhaps had reflected the beam sent 
 from beauty's eye, glowed with fury on the 
 battle-field, or melted at the tale of com- 
 passion. The old soldier observed the boy, 
 and approaching him said, " Youth ! that 
 belonged to one who died soon after the 
 reign of queen Mary. His name was 
 Thompson, he was a military man, and a5 
 mischievous a fellow as ever existed — ay, 
 
 * The Saint fiilcs's of Skifiton. where the lo 
 der ni inhabitants generallv reside. 
 
 258 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 for many a long year he was a plague to 
 Ivirby Malhamdale." 
 
 " Then," replied the boy, " doubtless his 
 death was a benefit, as by it the inhabitants 
 jt the valley would be rid from a pest." 
 
 " Why, as to that point," answered the 
 veteran, " I fear you are in the wrong, 
 rhompson's reign is not yet. finished ; 'tis 
 whispered he often returns and visits the 
 scenes of his childhood, nay, even plays his 
 old tricks over again. It is by no means 
 improbable, that at this very instant ht is 
 at no great distance, and listening to our 
 conversation." 
 
 " What," ejaculated the boy, " he will 
 neither rest himself nor allow other people 
 to do so, the old brute !" and he kicked the 
 iCuU from him. 
 
 " Boy," said the soldier, " you dare not 
 do that again." 
 
 " Why not ?" asked Kitchen, giving it at 
 the same time another kick. 
 
 " Kick it again," said the soldier. 
 
 The boy did so. 
 
 The veteran smiled grimly, as if pleased 
 with the spirit which the boy manifested, 
 .uid said, in a joking way, " Now take up 
 that scull, and say to it — Let the owner of 
 this meet me at the midnight hour, and 
 invite me to a banquet spread on yon green 
 stone by his bony fingers — 
 
 Come ghost, come devil. 
 
 Come good, come evil. 
 
 Or let old Thompson himself appear. 
 
 For I will partake of his raidnighi cheer."* 
 
 Kitchen, laughing with the glee of a 
 schoolboy, and with the thoughtlessness 
 incident to youth, repeated the ridiculous 
 'mes after his director, and then leaving the 
 church-yard vaulted over the stile leading 
 to the school-house, where, rejoining his 
 companions, he quickly forgot the scene 
 wherein he had been engaged ; indeed it 
 impressed him so little, that he ne^er men- 
 tioned the circumstance to a single indi- 
 vidual. 
 
 The boy at his usual hour of ten retired 
 to rest, and soon fell into a deep slumber, 
 from which he was roused by some one 
 rattling the latch of his door, and singing 
 beneath his window. lie arose and opened 
 tile casement. It was a calm moonlight 
 
 • Shoald any reader of this day find fault with the 
 inelegant maniier in which the dialogue is curried nn 
 between Kitchen and the soldier, in defence 1 beg leave 
 to say, the dialogue is told as general Biho related it, 
 and though in n/anv parts of the taJe I have made so 
 many alterations, that I should not be gnilty of any 
 impropriety in calling it an original: I do nor consider 
 myself authorized ti change the dialogues occasionally 
 iniroduced. 
 
 night, and he distinctly discerned the old 
 soldier, who was rapping loudly at the 
 door, and chanting the elegant stanzas hfi 
 had repeated at the grave of the villager. 
 
 " And what pray now may you be want- 
 ing at this time of night?" asked the boy, 
 wholly undaunted by the strangeness of the 
 visitation. " If you cannot lie in bed your- 
 self, you ought to allow others to rest." 
 
 " What," replied the old man, " hast thou 
 so soon forgotten thy promise ?" and he re- 
 peated the lines " Come good, come evil, 
 &c." 
 
 Kitchen laughed at again hearing the 
 jingle of these ridiculous rhymes, which to 
 him seemed to be " such as nurses use to 
 frighten babes withal." At this the sol- 
 dier's countenance assumed a peculiar ex- 
 pression, and the full gaze of his dark eye, 
 which appeared to glow with something 
 inexpressibly wild and unearthly, was bent 
 upon the boy, who, as he encountered it, 
 felt an indescribable sensation steal over 
 him, and began to repent of his incautious 
 levity. After a short silence the stranger 
 again addressed him, but in tones so hollow 
 and sepulchral, that his youthful blood was 
 chilled, and his heart beat strongly and 
 quickly in his bosom. 
 
 " -Boy, thy word must be kept! Pro- 
 mises made with the grave are not to be 
 lightly broken — 
 
 " Amidst the cold j^aves of the cofEn'd dead 
 Is the table deck'd and the banquet spread ; 
 Then haste thee thither without delay. 
 For nigh is the time, away ! away I" 
 
 " Then be it as you wish," said the boy, 
 in some slight degree resuming his courage-; 
 " Sfo ; I will follow." On hearing this the 
 soldier departed, and Kitchen -watched his 
 fiijure till it was wholly lost in the mists of 
 the night. 
 
 » * * » » 
 
 At a short distance from Kirby Malham- 
 dale church, on the banks of the Aire, was 
 a small cottage, the residence of the Rev. 
 Mr. , the rector of the parish. [Ge- 
 neral Bibo mentioned his name, but I shall 
 not, for if I did some of his descendants 
 migivt address themselves to the Table 
 Book, and contradict the story of their 
 ancestor having been engaged in so strange 
 an adventure as that contained in the 
 
 sequel of this legend.] Mr. had 
 
 from his earliest years been addicted to 
 scientific and literary pursuits, and was gene- 
 rally in his study till a late hour. On this 
 eventful night he was sitting at a table 
 strewed with divers ancient tornes. intently 
 perusing an old Genevan edition of the 
 
 2l)^ 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Institutes of John Calvin. While thus 
 employed, and buried in profound medita- 
 tion, the awful and death-like stillness was 
 broken, and he was roused from his reverie 
 by a hniried and violent knocking at the 
 door. He started from his chair, and 
 rushing out to ascertain the cause of tins 
 strange interruption, beheld Kitchen with 
 a face as pale as a winding-sheet. " Kit- 
 chen, what brings you here at this untimely 
 hour?" asked the clergyman. The boy was 
 silent, and appeared under the influence of 
 
 extreme terror. Mr. , on repeating 
 
 the question, had a confused and indistinct 
 account given him of all the circumstances. 
 
 The relation tinishe?d, Mr. looked 
 
 at the boy, and thus addressed him : " Yes, 
 I thought some evii would come of your 
 misdeeds ; for some time past your conduct 
 has been very disorderly, you having long 
 set a bad example to the lads of Malham- 
 dale. But this is no time for upbraiding. 
 I will accompany you, and together we 
 will abide the result of your rash engage- 
 ment." 
 
 Mr. and the boy left the rectory, 
 
 and proceeded along the road leading to 
 the church-yard ; as they entered the sacred 
 precinct, the clock of the venerable pile 
 told the hour of midnight. It was a beau- 
 tiful night — scarcely a cloud broke the 
 cerulean appearance of the heavens - — 
 countless stars studded heaven's deep blue 
 vault — xhe moon was glowing in her high- 
 est lustre, and shed a clear lijfht on the 
 old grey church tower and the distant hills 
 — scarcely a breeze stirred the trees, then 
 in their fullest foliage — every inmate of the 
 village-nin* was at rest — there was not a 
 sound, save the murmuring of the lone 
 mountain river, and the deep-toned baying 
 of the watchful sheep-dog. 
 
 Mr. looked around, but, seeing 
 
 no one, said to the boy, " Surely you liave 
 been dreaming — your tale is some illusion, 
 some chimera of the brain. The occurrences 
 of the day have been embodied in your 
 visions, and the over excitement created by 
 the scene at the tomb has worked upon 
 your imagination." 
 
 "Oh no, sir!" said Kitchen, "but his eyes 
 which glared so fearfully upon me could 
 not have been a deception. I saw liis tall 
 figure, and heard his hollow sepulchral 
 voice sing those too well-remembered lines. 
 
 • In KrSy Malhaimiale ohiin'ti-yfirit is a public 
 aaase, verifying the lines of the satirist: — 
 
 Wheie God erects a ho'ise of prayer, 
 'ihe (ievil builds a chspel theie. 
 
 but — Heavens! didyon not' see it?" H» 
 started, and drawing nearer to the priest, 
 pointed to the eastern window of the edi- 
 fice. Mr. looked in the directior.. 
 
 and saw a dark shadowy form gliding amid 
 the tombstones. It approached, and as its 
 outline became more distinctly marked, he. 
 recognised the mysterious being described 
 to him in bis study by the terrified bi'y. — 
 The figure stopped, and looking long and 
 earnestly at them said, " One ! two ! IJow 
 is this ? I have one more guest than I in- 
 vited ; but it matters not, all is ready, follow- 
 me — 
 
 " Amidst the cold graves oi the cofEn'd dead. 
 Is the table deck'd and the bamjuet spread. ' 
 
 The figure waved its arm impatiently, 
 and beckoning them to follow moved on in 
 the precise and measured step of an old' 
 soldier. Having reached the eastern win- 
 dow, it turned the corner of the building, 
 and proceeded directly to the old green 
 stone, near Thompson's grave. The thick, 
 brandies of an aged yew-tree partially 
 shaded the spot from the si.ver moonlight, 
 which was peacefully falling on the neigh- 
 bouring graves, and gave to this particular 
 one a more sombre and melancholy- charac- 
 ter than the rest. Here was, indeed, a 
 table spread, and its festive preparations 
 lormed a striking contrast with the awful 
 mementos strewed around. Never in the 
 splendid and baronial halls of De Clifibrd,* 
 never in the feudal mansion of the Nor- 
 tons,-)- nor in the refectory of the monks oi 
 Sawley, had a more substantial banquet 
 been spread. Nothing was wanting there 
 of roast or boiled — the stone was plentifully 
 decked ; yet it was a fearful sight to see, 
 where till now but the earthworm had ever 
 revelled, a banquet prepared as for revelry. 
 The boy looked on the stone, and as he 
 gazed on the smoking viands a strange 
 thought crossed his brow — at- what fire 
 weie those provisions cooked. The seats 
 placed around were coffins, and Kitchen 
 every instant seemed- to dread lest their 
 owners should appear, and join the sepul- 
 chral banquet. Their ghostly host having 
 placed himself at the head of the table, 
 motioned his guests to do the same, and 
 
 they did so accordingly. Mr. thei' 
 
 in his clerical character rose to ask the ac- 
 customed blessing, wlienhe was interrupted. 
 " It cannot be," said the stranger as lie 
 rose ; " I cannot hear at my board a prc^ 
 
 • SVipton-eastle. 
 
 t Rviston^fiail. .See Worrts- irth's beaiiti'il poflw 
 tht White Do*. 
 
 260 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 testant g:race. When I trod the earth as a 
 ■iiorial, the catholic religion was the religion 
 of the land ! It was the blessed faith of my 
 forefathers, and it was mine. Within those 
 walls I have often listened to the solemiii- 
 zation of the mass, but now how different ! 
 U3ten !" He ceased. The moon was over- 
 cast by a passing cloud, the great bell tolled, 
 I screech-owl tlew from the tower, lights 
 were seen in the building, and through one 
 )f thfc windows Mr. beheld dis- 
 tinctly the bearings of the various hatch- 
 'nents, and a lambent flame playing over 
 ihe n:on\iment of the Lamberts — music 
 swelled through the aisles, and unseen 
 heings with voices wilder than the unmea- 
 sured notes 
 
 Of that strange lyre,, whose strings 
 Tlie genii of the breezes sweep, 
 
 chanted not a Gratias agimus, but a De 
 Frofundis. All was again still,, and the 
 stranger spoke, " What you have heard is 
 my grace. Is not a De Profundis the most 
 proper one to be chanted at the banquet 
 of the dead ?" 
 
 Mr. , who was rather an epicure, 
 
 now glanced his eye over the board, and 
 finding that that necessary appende/^e to a 
 good supper, salt, was wanting, said^ ..i an 
 astonished tone, " Why, where's the salt P" 
 when immediately the stranger and his feast 
 vanished, and of all that splendid banquet 
 nothing remained, save the mossy stone 
 whereon it was spread. 
 
 Such was the purport of general Bibo's 
 tale; and why tiiose simple words had so 
 wondrous an effect has long been a subject 
 of dispute with the dluminati of Skipton 
 and Malhamdaie. Many are the conjec- 
 t'lres, but the most probable one is this, — 
 tiie spectre on hearing the word salt was 
 perhaps reminded of the Red Sea, and 
 having, like all sensible ghosts, a dislike to 
 that awful and tremendous gulf, thought 
 the best way to avoid being laid there was 
 to make as precipitate a retreat as possible. 
 
 Kirby, or as it is frequently called, Kirby 
 Malhamdaie, from the name of the beautiful 
 "alley in which it is situate, is one of the 
 most sequestered villages in Craven, and 
 (veil worthy of the attention of the tourist, 
 ^rom the loveliness of its surrounding sce- 
 nery and its elegant church, which hitherto 
 modern baibarity has left unprofaned by 
 decorations and ornaments, as churchward- 
 ens and parish officers style those acts of 
 Vandalism, by which too many of the Cra- 
 
 ven churches have oeen spoiled, and on 
 which Dr. Whitaker has animadverted 
 in pretty severe language. That excellent 
 historian and most amiable man, whose 
 memory will ever be dear to the inhabitants 
 of Craven, speaking of Kirby church, says, 
 " It is a large, handsome, and uniform build- 
 ing of red stone, probably of the age of 
 Henry VII. It has one ornament peculiar, 
 as far as I recollect, to the churches in 
 Craven, to which the Tempests were bene- 
 factors. Most of the columns have in the 
 west side, facing the congregation as they 
 turned to the altar, an elegant niche and 
 tabernacle, once containing the statue o( a 
 saint. In the nave lies a gra\'e-stone, with 
 a cross tleury in high relief, of much greater 
 antiquity than the present church, and pro- 
 bably covering one of the canons of Dere- 
 ham."* 
 
 At the west end of the church, on each 
 side of the singer's gallery, are two em- 
 blematical figures, of modern erection, 
 painted on wood; one- of them. Time with 
 his scythe, and this inscription, "Make use 
 of time ;" the other is a skeleton, with the 
 inscription '■ Remember death." With all 
 due deference to the taste of the parishion- 
 ers, it is my opinion that these paintings are 
 both unsuited to a Christian temple, and 
 the sooner they are removed the better. 
 The gloomy mythology of the Heathens ill 
 accords with the enlightened theology of 
 Cliristianity. 
 
 At the east end of the church are monu- 
 mental inscriptions to the memory of John 
 Lambert, the son, and John Lambert, the 
 grandson of the well-known general Lam- 
 bert, of roundhead notoriety. The resi- 
 dence of the Lamberts was Calton-hall, in 
 the neighbourhood ; and at Winterburn, a 
 village about two miles from Calton, is cne 
 of the oldest Independent chapels in the 
 kingdom, having been erected and endowed 
 by the Lamberts during the usurpation of 
 Cromwell; it is still in possession of this 
 once powerful sect, and ivas a picturesque 
 object : it had something of sturdy non- 
 conformity in its appearance, but alas ! 
 modern barbarism has been at work on it, 
 and given it the appearance of a respecta- 
 ble barn. The deacons, who " repaired and 
 beautified " it, ought to place their names 
 over the door of the chapel, in characters 
 readable at a mile's distance, that the 
 traveller may be informed by whom the 
 chape, erected by the Lamberts was de- 
 formed. 
 
 I often have lamented, that ministers o 
 
 • History of Craven 
 
 261 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 religion have so little to do with the repairs 
 of places of worship. The clergy of all 
 denominations are, in general, men of cul- 
 tivated minds and refined tastes, and cer- 
 tainly better qualified to superintend altera- 
 tions than country churchwardens and 
 parish officers, who, though great pretenders 
 to knowledge, are usually ignorant destroy- 
 ers of the beauty of the edifices confided 
 to their care. 
 
 T. Q. M. 
 April, 1 827. 
 
 SALT. 
 
 The conjecture of T. Q. M. concerning 
 the disappearance of the spectre-host, and 
 the breaking up of the nocturnal banquet, 
 in the church-yard of Kirby Malhamdale, 
 IS ingenious, and entitled to the notice of 
 the curious in spectral learning : but it 
 may be as well to consider whether the 
 poiiit of the legend may not be further 
 illustrated. 
 
 According to Mor^sin, xdlt not being 
 liable to putrefaction, and preserving things 
 ■seasoned with it from decay, was the em- 
 blem of eternity and immortality, and 
 mightily abhorred by infernal spirits. " In 
 reference to this symbolical explication, 
 how beautiful." says Mr. Brand, " is that 
 expression applied to the righteous, ' Ye 
 are the salt of th« earth 1 ' '' 
 
 On tlie custom in Ireland of placing a 
 ■plate of salt over the heart of a dead per- 
 son, Dr. Campbell supposes, in agreement 
 with Moresin's remark, that the salt was 
 considered the emblem of the incorruptible 
 part; "the body itself," says he, "being 
 ■the type of corruption." 
 
 It likewise appears from Mr. Pennant, 
 ithat, on the death of a highlander, the 
 friends laid on the breast of the deceased 
 a wooden platter, containing a small quan- 
 tity of salt and earth, separate and unmixed ; 
 the earth an emblem of the corruptible 
 body — the salt an emblem of the immortal 
 spiiit. 
 
 The body's salt the soul is, which when gone 
 The fleth soone sucks in putrefaction. 
 
 Herrici. 
 
 The custom of placing a plate of salt 
 upon the dpad, Mr. Douce says, is still re- 
 tained in mai._ parts of England, and par- 
 ticularly in Leicestershire ; but the pewter 
 plate and salt are laid with an intent to 
 hinder air from getting into the body and 
 distending it, so as to occasli-i bursting or 
 
 inconvenience in closing the coffin. Though 
 this be the reason for the usage ai pre- 
 sent, yet it is doubtful whether the practice 
 is not a vulgar continuation of the ancient 
 symbolical usage ; otherwise, why is salt 
 selected ? 
 
 To these instances of the relation that 
 salt bore to the dead, should be annexed 
 Bodin's affirmation, cited by Reginald Scot; 
 namely, that as salt " is a sign of eternity, 
 and used by divine commandment in all 
 sacrifices," so " the devil loveth no salt 
 in his meat." — This saying is of itself, 
 perhaps, sufficient to account for the sud- 
 den flight of the spectre, and the vanish- 
 ing of the feast in the churchyard of 
 Kirby Malhamdale on the call forthe*a/(. 
 
 Finally may be added, salt from the 
 " Hesperides " of Herrick : — 
 
 TO PERILLA 
 
 Ah, my Perilla ! dost thou grieve to see 
 Me, day by day, to steale away from thee? 
 Ag-e cals mo hence, and my gray haires bid com* 
 And haste away to mine eternal home ; 
 'Twill not be long, Perilla, after this. 
 That I must give thee the supremest kisse : 
 Dead when I am, first cast in salt, and bring 
 Part of the creame from that religious spring. 
 With which, Perilla, wash my hands and feet; 
 That done, then wind me in that very sheet 
 Which wrapt thy smooth limbs, when thou didst 
 
 plore 
 The gods protection but the night before; 
 Follow me weeping to my turfe, and there 
 Let fall a primrose, and with it a teare : 
 Then, lastly, let some weekly str«wingsbe 
 Devoted to the memory of me ; 
 Then shall my ghost not walk about, but keep 
 Still in the cold and silent shades of sleep. 
 
 A CORPORATION. 
 
 Mr. Howel Walsh, in a corporation case 
 tried at the Tralee assizes, observed, that 
 " a corporation cannot blush. It was a 
 body it was true ; had certainly a head — a 
 new one every year — an annual acquisition 
 of intelligence in every new lord mayor 
 Arms he supposed it had, and long ones 
 too, for it could reach at any thing. Legs, 
 of course, when it made such long strides. 
 A throat to swallow the rights of the com- 
 munity, and a stomach to digest them I 
 But whoever yet discovered, in the anatomy 
 of any corporation, either bowels, oi a 
 heart ?" 
 
 262 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 HOUSE AT KIEKBY-MOOESIDE, YOEKSHIRE, 
 
 WHEEEIN THE SECOND DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM DIED. 
 
 In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung, 
 The floors of plaster, and the walls of dung, 
 C n once a flock-bed, but repair 'd with straw, 
 "With tape-ty'd curtains, never meant to draw 
 The George and Garter dargling from that bed 
 Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red, 
 Great Villiers lies— alas 1 how chang d from him. 
 That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim ! 
 Gallant and gay, in Cliveden s proud alcove, 
 The bow'r of wanton Shrewsbury and Love; 
 Or just as gay at council, in a ring 
 Of mimick'd Statesmen, and their merry King. 
 No wit to flatter, 'reft of all his store I 
 No fool to laugh at, which he valued more ! 
 There victor of his health, of fortune, friends. 
 And fame ; this lord of useless thousands eads. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 In an amusing and informing topogra- 
 phical tract, wi itten and published by Mr. 
 John Cole of Scarborough, there is the 
 preceding representation of the deathbed- 
 house of the witty and dissipated nobleman, 
 whose name is recorded beneath the en- 
 graving. From this, and a brief notice of 
 the duke in a, work possessed by most of 
 the readers of the Table Book,* with some 
 extracts from documents, accompanying 
 Mr. Cole's print, an interesting idea may be 
 formed of this nobleman's last thoughts, 
 and the scene wherein he clostd his e^es. 
 
 ♦ The Every-Day Book. 
 
 The room wherein he died is marked 
 above by a star *near the window. 
 
 Kirkby-iVloorside is a market town, about 
 twenty-six miles distant from Scarborou^•h, 
 seated on the river Rye. It was formerly 
 part of the extensive possessions of Vilfers, 
 the first duke of Buckingham, who was 
 killed by Felion, from whom it descended 
 with his title to his son, who, alter a proHL- 
 gate career, wherein he nad wasted his 
 brilliant talents and immense property, 
 repaired to Kirkby-Moorside, and died 
 tliere in disease and distress. 
 
 in a letter to bishop Spratt, dated "Ker- 
 by-uioor Syde, April 17, ItJbT," the earl 
 
 263 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 of Arran relates that, beinpj accidentally at 
 York on a journey towards Scotland, and 
 'learing of the duke of Buckingham's ill- 
 ness, he visited him. " He had been 
 ;ong ill of an ague, which had made 
 him weak ; but his understanding was 
 as good OS ever, and his noble parts were 
 so entire, that though I saw death in 
 his looks at first sight, he :vould by no 
 means think of it. — I confess it made my 
 heart bleed to see the duke of Buckmgham 
 in so pitiful a place, and in so bad a con- 
 dition. — The doctors told me his case was 
 desperate, and though he enjoyed the free 
 exercise of his senses, that in a day or two 
 at most it would kill him, but they durst 
 not tell him of it ; so they put a hard part 
 on me to pronounce death to him, which I 
 saw approaching so fast, that I thought it 
 was high time for him to think of another 
 rt'orld. — After having plainly told him his 
 condition, I asked him whom I should send 
 for to be assistant to him during the small 
 time he had to live : he would make me no 
 answer, which made me conjecture, and 
 having formerly heard that he had been 
 inclining to be a Roman Catholic, I asked 
 him if I should, send for a priest ; for I 
 thought any act that could be like a Chris- 
 tian, was what his condition now wanted 
 most ; but he positively told me thai he 
 was not of that persuasion, and so would 
 not hear any more of that subject, for h*^ 
 was of the church of England. — After sonic 
 time, beginning to feel his distemper mount, 
 he desired me to send for the parson of 
 this parish, who said prayers for him, which 
 he joined in very freely, but still did not 
 think he should die ; though this was yes- 
 terday, at seven in the morning, and he 
 died about eleven at night. 
 
 " I have ordered the corpse to be em- 
 balmed and carried to Helmsley castle, and 
 there to remain till my lady duchess her 
 pleasure shall be known. There must be 
 speedy care taken: for there is nothing 
 here but confusion, not to be expressed. 
 Thou^-h his stewards have received vast 
 sums, there is not so much as one farthing, 
 as they tell me, for defraying the least 
 expense. But I have ordered his intestines 
 to be buried at Helmsley, where his body 
 is to remain till farther orders. Being the 
 nearest kinsman upon the place, 1 have 
 taken the liberty to give his majesty an 
 account of his death, and sent his George 
 and blue ribbon to be disposed as his ma- 
 jesty shall think fit. I have addressed it 
 under cover to my lord president, to whom 
 I beg- you would carry the. beaier the 
 minute he arrives." 
 
 A letter, in Mr. Cole's publication, writ 
 ten by the dying duke, confesses his ill- 
 spent life, and expresses sincere remorse foi 
 the prostitution of his brilliant talents. 
 
 " From the youncer Villiers, Duki- 
 
 OF BuCKlNGHiiM, CN HIS DeaTHBED 
 
 TO Dr. W— 
 
 " Dear doctor, 
 
 " I always looked upon you to he a per- 
 son of true virtue, and know you to have a 
 sound understanding ; for, however I have 
 acted in opposition to the principles of re- 
 ligion, or the dictates of reason, I can 
 honestly assure you I have always had the 
 highest veneration for both. The world 
 and I shake hands; for 1 dare affirm, we 
 are heartily weary of each other. 0, what 
 a prodigal have I been of that most valuable 
 of all possessions, Time .' I have squan- 
 dered it away with a profusion unparal- 
 leled ; and now, when the enjoyment of a 
 few days would bt worth the world, 1 
 cannot flatter myself with the prospect ol 
 half a dozen hours. How despicable, my 
 dear friend, is that man who never prays to 
 his God, but in the time of distress. In 
 what manner can he supplicate that Om- 
 ni[)otent Being, in his afflictions, whom, in 
 the time of his prosperity, he never remem- 
 bered with reverence. 
 
 " Do not brand me with infidelity, when 1 
 tell you, that I am almost ashamed to offer 
 up my petitions at the throne of Grace, or 
 to implore that divine mercy in the next 
 world which I have so scandalously abused 
 in this. 
 
 " Shall ingratitude to man be looked upon 
 as the blackest of crimes, and not iiiarati- 
 tude to God 7 Shall an insult offered to a 
 king be looked upon in the most offensive 
 light, and yet no notice (be) taken when the 
 King of kings is treated with indignity and 
 disrespect? 
 
 " The companions of my former libertin- 
 ism would scarcely believe their eyes, were 
 you to show this epistle. They would 
 laugh at me as a dreaming enthusiast, o. 
 pity me as a timorous wretch, who was 
 shocked at the appearance of futurity ; but 
 whoever laughs at me for being right, or 
 pities me for being sensible of my errors, is 
 more entitled to my compassion than re- 
 sentment. A future state may well enough 
 strike terror into any man who has not 
 acted well in this life ; and he must nave 
 an uncommon share of courage indeed who 
 does not shrink at the presence of God. 
 The apprehensions of death will soon bring 
 the most profligate to a proper use of his 
 
 264 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 understandincr. To wliat a situation am I 
 now reduced ! Is this odious little hut a 
 suitable lodging for a prince? Is tliis 
 anxiety of mind becoming the character of 
 a Christian ? From my ranl< I mioht have 
 expected affluence to wait upon my life ; 
 fiom religion and understanding, peace to 
 smile upon my end : instead of which I 
 am afflicted with poverty, and haunted with 
 remorse, despised by my country, and, I 
 fear, forsaken by my God. 
 
 •'There is nothing so dangerous as ex- 
 traordinary abilities. I cannot be accused 
 of vanity now, by being sensible that I was 
 once possessed of uncommon qualifications, 
 especially as I sincerely regret that i ever 
 had them. My rank in life made these 
 accomplishments still more conspicuous, 
 and fascinated by the general applause 
 which they procured, I never considered 
 the proper means by which they should be 
 displayed. Hence, to procure a smile from 
 a blockhead whom I despised, I have fre- 
 quently treated the virtues with disrespect ; 
 and sported with the holy name of Heaven, 
 to obtain a laugh from a parcel of fools, 
 who were entitled to nothing but con- 
 tempt. 
 
 " Your men of wit generally look upon 
 themselves as discharged from the duties 
 of religion, and confine the doctrines of the 
 gospel to meaner understandings. It is a 
 sort of derogation, in their opinion, to com- 
 ply with the rules of Christianity ; and they 
 reckon that man possessed of a nairow 
 genius, who studies to be good. 
 
 " What a pity that the holy writings are 
 not made the criterion of true judgment ; 
 or that any person should pass for a fine 
 gentleman in this world, but he that ap- 
 pears solicitous about his happiness- in the 
 next. 
 
 " I am forsaken by all my acquaintance, 
 utterly neglected by the friend of my 
 bosom, and the dependants on my bounty; 
 but no matter ! I am not fit to converse 
 with the former, and have no ability to 
 serve the latter. Let me not, however, be 
 wholly cast off by the good. Favour me 
 with a visit as soon as possible. Writing 
 (o you gives me some ease, especially on a 
 subject I could talk of for ever. 
 
 " 1 am of opinion this is the last visit I 
 shall ever solicit from you ; my distemper 
 IS powerful ; come and pray for the depart- 
 ing spirit of the poor unhappy 
 
 " Buckingham." 
 
 T!ie following is from the parish register 
 of Kirkby iVloorside. 
 
 Copy. 
 
 buried in the yeare of our Lord [1687. 
 April yc 1 7. 
 Gorges uiluas Lord dooke ofbookingam, etc. 
 
 This vulgar entry is the only public me- 
 morial of the death of a nobleman, whose 
 abuse of faculties of the highest order, sub- 
 jected him to public contempt, and the 
 neglect of his associates in his deepest 
 distress. If any lesson can reach the sen 
 sualist he may read it in the duke's fate and 
 repentant letter. 
 
 The publication of such a tract as Mr. 
 Cole's, from a provincial press, is an agree- 
 able sui prise. It is in octavo, and bears 
 the quaint title of the " Antiquarian Trio," 
 because it describes, 1. The house wheiein 
 the duke of Buckingham died. 2. Rudston 
 church and obelisk. 3. A monumental 
 effigy in the old town-hall, Scarborough, 
 with a communication to Mr. Cole from 
 the Rev. J. L. Lisson, expressing his 
 opinion, that it represents John de Mowbray, 
 who was constable of Scarborough castle 
 in the rogn of Edward II. Engravings 
 illustrate these descriptions, and there is 
 another on wood of the church of Hun- 
 manby, with a poem, for which Mr. Cole is 
 indebted to the pen of " the present in- 
 cumbent, the Kev. Archdeacon Wrangham, 
 M.A. F.R, S." 
 
 S,iterature* 
 
 " Servian popular Poetry, translated 
 by John Bowring," 1827. 
 
 It is an item of " Foreign Occurrences,'' 
 in the " Gentleman's Magazine,'' July, 
 1807, that a firman of the grand signior 
 sentenced the whole Servian nation to ex- 
 termination, without distinction of age or 
 sex-; if any escaped the sword, they were 
 to be reduced to slavery Every plain 
 matter-of-fact man knew from bis Gazet- 
 teer that Servia was a province of Turkey 
 in Europe, bounded on the north by the 
 Danube and Save, which separate it from 
 Hungary, on the east by Bulgaria, on the 
 west by Bosnia, and on the south by Al- 
 bania and Macedonia; of course, he 
 presumed that fire and sword nad passed 
 upon the country within these boundaries, 
 and that the remaining natives had been de- 
 ported ; and consequently, to render the 
 map of Turkey m Europe perfectly correci, 
 be took his pen,, and, blotted out " Servia '" 
 
 265 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 It appears, however, that by one of those 
 accidents, whi:h defeat certain purposes 
 of state policy, and which are quite as 
 common to inhuman affairs, in " sublime " 
 as in Christian cabinets, there was a 
 change of heads in the Turkish admi- 
 nistration. The Janizaries becoming dis- 
 pleased with their new uniforms, and with 
 the ministers of Selim, the best of grand 
 signiors, his sublime majesty was gra- 
 ciously pleased to mistake the objects of 
 their displeasure, and send them the heads 
 of Mahmud Effendi, and a few ex-minis- 
 ters, who were obnoxious to himself, in- 
 stead of the heads of Achmet Effendi, and 
 others of his household ; the discontented 
 therefore immediately decapitated the latter 
 themselves; and, further, presumed to de 
 pose Selim, and elevate Mustapha to the 
 Turkish throne. According to an ancient 
 custom, the deposed despot threw himself 
 at the feet of his successor, kissed the 
 border of his garment, retired to that de- 
 partment of the seraglio occupied by the 
 princes of the blood who cease to reign, 
 and Mustapha, girded with the sword of 
 the prophet, was the best of grand sig- 
 niors in his stead. This state of affairs at 
 the court of Constantinople rendered it 
 inconvenient to divert the energies of the 
 faithful to so inconsiderable an object as 
 the extinction of the Servian nation ; and 
 thus Servia owes its existence to the Jani- 
 zaries' dislike of innovation on their dress ; 
 and we are consequently indebted to that 
 respectable prejudice for the volume of 
 " Servian popular Poetry," published by 
 Mr. Bowring. We might otherwise have 
 read, as a dry matter of history, that the 
 Servian people were exterminated a. d. 
 1 807, and have passed to our graves without 
 suspecting that they had songs and bards, 
 and were quite as respectable as their fero- 
 cious and powerful destroyers. 
 
 Mr. Bowring's " Introduction " to his 
 specimens of " Servian popular Poetry," is 
 a rapid sketch of the political and literary 
 history of Servia. 
 
 "The Servians must be reckoned among 
 tliose races who vibrated between the 
 north and the east ; possessing to-day, dis- 
 possessed to-morrow ; irow fixed, and now 
 wandering : having their head-quarters in 
 Sarmatia for many generations, in Mace- 
 donia for following ones, and settling in 
 Servia at last. But to trace their history, 
 as to trace their course, is impossible. At 
 last the eye fixes them between the Sava 
 and the JDanube, and Belgrade grows up 
 as the central point round which the power 
 of Servia gathers itself together, and 
 
 stretches itself along the right bank of the 
 former river, southwards to the range oi 
 mountains which spread to the Adriatic 
 and to the verge of Montengro. Looking 
 yet closer, we observe the influence of the 
 Venetians and the Hungarians on the cha- 
 racter and the literature of the Servians. 
 We track their connection now as allies, 
 and now as masters ; once the receivers oi 
 tribute from, and anon as tributaries to, 
 the Grecian empire ; and in more modern 
 times the slaves of the Turkish yoke. Every 
 species of vicissitude marks the Servian 
 annals — annals represented only by those 
 poetical productions of which these are 
 specimens. The question of their veracity 
 is a far more interesting one than that of 
 their antiquity. Few of them narrate events 
 previous to the invasion of Europe by the 
 Turks in 1355, but some refer to fticts co- 
 eval with the Mussulman empire in Adri- 
 anople. More numerous are the records of 
 the struggle between the Moslem and the 
 Christian parties at a later period; and last 
 of all, they represent the quiet and friendly 
 intercourse between the two religions, it 
 not blended in social affections, at least 
 associated in constant communion.'* 
 
 Respecting the subject more immediately 
 interesting, Mr. Bowring says — 
 
 " The earliest poetry of the Servians has 
 a heathenish character ; that whicli follows 
 is leagued with Christian legends. But 
 holy deeds are always made the condition 
 of salvation. The whole nation, to use the 
 idea of Gothe, is imaged in poetical super- 
 stition. Events are brought about by the 
 agency of angels, but the footsteps of Satan 
 can be nowhere traced^ the dead are often 
 summoned from iheir tombs; awful warn- 
 ings, prophecies, and birds of evil omen, 
 bear terror to the minds of the most cou- 
 rageous. 
 
 " Over all is spreaKi the influence of a 
 remarkable, and. no doubt, antique mytho- 
 logy. An omnipresent spirit — airy and 
 fanciful — making its dwelling in solitudes — 
 and ruling over mountains and forests — a 
 being called the Vila, is heard to issue its 
 irresistible mandates, and pour forth its 
 prophetic inspiration : sometimes in a form 
 of female beauty — sometimes a wilder 
 Diana — now a goddess, gathering or dis- 
 persing the clouds— and now an owl, among 
 luins and ivy. The Vila, always capricious, 
 and frequently malevolent, is a most im- 
 portant actor in all the popular poetry of 
 Servia. The Trica Polonica is sacred to 
 her. She is equally renowned fur che 
 beauty of her person and the swiftness ct 
 her step :— ' Fair as the mountain Vila,' 
 
 266 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 18 the highest compliment to a Servian 
 lady — ' Swift as the Vila,' is the most 
 eloquent eiilogium on a Servian steed. 
 
 " Of the amaiory poems of the Servians, 
 Giithe justly remarks, that, when viewed 
 all together, they cannot but be deemed of 
 singular beauty ; they exhibit the expres- 
 sions of passionate, overflowing, and con- 
 tented affection ; they are full of shrewd- 
 ness and spirit; delight and surprise are 
 admirably portrayed ; and there is, in all, 
 a marvellous sagacity in subduing diffi- 
 culties, and in obtaining an end ; a natural, 
 but at the same time vigorous and energetic 
 tone ; sympathies and sensibilities, with- 
 out wordy exaggeration, but which, not- 
 withstanding, are decorated with poetical 
 imagery and imaginative beauty ; a correct 
 picture of Servian life and manners — every 
 thing, in short, which gives to passion the 
 force of truth, and to external scenery the 
 character of reality. 
 
 "The poetry of Servia was wholly tradi- 
 tional, until within a very few years. It 
 had never found a pen to record it, but has 
 been preserved by the people, and prin- 
 cipally by those of the lower classes, who 
 had been accustomed to listen and to sino; 
 these interesting compositions to the sound 
 of a simple ihiee-stringed instrument, called 
 a Giisle ; and it is mentioned by Gothe, 
 that when some Servians who had visited 
 Vienna were requested to write down the 
 songs they had sung, they expressed the 
 greatest surprise that such simple poetry 
 and music as theirs should possess any 
 interest for intelligent and cultivated minds. 
 They apprehended, they said, that the art- 
 less compositions of their country would 
 be the subject of scorn or ridicule to those 
 whose poetry was so polished and so su- 
 blime. And this feeling must have been 
 ministered to by the employment, even in 
 Servia, of a language no longer spoken ; for 
 the productions of literature, though it is 
 certain the natural affections, the every-day 
 thoughts and associations could not find 
 fit expression in the old church dialect : — 
 
 « The talk 
 Man hold- with week-day man in the hourly walk 
 Of the ininJ'.' business, is the undoubted stalk 
 True song ' doih grow on." 
 
 " The collection of popular songs, 
 Narodne srpshe pjesme, from which most of 
 those which occupy this volume are taken, 
 was made by Vuk, and committed to paper 
 either from early recollections, or from the 
 repetition of Servian minstrels. These, he 
 nforms us, and his statement is corrobo- 
 ■■a'ed Dy every intelligent traveller, form a 
 
 very small portion of the treasure of song 
 which exists uniecorded among the pea- 
 santry. How so much of beautiful anony- 
 mous poetry should hpve been created in 
 so perfect a form, is a subject well wort'oy 
 of inquiry. Among a people who look 
 to music and song as a source of enjoy- 
 ment, the habit of improvisation grows up 
 imperceptibly, and engages all the fertilities 
 of imagination in its exercise. The thought 
 which first finds vent in a poetical form, 
 if worth preservation, is polished and per- 
 fected as it passes from lip to lip, till it 
 receives the stamp of popular approval, 
 and becomes as it were a national posses- 
 sion. There is no text-book, no authentic 
 record, to which it can be referred, whose 
 authority should interfere with its improve- 
 ment The poetry of a people is a common 
 inheritance, which one generation transfers 
 sanctioned and amended to another. Poli- 
 tical adversity, too, streng"thens the attach- 
 ment of a nation to the records of its ancient 
 prosperous days. The harps may be hung 
 on the willows for a while, during the 
 storm and the struggle,, but when the tu- 
 mult is over, they will be strung again to 
 repeat the old songs, and recall the time 
 gone by. 
 
 " The historical ballads, which are in 
 lines composed of five trochaics, are always 
 sung with the accompaniment of the Gusle. 
 At the end of every verse, the singer drops 
 his voice, and mutters a short cadence. The 
 emphatic passages are chanted in a louder 
 tone. * I cannot describe,' says Wessely, 
 ' the pathos with which these songs are 
 sometimes sung. 1 have witnessed crowds 
 surrounding a blind old singer, and every 
 cheek was wet with tears- — it was not the 
 music, it was the woids which affected 
 them.' As this simple instrument, the 
 Gusle, is never used but to accompany the 
 poetry of the Servians, and as it is difficult 
 to find a Servian who does not play upon 
 it, the universality of their popular ballads 
 may be well imagined." 
 
 While Mr. Bowring pays cheerful ho- 
 mage to a rhyme translation of a Servian 
 ballad, in the Quarterly Review, No. LXIX. 
 p. 71, he adds, that it is greatly embel- 
 lished, and offers a version, in blank verse, 
 more faithful to the original, and therefore 
 more interesting to the critical inquirer. 
 The fo'lowing specimen of Mr. Bowring's 
 translation may be ,ompared with the cor- 
 responding passage in he Review. 
 
 She was lovely — nothing e'er was lovelier; 
 She was tall and slender as tho pine tree ; 
 White her cheeks, but tinged witn rosy oiushes, 
 As if morning's beam had sho-J 
 
 .07 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Till that beam had reach'd its high meridian ; 
 And her eyes, they were two precious jewels : 
 And her eyebrows, leeches from the ocean ; 
 And her eyelids, they were win^s of swallows ; 
 Silken tufts the maidev 's flaxen ringlets ; 
 And her sweet mouth was a sugar casket ; 
 Aad her teeth were pearls array'd in order ; 
 VVhite her bosom, like two snowy dorelets ; 
 And her yoice was like the dovelet's cooing ; 
 And her sn-iles were like the glowing sunshine. 
 
 On the eyebrows of the bride, described 
 x'i " leeches from the ocean," il is observ- 
 able that, with 'the word leech in Servian 
 poetry, there is no disagreeable association. 
 •' It is the name usually employed to de- 
 scribe the beauty of the eyebrows, as swal- 
 lows' wings are the simile used for eye- 
 lashes." A lover inquires 
 
 ' Hist thou wandered near the ocean ? 
 Has thoii seen the pijavitzaf * 
 Like it aTe the maiden's eyebrows." 
 
 There is a stronger illustration of the 
 simile in 
 
 The Bkotherless Sisters 
 
 Two solitary sisters, who 
 
 A brother's fondness never knew. 
 
 Agreed, poor girls, with one another. 
 
 That they would make themselves a brother • 
 
 They cat them silk, as snow-drops while ; 
 
 And silk, as richest rubies br'ight; 
 
 They carved his body from a bough 
 
 Of box-tree from the mountain's brow ; 
 
 Two jewels dark for eyes they gave ; 
 
 For eyebrows, from the ocean's wave 
 
 They took two leeches ; and for teeth 
 
 Fix'd pearls above, and pearls beneath ; 
 
 For food they gave him honey sweet. 
 
 And said, " Now live, and speak, and eat." 
 
 The tenderness of Servian poetry is 
 prettily exemplified in another of Mr. 
 Bowring's translations. 
 
 Farewell. 
 
 Against white Buda's walls, a vine 
 
 Doth its white branches fondly twine: 
 
 O no ! it was no vine-tree there ■ 
 
 It was a fond, a faithful pair. 
 
 Bound each to each in earliest vow — 
 
 And, I they must be severed now ! 
 
 And these their farewell words : — " We part — 
 
 Break from my bosom — break — my heart 1 
 
 Go to a garden — go, and see. 
 
 Some ro!e-branch blushing on the tree; 
 
 And from that branch a rose-flower tear. 
 
 Then place it on thy bosom bare ; 
 
 And as its leavelets fade and pine, 
 
 ho fades my sinking heart in Ihinej " 
 
 • Tbe leech. 
 
 And thus the other spoke : " My lofi» ! 
 A few short paces backward move. 
 And to the verdant forest go; 
 There's a fresh water-fount below ; 
 And in the fount a marble stone, 
 Which a gold cup reposes on ; 
 And in the cup a ball of snow — 
 Love ! take that ball of snow to rest 
 Upon thine heart within thy breast, 
 And as it melts unnoticed there. 
 So melts ir.y heart in thine, my dear 1" 
 
 One Other poem may suffice for a sped 
 men of the delicacy of feelins: in a Servian 
 bosom, influenced by the master-passioa, 
 
 The Young Shepherds. 
 
 The sheep, beneath old Buda's wall. 
 
 Their wonted quiet rest enjoy ; 
 But ah I rude stony fragments fall. 
 
 And many a silk-wool'd sheep destroy.; 
 Two youthful shepherds perish there, 
 The golden George, and Mark the fair. 
 
 FoT Mark, O many a friend grew sad. 
 
 And father, mother wept for him : 
 George — father, fnend, nor mother had, 
 
 B'or him no tender eye grew dim : 
 Save one — a maiden far away. 
 She wept — and thus I heard her say : 
 
 " My golden George — and shall a song, 
 A song of grief be sung for thee — 
 
 'Twould go from lip to lip — ere long 
 By careless lips profaned to be ; 
 
 Unhallow'd thoughts might soon defame 
 
 The purity of woman's name. 
 
 " Or shall I take thy picture fair. 
 And fix that picture in my sleeve ? 
 
 Ah I time will soon the vestment tear. 
 And not a shade, nor fragment leave: 
 
 I'll not give him I love so well 
 
 To what is so corruptible. 
 
 " I'll write thy name within a book ; 
 
 That book will pass from hand to hand, 
 And many an eager eye will look. 
 
 But ah 1 how few will understand ! — 
 And who their holiest thoughts can shroud 
 From the cold insults of the crowd ?" 
 
 GRETNA GREEN. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 This celebrated scene of matrimonia 
 mockery is situated in Dumfrieshire, near 
 the mouth of the river Esk, nine miles 
 north-west from Carlisle. 
 
 Mr. Peniiant, in his journey to Scot- 
 land, speaks in the following terms ol 
 Gretna, or, as he calls it, Gretna Green. 
 By some persons it is written Graime* 
 
 268 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 Green, accorditio^ to the pronunciation of 
 ihe person from whom they hear it : — 
 
 " At a short distance from the bridge, 
 stop at the little village of Gretna- the 
 resort of all amorous couples, whose union 
 the prudence of parents or guardians pro- ' 
 dibits. Here the young pair may be in- 
 '.tantly united by a fisherman, a joiner, or 
 1 blacksmith, who marry from two guineas 
 a job, to a dram of whiskey. But the 
 price is generally adjusted by the informa- 
 tion of the postilions from Carlisle, who 
 are in pay of one or other of the above 
 worthies ; but even the drivers, in case of 
 necessity, have been known to undertake 
 the sacerdotal office. This place is distin- 
 guished from afar by a small plantation of 
 firs, the Cyptian grove of the place — a sort 
 of landmark for fugitive lovers. As I had 
 a great desire to see the high-priest, by 
 stratagem I succeeded. He appeared in 
 the form of a fisherman, a stout fellow in a 
 blue coat, rolling round his solemn chaps a 
 quid of tobacco of no common size. One 
 of our party was supposed to come to ex- 
 plore the coast ; we questioned him about 
 the price, which, after eying us attentively, 
 he left to our honour. The church of Scot- 
 land does what it can to prevent these 
 clandestine matches, but in vain ; for these 
 infamous couplers despise the fulmination 
 of the kirk, and excommunication is the 
 only penalty it can inflict." 
 
 the " Statistical Account of Scotland " 
 gives the subsequent particulars : — " The 
 persons who follow this illicit practice are 
 inere impostors — priests of their own crea- 
 tion, who have no right whatever either to 
 marry, or exercise any part of the clerical 
 function. There are at present more than 
 one of this description in this place ; but 
 the greatest part of the trade is monopo- 
 hzed by a man who was originally a 
 tobacconist, and not a blacksmith, as is 
 generally believed. He is a fellow without 
 education, without principle, without mo- 
 rals, and without manners. His life is a 
 continued scene of drunkenness: his irre- 
 gular conduct has rendered him an object 
 of detestation to all the sober and virtu- 
 ous pan of the neighbourhood. Such is 
 die man (and the description is not exag- 
 gerated) who has had the honour to join 
 in the sacred bonds of wedlock many 
 people of great rank and fortune from all 
 parts of England. It is forty years and 
 upwards since marriages of this kind began 
 'o be celebrated here. At the lowest com- 
 putation, about sixty are supposed to be 
 solemnized annually in this plare." 
 
 Copy Certificate of a Gretna Green 
 Marriage. 
 
 " Gretnay Green Febry 17 17P4 
 " This is to Sertfay to all persons thn. 
 may be Gunserned that William Geade* 
 from the Cuntey of Bamph in thee parish 
 of Crumdell and Nelley Patterson from the 
 Sitey of Ednbroug-h Both Comes before me 
 and Declares them Selvese to be Both 
 Single persons and New Mareid by thee 
 way of thee Church of Englond And Now 
 maried by thee way of thee Church of 
 Scotland as Day and Deat abuv menchned 
 by me 
 
 David M'Farson 
 his 
 William X geaces 
 Mark 
 Witness Nelly Patorsoh 
 
 Danell Mohad 
 
 By the canons and statutes of the church 
 of Scotland, all marriages performed under 
 the circumstances usually attending them 
 at Gretna Green, are clearly illegal ; for 
 although it may be performed by a layman, 
 or a person out of orders, yet, as in Eng- 
 land, bans or license are necessary, and 
 those who marry parties clandestinely are 
 subject to heavy fine and severe imprison- 
 ment. Therefore, though Gretna Gre»n be 
 just out of the limits of the English Mar- 
 riage Act, that is not sufficient, unless the 
 forms of the Scottish church are complied 
 with. 
 
 H. M. Lasmr. 
 
 SCOTCH ADAM AND EVE. 
 
 The -first record for marriag-e entered 
 into the session-book of the West Parish of 
 Greenock, commences with Adam and Eve, 
 being the Christian names of the first 
 couple who were married after the book 
 was prepared. The worthy Greenockians 
 can boast therefore of an ancient origin, 
 but traces of Paradise or the Garden oi 
 Eden in their bleak regions defy research. 
 
 BOA CONSTRICTOR. 
 
 Jerome speaks of " a dragon of wonder- 
 ful magnitude, which the Dalmatians in 
 their native language call boas, because 
 they are so large that they can swallow 
 oxen." Hence it should seem, that the boa- 
 snake may have given birth to the fiction 
 of dragons.* 
 
 • Fosbroke's British Monachism. 
 
 269 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Waria. 
 
 S^aUj* 
 
 PIOUS DIRECTION POST. 
 
 Under this title, in a west-country paper 
 of the present year, (1827) there is the fol- 
 lowing statement : — 
 
 On the highway near Bicton, in Devon- 
 shire, the seat of the right hon. lord RoUe, 
 in the centre of four cross roads, is a 
 Jirecting post with the following inscrip- 
 tions, by an attention to which the travell'jr 
 learns the condition of the roads over which 
 he has to pass, and at the same time is 
 furnished with food for meditation : — 
 
 To IFoudbury, Topshum, Exeter. — Her 
 ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her 
 paths are peace. 
 
 To Brixton, Otteri/, Honitnn. — () hold 
 ap our goings in thy paths that our foot- 
 steps slip not. 
 
 To Otterton, Sidmouth, Culliton, A. D. 
 '743. — O that our ways were made to 
 direct that we might keep thy statutes. 
 
 To Budleigh. — Make us to go in the 
 paths of thy commandments, for therein is 
 our desire. 
 
 MARSEILLES. 
 
 The history of Marseilles is full of in- 
 terest. Its origin borders on romance. Six 
 hundred years before the Christian era, a 
 band of piratical adventurers from Ionia, 
 in Asia Minor, by dint of superior skill in 
 navigation, pushed their discoveries to the 
 mouth of the Rhone. Charmed with the 
 white cliffs, green vales, blue waters, and 
 bright skies, which they here found, they 
 returned to their native country, and per- 
 suaded a colony to follow them to the bar- 
 barous shores of Gaul, bearing with them 
 their religion, language, manners, and cus- 
 toms. On the very day of their arrival, so 
 says tradition, the daughter of the native 
 chief was to choose a husband, and her 
 affections were placed upon one of the 
 leaders of the polished emigrants. The 
 friendship of the aborigines was conciliated 
 by marriage, and their rude manners were 
 softened by the refinement of their new 
 allies in war, their new associates in peace. 
 In arts and arms the emigrants soon ac- 
 quired the ascendancy, and the most musi- 
 oal of all the Greek dialects became the 
 prevailing language of the colony.* 
 
 • American paper. 
 
 CHANCERY. 
 
 Unhappy Chremes, neighbour to a peer, 
 Kept half his lordship's sheep, and half his deer ■ 
 Each day his gates thrown down, his fences broke. 
 And injur'd still the more, the more he spoke ; 
 
 At last resolved his potent foe to awe, 
 And guard his right by statute and bylaw — 
 A suit in Chancery the wretch begun ; 
 Nine happy terras through bill and answer ran, 
 Obtain'd his cause and costs, and was undone. 
 
 A DECLARATION IN LAW. 
 
 Fee simple and a simple fee. 
 
 And all the fees in tail, 
 Ar« nothing when compared to thee. 
 
 Thou best of fees — fe-male. 
 
 LAW AND PHYSIC. 
 
 It has beeii ascertained from the alma- 
 nacs of the different departments and of Paris, 
 that there are in France no less than seven- 
 teen hundred thousand eight hundred and 
 forty-three medical men. There are, accord- 
 ing to another calculation, fourteen hundred 
 thousand six hundred and tifty-one patients. 
 Turning to another class ol public men, 
 we find that there are nineteen hundred 
 thousand four hundred and three pleaders, 
 and upon the rolls there are only nine hun 
 dred and ninety-eight thousand causes ; so 
 that unless the nine hundred and two thou- 
 sand four hundred and three superfluous 
 lawyers see fit to fall sick of a lack of fees 
 and employment, there must remain three 
 hundred thousand one hundred and ninety- 
 two doctors, with nothing to do but sit with 
 their arms across. * 
 
 " THE NAUGHTY PLACE." 
 
 A Scotch pastor recognised one of his 
 female parishioners sitting by the side of 
 the road, a little fuddled. " Will you just 
 help me up with my bundle, gude mon?'' 
 said she, as he stopped. — " Fie, fie, Janet," 
 cried the pastor, " to see the like o' you in 
 sic a plight : do you know where all 
 drunkards go?" — " Ay, sure," said Janet, 
 " ^l^^y just go whar a drap o'gude drink is 
 to be got." 
 
 FuTet. 
 
 llO 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 MAY-DAY AT LYNN IN NORFOLK. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Where May-day is still observed, many 
 forms of commemoration remain, the rude 
 and imperfect outlines of former Epiendear, 
 blended with local peculiarities. The fes- 
 tival appears to have originated about a. m. 
 3760, and before Christ 24'2 years, in con- 
 sequence of a celebrated courtezan, named 
 Flora, h3i\'mg bequeathed her fortune to the 
 people of Rome, that they should at this 
 time, yearly, celebrate her memory, in sing- 
 intr, dancing, diinking, and other excesses; 
 from whence these revels were called Fh- 
 ralia, or May-games.* After some years, 
 the senate of Rome exalted Fhira amongst 
 heir thirty thousand deities, as the goddess 
 of flowers, and commanded hor to be wor- 
 shipped that she might protect their flowers, 
 
 fruits, and heibs.* During the Catnoli^ 
 age, a g^'eat portion oi exiraneous ceremony 
 was infused into the celebration, but that 
 the excesses and lawless misrule attributed 
 to this Fiuraliau festival, by the fanatir 
 enthusiasis of the Cromwellian age, eve' 
 existed, is indeed greatly to be doubted. 1'. 
 was celebrated as a national festival, an 
 universal expression of joy and adoration, 
 at the commencemicnt of a season, when 
 natare developes her beauties, dispenses her 
 bounties, and wafts her " spicy gales," ncn 
 with voluptuous fragrance, to exhilarate 
 man, and enliven the scenes around him. 
 
 In no place where the custom of celt;- 
 brating May-day still continues does it pre- 
 sent so close a resemblance to its Koma." 
 origin as at Lynn. This perhaps mav be 
 attributed to the circumstance of a colony 
 of Romans having settled there, about the 
 
 • Hosplnian de Orlg. Festorum— Polydore Virgil— 
 «nd GoQwin Antiq. 
 
 * .Aiiff. de Civif. Dei.— Rosinns de Antlqult Eom.- 
 aiid Hull's Fuuebiia Flor». 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 271 
 
 T 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 time of the introduction of Christianity 
 into Britain, and projected the improve- 
 ment and drainage of the marsh land and 
 fens, to whom Lynn owes its origin, as the 
 mother town of the district* That they 
 brought with them their domestic habits 
 and customs we know ; and hence the fes- 
 tival of May-day partakes of the character 
 of the Roman celebrations. 
 
 Early on the auspicious morn, a spirit of 
 emulation is generally excited among the 
 juveniles of Lynn, in striving who shall be 
 first to arise and welcome " sweet May- 
 day," by opening the door to aHniit (he 
 genial presence of the tutelary goddess, 
 
 borne on Auroral zephyrs 
 
 And dtfck'd in spangled, pearly, dew-drop gems. 
 
 The task of gathering flowers from the 
 fields and gardens for the intended garland 
 succeeds, and the gatherers frequently 
 fasten the doors of drowsy acquaintances, 
 by driving a large nail through the handle 
 of the snack into the door-post, though, 
 with the disappearance of thumb-snacks, 
 that peculiarity of usage is of course disap- 
 pearmg too. 
 
 The Lynn garland is made of two hoops 
 of the same size, fixed transversely, and 
 attached to a pole or staff', with the end 
 through the centre, and parallel to the 
 hoops. Bunches of flowers, interspersed 
 with evergreens, are tied round the hoops, 
 from the interior of which festoons of blown 
 birds' eggs are usually suspended, and long 
 strips of various-coloured ribbons are also 
 pendant from the top. A doll, full dressed, 
 of proportionate size, is seated in the 
 centre, thus exhibiting an humble, but not 
 inappropriate representation of Flora, sur- 
 rounded by the fragrant erriblems of her 
 consecrated ofTerinets. Thus completed, 
 the garlands are carried forth in all direc- 
 tions about the town, each with an attend- 
 ant group of musicians, (i. e. horn-blou-ers;\) 
 
 * The Romans having undertaken to drain the fens, 
 (,nd rescue mar>h lands, by stron)f embankments, from 
 the ravages of the ocean, founded I.ynn, (it is sup- 
 posed,) in the reign of tlie emperor Claudius, under the 
 lirection of Catus Dccianus, the Roman procurator of 
 rhe Iceni, who was the principal siiperintendant of the 
 canals, embankments, and other works of improve- 
 inent then carried on in the fens. He is also thought 
 to have brought over to bis assistance, in this stupen- 
 .loijs labour, a colony of Belgians, or Batavians, from 
 whose dialect, the Belgio Celtique, the etymology of 
 Lyun is considered to be derived. (Richard's Hist, of 
 Lynn, vol. i. p. 221.) 
 
 t By sound of trumpet all the courtezans in Rome 
 were called to the Fluralian sports, where they danced. 
 It is said, (though greatly to be doubted,) in a state of 
 nudity, about the streets, with the trumpets blown be- 
 fore them. Hence Juvenal, (.Sat. 6U,) speaking of a 
 lewd woman, calls hei a Floralian courtezan (God- 
 win Anti'i. — Polvdnre ^'irsT'l — Farnab. in Martial, 
 Kpig. liD I- — H»ii's Funebria Florae.) 
 
 collecting eleemosynary tributes fropi men 
 acquaintances. The horns, used only on 
 this occasion, are those of bulls and cows, 
 and the sounds produced by them when 
 blown in concert, (if the noise from two tc 
 twenty, or periiaos more, may be so termed,) 
 IS not unlike the a">wing of a herd of the liv- 
 ing animals. Forgetful of their youthful 
 days, numberless anathemas are ejaculated 
 by the elder inhabitants, at the tremendous 
 hurricane of monotonous sounds throughout 
 the day. Though deafening in their tones, 
 there appears something so classically 
 antique in the use of these horns, that the 
 imagination cannot forbear depicturing the 
 horn-blowers as the votaries of lo and 
 Serapis* (the Egyptian Isis and Osiiis,) 
 in the character of the Lynn juveniles, 
 sounding their io Pceans to the honour of 
 'Flora. 
 
 'Having been carried about the town, tlie 
 garland, faded and drooping, is dismounted 
 from the staifF, and suspended across a 
 court or lane, -where the amusement of 
 throwing balls over it, from one to another, 
 generally terminates ^the day. The only 
 public garland, amongst the few now ex- 
 hibited, and also the largest, is one belong- 
 ing- to the young inmates ot St. James s 
 workhouse, which is carried by one of the 
 ancient inhabitants of the asylum, as ap- 
 pears in the sketch, attended by a numer- 
 ous train of noisy horn-blowing pauper 
 children, in the parish livery. Stopping at 
 the door of every respectable house, they 
 collect a considerable sum, which is dropped 
 through the top of a locked tin canister, 
 borne by one of the boys. 
 
 Previous to the Reformation, and while 
 the festival of May-day continued under 
 municipal patronage, it was doubtless 
 splendidly celebrated at Lynn, with other 
 ceremonies now forgotten ; but having, by 
 the order of council in 1644,t become 
 illegal, it was severed from the corporation 
 favour, and in a great measure annihilated. 
 After the Restoration, however, it resumed 
 a portion of public patronage, and in 1682 
 two new May-poles were erected ; one in 
 the Tuesday market-place, and the other at 
 St. Anne's Fort. The festival never entirely 
 recovered the blow it received under the 
 Commonwealth; the May-poles have long 
 since disappieared, and probably the lem- 
 
 * lo, in heathen mythology, was the daughter ot 
 Inachus, transformed liy Jupiter info a white heifer 
 and worshipped under the name of Isis by the Kgyp- 
 tians. i'ernpix was the son of Jupiter and Niobe; he 
 first taught the Egyptians to sow corn and plant vines, 
 and, after his death, was worshipped as an ox. iinJBt 
 the name of Osiris. 
 
 t Every-Day Book, vol. i. p. 556. 
 
 272 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 nants, the garlands themselves, will soon 
 fade away ; for the celebration is entirely 
 confined to the younger branches of the 
 inhabitants. The refinement, or, more 
 strictly speaking, the degeneracy of the age, 
 has so entirely changed the national cha- 
 racter, that while we ridicule and condemn 
 the simple, and seemingly absurd, habits of 
 our ancestors, we omit to venerate the qua- 
 lities of their hearts ; qualities which, un- 
 mixed with the alloy of innovating debase- 
 ment, are so truly characteristic, that 
 
 " with all their faults, I venerate them still, 
 
 and, while yet a nook is left, 
 
 Where ancient English customs ma/ be found. 
 Shall be coustrain'd to love them." 
 
 That the celebration of May-day, as a 
 national festival, should have been abolish- 
 ed, is not surprising, when we consider the 
 formidable attacks directed against it by 
 the spirit of fanaticism, both from the 
 pulpit and the press ; a curious specimen 
 of which is here inserted from " Funebria 
 Flor^, the Downfall of May-games," a 
 scarce tract, published in 1661 "by Thomas 
 Hall, B. D , and pastor of King's Norton."* 
 It is, as the author observes, " a kind of 
 dialogue, and dialogues have ever been 
 accounted the most lively and delightful, 
 the most facile and fruitfullest way of 
 teaching. Allusions and similes sink deep, 
 and make a better impression upon the 
 spirit; a pleasant allusion may do that 
 which a solid argument sometimes cannot 
 do; as, in some cases, iron may do that 
 which gold cannot." — From this curious 
 tract is derived the following, with some 
 slight omissions — 
 
 " Indictment of Flora." 
 
 " Flora, hold up thy hand, thou art here 
 indicted by the name of Flora, of the city 
 of Home, in the county of Babylon, for 
 that thou, contrary to the peace of our 
 sovereign lord, his crown and dignity, hast 
 brought in a pack of practical fanatics, viz. 
 — ignoiants, atheists, papists, drunkards, 
 swearers, swashbucklers, maid-marian's, 
 morrice-dancers, maskers, mummers, May- 
 pole stealers, health-drinkers, together with 
 a rascallion rout of fiddlers, fools, fighters, 
 gamesters, lewd-women, light-women, con- 
 temners of magistracy, affronters of minis- 
 try, rebellious to masters, disobedient to 
 parents, misspenders of time, and abusers 
 of the creature, &c. 
 
 • A copy of Hall's Funchr'aFlorir was sold January 
 80. 1819, in the Bindley Collection, for £6. ll!s. 6d. 
 
 " Judge. What sayest thou, guilty ornol 
 guilty ? 
 
 " Prisoner. Not guilty, my lord. 
 
 " Judge. By whom wilt thou be tried? 
 
 " Prisoner. By the pope's holiness, my 
 lord. 
 
 " Judge. He is thy patron and protector^ 
 and so unfit to be a judge in this case. 
 
 " Prisoner. Then I appeal to the prelates- 
 and lord bishops, my lord. 
 
 " Judge. This is but a tiffany put off, for 
 though some of that rank did let loose the 
 reins to such profaneness, in causing the 
 book of sports, for the profanation of God's 
 holy day, to be read in churches, yet 'tis 
 well known that the gravest and most pious 
 of that order have abhorred such profane- 
 ness and misrule. 
 
 " Prisoner. Then I appeal to the rout 
 and rabble of the world. 
 
 " Judge. These are thy followers and 
 thy favourites, and unfit to be judges in 
 their own case. 
 
 " Prisoner. My lord, if there be no 
 remedy, I am content to be tried by a jury 
 
 " Judge. Thou hast well said, thou shaU 
 have a full, a fair, and a free hearing. — 
 Crier, call the jury. 
 
 " Crier. O yes, O yes; all manner of 
 persons that can give evidence against the 
 prisoner at the bar let them come into 
 court, and they shall be freely heard. 
 
 " Judge. Call in the Holy Scriptures. 
 
 " Crier. Make room for the Holy Scrip- 
 tures to come in. 
 
 " Judge. What can you say against the 
 prisoner at the bar? 
 
 " Holy Scriptures. Very much, my lord. 
 I have often told them, that the night of 
 ignorance is now past, and the light of the 
 gospel is come, and therefore they must 
 walk as children of the li^ht, denying all 
 ungodliness and worldly lusts. I have 
 often told them, that they must shun all the 
 appearance of evil, and have no fellowship 
 with the unfruitful works of darkness, nor 
 conform themselves like to the wicked of 
 this world. I have often told them, that 
 our God is a jealous God, and one that 
 will not endure to have his glory given to 
 idols. 
 
 " Judge. This is full and to the purpose 
 indeed ; but is there no more evidence to 
 come in ? 
 
 " Crier. Yes, my lord, here is Pliriy, an 
 ancient writer, famous for his Natural His- 
 tory. 
 
 " Judge. What can you say against the 
 prisoner at the bar? 
 
 *' Pliny. My lord, I have long since told 
 them, that these were not christian, bu« 
 
 273 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 pagan feasts ; tbey were heathens, (and as 
 such knew not God,) who first instituted 
 these Floralia and May-games. I have 
 Ipld them that they were instituted accord- 
 ing to the advice of the Sibyl's books, in 
 tlie 516th year after the foundation of the 
 city of Rome, to prevent the blasting and 
 barrenness of the trees and the fruits of the 
 earth. (Pirn. Nat. Hist. lib. xviii. c. 29.) 
 
 " Jndge. Sir, you have given us good 
 light in this dark case ; for we see that the 
 rise of these feasts was from Pagans, and 
 that they were ordained by the advice of 
 Sibyl's books, and not of God's book ; and 
 for a superstitious and idolatrous end, that 
 thereby Flora, not God, might be pleased, 
 and so bless their fruits and flowers. This 
 is clear, but have you no more evidence ? 
 
 " Crier. Yes, ray lord, here is Cudiu.i 
 Lactatitius Firmianus, who lived about 
 three hundred years after Christ, who will 
 plainly tell you the rise of these profane 
 sports. 
 
 '' Judge. I have heard of this celestial, 
 sweet, and firm defender of the faith, and 
 that he was a second Cicero for eloquence 
 in his time. Sir, what can you say against 
 the prisoner at the bar ? 
 
 " Lactantius. My lord, I have long since 
 declared my judgment against this Flora, 
 in my first book of false religions, 8cc 
 
 " Judge. This is plain and full, I now 
 see that Lactantius is Firmianux, not only 
 sweet, but firm and constant, Sec. Have 
 you no more evidence? 
 
 " Crier. Yes, my lord, here is the Sy- 
 nodus Francica, which was called, Anno 
 Dom. 742. 
 
 " Judge. What can you say against the 
 prisoner at the bar? 
 
 " Synodus. My lord, I have long since 
 decreed, that the peo})le of God shall have 
 no pagan feasts or interludes, but that they 
 reject and abominate all the uncleannesses 
 of Gentilism, and that they forbear all sacri- 
 legious fires, which they call bonfires, and 
 all other observations of *he Pagans what- 
 soever. 
 
 " Judge. This is clear against all heathen- 
 ish feasts and customs, of which this is 
 one. But have you no evidence nearer 
 home ? 
 
 " Crier. Yes, my lord, here is one that 
 will conquer them all, and with the sword 
 of justice suddenly suppress them. 
 
 " Judge. Who is that I pray you ? Let me 
 see such a man. 
 
 " Crier. My lord, it is Charles the 
 Second, king of Great Britain, France, and 
 Ireland, defender of the faith. 
 
 " Judge. Truly he deserves that title, if 
 
 he shall now appear In defence of the truth, 
 
 against that profane rout which lately 
 threatened the extirpation both of sound 
 doctrine and good life. I hear that thft 
 king is a sober and temperate person, and 
 one that hates debauchery, ; I pray you let 
 us hear what he saith. 
 
 " Crier. My lord, the king came into 
 London May 29th, and on the 30th he 
 published a Proclamation against Profaiie- 
 ness, to the great rejoicing of all good 
 people of the land. VVhen all was running 
 into profaneness and confusion, we, poor 
 ministers, had nothing left but our prayers 
 and tears : then, even then, it pleased the 
 Most High to put it into the heart of our 
 sovereign lord the king, eminently to ap. 
 pear in the cause of that God who hath so 
 eminently appeared for him, and hath 
 brought him through so many dangers and 
 difficulties to the throne, and made so 
 many mountains a plain before him, to 
 testify against the debauchery and gross 
 profaneness, which, like a torrent, had sud- 
 denly overspread the land. (Proclamation 
 against Profaneness, &c. &c.) 
 
 " Judge. Now blessed be the Lord, the 
 King of kings, who hath put such a thing 
 as this into the heart of the king, and 
 blessed be his counsel, the good Lord re- 
 compense It sevenfold into his bosom, and 
 let all the sons of Belial fly before him ; as 
 the dust before the wind, let the angel of 
 the Lord scatter them. 
 
 " Prisoner. My lord, I and my retinue 
 are very much deceived in this Charles the 
 Second ; we all conceited that he was for 
 us. My drunkards cried, " A health to the 
 king ;" the swearers swore, " A health to 
 the king ;" the papist, the atheist, the 
 roarer, and the ranter, all concluded that 
 now their day was come; but alas! how 
 are we deceived '. 
 
 " Jndge. I wish that you, and all such as 
 you are, may for ever be deceived in this 
 kind, and that your eyes may rot in your 
 heads before you ever see idolatry, super- 
 stition, and profaneness countenanced in. 
 the land. — Have you no more evidence to 
 produce against these profane practices? 
 
 " Crier. Yes, my lord, here is an Or- 
 dinance of Parliament against them. 
 
 " Prisoner. My lord, I except against 
 this witness above all the rest; for it was 
 not made by a full and free parliament of 
 lords and commons, but by some rump 
 and relic of a parliament, and so is invalid. 
 
 " Judge. You are quite deceived, for this 
 ordinance was made by lords and commons 
 when the house was full and free; and 
 those the best that England ever had, for 
 
 274 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 piety towards God and loyalty to their 
 sovereign. Let us hear what they say. 
 
 " Ordinance of Parliament. My lord, I 
 nave plainly told them, that since the pro- 
 fanation of the Lord's day hath been here- 
 tofore greatly occasioned by May -poles, the 
 ords and commons do therefore ordain that 
 they shall be taken down and removed, and 
 that no May-pole shall be hereafter erected 
 or suffered to remain within this kinfifdom, 
 under the penalty of five shillings for every 
 week, till such May-pole is taken down * 
 
 " Judge. This is to the purpose. This 
 may clearly convince any sober man of the 
 sinlulness of such practices, and make them 
 abhor them ; for what is forbidden by the 
 laws of men, especially when those laws 
 are consonant to the laws of God, may not 
 be practised by any person; but these pro- 
 fane sports being foi bidden by the laws of 
 men, are herein consonant to the laws of 
 God, which condemn such sinful pastimes. 
 Have you no more evidence besides this 
 ordinance to batter these Babylonish towers' 
 
 " Crier. Yes, my lord, here is the Solemn 
 League and Covenant, taken in a solemn 
 manner by king, lords, and commons, the 
 assembly of divines, the renowned city of 
 London, the kingdom of Scotland, and by 
 many thousands of ministers and people 
 tliroughout this nation. 
 
 " Prisoner. My lord, these things are 
 out of date, and do not bind now our trou- 
 bles are over. 
 
 " Judge. The sixth branch of the cove- 
 nant will tell you, that we are bound all 
 the days of our lives to observe these things 
 zealously and constantly against all opposi- 
 tion; and I suppose every good man thinks 
 himself bound to preserve the purity of 
 religion, to extirpate popery, heresy, super- 
 stition, and profaneness, not only in times 
 of trouble, but as duties to be practised in 
 our places and callings all otir days. Now 
 if May-games and misrules do savour of 
 superstition and profaneness, (as 'tis appa- 
 rent they do,) — if they be contrary to sound 
 doctrine and the power of godliness, (as to 
 ail unprejudiced men they are,) — then, by 
 this solemn league and sacred covenant, we 
 are bound to root them up. This is suffi- 
 cient, if there were no more ; but because 
 men are loath to leave what they dearly 
 love, let us see whether you have any fur- 
 ther evidence? 
 
 " Crier. Yes, my lord, here is an excel- 
 lent Order from the Council of State, made 
 this present May, (1661,) wherein they take 
 
 • Ordinance of Parliament, 1644 : 
 Sook, vol. i. p. 556. 
 
 Ejety-Dat/ 
 
 notice of a spirit of profaneness and im- 
 piety that hath overspread the land ; there- 
 fore they order, that the justices of the 
 peace and commissioners for the militia do 
 use their utmost endeavours to prevent all 
 licentiousness and disorder, and all profana- 
 tion of the sabbath ; that they suppress all 
 ale-houses, and all ungodly meetings; that 
 they own and protect aH good men in theii 
 pious and sober walking. The council doth 
 likewise command them to have a specia. 
 care to prevent profaneness and disorders 
 of people about May-poles and meetings of 
 that nature, and their rude and disorderly 
 behaviours towards people, in molesting 
 them, to get monies to spend vainly at such 
 meetings. 
 
 " Judge. This is full and to the point 
 indeed, blessed be God, and blessed be 
 their counsel. But have you yet no more 
 evidence? 
 
 " Crier. Yes, my lord, here is Mr. Elton, 
 a man eminent for pi-ety, and of known 
 integrity in his time ; he hath long since 
 told us, that such filthy company, where 
 there is such filthy speeches and lascivious 
 behaviour, with mixed dancing at their 
 merry meetings, &c. ; and theiefore to be 
 abhorred by all sober Christians.* 
 
 "To him assents that great divine. Dr. 
 Ames, who tells us, that those v ho will 
 shun incontinency and live chastely, must 
 shun such profane meetings ; and take heed 
 of mixed dancing, stage-plays, and such 
 incentives -j- 
 
 " Prisoner. My lord, these were old 
 puritans and precisians, who were more 
 nice than wise. 
 
 *' Crier. I will produce men of another 
 strain; here are bishops against you. Bishop 
 Babington hath long since told us, that 
 these sinful pastimes are the devil's festi- 
 val, &c. being forbidden by scripture, v,'\\ic\i 
 commands us to shun all appearance oi 
 evil. J 
 
 " Here is also bishop Andrews, who tells 
 us that we must not only refrain from evil, 
 but also from the show of evil; and must 
 do things honest not only before God, but 
 also before men ; to this end we must shun 
 wanton dancing, stage-plays, &c. because 
 our eyes thereby behold much wickedness 
 and a man cannot go on these hot coals 
 and not be burnt, nor touch such pitch and 
 not be defiled, nor see such wanton acaons 
 and not be moved § 
 
 • Elton's Exposition of the Second Commandment. 
 + Ames, Cas. Cons. 1. v. c. 39. 
 X Babington on the Seventh Commandment. 
 \ Bishop Andrews's Exposition of tbe Sevent> Coin ! 
 msmdment. I 
 
 'lib 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 " Judge. Tliis is pious, and to the pur- 
 pose; here is evidence sufficient; I shall 
 now proceed to sentence. 
 
 " Crier. My lord, I desire your patience 
 to hear one witness more, and then I have 
 done. 
 
 " Judge. Who is that which comes so 
 .ate into court ? 
 
 " Crier. My lord, 'tis the acute and 
 accomplished Ovid. 
 
 " Prisoner. My lord, he is a heathen 
 poet, who lived about twenty years before 
 Christ. 
 
 " Judge. His testimony will be the 
 stronger against your heathenish vanities. 
 Puhlius Ovidius Naso, what can you say 
 against mistress Flora ? 
 
 " Ovid. My lord, I have long since told 
 tlie world, that the senatorian fathers at 
 Rome did order the celebration of these 
 Floralian sports to be yearly observed about 
 the beginning of May, in honour of Flora, 
 that our fruits and flowers might the better 
 prosper. At this feast there was drinking, 
 dancing, and all manner, &c.* 
 
 " Prisoner. Sir, you wrong the poet, and 
 may for ought t know wrong me, by wrap- 
 ping up his ingenious narrative in so little 
 room — 
 
 " Judge. I love those whose writings are 
 like jewels, which contain much worth in a 
 little compass. 
 
 ♦' Crier. And it please you, my lord, we 
 will now call over the jury, that the prisoner 
 may see we have done her no wrong. 
 
 " Judge. Do so. 
 
 " Crier. Answer to your names — Holy 
 Scriptures, one — Pliny, two — Lactantins, 
 THREE — Syyiodus Francica, four — Charles 
 the Second, five — Ordinance of Parlia- 
 ment, SIX — Solemn League and Covenant, 
 SEVEN — Order of the Council of State, 
 EIGHT — Messrs. Elton a"d Ames, nine — 
 Bishop Babington, ten — Bishop Andrews, 
 ELEVEN — Ovid, TWELVE. — Thcse, with all 
 the godly in the land, do call for justice 
 against this turbulent malefactor. 
 
 " Judge. Flora, thou hast here been in- 
 dicted for bringing in abundance of misrule 
 and disorder into church and state ; thou 
 hast been found guilty, and art condemned 
 boih by God and man, — by scriptures, 
 fathers, councils, — by learned and pious 
 livines, — and therefore I adjudge thee to 
 
 Perpetual Banishment, 
 
 that thou no more disturb this church and 
 state, lest justice do arrest thee." — 
 
 K. 
 
 ■* Ovid, Fastbmm, lib. ▼. 
 
 ACCOUNT OF A MAY-DAY 
 COLLATION 
 
 Given by Whiteloche, in the English 
 Marnier, (during his Enibassy frbm 
 Oliver Cromwell,) to Christina, Queen 
 of Sweden, and some of her favourite 
 Ladies and Courtiers. 
 
 This being May-day, Whitelocke, ac- 
 cording to the invitation he had made to 
 the queen, put her in mind of it, that as 
 she was his mistress, and this May-day, he 
 was by the custom of England to wait 
 upon her to take the air, and to treat her 
 with some little collation, as her servant. 
 
 The queen said, the weather was very 
 cold, yet she was very willing to bear him 
 company after the English mode. 
 
 With the queen were Woolfeldt, Tott_ 
 and five of her ladies. Whitelocke brought 
 them to his collation, which he had com- 
 manded his servants to prepare in the best 
 manner they could, and altogether after the 
 English fashion. 
 
 At the table with the queen sat La Belle 
 Countesse, the Countesse Gabriel Oxen- 
 stierne, Woolfeldt, Tott, and Whitelocke 
 the other ladies sat in another room. Their 
 meat was such fowl as could be gotten, 
 dressed after the F'.nglish fashion, and with 
 English sauces, creams, puddings, custards, 
 tarts, tanseys, English apples, bon chretien 
 pears, cheese, butter, neats' tongues, potted 
 venison, and sweetmeats, brought out of 
 England, as his sack and claret also was ; 
 his beer was also brewed, and his bread 
 made by his own servants, in his own 
 house, after the English manner ; and the 
 queen and her company seemed hiijhlj 
 pleased with this treatment : some of hei 
 company said, she did eat and drink more 
 at it than she used to do in three or foui 
 days at her own table. 
 
 The entertainment was as full and noble 
 as the place would afford, and as White- 
 locke could make it, and so well ordered 
 and contrived, that the queen said, she had 
 never seen any like it : she was pleased so 
 far to play the good housewife, as to in- 
 quire how the butter could be so fresh and 
 sweet, and yet brought out of F^ngland? 
 Whitelocke, from his cooJ<s, satisfied her 
 majesty's inquiry ; that they put the salt 
 butter into milk, where it lay all night, and 
 the next day it would eat fresh and sweet 
 as this did, and any butter new made, and 
 commended her majesty's good house- 
 wifery ; who, to express her contentment 
 to this collation, was full of pleasantness 
 and gayety of spirits, both in supper-time, 
 and afterwards : among other frolics, r1««? 
 
 276 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 commanded Whitelocke to teach her ladies 
 the English salutation; which, after some 
 pretty defences, their lips obeyed, and 
 Whitelocke most readily. 
 
 She highly commended Whitelocke's mu- 
 ,sic of the trumpets, which sounded all 
 supper-time, and her discourse was all of 
 mirth and drollery, wherein Whitelocke 
 endeavoured to answer her, and the rest of 
 the company did their parts. 
 
 It was late before she returned to the 
 castle, whither Whitelocke waited on her ; 
 and she discoursed a little with him about 
 his business, and the time of his audience, 
 and gave him many thanks for his noble 
 treatment of her and her company. 
 
 Two days after this entertainment, Mons. 
 Woolfeldt, being invited by Whitelocke, 
 told him that the queen was extremely 
 pleased with his treatment of her. White- 
 locke excused the meanness of it for her 
 majesty. Woolfeldt replied, that both the 
 queen and all the company esteemed it as 
 tlie handsomest and noblest that they ever 
 saw; and the queen after that, "would 
 drink no other wine but Whitelocke's, and 
 kindly accepted the neats' tongues, potted 
 venison, and other cakes, which, upon her 
 commendation of them, Whitelocke sent 
 anto her majesty.* 
 
 MAY-DAY CHEESES. 
 
 ' To the Editor, 
 
 Dear Sir, — On the first of May, at the 
 village of Kandwick, near Stroud, there 
 has been, from time immemorial, the fol- 
 lowing custom : — Three large cheeses,(Glou- 
 cester of course,) decked with the gayest' 
 flowers of this lovely season, are placed on 
 litters, equally adorned with flowers, and 
 boughs of trees waving at the corners. 
 They are thus borne through the village, 
 accompanied by a joyous throng, shouting 
 and huzzaaing wiih all their might' and 
 main, and usually accompanied by a little 
 band of music. They proceed in this 
 manner to the church-yard, where the 
 cheeses being taken from the litters, and 
 divested of their floral ornaments, are rolled 
 three times round the church. They are 
 then carried back in the same state, and in 
 the midst of the village are cut up and dis- 
 tributed piecemeal to the inhabitants. 
 I am, dear, sir, &c. 
 April, 1827. C, Tomlinson 
 
 * Gentiem&iv's Mag-azms. 1S22. 
 
 €asitei% 
 
 EASTER-BOX. 
 A custom was instituted in the city ov. 
 Thoulouse by Charlemagne, that at Easter 
 any Christian might give a box on the ear 
 to a Jew, wherever he chanced to meet 
 him, as a mark of contempt for the nation, 
 which had^ at that season, crucified the 
 Saviour of mankind. This usage, scanda- 
 lous in itself, was sometimes, through zeal, 
 practised with great violence. It is stared 
 that the eye of a poor Jew was forced out, 
 on that side of the head whereon the blow 
 was given. In the course of centuiies- 
 this cruel custom was commuted for a tax, 
 and the money appropriated to the usf- of 
 the church of St. Saturnin,* Accounts of 
 the prevalence of this custom in our own 
 country are related in the Everv-Day 
 Book, vol. i. 
 
 DOCTOR GIBBS, alfas " HUCK'N !" 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Dr. Gibbs, commonly called " Huck'n !" 
 was an extraordinary individual, who fol- 
 lowed the profession of an itinerary vete- 
 rinary surgeon in the west of Eng-land. 
 His ways were different from his neigh, 
 hours, and his appearance was so singular, 
 that a stranger might have taken him for a 
 tramping tinker. Like Morland, he had an 
 unfortunate predilection for " signs," under 
 whose influence he was generally to be found. 
 He would "keep it up to the last," with 
 his last shilling ; and, like the wit in doctor 
 Kitchiner's converzaziones, he would "come ' 
 at seven and go it at eleven." To love for 
 his profession, he added a love for old 
 pastimes, customs, and revelries. He was 
 a man, in the fullest extent of the word, a 
 lover of his country — zealous in his friend- 
 ships, he exercised the virtues of humanity, 
 by aiding and even feeding those who were 
 in severe distress. He spent much, for his 
 means were considerable — they were de- 
 rived from his great practice. His know- 
 ledge of his art was profound ; a horse's 
 life was as safe in his hands, as the writer's 
 would be in sir Astley Cooper's. 
 
 In his person, " Huck'n !" was muscular, 
 and he stood above the middle size ; his 
 habits gave him an unwieldy motion ; his 
 complexion was sandy ; his aspect muddled; 
 large eyebrows pent-housed his small glassy 
 blue eyes ; a wig of many curls, perking 
 over his bald forehead, was closed by a 
 bush of his own hair, of another colour 
 behind ; his whiskers were carroty, and 
 
 ' Miss Fiumptre. 
 
 2.77 
 
THE TABLE EOUK. 
 
 he usually had an unsnorr; oeard. It was 
 when lie entered a stable, or cow-pen, in 
 »iis leatlier apron hnlf-crossed, with his 
 drue;--pouch at his side, that he appeared in a 
 skilful light. His thick holly walking-stick 
 with a thong run through the top, was 
 tried in the service, as its worn appearance 
 estified, and many an animal's mouth 
 could witness. He rarely pulled the 
 drenching horn, or fleam from his pocket 
 to operate, but he rolled his tongue over 
 his beloved " pigtail," juicily deposited in 
 .he nook of a precarious tooth, and said, — 
 " Huck'n !" Ilence his nomme de ffiierre 
 — and hence the proverb that outlives hnn 
 — " he that can cheiv like Huck'n! may 
 "ure like Huck'n!" The meaning of this 
 emphatic monosyllable remains a secret. 
 Some of' the superstitious conjectured, that 
 he used it in stables and outhouses as a 
 :harm to scare the witches from riding the 
 cattle. This liberty is verily believed by 
 many to exist to this day ; hence a horse- 
 shoe IS nailed to the sill of the stable-door, 
 that the midnight hags of " air and broom " 
 may not cross the iron bar-rier.* 
 
 It is thirty years since " Huck'n" 
 flourished. If. he had a home, it was at 
 Hullavington, near Malmsbury, where as 
 a pharmacist, farrier, and phlebotomist of 
 high character and respectability, to his 
 patients — who are known to evince more 
 patience than most of the human species — 
 he was very attentive. He would cheer- 
 fully forego his cheerful glass, his boon 
 companions, his amusing anecdotes, neces- 
 sary food, and nocturnal rest, to administer 
 10 the comfort of a poor " dumb crealure," 
 and remain day and night till life departed, 
 or ease returned. Were he alive he would 
 tell us, that in our intercourse with the 
 brute creation, we should exercise humane 
 feelings, and bestir ourselves to assuage the 
 acute pain, betokened by agonizing looks 
 and groans, in suffering animals. 
 
 " Huck'n !" was an improvident man.: 
 under more classical auspices, he might 
 have stood first in his profession; but he 
 preferred being " unadorned — adorned the 
 most." He lived to assist the helpless, and 
 died in peac" Let persons of higher pre- 
 ff'O iifms do more — " Huck'n ?"f 
 
 nlarck, 1827. J. R. p. 
 
 « ^TfTtnin and de.stniofive birds are nailed, or i-afher 
 .^pjcififMl, on t.lip parK oarns of noblemen by their g-ame- 
 kfcppji-s, to hold intruders in terrurem, and give ocular 
 proofs of skill and vigilance. 
 
 + The Saxon word " Halidnm " signifies " Hoi-/ 
 J^adgment:" wl.ence in old tunes, " By my HalidomP' 
 was a solemn oath among country people. — " By Goa- 
 lies I" — " By Gosh!" and a hundred other exclama- 
 ?onB. may have originated in the aToiding an oath, or 
 *e pcffbrininj a pledge — hut what is " Huck'n f" 
 
 Sirmorial ^Bearing 
 
 OF THE LORD OF THE MANuR OF 
 
 The above print, obligingly presented, is 
 submitted to the reader, wiih thp following 
 iti explanation — 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — As I have taken in your Evert)- 
 Day Book, and continue with the TabU 
 Book, I send you the subjoined account, 
 which, perhaps, may be worth your con- 
 sideration, and the engraved wood-block 
 for your use. 
 
 I remain your well-wisher, 
 X. 
 
 An Account of the Manor of Stoke 
 Lyne in ()xford5hire,ilate the Pho- 
 PERTY of the Earl and Countess of 
 'Shipbrook. 
 
 The lord of the manor has a risfht, by 
 ancient custom, to bear a hawk about his 
 arms agreeable to the print: it arose from 
 the following circumstance. When Charles 
 the First held his parliament at Oxford, the 
 then lord of Stoke Lyne was particularly 
 useful to the king in his unfortunate situa- 
 tion, and rendered him service. To re- 
 ward him he offered him knighthood, which 
 be declined, and merely requested the 
 king's permission to bear behind his coat 
 of arms a hawk, which his majesty in 
 stantly granted. The present loid of the 
 manor is Mr. Cole of Twickenham, inhe- 
 riting the estate by descent from the late 
 earl and countess, and whose family are 
 registered in the parish church as early as 
 March 22, 1584. There is also a monu' 
 ment of them in the church of Petersham, 
 1624 ; and another branch of the same 
 family were created baronets, March 4, 
 1641, supposed to be the oldest family in 
 the county of Middlesex. 
 
 278 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 -MAY-DAY DANCE IN 1698. 
 
 This en^rravinsf of the milkmaids* garland, 
 ind the costume of themselves and their 
 fiddler, at the close of the century before 
 last, is from a print in " Memoires, 8cc. 
 par un \'oynp;euren Angleterre," an octavo 
 volume, printed "a la Have 1698," wherein 
 it is introduced by the author, Henry 
 Misson, to illustrate a passage descriptive 
 of the amusements of London at that time. 
 His account of the usage is to the follow- 
 ing effect :— 
 
 On the first of May, and the five or six 
 days following, all the young and pretty 
 peasant pirls, who are accustomed to bear 
 about milk for sale in the city, dress them- 
 selves very orderly, and carry about them 
 a number of vases and silver -vessels, of 
 which they make a pyramid, adorned with 
 ribbons and flowers. This pyratnid ' they 
 bear on their heads instead of the ordinary 
 inilk-pail, and accompanied by certain of 
 their comrades and the music of a fiddle, 
 they go dancing from door to door sur- 
 rounded by young men and children, who 
 
 follow them in crowds ; and every v/heru 
 they are made some little present. 
 
 ISABELLA COLOUR. 
 
 The archduke Albert married the iiifanta 
 Isabella, daughter of Philip II. king of 
 Spain, with whom he had the Low Coun- 
 tries in dowry. In the year 1602, he laid 
 siege to Ostend, then in the possession of 
 the heretics, and his pious princess, who 
 rittended him in that expedition, made a 
 vow that till the city was taken she would 
 never change her clothes. Contrary to 
 expectation, it was three years before the 
 place was reduced ; in which time her 
 highness's linen had acquired a hue, which 
 from the superstition of the princess and 
 the times was much aditiired, and adopted 
 by the court fashionables under the !iame 
 of the " Isabella-colour :" it is a whitish 
 yellow, or soiled buff — better imagined 
 t'.an described.* 
 
 • Sir J. Hawkins. 
 
 279 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 (iarrirk piaps* 
 
 No. XV. 
 
 [From the " City Night-Cap," a Tragi- 
 comedy, by Robert Davenport, 1631.] 
 
 Lorenzo Medico suborns three Slaves to 
 swear falsely to an adultery between his vir- 
 tuous fFife Ahstemia, and his Friend Phi- 
 lippo. They give their testimony before the 
 Duke of Verona, and the Senators. 
 
 Ph II. — ho w soon 
 Two ssouls, more precious thai) a pair of worlds. 
 Are levell'd below deatli ! 
 
 Ahst. Oh hark ! did you not hear it ? 
 
 Sen. What, I.ady ? 
 
 Abst. This hour a pair of glorious towers is fallen 
 Two goodly buildings beaten with a breath 
 Beneath the fiave: you all have seen this day 
 A pair of souls both cast and kiss'd away. 
 
 Sen. What censure gi:ve3 your Grace? 
 
 Duke. In that I am kinsman 
 To the accuser, that I might not appear 
 Partial in judgment, let it seem no wonder, 
 If unto your Gravities I leave 
 The following sentence : but as Lorenzo stan^ 
 A kinsman to Verona, so forget not, 
 Abstemia still is sister unto Venice. 
 
 Phil. Misery of goodness ! 
 
 Abst. Oh Lorenzo Medico, 
 \bsteiiiia's Lover once, when he did vow. 
 And when I did believe ; then when Abstemia 
 Denied so many princes for Lorenzo, 
 Then when you swore : — Oh maids, how men can weep 
 Print protestations on their breasts, and sigh. 
 And look so truly, and then weep again. 
 And then protest again, and again dissemble !— 
 When once enjoy'd, like strange sights, we growstale; 
 And find our comforts, like their wonder, fail. 
 
 Phil. Oh Lorenzo ! 
 Look upon tears, each one of which well-valued 
 Is worth the pity of a king ; but thou 
 Art harder far than rocks, and canst not prize 
 The precious v.'aters of truth's injured eyes. 
 
 Lor. Please your Grace, proceed to censure. 
 
 Duke. Thus 'tis decreed, as these Lords have scl 
 down. 
 A-^alnst all contradiction : Signer Philippo, 
 In that you have thus grossly. Sir, dishonour'd ' 
 ' Kven our blood itself in this rude injury 
 Lights on our k-irtSmani his prerogative 
 I Implies death on your trespass ; but, (your merit 
 Of more antiquity than is your trespass), 
 Ttit death is blotted out ; pertretual banishmcat, 
 On pain of death if you return, for eve' 
 l?rom Verona and her signories. 
 
 Phil. Verona is kind. 
 
 Sen. Unto you. Madam, 
 TftU) censure in allotted : your hi(h blew) 
 
 'J'akes off the danger of the law ; nay from 
 
 Even banishment itself: this Lord, your hosbaad. 
 
 Sues only for a legal fair divorce. 
 
 Which we think good to grant, thtj church allowinr 
 
 And in that the injury 
 
 Chiefly reflects on him, he hath free licencB 
 
 To marry when and whom he pleases. 
 
 Abst. I thank ye. 
 That you are favorable unto my Love, 
 Whom yet I love and weep for. 
 
 Phil. Farewell, Lorenzo, 
 This breast did never yet harbour a thoixght 
 Of thee, but man was in it, honest man : 
 There's all the words that thou art worth. Of you; 
 
 Grace 
 I humbly thus take leave. Farewell, my Lords; — 
 And lastly farewell Thou, fairest of many. 
 Yet by far more unfortunate ! — look up. 
 And see a crown held for thee -, win it, and die 
 Love's martyr, the sad map of injury.— 
 And so remembej'. Sir, your injured Lady 
 Has a brother yet in Venice. 
 
 Philippo, at an after-trial, challenge 
 Lvrenzo. 
 
 Phil. — in the integrity. 
 And gloryof the cause, I throw the pawn 
 Of ray afflicted honour; and on that 
 I openly affirm your absent Lady 
 Chastity's well knit abstract; snow in the fail. 
 Purely refined by the bleak northern blast, 
 Not freer from a soil ; the thoughts of iufrtn;s 
 But little nearer heaven : and if these priui^es 
 Please to permit, before their guilty thoughts 
 Injure another hour upon the Lady, 
 My right-drawn sword shall prove it. — 
 
 Abstemia, decoyed to a Brothel in Milan., 
 is attempted by the Duke's Son. 
 
 Prince. Do you know me ? 
 
 Abst: Yes, Sir, report hath given intelligence. 
 You are the Prince, the Duke's son. 
 
 Prince. Both ia one. 
 
 .Abst. Report, sure, 
 Spoke but her native language. You are none 
 Of either. 
 
 Prtnce. How I 
 
 Ahst. Were you the Prince, you would not snie '.x 
 slaved 
 To your blood's passion. I do crave your pardon 
 For my rough language. Truth hath a forehead free 
 And in the tower of her integrity 
 Sits an unvanquish'a virgin. Can you imagine, 
 'Twill appear possible you are the Prince ? 
 Why, when you set your foot first in this house, 
 You crush'd obedient duty unto death ; 
 And even then fell from you your respect- 
 Honour is like a goodly old house, which 
 
 280 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 IX we repair not still with virtue's hand. 
 Like a citadel being madly raised on sand, 
 (t falls, is swallow'd, and not found. 
 
 Prince. If thou rail upon the place, prithee how 
 earnest thou hither ? 
 
 Abst. By treaclierous intelligence ; honest men so. 
 In the way ignorant, through thieves' purlieus go. — 
 Are you Son to such a Father : 
 SenJ him to his grave then. 
 Like a wliite almond tree, full of glad days 
 With joy that he 'begot so good a Son. 
 Sir, methiuks I see sweet Majesty 
 Sit with a mourning sad face full of sorrows. 
 To see you in this place. This is a cave 
 Of scorpions and of dragons. Oh turn back ; 
 Toads here engender : 'tis the steam of death ; 
 The very air poisons a good man's breath. 
 
 Prince. Let me borrow goodness from thy lips. Fare- 
 well! 
 Here's a new wonder ; I've met heav'n in hell. 
 
 Uttdtce praise declined. 
 
 you are far too prodigal in praise. 
 
 And crown me with the garlands of i/uur merit ; 
 As we meetfearks on rivers, — the strong gale 
 Being best friends to us, — our own swift motion 
 Makes us brieve tliat t'other nimbler rows ; 
 iS„'ift virtue thinks small goodness fastest goes. 
 
 [From th« " Conspiracy,'' a Tragedy by 
 Herity Killigrew, 1638. Author's age 
 17.j 
 
 The Rightful Heir to the Crown kept 
 from his inheritance .■ an Angel sings to 
 him sleeping. 
 
 Song. 
 
 While Morpheus thus does gently lay 
 His powerful charge upon each part. 
 
 Making thy spirits ev'n obey 
 The silver charms of his dull art ; 
 
 I, thy Good Angel, from thy side, — 
 
 As .imoke doth from the altar rise. 
 Making no noise as it doth glide, — 
 
 Will leave thee in this soft surprise ; 
 
 And from the clouds will fetch thee down 
 
 A holy vision, to express 
 Thy right nnto an eartlfly crown ; 
 
 No power can make this kingdom less. 
 
 But gently, gently, lest I bring 
 
 A start in sleep by sudden flight. 
 Playing aloof, and hovering. 
 
 Till I am lost tfnto'the sight. 
 
 This i.>: a motion still and soft ; 
 
 So free from noise and cry, 
 That Jot* himself, who hears a thought, 
 
 Ktovs not when we i)as» by. 
 
 THE GOOD CLERK. 
 
 He writeth a fair and swift hand, and is 
 completely versed in the four first rules of 
 Arithmetic, in the Rule of Three, (which is 
 sometimes called the Golden Rule,) and in 
 Practice. We mention these things, that 
 we may leave no room for cavillers to say, 
 that any thing essential hath been omitted 
 in our definition ; else, to speak the truth, 
 these are but ordinaiy accomplishments, 
 and such as every understrapper at a desk 
 is commonly furnished with. The charac- 
 ter we treat of soareth higher. 
 
 lie is clean and neat in his person ; not 
 from a vain-glorious desire of setting him 
 self forth to advantage in the eyes of the 
 other sex, (with which vanity too many ol 
 our young sparks now-a-days are infected,) 
 but to do credit (as we say) to the office. 
 For this reason he evermore takelh care 
 that his desk or his books receive no soil ; 
 the which things he is commonly as soli- 
 citous to have fair and unblemished, as the 
 owner of a fine horse is to have him appear 
 in good keep. 
 
 He riseth early in the morning ; not 
 because early rising conduceth to health, 
 (though he doth not altogether despise that 
 consideration,) but chiefly to the intent that 
 he may be first at the desk. There is his 
 post — there he delighteth to be ; unless 
 ■when his meals, or necessity, calleth hirr. 
 away ; which time he always esteemeth as 
 lost, and maketh as short as possible. 
 
 He is temperate in eating and drinking, 
 that he may preserve a clear head and 
 steady hand for his master's service. He 
 is also partly induced to this observation 
 of the rules of temperance by his respect 
 for religion, and the laws of his country ; 
 which things (it may once for all be noted) 
 do add special assistances to his actions, 
 but do not and cannot furnish the main 
 spring or motive thereto. His first ambi- 
 tion (as appeareth all along) is to be a good 
 clerk, his next a good Christian, a good 
 patriot, &c. 
 
 Correspondent to this, he keepeth him- 
 self honest, not for fear of the laws, but 
 because he hath observed how unseemly an 
 article it maketh in the day-book or ledger, 
 when a sum is set down lost or missing ; it 
 being his pride to make these books to 
 agree and to tally, the one side with the 
 other, with a sort of architectural symmetry 
 and correspondence. 
 
 He marrieth, or marrieth not, as best 
 suiteth with his employer's views. Some 
 merchants do the lather desire to haT* 
 married men ia their counting-house'*, 
 
 281 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 )Ccause they think the marned state a pledge 
 *'or their servants' integrity, and an incite- 
 Tient to them to "ne industrious; and it was 
 an observation of a late lord mayor of 
 London, that the sons of clerks do gene- 
 '■ally piove clerks themselves, and that 
 merchants encouraging persons in their em- 
 ploy to marry, and to have families, was 
 the best method of securing a breed of 
 sober, industrious young men attached to 
 tlie mercantile interest. Be this as it may, 
 such a character as we have been describ- 
 ing, will wait till the pleasure of his em- 
 ployer is known on this point; and regu- 
 iateth his desires by the custom of the 
 house or firm to which he belongeth. 
 
 He avoideth profane oaths and jestmg, 
 as so much time lost from his employ ; 
 what spare time he hath for conversation, 
 which in a counting-house such as we have 
 been supposing can be but small, he 
 spendeth in putting seasonable questions 
 to such of his fellows, (and sometimes re- 
 spectfully to the master himself,) who can 
 jive him information respecting the price 
 and quality of goods, the state of exchange, 
 or the latest improvements in book-keep- 
 ing ; thus making the motion of his lips, 
 as well as of his fingers, subservient to his 
 master's interest. Not that he refuseth a 
 brisk saying, or a cheerful sally of wit, 
 when it comes enforced, is free of offence, 
 and hath a convenient brevity. For this 
 reason he hath commonly some such phrase 
 as this in his moti'th : — 
 
 It's a slovenly look 
 To blot your book. 
 
 Or, 
 
 Red ink for ornament, black for use, 
 The best of things are cpen to abuse. 
 
 So upon the eve of any great holiday, of 
 which he keepeth one or two at least every 
 year, he will merrily say in the hearing cf a 
 confidential friend, but to none other : — 
 
 O/, 
 
 All wofk and no play 
 Mat,es Jack a dull boy. 
 
 A bow alwavs'bent must crack at last. 
 
 But then this must always be understood 
 to be spoken confidentially, and, as we say, 
 under the rose. 
 
 Lastly, his dress is plain, without singu- 
 larity ; with no other ornament than the 
 quill, which is the badge of his function, 
 stuck under the dexter ear, and this rather 
 for convenience of having it at hand, when 
 he hath been called away from his desk, 
 and expecteth to resume his seat ther« 
 
 agam shortly, than from any delight wnic/, 
 he taketh in foppery or ostentation. Thf 
 colour of his clothes is generally noted tt 
 be black rather than brown, brown rathe- 
 than blue or green. His whole deportmeni 
 is staid, modest, and civil, llis motto is 
 
 regularity. 
 
 This character was sketched, in an inter- 
 val of business, to divert some of the melan- 
 choly hours of a counting-house. It is 
 so little a creature of fancy, that it is scarct 
 any thing more than a recollection of some 
 of those frugal and economical maxims 
 which, about the beginning of the last cen- 
 tury, (England's meanest period,) were en- 
 deavoured to be inculcated and instilled 
 into the breasts of the London apprentices,* 
 by a class of instructors who might not 
 inaptly be termed the mastern of mean 
 morals. The astonishing narrowness and 
 illiberality of the lessons contained in some 
 of those books is inconceivable by those 
 whose studies have not led them that way, 
 and would almost induce one to subscribe 
 to the hard censure which Drayton has 
 passed upon the mercantile spirit: — 
 
 The gnpple merchant, bom to Ije the curse 
 Of this brave isle, f 
 
 Btfoeana. 
 
 No. L 
 
 THE TRADESMAN. 
 
 I have now lying before me th:it curious 
 Ijook, by Daniel Defoe, '* The complete 
 English Tradesman." The pompous de- 
 tail, the studied analysis of every little mean 
 art, every sneaking address, every trick 
 and subterfuge (short of larceny) that is 
 necessary to the tradesman's occupation, 
 with the hundreds of anecdotes, dialogues 
 (in Defoe's liveliest manner) interspersed, 
 all tending to the same amiable purpose, 
 namely, the sacrificing of every honest 
 emotion of the soul to what he calls the 
 main chance — if you read it in an ironica. 
 sense, and as a piece of covered satire, 
 make it one of the most amusing books 
 which Defoe ever wrote, as much so as 
 any of his best novels. It is difficult to 
 say what his intention was in writing it. It 
 is almost impossible to suppose him in 
 earnest. Yet such is the bent of the book 
 
 • This term designated a larger class of young men 
 than that 'o which it is now confined ; it took in th« 
 articled clerks of merchants and bankers, the (iMr^e 
 Barnwells of the day. 
 
 t The Kcflector. 
 
 28i 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 to narrow and to degrade the heart, that if 
 such maxims were as catching and infec- 
 tious as those of a licentious cast, which 
 happily is not the case, had I been living 
 at that time, 1 certainly should have re- 
 ccmnended to the grand jury of Middle- 
 sex, who presented the Fable of the Bees, to 
 have presented this book of Defoe's in pre- 
 ference, 33 of a far more vile and debasing 
 tendency. I will give one specimen of his 
 advice to the young tradesman, on the 
 government of hits temper. " The retail 
 tradesman in especial, and even every 
 tradesman in his station, must furnish him- 
 self with a competent stock of patience ; I 
 mean that sort of patience which is needful 
 to bear with all sorts of impertinence, and 
 the most provoking curiosity that it is im- 
 possible to imagine the buyers, even the 
 worst of them, are or can be guilty of. A 
 tradesman behind his counter must have no 
 flesh and blood about him, no passions, no 
 resentment ; he must never be angry, no 
 not so much as seem to be so, if a customer 
 tumbles him five hundred pounds worth of 
 goods, and scarce bids money for any 
 thing; nay, though they really come to his 
 shop with no intent to buy, as many do, 
 only to see what is to be sold, and though 
 he knows they cannot be better pleased 
 than they are, at some other shop where 
 they intend to buy, 'tis all one, the trades- 
 man must take it, he must place it to the 
 account of his calling, that ^tis his business 
 to be ill used and resent nothing ; and so 
 must answer as obligingly to those that 
 give him an hour or two's trouble and buy 
 nothing, as he does to those who in half the 
 time lay out ten or twenty pounds. The 
 case is plain, and if some do give him 
 trouble and do not buy, others make amends 
 and do buy ; and as for the trouble, 'tis the 
 business of the shop.'' Here follows a 
 most admirable story of a mercer, who, by 
 his indefatigable meanness, and more than 
 Socratic patience under affronts, overcame 
 and reconciled a lady, who upon the re- 
 port of another lady that he had behaved 
 saucily to some third lady, had determined 
 to shun his shop, but by the over-persua- 
 sions of a fourth lady was induced to go to 
 t ; which she does, declaring beforehand 
 that she will buy nothing, but give him all 
 the trouble she can. Her attack and his 
 defence, her insolence and his persevering 
 patience, are described in colours worthy of 
 a Mandeville ; but it is too long to recite. 
 "The short inference from this long dis- 
 course," says he, " is this, that here you see, 
 and I could give you many examples like this, 
 how and in what manner a shopkeeper is 
 
 to behave himself In the way of his busi 
 ness ; what impertinences, what taunts 
 flouts, and ridiculous tilings, he must bear 
 in his trade, and must not show the least 
 return, or the least signal of disgust : he 
 must have no passions, no fire in his tem- 
 per ; he must be all soft and smooth ; nay, 
 if his real temper be naturally fiery and 
 hot, he must show none of it in his shop^ 
 he must be a perfect, complete hypocrite if 
 he will be a complete tradesman* It is 
 true, natural tempers are not to be always 
 counterfeited ; the man cannot easily be a 
 lamb in his shop, and a lion in himself; 
 but, let it be easy or hard, it must be done, 
 and is done : there are men who have, by 
 custom and usage, brought themselves to 
 it, that nothing could be meeker and 
 milder than, they, when behind the counter, 
 and yet nothing be more furious and raging- 
 in every other part of life ; nay, the pro- 
 vocations they have met with in their shops 
 have so irritated their rage, that they would 
 go up stairs from their shop, and fall into 
 frenzies, and a kind of madness, and beat 
 their heads against the wall, and perhaps 
 mischief themselves, if not prevented, till 
 the violence of it had gotten vent, and the 
 passions abate and cool. I heard once of 
 a shopkeeper that behaved himself thus to 
 such an extreme, that when he was pro- 
 voked by the impertinence of the customers, 
 beyond what his temper could bear, he 
 would go up stairs and beat his wife, kick 
 his children about like dogs, and be as 
 furious for two or three minutes, as a man 
 chained down in Bedlam ; and again, when 
 that heat was over, would sit down and cry 
 faster than the children he had abused ; 
 and after the fit, he would go down into 
 the shop again, and be as humble, cour 
 teous, and as calm as any man whatever ; 
 so absolute a government of his passions 
 had he in the shop, and so little out of it : 
 in the shop, a soulless animal that would 
 resent nothing ; and in the family a mad- 
 man : in the shop, meek like a lamb ; but 
 in the family, outrageous like a Lybian 
 lion. The sum of the matter is, it is neces- 
 sary for a tradesman to subject himself by 
 all the ways possible to his business ; hif 
 cuslomers are to be his idols : so far as he 
 may worship idols by allowance, he is to bow 
 down to them arid worship them ; at least, 
 he is not in any way to displease them, or 
 show any disgust or distaste, whatsoever 
 they may say or do; the bottom of all is, 
 
 * As no qualification accompanies this msxim, it 
 mnst be understood as the genuine sentiment of t'tit 
 author. 
 
 \l 
 
 2«a 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 :hat ne '.s intending to get money by them, 
 ;^nd it is not for him that gets money to 
 offer the least inconvenience to them by 
 whom he gets it; he is to consider that, as 
 Solomon says, the borrower is servant to the 
 lender, so the seller Is servant to the buyer." 
 What he says on the head of pleasures and 
 recreations is not less amusing : — " The 
 tradesman's pleasure should be in his busi- 
 ness, his companions should be his books, 
 (he means his ledger, waste-book, &c. ;) and 
 if he has a family, he makes.Ai* excursions 
 up stairs and no further : — none of my 
 cautions aim at restraining a tradesman 
 from diverting himself, as we call it, with 
 his fireside, or keeping company with his 
 wife and children."* 
 
 MANNERS OF A SPRUCE LONDON 
 MERCER, AND HIS FEMALE CUS- 
 TOMER, A HUNDRED YEARS 
 AGO. 
 
 Those who have never minded the con- 
 versation of a spruce Mercer, and a young 
 Lady his Customer that comes to his shop, 
 have neglected a scene of life that is very 
 entertaining. — His business is to sell as 
 much silk as he can, at a price by which he 
 shall £fet what he proposes to be reasonable, 
 according to the customary profits of the 
 trade. As to the lady, what she would be 
 at is to please her fancy, and buy cheaper 
 by a groat or sixpence per yard than the 
 things she wants are usually sold for. From 
 ihe impression the gallantry of our sex has 
 made upon her, she imagines (if she be not 
 very de-formed), that she has a fine mien 
 and easy behaviour, and a peculiar sweet- 
 ness of voice ; that she is handsome, and 
 if not beautiful, at least more agreeable 
 than most young women she knows. As 
 she has no pretensions to purchase the same 
 things with less money than other people, 
 but what are built on her good qualities, so 
 she sets herself off to the best advantage 
 her wit and discretion will let her. The 
 thoughts of love are here out of the case ; 
 so on the one hand she has no room for 
 playing the tyrant, and giving^ herself ang^ry 
 and peevish airs; and on the other, more 
 liberty of speaking kindly, and being affa- 
 ble, than she can have almost on any other 
 occasion. She knows that abundance of 
 well-bred people come to his shop, and 
 endeavours to render herself as amiable, as 
 virtue and the rules of decency admit of. 
 
 • The Keflector. 
 
 Coming with such a resolution ot behaviottr, 
 she cannot meet with anything to ruffle her 
 temper. — Before her coach is yet quite 
 stopt, she is approached by a gentleman, 
 like man, that has every thing clean and 
 fashionable about him, who in low obei- 
 sance pays her homage, and as soon as her 
 pleasure is known that she has a mind to 
 come in, hands her into the shop, where 
 immediately he slips from her, and throue[h 
 a by-way, that remains visible for only half 
 a moment, with great address intrenches 
 himself behind the counter: "here facing 
 her, with a profound reverence and modish 
 phrase he begs the favour of knowing her 
 commands. Let her say and dislike what 
 she pleases, she can never be directly con- 
 tradicted : she deals with a man, in whom 
 consummate patience is one of the myste- 
 ries of his trade ; and whatever trouble she 
 creates, she is sure to hear. nothing ,but the 
 most obliging language, and has always 
 before her a cheerful countenance, where 
 joy and respect seem to be blended with 
 good humour, and all together make up an 
 artificial serenity, more engaging than un- 
 taught nature is able to produce. — ^^ hen 
 two persons are so well met, the conversa- 
 tion must be very agreeable, as well as 
 extremely mannerly, though they talk about 
 trifles. Whilst she remains irresolute what 
 to take, he seems to be the same in advising 
 her, and is very cautious how to direct her 
 choice ; but when once she has made it, 
 and is fixed, he immediately becomes posi- 
 tive that it is the best of the sort, extols her 
 fancy, and the more he looks upon it, the 
 more he wonders he should not have dis- 
 covered the preeminence of it over any 
 thing he has in his shop. By precept, ex- 
 ample, and sfreat observation, he has learned 
 unobserved to slide into the inmost recesses 
 of the soul, sound the capacity of his cus- 
 tomers, and find out their blind side un- 
 known to them : by all which he is in- 
 structed in fifty other stratagems to make 
 her overvalue her own judgment, as well as 
 the commodity she would purchase. The 
 greatest advantage he has over her, lies in 
 the most material part of the commerce 
 between them, the debate about the price, 
 which he knows to a farthing, and she is 
 wholly ignorant of: therefore he no where 
 more egregiously imposes upon her under- 
 standing ; and though here he has the 
 liberty of telling what lies he pleases, as to 
 the prime cost and the money he has re- 
 fused, yet he trusts not to them only ; but, 
 attacking her vanity, makes her believe ihe 
 most incredible thnuis ui me *voria, con- 
 cerning his own weakness and hersuperioi 
 
 284 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 abilities. lie had taken a resolution, he 
 says, never to part with that piece under 
 such a price, but she has the power of talk- 
 ing him out of his goods beyond anybody 
 he ever sold to : he protests that he loses 
 by his silk, but seeing that she has a fancy 
 for it, and is resolved to ijive no more, 
 rather than disoblige a lady he has such 
 an uncommon value for, he will let hei have 
 it, and only begs that another time she will 
 not stand so hard with him. In the mean 
 time the buyer, who knows that she is no 
 fool and has a voluble tongue, is easily 
 persuaded that she has a very winning way 
 of talking, and thinking it sufficient for the 
 sake of good breeding to disown her merit, 
 and in some witty repartee retort the com- 
 pliment, he makes her swallow very con- 
 tentedly the substance of every thing he 
 tells her. The upshot is, that viith the 
 satisfaction of having saved ninepence per 
 yard, she has bought her silk exactly at the 
 same price as anybody else might have 
 done, and often gives sixpence more than, 
 rather than ilot have sold it, he would have 
 taken. — 
 
 We have copied the above from Mande- 
 ville's " Fable of the Bees," Edition 1725. 
 How far, and in what way, the practice 
 between the same parties differs at this 
 day, we respectfully leave to our fair shop- 
 ping friends, of this present year 1827, to 
 determine. 
 
 CURING OF HERRINGS. 
 
 From the Works of Thomas Nash, 1599. 
 
 " It is to bee read, or to bee heard of, 
 lowe in the punie shipe or nonage of Cer- 
 iicke sandes, when the best houses and 
 walles there were of mudde, or canvaze, or 
 poldavies entiltments, a tisherman of Yar- 
 mouth, having drawne so many herrings 
 hee wist not what to do with all, hung the 
 residue, that hee could not sel nor spend, 
 in the sooty roofe of his shad a drying ; or 
 say thus, his shad was a cabinet in decimo 
 seorto, builded on foure crutches, and he 
 had no roome in it, but that garret in ex- 
 celsis, to lodge them, where if they were drie 
 let them be drie, for in the sea they had drunk 
 too much, and now hee would force them doo 
 penance for it. The weather was colde, 
 and good fires hee kept, (as fishermen, 
 what hardnesse soever they endure at sea, 
 will make all smoke, but they will make 
 
 amends for it when they come to land ;) 
 and what with his fiering and smoking, or 
 smokie fiering, in that his narrow lobby, 
 his herrings, which were as white as whale- 
 bone when he hung them up, nowe lookt 
 as red as a lobster. It was four or five 
 dayes before either hee or his wife espied 
 it ; and when they espied it, they fell 
 downe on their knees and blessed them- 
 selves, and cride, ' A miracle, a miracle !' 
 and with the proclaiming it among their 
 neighbours they could not be content, but 
 to the court tli"e fisherman would, and pre- 
 sent it to the King, then lying at Burrough 
 Castle two miles off." 
 
 The same facetious author, in enume- 
 rating the excellences of herrings, says, 
 " A red herring is wholesome in a frosty 
 morning : it is most precious fish-mer- 
 chandise, because it can be carried throug-h 
 ail Europe. No where are they so well 
 cured as at Yarmouth. The poorer sort 
 make it three parts of their sustenance. It 
 is every man's money, from the king to the 
 peasant. The round or cob, dried and 
 beaten to powder, is a cure for the stone. 
 Rub a quart-pot, or any measure, round 
 about the mouth with a red herring, the 
 beer shall never foam or froath m it. A 
 red herring drawn on the ground will lead 
 hounds a false scent. A broiled herring is 
 .good for the rheumatism. The fishery is a 
 .great nursery for seamen, and brings more 
 -ships to Yarmouth than assembled at Troy 
 •to fetch back Helen." 
 
 At the end of what Nash calls "The 
 Play in Praise of Red Herrings," he boasts 
 of being the first author who had written 
 in praise of fish or fishermen : of the latter 
 he wittily and sarcastically says, " For 
 your seeing wonders in the deep, you may 
 be the sons and heirs of the prophet Jonas; 
 you are all cavaliers and gentlemen, since 
 the king of fishes chose you for his sub- 
 jects ; for your selling smoke, you may be 
 courtiers ; for your keeping fasting days, 
 friar-observants ; and, lastly, look in what 
 town there is the sign of the three mari- 
 ners, the huff-capped drink in that house 
 you shall be sure of always." 
 
 Should any one desire to be informed to 
 what farther medicinal and culinary pur- 
 poses red nerring may be applied with 
 advantage, Dodd's Natural History of the 
 Herring may be consulted. If what is 
 there collected were true, there would be 
 little occasion for the faculty, and cookery 
 would 1)0 longer be a science. 
 
 Norwich. G. B. 
 
 285 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 TO JOVE THE BENEFICENT. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Oh thou, that boldest in thy spacious hands 
 
 The destinies of men 1 whose eye surveys 
 Their various actions ! thou, whose temple stands 
 
 Above all temples I tliou, whom all men praise 1 
 Of good the author ! thou, whose wisdom sways 
 
 The universe ! all bounteous !' grant to me 
 Tranquillity, and health, and' length of days; 
 
 Good will t'wards all, and reverence unto thee ; 
 Allowance for man's failings, of my own 
 
 The knowledge ; and the power to conquer all 
 Those evil things to which we are too ^j.'one — 
 
 Malice, hate, envy— all that ill we call. 
 To me a blameless life. Great Spirit! grant. 
 Nor burden'd with much care; nur narrow'd by much 
 want. 
 
 S. R. J. 
 
 WILSON AND SIIUTER. 
 
 When Wilson the comedian made his 
 d6but, it was in the character formerly sup- 
 ported by Shuter; but upon his appear- 
 ance on the stage, the audience called out 
 for their former favourite, by crying, " Off', 
 off—Skuter, Shuter!" Whereon Wilson, 
 turning round, and with a face as stupid as 
 art could make it, and suiting his action to 
 his woids, replied, " Shout her, shoot her .^" 
 (pointing at the same time to the female 
 performer on the stage with him,) " I'm sure 
 she does her part very well." This well- 
 timed sally of seeming stupidity turned the 
 scale in his favour, and called down re- 
 peated applause, which continued during 
 the whole of the performance.* 
 
 KITTY WHITE'S PARENTHESIS. 
 
 Kitty White, a pupil to old Rich, the 
 comedian, was instructed by O'Brien, of 
 Drury-lane, how to perform Sylvia, in 
 '' The Recruiting Officer." The lady re- 
 citing a passage improperly, he told her it 
 was a parenthesis, and therefore required a 
 different tone of voice, and greater volu- 
 bility. "A parenthesis !" said Miss White, 
 " What's that?" Her mother, who was 
 present, blushing for her daughter's igno- 
 rance, immediately exclaimed, " Oh, what 
 an infernal limb of an actress will you 
 jnake ! not to know tlie meaning of 'pren- 
 tce, and that it is the plural number of 
 prentices !" 
 
 » Monthly Mirror 
 
 LADY WALLIS AND Mr. HARRIS. 
 Mr. Harris, patentee of Covent-garden 
 theatre, having received a very civil mes- 
 sage from lady Wallis, offering him her 
 comedy for nothing, Mr. H. observed 
 upon ins perusal, that her ladyship knew 
 the exact value of it.* 
 
 SMOKY CHIMNIES. 
 A large bladder filled with air, susoend- 
 ed about half way up the chimney' by a 
 pjiece of string attached tu a stick, and 
 ])laced across a hoop, which may be easih 
 faistened by nails, wdl, it is said, prevent 
 the disagreeable effects of a smoky chim- 
 ney. 
 
 OLD ENGLISH PROVERB. 
 
 " An ounce of mother ivif/ is worth a 
 pound of learning," seems well exemplified 
 in tlie following dialogue, translated from 
 the German : 
 
 Hans, the son of the clergyman, said to 
 the farmer's son Frederick, as they were 
 walking together on a fine summer's even- 
 ing, " How large is the moon which wu 
 now see in the heavens ?" 
 
 Frederick. As large as a baking-dish. 
 
 Hans. Ha! ha! ha! As large as a bk 
 ing-dish? No, Frederick, it is full as largf 
 as a whole country. 
 
 Frederick. \Vhat do you tell me? as 
 large as a whole country ? How do you 
 know it is so large? 
 
 Huns. My tutor told me so. 
 
 While they were talking, Augustus. 
 another boy, came by ; and Hans ran 
 laughing up to him, and said, " Only hear, 
 Aug-ustus !' Frederick says the moun is no 
 bigger than a baking-dish." 
 
 " No V replied Augustus, " The moon 
 must meat least as big as our barn. When 
 my father has taken me with him into the 
 city, I have observed, that the globe on the 
 top of the dome of the cathedral seems like 
 a very little ball ; and yet it will contain 
 three sacks of corn; and the moon must be 
 a great deal higher than the dome." 
 
 Now which of these three little philoso- 
 phers was the mo-t intelligent ? — I must 
 give it in favour of the last ; though Hans- 
 was most in the right through the instruc- 
 tion of his master. But it is much more 
 honourable to come even at all near thf 
 truth, by one's own reasoning, than to givt 
 implicit faith to the hypothesis of another. 
 
 • Monthly Mirror. 
 
 286 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 SEAL AND AUTOGEAPH OF THE LORD HIGH ADMIRAL, 
 
 CHARLES LORD HOWARD OF EFFIXGHAJI, 1585. 
 
 Vol. hi. 287 U 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 OFPICB OF LORD HIGH ADMIRAL. 
 
 An engraving of the great seal of Charles 
 Lord Howard of Effingham, as high admiral 
 of England, with another, his lordship's 
 autograph, are presented to the readers of 
 the Table Book from the originals, before 
 the Editor, affixed to a commission in the 
 first year of that nobleman's high office, 
 granting to sir Edward Hoby, knight, the 
 vice-admiralty of the hundred of Milton, in 
 the county of Kent.* 
 
 It will be remembered, that the lord 
 Howard of Effingham, afterwards created 
 earl of Nottingham, was the distinguished 
 admiral of the English fleet, which, in 
 conjunction with the winds of heaven, 
 dispersed an-i destroyed the formidable 
 Spanish armada for the invasion of Eng- 
 land in 1588, during the reign of queen 
 Elizabeth. These, engraved representations 
 therefore arc ro mean illustrations to a 
 short account of ihe office of lord high 
 admiral, which, after having been in com- 
 mission upwards of a century, is revived in 
 the person of the 'neir apparent to the 
 throne. 
 
 It is commonly said, that we have ob- 
 tained the term admiral from the French. 
 The first admiral of France, or that ever 
 had been there by title of office, was 
 Enguerrand de Bail'.eul, lord of Coucy, who 
 was so created by Philip the Hardy in 1284, 
 and under that title appointed to command 
 a fleet for the conquest of Catalonia and 
 other Spanish provinces from Peter of 
 Arragon. 
 
 The French are presumed to have gained 
 the term in the crusades a little before this 
 period, under St. Lewis, who instituted the 
 c'der of " the ship," an honour of knight- 
 hood, to encourage and reward enterprise 
 against the Turks. The collar of this order, 
 at the lower end whereof hung a ship, was 
 intei laced on double chains of gold, with 
 double scallop-shells of gold, and double 
 crescents of silver interwoven, " which 
 figured the sandy shore and port of Aigues- 
 Vlortes, and, with the ship, made manifest 
 leclaration that this enterprise was to fi9;ht 
 ivith infidel nations, which followed the 
 False law of Mahomet who bare the cres- 
 cent. "f The chief naval commander o'' the 
 Saracens is said to have been called the 
 admirante, and from him the French are 
 '-cnjectured to have gained their amiral : if 
 
 they did, it was the only advantage secured 
 to France by the expedition of St. 
 Lewis.* 
 
 Still, however, whether the French amira, 
 Qomes from the Saracen admirante is doubt, 
 ful ; and though the title occurs in Frencii 
 history, before we discover admiral in our 
 own, it is also doubtful whether we derive 
 it from our neighbours. The Saxons had 
 an officer, whom from his duties they called 
 " Aen-Mere-al.l, that is All upon the sea :"-\ 
 this title therefore of our ancient ancestors 
 may reasonably be presumed to have been 
 the etymon of our admiral. 
 
 William de Leybourne was the first 
 Englishman that had the style of admiral. 
 At the assembly at Bruges m 1297, (25 
 Edward I.) he was styled Admirallus Maris 
 ■Regis, and soon after the office became 
 tripartite. We subsequently meet with the 
 titles of admiralty of the north and of the 
 west, and in 1387 (10 Richard II.) we find 
 Richard, son of Allan, earl of Arundel and 
 Surry, denominated Admirallun AiiqlicB : 
 this is the earliest mention of that style. J 
 
 Charles, lord Howard of Effingham, the 
 illustrious high admiral of Elizabeth,held tha 
 office eighteen years under his heroic mis- 
 tress, and was continued in it fourteen years 
 longer by her successor James I. In 1619 
 he was succeeded in it by George, marquis 
 (afterwards the first duke) of Buckingham, 
 who held the dignity till 1636, (temp. Car. 
 I.) when it was in commission for a week, 
 and then conferred on Algernon, earl of 
 Northumberland, and afterwards, by the 
 parliament, on Robert, earl of Warwick. He 
 surrendered his commission in 1645, under 
 an ordinance that members should have no 
 employment, and the office was executed 
 by a committee of both houses, of whom 
 the earl was one. In 1649, the commis- 
 sioners of the admiralty under the Common- 
 wealth were allowed threeshillings each per 
 diem. 
 
 * For the loan of this document, the editor is in- 
 debted to his valuable and valued correspondent J. J. K. 
 '*' rsviae, b. iii. c i 
 
 * " This good prince being dead of a dysentrj at 
 tbe camp of Carthage in Africa, the fifth day of August 
 One thousand two hundred threescore and ten, his body 
 was boiled in wine and water, until that the flesh was 
 neatly divided from the bones. His flesh and entrails 
 were given to the king of Sicily, monsieur Cliarles of 
 France, brother to the king, who caused them to be in- 
 terred in the monastery of Mont Reall, of the order of 
 St. Benedict, near to the city ot Palermo in Sicily. 
 But the bones, wrapped up worthily in scare cloth and 
 silks, excellently embalmed with most precious per- 
 fumes, were carried to St. Denis in France : icd with 
 them those of his son, monsieur John of France, count 
 of Nevers, dying in the camp and of the same disease.' 
 Favine. 
 
 t Maitland, Cok. Just. p. i. 
 
 X Godoiphin's Admiralty Jurisdiction, 1746. 
 
 288 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 At tlie restoration of Charles If. in 1660, 
 his brother James, duke of York, was ap- 
 pointed lord hi^h admiral; but on the pass- 
 ing cf the test act in 1673, beinsc a Roman 
 Catholic, he resigned, and the office was put 
 in commission, with prince Rupert as first 
 lOrd, till 1679. It remained in commission 
 till the end of that re.\<-^n. 
 
 James II. (the duke of York just men- 
 tioned) en his accession declared himself, 
 in council, lord high admiral, and lord 
 general of the navy, and during his short 
 reign managed the admiralty atfairs by Mr. 
 Secretary Pepys. 
 
 Throughout the reign of William III., the 
 admiralty was continued in commission. 
 
 Queen Anne, in 1702, appointed her 
 consort, prince George of Denmark, lord 
 high admiral of England ; he executed 
 the office under that style, with a council, 
 till 1707, when, on account of the union, he 
 was styled lord high admiral of Great 
 Britain, and so continued wUh a council as 
 before. He died October 28, 1708, and 
 the queen acted by Mr. Secretary Burchel, 
 till the 29th of November, when her ma- 
 jesty appointed Thomas, earl of Pembroke, 
 lord high admiral of Great Britain, with a 
 fee of 300 marks per annum. In November, 
 1709, the admiralty was again put in com- 
 mission, and has been so continued from 
 that time till April 1827, when the duke of 
 Clarence was appointed lord high admiral 
 of Great Britain. 
 
 The lord high admiral has the manage- 
 ment and controul of all maritime affairs, 
 and the government of the royal navy. He 
 commissions all naval officers, from an ad- 
 miral to a lieutenant ; he takes cognizance 
 and decides on deaths, murders, maims, 
 and all crimes and offences committed on 
 or beyond sea, in all parts of the world, 
 on the coasts, in all ports or havens, and 
 on all rivers to the first bridge from the sea. 
 He appoints deputies for the coasts, coro- 
 ners for the view of dead bodies found at 
 sea, or on the waters within his jurisdiction, 
 and judges for his court of admiralty. To 
 iim belongs all fines and forfeitures arising 
 from the exercise of his office, the goods 
 of pirates, &c. maritime deodands, wrecks, 
 salvage, sea-prize, waifs and strays, por- 
 poises, and other great sea-fishes, called 
 I'oyal fishes, whale and sturgeon only ex- 
 cepted.* He is conservator of rivers and 
 public streams, and of all ships and 
 fisheries, with power to reform unlawful 
 nets and engines; and he arrests and seizes 
 
 ships, impi-esses mariners, pilots, masters, 
 gunners, bombardiers, and any other per- 
 sons wheresoever they may be met with, as 
 often as the naval service may require.* 
 Formerly, in common with other admirals, 
 he wore a whistle suspended by a gold' 
 chain, with which he cheered his men to 
 action, but which has now descended to 
 the boatsv/ain.f 
 
 The powers of the commission from the 
 lord Howar-d of Effingham, high admiral ol 
 England, to sir Edward Hoby, may further 
 illustrate the nature and extent of this high 
 office. The deed itself is in Latin, fairly ' 
 engrossed on parchment, with a lar-ge and 
 fine illumii.ation, entirely filling the side 
 and bottom margins, representing a branch 
 of white roses tinged with red, entwined 
 with a branch of honeysuckle, the leaves 
 and flowers m fair and proper colours. 
 
 This commissi.on empowers "sir Edward 
 Hobble, knight," to take cognizance of, and 
 proceed in all civil and maritime causes, 
 contracts, crimes, offences, and other 
 matters, appertaining to the jurisdiction of 
 •the English admiralty of the queen in the 
 hundred of Milton in the county of Kent, 
 and the maritime parts thereof, and ther-eto 
 adjacent, and to hear and determine the 
 same : And to inquire by the oath of good 
 and loyal men of the said hundred of all 
 traitors, pirates, homicides, and felons, and 
 of all suicides, and questionable deaths and 
 casualties within such admii-alty jurisdiction, 
 and of theirestates, and concerning whatever 
 appertains to the office of the lord high 
 admiral in t tie said hundred. And of and 
 concerning the anchorage and shores and the 
 royal fishes, viz. sturgeons, whales, shell- 
 fish, (cetis,) porpoises, dolphins, rigge arrd 
 grampuses, and geirerally of all other fishes 
 whatsoever, ireat and small, belonging to 
 the queen in her office of chief admiralty of 
 Errgland : And to obtain and receive all 
 pecuniary penalties in respect of crimes 
 and offences belonging to such jurisdiction 
 within the said hundred, and to decide on 
 all such matters: And to proceed against 
 all offenders accor-ding to the statutes of the 
 queen and her kingdom, and according to 
 the admiralty power of mulcting, cor-rect- 
 ing, punishing, castigating, reforming, and 
 imprisoning within the said hundred or its 
 jurisdiction : And to inquire concerning 
 nets of too small mesh, and other contriv- 
 ances, or illicit instruments, for the taking o.* 
 fish: And concerning the bodies of persons 
 
 * Covvel &c. 
 
 + Foslifoke's Ency. of Antioaitiei. 
 
 289 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 wrecked and. drowned in the waters of the 
 hundred : And concerning the keeping and 
 preservation of the statutes of the queen 
 and her kingdom in the maritime parts of 
 the said hundred : And concerning the 
 wreck of the sea : AiSD to exercise the office 
 of coroner, according to the statutes in the 
 third and fourth years of Edward the First : 
 And to proceed according to the statutes con- 
 cerning the damage of goods upon the sea in 
 the 27th year of Edward III. : "'And you the 
 aforesaid sir Hobbie, our vice-admiral, com- 
 missary, and deputy in the office of vice- 
 admiralty, in and over the aforesaid hundred 
 of Mihon, we appoint, recommending to 
 you and your locum tenens firmness in the 
 execution of your duty, and requiring you 
 yearly in Easter and Michaelmas term to 
 account to the Court of Admiralty your 
 
 proceedings in tlie premises." ■ — 
 
 " Given at Greenwich under our great seal 
 the twelfth day of the month of July in 
 the year of our Lord from the incarnation 
 one thousand five hundred and eighty-five, 
 and in the twenty-seventh year of the reign of 
 our most serene lady PLlizabeth by the grace 
 of God queen of England, France, and 
 Ireland, defender of the faith, &c." 
 
 The " great seal" above mentioned is 
 the great seal of the admiralty, engraved on 
 a preceding page, and as there represented, 
 of the exact size of the seal appended to the 
 commission. 
 
 Milton fluNDRED, Kent. 
 Through a different source than that, 
 whence the commission just set forth came 
 to hand, the Editor has now before him 
 various original papers formerly belonging 
 »o ?ir Edward Hoby, concerning his private 
 and public concerns. The two following 
 relate to the hundred of Milton. 
 T. 
 Articles of the Queene's Majestie 
 Lands belonging to the Mannor 
 of Milton with ther yearly values 
 as they wilbe letten, and of the 
 other benefiits belonging to the 
 same mannor, which are now 
 letten by her Majestie in farme. 
 Acres. Value. 
 Earablf X^nds 276 - 13*. 4rf. I84«. 
 MeadoweLands 39-20*. - 39?i. 
 Mershe Lands - 12-20*. - 12/i. 
 I Pasture Lands - 80 - \5.i. - 60//. 
 (Shent ?) Lands - 34 - 6*. M. 11 U. 6.-, Brf. 
 *"l€)wne meade - 25 - 5*. - 6/2. 5*. 
 
 466 
 
 331/i. Bfif. 
 
 Rents of Assise - - - 
 The Myll 
 
 Faires and Marketts - - 
 Relieves and Alienac'ons - 
 Fines and Amercements - 
 Wastes Strayes Fellons "l 
 Goods and Wiack of Sea J 
 
 11572. 1». lOrf 
 
 12/i. 
 lO/i. 
 
 Ui. 
 
 Qli. 13s. Ad: 
 
 13li. 6s. 8rf 
 
 leui. 1.1. lod. 
 
 492/i. 2*. 6d: 
 
 Articles of the Queene's Majestie 
 Lands and other benefitts be- 
 longing to the Hundred of Mar- 
 den nov/ less letten in farme. 
 
 Acres. Value- 
 Queene's Lands - 9 - 8^s. - 3U.\2s. 
 Ji'ents of Assise - - - - \Ali. 9.i. 5d. 
 Wastes Straies and Fellons goods 3/i. 6.s. 8d. 
 
 ■2Ui. Hx. Iri. 
 
 ot botlie tiie mannors } 
 It is oversom'ed viij p. ann. 
 
 IL 
 
 Sir Edward Hoby for a Lease of the 
 custodie o/^Milton and Maeden. 
 
 The Queene's Ma'tie by warrant of the 
 late Lord Treasourer the sixt daye of July, 
 in the xiijth Yeare of her Raigne, did 
 graunt Custodia of the Mannor of Milton, 
 and the Hundred of Milton, and Marden, 
 &c. vnto Thomas Randolphe for Threescore 
 years, yieldinge 120/i. yearly rent and vjs. 
 viijd increase of the rent. Prouiso semper 
 q'd si aliquis alius plus dare voluerit de 
 incr'o per Annum pro Custod. predict' 
 sine fraude vel malo ingenio Quod tunc 
 idem Thomas Randolphe tantum pro eadera 
 soluere teneatur si Custod. voluerit her'e 
 sup'dict. 
 
 The Lease is by meane conveyance 
 colorably sett over vnto one Thomas Bod- 
 ley, but the interest is in one Richard Pot- 
 man, Attorney towards the Lavve. 
 
 Sr Edward Hoby knight the xxvjth or 
 Maye xlmo Regine nunc, before the nowe 
 Lord Treasourer and the Barons of the 
 Exchequer did personally cum, and in 
 wrytinge under his hande. Offer, sine fraude 
 vel raalo ingenio, to increase the Queene's 
 rent 1 00!', vearly, which sayd Offer was 
 accepted and attested, with Mr. Baron 
 Clar'Ke's hande redy to be inroUed. 
 
 WVerenpon the sayd Sr Edward Hohy 
 doth humbly praye that Yor Lo'pp wilbe 
 
 290 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 pleased to gyve wan ant for the inrowlinoe 
 thereof aceordingely, and that a scire facias 
 maye presently be awarded agaynst the 
 Leasee, to shewe cause whye the former 
 Pattern shoulde not be repealed, and the 
 custody aforesayd graunted to the sayd 
 Sr Edward Hoby. 
 
 Note. 
 The lyke tender was heretofore made 
 xxxijdo Regine Elizabeth by Richard Var- 
 ney Esquyer, agaynst Gregory Wolmer 
 Esquyer, for the Mannor of Torrington 
 Magna : beinge in extent to her Ma'tie 
 for the dett of Phillipp Basset, and leased 
 with the like Prouiso, and thereby ob- 
 teyned a newe Lease from her Ma'tie. 
 
 The preceding documents are so far 
 interesting, as they connect sir Edward 
 Hoby with the hundred of Milton and 
 Marden, beyond his public office of vice 
 admiral of the former place, and show the 
 underletting of the crown lands in the 
 reign of Elizabeth, with something of the 
 means employed at that time to obtain 
 grants. 
 
 (garricfe ^laps^. 
 
 No. XVL 
 
 [From "Tottenham Court,'' a Comedy, by 
 Thomas Nabbs, 1638.] 
 
 Lovers Pursued. 
 Worthgood, Bellamie, as travelling to- 
 gether before daylight. 
 
 Worth. Come, my Delight ; let not such painted 
 griefs 
 Press down thy soul : the darkness but presents 
 Shadows of fear ; which should secure us best 
 from danger of pursuit. 
 
 Bell. Would it were day ! 
 My apprehension is so full of horror ; 
 r think each sound, the air's light motion 
 Makes in these thickets, is my Uncle's voice, 
 Threal'ning our ruins. 
 
 Wurth. Let his rage persist 
 To enterprise a vengeance, we'll prevent it. 
 Wrapt in the arms of Night, that favours Lovers, 
 We hitherto have 'scaped his eager search ; 
 And are arrived near London. Sure I hear 
 The Bridge's cataracts, and such-like murmurs 
 As night and sleep yield from a populous number. 
 
 Bell. But when will it be day ? the light hath com- 
 fort : 
 Our first of useful senses being lost. 
 The rest are less delighted. 
 
 JVorth. Th* early Cock 
 Hath sung his summons to the day's approach : 
 rlwill instantly appear Why startled, Bellamie, 
 
 Bell. Did no amazing sounds arnve thy ear ; 
 Pray, listen. 
 
 Worth. Come, come ; 'tis thy fear suggests 
 Illusive fancies. Under Love's protection 
 We may presume of safety. 
 
 (^JVithin.') Follow, follow, follow. 
 
 Bell. Aye me, 'tis sure my Uncle ; dear Lore 
 Worthgood ? 
 
 fForth. Astonishment hath seiz'd my faculties. 
 My Love, my Bellamie, ha ! 
 
 Bell. Dost thou forsake me, Worthgood ? 
 
 (^Exit, as losing him.') 
 
 Worth. Where's my Love ? 
 Dart from thy silver crescent one fair beam 
 Through this black air, thou Governess of Night, 
 To shew me whither she is led by fear. 
 Thou envious Darkness, to assist us here. 
 And then prove fatal ! 
 
 {Within.^ Follow, follow, follow. 
 
 Worth. Silence your noise, ye clamorous ministers 
 Of this injustice. Bellamie is lost ; 
 ohe's lost to me. Not her fierce Uncle's rage. 
 Who whets yuur eager aptness to pursue me 
 Wirh threats or promises ; nor his painted terrors 
 Of laws' severity ; could ever work 
 Upon the temper of my resolute soul 
 To soften it to fear, till she was lost. 
 Not all the illusive horrors, which the night 
 Presents unto th' imagination, 
 T' affright a guilty conscience, could possess me. 
 While I possess'd my Love. The dismal shrieks 
 Of fatal owls, and groans of dying mandrakes, 
 Whilst her soft palm warm'd mine, were music to me.— 
 Their light appears. — No safety does consist 
 In passion or complaints. Night, let thine arms 
 Again assist me ; and, if no kind minister 
 Of better fate guide me to Bellamie, 
 Be thou eternal. 
 
 {^Within.') Follow, follow, follow. 
 
 Bellamie, alone, in Mart/bone Park. 
 
 Bell. The day begins to break ; and trembling Ligikl 
 As if affrighted with this night's disaster, 
 Steals thro the farthest air, and by degrees 
 Salutes my weary longings. — O, my Worthgood, 
 Thy presence would have checkt these passiots ; 
 And shot delight thro' all the mists of sadness. 
 To guide my fear safe thro' the paths of danger * 
 Now fears assault me.— 'Tis a woman's voice. 
 She sings ; and in her music's chearfulness 
 Seems to express the freedom of a heart. 
 Not chain'd to any passions. 
 
 Song, Within. 
 
 What a dainty life the Milkmaid ieaoa 
 
 When over the flowery meads 
 
 She dabbles in the dew. 
 
 And sings to her cow ; 
 
 And feels not the pain 
 
 Of Love or Disdain. 
 
 She sleeps in the night, tho' she toils m tho day, 
 
 And merrily passeth her time away. 
 
 Z'd.l 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 Bell. Oh, might I change my miserj 
 For such a shape of quiet 1 
 
 [From the " Duchess of Suffolk," an His- 
 torical Play, by T. Heywood, 1631.") 
 
 A Tragic Pursuit. 
 
 The Duchess, with her Utile child, pre- 
 paring to escape by night from the relentless 
 persecution of the Romanists. 
 
 Duch. (to the Nurse ) Give me my child, and mantle ; 
 — now Heaven's pleasure : 
 fare-veil ;— come life or death, I'll hug my treasure. 
 Nay, chide not, pretty babe ; our enemies come : 
 Thy crying will pronounce thy mother's doom. 
 Be thou but still ; 
 This gate may shade us from their envious will. 
 
 (Exit.) 
 
 (^A noise of Pursuers. She re-enters.) 
 Buck. Oh fear, what art thou ? lend me wings Xa 
 fly; 
 
 Direct me in this plunge of misery. 
 
 Nature has taught the Child obedience ; 
 
 Thou hast been humble to thy mother's wish. 
 
 let me kiss these duteous lips of thine. 
 
 That would not kill thy mother with a cry. 
 
 Now forward, whither heav'n dirt^cts; for I 
 
 Can guide no better than thine infancy. 
 
 Here are two Pilgrims bound for Lyon Quay,* 
 
 ind neither knows one footstep of the way. 
 (Noise again heard.) 
 Duch. Return you ? then 'tis time to shift me hence. 
 
 (Exit, andpresently Re-enters.) 
 Duch. Thus far; but heav'n knows where, we have 
 escaped 
 
 The eager pursuit of our enemies. 
 
 Having for guidance my attentive fear. 
 
 Still 1 look back, still start my tired feet. 
 
 Which never till now measured London street : 
 
 My Honours scorn'd that custom ; they would ride ; 
 
 Now forced to walk, more weary pain to bide. 
 
 Thou shall not do so, child; I'll carry thee 
 
 In Sorrow's arms to welcome misery. 
 
 Custom must steel thy youth with pinching want. 
 
 That thy great birth in age may bear with scant 
 
 Sleep peaceably, sweet duck, and make no noise : 
 
 Methinks each step is death's arresting voice. 
 
 We shall meet nurse anon ; a dug will come. 
 
 To please my quiet infant : when, nurse, when ? 
 
 The Duchess, persecuted from place to 
 place, ivith Bcrty, her Husband, takes com- 
 fort from her Babys smiles. 
 
 Duch. Yet we have scaped the danger of our foes ; 
 4.nd 1, that whilom was exceeding weak 
 
 • From which plact she hopes to embark foi Flan- 
 
 Throngh my hard travail in this infant's birth, 
 
 Am noiv grown strong upon necessity. 
 
 How forwards are we toward;; VVindham Castle ? 
 
 Berty. Just half our way : but we have lost our 
 friends. 
 Thro' the hot pursuit of our enemies. 
 
 Duch. We are not utterly devoid of friends ; 
 Behold, the young Lord Willougliby smiles on us: 
 And 'tis great help to have aLord our friend. 
 
 C.L. 
 
 CfKatn'ral Cus^tomsi* 
 
 PLAY-BILLS. 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — Conjecturing that some slight no- 
 tices of the early use of play-bills by oui 
 comedians might be interesting to you> 
 readers, allow me respectfully to request 
 the insertion of the following: — 
 
 So early as 1587, there is an entry in tin 
 Stationers' books of a license granted to 
 John Charlewood, in the month of October, 
 "by the whole consent of the assistants, 
 for the onlye ymprinting of all maner of 
 bills for players. Provided that if any 
 trouble arise herebye, then Charlewoode to 
 bear the charges." Ames, in his Typogr. 
 Antiq., p. 34-2, referring to a somewhat 
 later date, states, that James Roberts, who 
 printed in quarto several of the dramas 
 written by the immortal Shakspeare, also 
 " printed bills for the players ;" the license 
 of the Stationers' Company had then pro 
 bably devolved to him. The announce- 
 ments of the evening's or rather afternoon's 
 entertainment was not circulated by the 
 medium of a diurnal newspaper, as at pre- 
 sent, but broadsides were pasted up at the 
 corners of the streets to attract the passer- 
 by. The puritanical author of a " Treatise 
 against Idleness, Vaine-playes, and Inter- 
 ludes," printed in black letter, without date, 
 but possibly anterior to 1587, proffers an 
 admirable illustration of the practice. — 
 " They use," says he, in his tirade against 
 the players, "to set up their bills upon 
 postes some certain dayes before, to ad- 
 monish the people to make resort to their 
 theatres, that they may thereby be the 
 better furnished, and the people prepared 
 to fill their purses with their treasures.' 
 The whimsical John Taylor, the water-poet, 
 under the head of Wii a^/i Mirth, also 
 alludes to the custom. - - •' Master Nat 
 Field, the player, riding up Fleet-street at 
 a great pace, a gentleman called him, and 
 asked what play was played that day. He 
 being angry to be stay'd on so frivolous e 
 
 292 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 demand, answered, that he might see what 
 play was plaied on every poste. I cry your 
 mercy, said the gentleman, I look you for a 
 poste, you rode so fast." 
 
 It may naturally be inferred, that the 
 emoluments of itinerant players could not 
 affoid the convenience of a printed bill, 
 and hence from necessity arose the practice 
 of announcing the play by beat of drum. 
 Will. Slye, who attended Kempe in the 
 provincial enactment of his " Nine Men of 
 Gotham," is figured with a drum. ParoUes, 
 in Shakspeare's " All's Well that ends 
 Well," alludes to this occupation of some 
 of Will. Slye's fellows, " Faith, sir, he has 
 led' the drum before the English come- 
 dians." 
 
 The long detailed titles of some of the 
 early quarto plays induce a supposition, 
 that the play-bills which introduced them 
 to public notice were similarly extended. 
 The " pleasant conceited Comedy," and 
 " the Bloody Tragedy," were equally cal- 
 culated to attract idling gazers on the book- 
 stalls, or the " walks at St. Paul's," and 
 to draw gaping crowds about some voci- 
 ferous Autolycus, who was probably an 
 underling belonging to the company, or a 
 servant to one of the players; for, as they 
 ranked as gentlemen, each forsooth had his 
 man. A carping satirical writer, who wrote 
 anonymously " Notes from Blackfriers," 
 1617, presents some traces of a play-bill 
 crier of that period. 
 
 ■" Prithpe, what'p the play? 
 
 The first I visited this twelvemonth day. 
 
 They say — ' A new invented boy of piirle. 
 
 That jeoparded his neck to steale a girl 
 
 Of twelve ; and lying fast impounded for't, 
 
 Has hither sent his bearde to act his part. 
 
 Against all those in open malice bent. 
 
 That would not freely to the theft consent : 
 
 Faines all to 's wish, and in the epilogue 
 
 Goes out apulauded for a famous — rogue.' 
 
 — Now hang me if 1 did not look at first. 
 
 For some such stuff,' by the fond-people's thrust." 
 
 In 1642, the players, who till the sub- 
 version of the kingly prerogative in the 
 preceding year, basked in the sunshine of 
 court favour, and publicly acknowledged 
 ihe patronage of royalty, provoked, by 
 their loyalty, the vengeance of the stern un- 
 yielding men in power. The lords and 
 commons, assembled on the second day ot 
 Septenaber in the lormer year, suppressed 
 sldge plays, during these calamitous times, 
 by the following 
 
 Ordinance. 
 " Whereas the distressed estate of Ire- 
 land, steeped in her own blood, and the 
 
 distracted estate of England, threatened- 
 with a cloud of blood, by a Civill Wr.rre , 
 call for all possible meanes to appease and' 
 avert the -vvrath of Godj appearing in these 
 judgments ; amongst wliich, fasting and 
 prayer having been often tried to be very 
 efFecluall, have bin lately', and are still en- 
 joyned : And whereas pitblic sports doe' 
 not well agree with public calamities, nor 
 publike Stage Playes with the seasons of 
 humiliation, this being an exercise of sad 
 and pious solemnity, arid the other specta- 
 cles of pleasure, too commonly expressing- 
 lascivious mirth and levitie : It is therefore 
 thought fit, and ordeined by the Lords and 
 Commons in this Parliament assembled, 
 that while these sad causes, and set times 
 of humiliation doe continue, publike Stage 
 Playes shall cease, and bee forborne. In- 
 stead of which, are recommended to the 
 people of this land, the profitable and sea- 
 sonable considerations of repentance, re- 
 conciliation, and peace with God, which 
 probably may produce outward peace and 
 prosperity, and bring againe times of joy 
 and gladnesse to these nations." 
 
 The teriour of this ordinance was strictly 
 enforced; many young and vigorous actors 
 joined the kmg's army, in which for the 
 most part they obtained commissions, and' 
 others retired on the scanty pittances they 
 had earned, till on the restoration, the 
 theatre burst forth with new eff'ulgence. 
 The play-bill that announced the opening 
 of the new theatre, in Drury-lane, April 8, 
 1663, has been already printed in the 
 Every-Day Book. The actors' names 
 were then, for the first time, affixed to 
 the characters they represented; and, to' 
 evince their loyalty, " Vivat Rex et Re- 
 gina," was appended at the foot of the 
 bills, as it continues to this day. 
 
 In the reign of the licentious Charles IT., 
 wherein monopolies of all kinds were 
 granted to court favourites, licenses were 
 obtained for the sole printing of play-bills. 
 There is evidence in Bagford's Collections, 
 Ilarl. MSS; No. 5910, vol. ii., that in 
 August, 1663, Roger L'Estrange, as sur- 
 veyor of the imprimery and printing presses, 
 had the "sole license and grant of print- 
 ing and publishing all ballads, plays, 8ic. 
 not previously printed, play-bills, &c." 
 These privileges he sold to operative print- 
 ers. When that license ceased, I have yet 
 to learn. 
 
 The play-bills at Bartholomew-fair were 
 in form the same as those used at the regu- 
 lar theatres ; but, as they were given among 
 the populace, they were only half the size. 
 One that Dogget published recently, in my 
 
 298 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 possession, had W. R. in the upper corners, 
 as those printed in the reign ot Charles 11-, 
 had C. R., the royal arms being in the 
 centre. 
 
 The luxurious mode of printing in 
 alternate black and red lines, was adopted 
 ui Gibber's time ; the bills of Covent-garden 
 theatre were generally printed in that man- 
 ner. The bills of Drury-lane theatre, with- 
 in the last ten years, have issued from a 
 private press, set up in a room below the 
 stage of that theatre. The bills for the 
 royal box, on his majesty's visit to either 
 theatre, are printed on white satin. 
 
 Connected with these notices of play- 
 bills, are the means by which they were 
 dispersed. A century ago, they were sold 
 in the theatres by young women, called 
 'orange-girls,'' some of whom, Sally Harris 
 dnd others, obtained considerable cele- 
 brity; these were succeeded by others, who 
 neither coveted nor obtained notoriety. 
 The " orange-girls " have gone out, and 
 staid married women, who pay a weekly 
 stipend to the box-lobby fruit-woman, now 
 vend play-bills in the theatre, but derive 
 most of their emolument from the sale of 
 the " book of the play," or " the songs " 
 of the evening. The old cry about the 
 streets, " Choice fruit, and a bill of the 
 play — Drury-lane or Covent-garden," is 
 almost extinct; the barrow-women are 
 obliged to obtain special permission to re- 
 main opposite some friendly shopkeeper's 
 aoor; and the play -bills are chiefly hawked 
 by little beggarly boys. 
 
 I am, sir, &c. 
 
 Will o' the Wisp. 
 
 March, 1827. 
 
 THE LINNET FANCY. 
 
 To the Editor of the Table Book. 
 It is my fantasie to have these things, 
 For they amuse me in my moody hours : 
 Their voices waft my soul into the vi'oods: 
 Where bends th' enamour'd willow o'er the stream, 
 They make sweet melody. 
 
 Of all the earthly things by which the 
 brain of man is twisted and twirled, heated 
 and cooled, fancy is the most powerful. 
 Like a froward wife, she invariably leads 
 nim by the nose, and almost every man is 
 in some degree ruled by her. One fancies 
 a horse, another an ass — one a dog, another 
 a rabbit — one's delight is in dress, an- 
 other's in negligence — one is a lover of 
 flowers, another of insects — one's mind 
 runs or. a pigeon, another's on a hawk — 
 
 one fancies himself sick, the docto- fancies 
 he can cure him : death — that stern reality — 
 settles the matter, by fancying both. One, 
 because he has a little of this life's evi' 
 assail him, fancies himself miserable, an- 
 other, as ragged as a colt, fancies himseli 
 happy. One, as ugly as sin, and as hide- 
 ous as death, fancies himself handsome — 
 another, a little higher thun six-penn'orth 
 of halfpence, fancies himself a second Saul. 
 Ill short, it would take a monthly part ol 
 the Table Book to enumerate the different 
 vagaries of fancy — so multifarious are her 
 forms. Leaving this, proceed we to one 
 of the fancies which amuse and divert the 
 mind of man in his leisure and lonely 
 hours — the " JAnnet Fancy." 
 
 " Linnet fancy !" I think I hear some 
 taker-up of the Table Book say, " What's 
 in a linnet? — rubbish — 
 
 A bird that, when caught. 
 May be had for a groat." 
 
 Music ! I answer — melody, unrivalled 
 melody — equal to Philomel's, that ever she- 
 bird of the poets. — I wish they would call 
 things by their proper names ; for, after all, 
 it is a cock — hens never make harmonious 
 sounds. The fancy is possessed but by a 
 few, and those, generally, of the " lower 
 orders " — the weavers and cobblers ol 
 Whitechapel and Spitalfields, for instance. 
 A good bird has been known to fetch ten 
 sovereigns. I have frequently seen three 
 and four given for one. 
 
 Whence the song of the linnet was ob- 
 tained I cannot tell ; but, from what I have 
 heard the tit-lark and sky-lark do, I incline 
 to believe that a good deal of theirs is in 
 the song of th« linnet. This song consists 
 of a number of jerks, as they are called, 
 some of which a bird will dwell on, and 
 time with the most beautiful exactness : 
 this is termed a " xreighed bird." Others 
 rattle through it in a hurried manner, and 
 take to what is termed battling ; these 
 are birds often "sung" against others. It 
 is with them as in a party where many are 
 inclined to sing, the loudest and quickest 
 tires them out; or, as the phrase is, " knocks 
 them down." These jerks are as under. 
 Old fanciers remember more, and regret 
 the spoliation and loss of the good old 
 strain. 1 have he<j "d some of them say, 
 that even larks are not so good as they 
 were forty years ago. The reader must not 
 suppose that the jerks are warbled in the 
 apple-pie order in which he sees them 
 here : the birds put them forth as they 
 please : good birds always ^nisA them. 
 
 294 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 LONDON BIED 
 
 Jerks. 
 
 Tuck — Tuck — Fear. 
 
 Tuck, Tuck, Fear — Ic, Tc, Ic. 
 
 Tuck, Tuck, Fear — Ic quake-e-weet. 
 Fhis is ^ finished jerk. 
 
 Tuck, Tuck, Joey. 
 
 Tuck, Tuck, Tuck, Tuck, Joey— Tolloc 
 cha, Ic quake-e-weet. 
 
 Tuck, Tuck, Wizzey. 
 I Tuck, Tuck, Wizzey— Tyr, Tyr, Tyr, 
 Cher — Wye wye Cher. 
 
 Tolloc, Ejup, R — Weet, weet, weet. 
 
 Tolloc, Ejup, R — W^eet, cheer. 
 
 Tolloc, Ejup, R — Weet, weet, weet — 
 cheer. 
 
 Tolloc, Tolloc, cha — Ic, Ic, Ic, Ic quake 
 —Ic, Ic. 
 
 CATCHER, 1827. 
 
 Tolloc, Tolloc, cha — Ic, Ic, Ic, Ic, quake 
 — Ic, Ic, Tyr, Fear. 
 
 Tolloc, Tolloc, R — Weet, weet, weet, 
 cheer — Tolloc, cha — Ejup. 
 
 ToUoo, Tolloc, R — Ejup. 
 
 Tolloc, Tolloc, R — Cha, cea — Pipe, Pipe, 
 Pipe. 
 
 Tolloc, Tolloc, R — Ejup — Pipe, Pipe, 
 I'ipe. 
 
 Lug, Lug, G— Cher, Cher, Cher. 
 
 Lug, Lug — Orchee, weet. 
 
 Lu^, Lug, G — Pipe, Pipe, Pipe. 
 
 Lu^f, Lug, G — Ic, Ic, Ic, Ic, quake, e 
 Pif)e Chow. 
 
 Lug, Lug, E chow — Lug, Ic, Ic, quake f 
 weet. 
 
 Lug, Lug, or — cha cea. 
 
 Ic Ic R — Ejup — Pipe chow 
 
 295 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Lug, Lug, E chow, Lug, Ic, Ic, quake-e- 
 weet. 
 
 Ic, Ic, R — Ejup, Pipe. 
 
 Ic, Ic, R — Ejup, Pipe, chow. 
 
 Ic Ic — R cher — Wye, wye, caer. 
 
 Ic, Ic R, cher — Weet, cheer. 
 
 Ic, Ic — quake-e-weet. 
 
 Ic, chow — E chow — Ejup, weet. 
 
 Tyr, Tyr, Cher — Wye, wye, cher. 
 
 Bell, Bell, Tyr. 
 
 Ejup, Ejup, Pipe, Chow. 
 
 Ejup, Ejup, Pipe. 
 
 Ijup, Ejup, Poy. 
 
 Peu Poy — Peu Poy. This is when call- 
 ing to each other. 
 
 Cluck, Cluck, Cha. 
 
 Cluck, Cluck, Ciia, Wisk— R, Wisk. 
 
 Ic, quake-e-weet — R Cher. 
 
 Ic, Qiiake-e-Pipe — Tolloc Ic — Tolloc Ic 
 Tolloc Ic — R Cher. 
 
 Fear, Fear, weet — Ejup, Ppe, Chow. 
 
 Pipe, Pipe, Pipe, Pipe — Ejup, i^up, 
 Ejup. 
 
 Ejup R — Lue, Tc, Ic, quake-e-weet. 
 
 Ic, Ic, R, Chow, Ic, Ic, R — Ic, Ic, 
 quake, tyr, tiear. 
 
 Most of these my oWn birds do. Several 
 strains have been known of the linnet, the 
 be«t of which I believe was Wilder's. 
 
 The method of raising is this. Get a 
 good bird — as soon as nestling/i can be had, 
 purchase four, or even six; put thera in a 
 large cage, and feed them with boiled or 
 scalded rape-seed, mixed with bread. This 
 will do till about three weeks old ; then 
 throw in dry seed, rape, flax, and canary, 
 bruised ; they will pick it up, and so be 
 weaned from the moist food. You may 
 then cage them off in back-cages, and hang 
 them under the old ones. 
 
 If you do not want the trouble of feeding 
 them, buy them at a shop about a month 
 old, when they are able to crack the seed. 
 Some persons prefer brauchers to nestlings ; 
 these are birds caught about July. When 
 they are just able to fly among the trees, 
 they are in some cases better than the 
 others; and invariably so, if they lake your 
 old bird's song, being stronger and steadier. 
 Nestlings lose half their time in playing 
 about the cage. 
 
 As two heads are said to be better than 
 one, so are two birds, therefore he who 
 wants to raise a strain, should get two 
 good ones, about the end of May — stop one 
 of them This is done by putting your 
 cage in a box, just big enough to hold it, 
 having a door in front to pull up. Some 
 have a glass in the door to enable them to 
 see the birds ; others keep them in total 
 
 darkness, only opening their prison to give 
 them food and water. The common way 
 is to put the cage in the box, and close the 
 door, by a little at a time, daily, keeping il 
 in a warm place. This is a brutal practice, 
 which I have never subscribed to, nor 
 ever shall ; yet it does improve the bird, 
 both in feather and song. By the time he 
 has '' moulted off," the other bird will 
 *' come in " stout, and your young ones 
 will take from him ; thus you will obtain 
 good birds. 
 
 To render your birds tame, and free in 
 song, move them about; tie them in hand- 
 kerchiefs, and put them on the table, or 
 any where that you safely can; only let 
 their usual place of hanging be out of 
 sight of each other. Their seeing one an- 
 other makes them fretful. To prevent this, 
 have tin covers over their water-pots. 
 
 The man who keeps birds should pay 
 attention to them : they cannot speak, but 
 their motions will often tell him that some- 
 thing is wrong ; and it will then be his 
 business to discover what. He who con- 
 fines birds and neglects them, deserves to 
 be confined himself; they merit all we can 
 do for them, and are grateful. What a 
 fluttering of wings — what a stretching ot 
 necks and legs — what tappings with the 
 bill against the wires of their cages have I 
 heard, when coming down to breakfast ; 
 what a burst of song — as much as to say, 
 " Here's master !" 
 
 Should any one be induced, from this 
 perusal, to become a fancier, let him be 
 careful with lohom, and how he deals, or he 
 will assuredly be taken in. In choosing a 
 bird, let him see that it stands up on its 
 perch boldly ; let it be snake-headed, its 
 feathers smooth and sleek, its temper good; 
 this you may know by the state of its tail : 
 a bad-tempered bird generally rubs his 
 tail down to a mere bunch of rags. Hear 
 the bird sing ; and be sure to keep the 
 seller at a distance fronn him ; a motion of 
 his master's hand, a turn of his head, may 
 stop a bird when about to do something 
 bad. Let him " go through " with his 
 song uninterrupted ; you will then discover 
 his faults. 
 
 In this dissertation (if it may be so 
 called) I have merely given what has come 
 under my own observation ; others, who 
 are partial to linnets, are invited to convey, 
 through the same medium, their know- 
 ledge, theoretical and practical, on the 
 subject. 
 
 1 am, sir, &c. 
 
 S. R. J 
 
 296 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Foundation of the 
 LONDON UNIVERSITY. 
 
 On Monday, the 30th of April, 1827, 
 his royal highness the duke of Sussex laid 
 the foundation-stone of the London Univer- 
 sity. The spot selected for the building is 
 situated at the end of Gower-street, and 
 comvprehends a very extensive piece of 
 ground. The adjacent streets were crowded 
 with passengers and carriages moving to- 
 wards the place. The day was one of the 
 finest of this fine season. The visiters, wh-o 
 were admitted by cards, were conducted to 
 an ekvaled platform, which was so much 
 inclined, that the most distant spectator 
 could readily see every particular of the 
 ceremony. Immediately before this plat- 
 form, and at about three yards distant f;om 
 it, was another, upon which the foundation- 
 stone Viras placed. The persons admitted 
 were upwards of two thousand, the greatest 
 proportion composed of well-dresied ladies. 
 Every house in the neighbourhood, which 
 afforded the smallest opportunity of wit- 
 nessing the operations, was crowded from 
 the windows to the roof; and even many 
 windows in Oower-street, from which no 
 view of the scene could be any way ob- 
 tained, were filled with company. At a 
 quarter past three o'clock, the duke of 
 Sussex arrived upon the ground, and was 
 greeted by the acclamations of the people 
 both inside and outsirie the palinff. When 
 he descended from his carriage, the band 
 of the third regiment of foot-guards, which 
 had been upon the ground some time before, 
 playing occasiottal airs, struck up " God 
 save the king." The royal duke, attended 
 by the committee and stewards, went in 
 procession to the platform, upon which the 
 foundation-stone was deposited. The stone 
 had been cut exactly in two, and in the 
 lower half was a rectangular hollow, to 
 'eceive the medals and coins, and an in- 
 scription engraved upon a copper-plate : — 
 
 DEO OPT. MAX. 
 
 SEMPITERNO ORBIS ARCHITECTO 
 
 FAVENTE 
 
 QVDD FELIX FAVSTVM QVE SIT 
 
 OCTAVVM REGNI ANNVM INEVKTE 
 
 GEORGIO QVARTO BRITANNIAUVM 
 
 REGE 
 
 CELSISSIMVS PRINCEPS AVGVSTVS FREDE- 
 
 RICVS 
 
 SUSSEXIAE DVX 
 
 OMNIVM BONARVM ARTIVM PAl'ltON^S 
 
 ANTIQVISSIMI ORDIMS ARCHITECl ONICI 
 
 PRAESES APVD AKGLOS SVMMVS 
 
 "illMVMLONDINENSIS ACADEMIAELAPIIJEM 
 
 INTER CIVIVM ET FRATRVM 
 
 CIBCVMSTANTIVM PLAVSV3 
 
 MANY SVA LOCAVIT 
 
 PRID. KAL. MAIL 
 
 OPVS 
 
 DIV MVLTVM QVE DESIDERATVM 
 
 VRBI PATRIAE COMMODISSIMVM 
 
 TAKDEM ALIQVANDO INCHOATVM EST 
 
 AN]\0 SALVTIS HVMANAE 
 
 MDCCCXXVII 
 
 ANNO LVCIS NOSTRA E 
 
 MMMMMDCCCXXVII. 
 
 NOMINA CLARISSIMORVM VIRORVM 
 
 QVI SVNT E CONCILIO 
 
 HENRICVS DVX NORFOLCIAE 
 
 HENRICVS MARCH 10 DE I.ANSDOWN 
 
 DOMINVS lOAKNES RVSSELL 
 
 lOANNES VICECOMLS DVDLEY ET WARD 
 
 GEORGIVS BARO DE AVCKLAND 
 
 HONORABILIS lAC. ABERCROMBIE 
 
 lACOBVS MACINTOSH EQVES 
 
 ALEX. BARING GEORGIVS EIRKBECK 
 
 HEN. BROUGHAM THOMAS CAMPBELL 
 
 1. L. GOLrsMIl) OLINTHVS GREGORY 
 
 GEORGIVS GROTE lOSEPBVS HVME 
 
 ZAC. MACAULAY lACOBVS MILL 
 
 BENIAMINVS SHAW lOHANNES SMITH 
 
 GVLIELMVS TOOKE HEN. WARBVRTON 
 
 HEN. WAYMOVTH lOANNES WISHAW 
 
 THOMAS WILSON 
 
 GVLIELMVS WILKINS, ARCHITECTVS. 
 
 After this inscription had been read, the 
 upper part of the stone was raised by the 
 help of pullies, and his royal highness 
 having received the coins, medals, and in- 
 scription, deposited them in the hollow 
 formed for their reception. The two parts 
 of the stone were then fastened together, 
 and the whole was lifted from the ground. 
 A bed of mortar was next laid upon the 
 ground by the workmen, and his royal 
 highness added more, which he took from 
 a silver plate, and afterwards smoothed the 
 whole with a golden trowel, upon which 
 were inscribed the following words : — 
 " With this trowel was laid the first stone 
 of the London University, by his roya! 
 highness Augustus duke of Sussex, on the 
 30th of April, 1827. William Wilkins, 
 architect ; Messrs. Lee and Co. builders.'' 
 The stone was then gradually lowered 
 amidst the cheers of the assembly, the band 
 playing " God save the king." His royal 
 highness, after having proved the stone 
 with a perpendicular, struck it three times 
 with a mallet, at the same time saying, 
 " May God bless this undertaking which 
 we have so happily commenced, and make 
 it prosper for the honour, happiness, and 
 giory, not only of the metropolis, but o1 
 the whole country " 
 
 297 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 An oration was then delivered by the 
 tlev. Dr. Mallby, in which he offered up a 
 prayer to the Almighty in behalf of the 
 proposed University. 
 
 Dr. LusHiNGTON stated, that he had 
 been chosen by the committee as the organ 
 of their opinions. He remarked that the 
 London University must effect good. The 
 clouds of ignorance had passed away, and 
 the sun had broken forth and dispelled the 
 darkness which had hitherto prevailed. No 
 man dared now to assert that the blessings 
 of education should not be extended to 
 every, even the lowest, of his majesty's 
 subjects. He then expatiated on the ad- 
 vantages which were likely to arise from 
 the establishment of a London University, 
 and especially on its admission of Dissen- 
 ters, who were excluded from the two great 
 Universities. He concluded by passing an 
 eloq^jent compliment upon the public con- 
 duct of the duke of Sussex, who, attached 
 to no party, was a friend to libetality, and 
 promoted by his encouragement any eff'orts 
 of the subjects of this realm, whatever 
 their political opinions, if their motives 
 were proper and praiseworthy. 
 
 The duke of Sussex acknowledged the 
 compliments paid to him, and stated, tliat 
 the proudest day of his life was that upon 
 which he had laid the first stone ot ♦ne 
 London University, surrounded as he was 
 hy gentlemen of as high rank, fortune, and 
 character, as any in the kingdom. He was 
 quite convinced that the undertaking must 
 be productive of good. It would excite 
 the old Universities to fresh exertions, and 
 force them to reform abuses. His royal 
 highness concluded, amidst the cheers of 
 the assembly, by repeating that the present 
 was the happiest day of his life. 
 
 His royal highness and the committee 
 then left the platform, and the spectators 
 dispersed, highly gratified with the exhibi- 
 tion of the day. 
 
 In the evening, the friends and sub- 
 scribers to the new University dined toge- 
 ther, in the Freemasons' Hall. On no 
 previous occasion of a similar nature was 
 that room so crowded ; upwards of 420 
 pfrsons sat down to table, with his royal 
 highness the duke of Sussex in the chair. 
 
 The cloth having been removed, " The 
 King " was drank with three times three. 
 
 The next toast was " The Duke of Cla- 
 Tence, the Lord High Admiral of England," 
 iind the rest of the royal family. As soon 
 as the royal chairman, in proposing the 
 above toast, stated the title of the new 
 office held by his royal brother, the room 
 ."dng with acclamations. 
 
 The duke of Norfolk then proposed 
 the health of his royal highness the duke o* 
 Sussex, who, he said, had added to the 
 illustrious title which he inherited by birth 
 that of the friend of the arts, and the 
 patron of every liboral institution in the 
 metropolis. (Cheers.) 
 
 The toast was drunk with three times 
 three. 
 
 His P«,OYAiL Highness said, that he re- 
 ceived what his noble friend had been 
 pleased to say of him, more as an admoni- 
 tion than asacompliment,becauseit brought 
 to his recollection the principles on which 
 his family was seated on the throne of this 
 country. He was rejoiced at every circum- 
 stance which occurred to refresh his me- 
 mory on that subject, and never felt so 
 happy as when he had an opportunity of 
 proving by acts, rather than professions, 
 how great was his attachment to the cauj • 
 of liberty and the diffusion of knowledge. 
 (Cheers.) He repeated what he had stated 
 in the morning, that the University of 
 London had been undertaken with no feel- 
 ings of jealousy or ill-will towards the two 
 great English Universities already existing, 
 but only to supply a deficiency, which was 
 notoriously felt, and had been created by 
 changes in circumstances and time since 
 the foundation of those two great seminaries 
 of learning. He concluded by once more re- 
 peating, that he had never felt more proud in 
 his life than when he was laying the foun- 
 dation-stone of the new University in the 
 presence of some of the most honest and 
 enlightened men of whom this countiy 
 could boast. (Applause.) He then pro- 
 posed " Prosperity to the University of 
 London," which was drunk with three 
 times three, and loud applause. 
 
 Mr. Brougham rose amidst the most 
 vehement expressions of approbation. He 
 rose, he said, in acquiescence to the com- 
 mand imposed upon him by the council, 
 to return thanks to the royal chairman for 
 the kind and cordial manner in which he 
 had been pleased to express himself to- 
 wards the new University, and also to the 
 company present for the very gratifying 
 manner in which they had received the 
 mention of the toast. The task had been 
 imposed upon him, God knew, not from 
 any supposed peculiar fitness on his part 
 to execute it, but from a weli-groundeif 
 recollection that he was amongst the earlier 
 and most zealous promoters of the syood 
 work they were met to celebrate. Two 
 years had not elapsed since he had the hap- 
 piness of attending a meeting, at which, 
 peradventure, a great proportion of thosp 
 
 2d8 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 whom he was now addressing were pre- 
 sent, for the purpose of promoting the 
 foundation of the new University, held in 
 the middle of the city of London, the cradle 
 of all our great establishments, and of the 
 civil atid religious liberties of this land ; 
 the place where those liberties had first 
 been nurtured ; near the spot where they 
 had been watered by the most precious 
 blood of the noblest citizens ; and he much 
 deceived himself if the institution, the 
 foundation of which they had met to cele- 
 brate, was not destined, with the blessing 
 of Divine Providence, to have an exten- 
 sive influence in rendering the liberties to 
 which he had before alluded', eternal in 
 England, and to spread the light of know- 
 ledtje over the world. (Cheers.) On the 
 day which he had referred to, the circum- 
 stances under which he spoke were very 
 different from those which now surrounded 
 him The advocates of the University had 
 then to endure the sneers of some, the more 
 open taunts and jibes of others, accom- 
 panied with the timidly expressed hopes of 
 many friends, and the ardent good wishes 
 and fond expectations of a large body of 
 enlightened men, balanced however by the 
 loudly expressed and deep execrations of 
 the enemies of human improvement, light, 
 and liberty, throughout the world. (Ap- 
 plause.) Now, however, the early clouds 
 and mists which had hung over the under- 
 taking had disappeared, and the friends of 
 the new University had succeeded in rais- 
 ing the standard of the establishment in 
 triumph over its defeated enemies — they 
 had succeeded in laying the foundation of 
 the University, amidst the plaudits of sur- 
 rounding thousands, accompanied by the 
 good wishes of their kind in every corner 
 of the globe. (Cheers.) The council had 
 come to a fixed resolution that in the selec- 
 tion of teachers for the University, no such 
 phrase as " candidate " for votes should 
 ever be used in their presence. The ap- 
 pointments would be given to those who 
 were found most worthy ; and if the merits, 
 however little known, should be found to 
 surpass those of others the most celebrated, 
 only in the same proportion as the dust 
 which turned the balance, the former would 
 certainly be preferred. Instead of teaching 
 only four or five, or at the utmost six 
 months in the year, it was intended that 
 the lectures at the n *w University should 
 continue nine months in the year. After 
 each lecture, the lecturer would devote an 
 hour to examining, in turn, each of the 
 pup.is, to ascertain whether he had under- 
 stood the subject of his discourse. The 
 
 lecturer would then apply anotb^T ^our, 
 three times in the week, if not six, (the 
 subject was under consideration,) to the 
 turther instruction of such of his pupils as 
 displayed particular zeal in the search of 
 knowledge. By such means, it was hoped 
 that the pupils might not only be encou- 
 raged to learn what was already known, 
 but to dash into untried paths, and become 
 discoverers themselves. (Applause.) The 
 honourable and learned gentleman then 
 pioceeded, in a strain of peculiar elo- 
 quence, to defend himself from a charge 
 which had been made aajainst him, of i 
 being inimical to the two great English ' 
 Universities, which he designated the two I 
 lights and glories of literature and science. 
 Was it to be supposed that because he had 
 had the misfortune not to be educated in 
 the sacred haunts of the muses on the Cam 
 or the Isis, that he would, like the animal, 
 declare the fruit which was beyond his 
 reach to be sour ? He hoped that those 
 two celebrated seats of learning wouM 
 continue to flourish as heretofore, and he 
 would be the last person in the world to do 
 any thing which could tend to impair their 
 glory. The honourable and learned E;en- 
 tleman said, he would conclude by repeat- 
 ing the lines from one of our sweetest 
 minstrels, which he had before quoted 
 in reference to the undertaking which 
 they had assembled to support. He then 
 quoted the passage prophetically — now it 
 was applicable as a description of past 
 events i' — 
 
 ' As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
 SwelLs from the vale, and midway leaves the storm ; 
 Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 
 Kternal simshine settles on its head." 
 
 The Royal Chairman then proposed 
 "The Marquis of Lansdown, and the Uni- 
 versity of Cambridge," which was drank 
 with great applause. 
 
 The Marquis of Lansdown, on rising, 
 was received with loud cheers. He felt 
 himself highly honoured, he said, in having 
 his name coupled with the University in 
 which he had received his education. He 
 felt the greatest veneration for that institu- 
 tion, and he ci nsidered it by no means 
 inconsistent with that feeling to express the 
 most ardent wishes for the prosperity of the 
 new University. (Applause.) He was per- 
 suaded that the extension of science in one 
 quarter could not be prejudicial to its cul- 
 tivation in another. (Applause.) 
 
 " The Royal Society " was next drank, 
 then " Prosperity to the City of London," 
 
 -■J'J 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 dnd Mr. Alderman Venables returned 
 thanks. 
 
 " Prosperity to the City of Westminster " 
 oeinff drank, Mr. Hobhouse returned 
 thanks. 
 
 " The health of " Lord Dudley " was 
 Jrank with much applause. 
 
 Amongst the other toasts were " Pros- 
 perity to the Universities of Scotland and 
 Ireland;'' "Henry Brougham, Esq, and 
 the Society for the Promot-on of Useful 
 Knowledjj;e ;" " The Duke of Norfolk ;" 
 " The Mechanics' Institution," Sec. 
 
 The company did not separate till a late 
 hour.* 
 
 ^j)r 33elaballe anise t!)e 
 JBoncke. 
 
 A LEGENDE OFFE TINMOUTIIE 
 PRIORTE. 
 
 {For the Table Book.) 
 
 " <© i)ony'Btfe 'Uttit toe itpllc a mamtc 
 Corn a poggtsi ijtiit." — Inscription. 
 
 ■-"Juahat want ye, quahat want ye thouejoUie fryare, 
 
 Sayde SyrDelavalles Wardoiire brave ; 
 
 Quahat lack ye, quahat lack ye, thoue joUie fryare ; — 
 
 Saythe — Openne ye portalle, knave, 
 
 Three wearye legnes fro ye Pryorye 
 
 Ive com synne ye Sonne hathe smylde onne ye sea. 
 
 Nowe naye, nowe naye, thone halie fryare, 
 
 I maie notte lett ye ynne ; 
 
 <YT Pelavalles moode ys notte forre ye Roode, 
 
 Ande hee cares nott toe shryve hys synne ; 
 
 A.nd schoulde h?e retorne quithe hys lioonde and home, 
 
 Hee will gare thye haliness rynne. 
 
 Forre Chryste hys sak nowe sale nott naie, 
 
 Botte openne ye portalle toe mee ; 
 
 Ande 1 wylle donne aryche benyzonne 
 
 Forre thye gentlesse ande cortesye : — 
 
 Sye Masse ande bye Roode gyffe thys boone ys quith- 
 
 stoode, 
 Thoue shalte perryshe bye sorcerie. 
 
 T'enne quycklie ye portalle wals opennd wyde, 
 
 Syr Delavalles hal wals made free, 
 
 Ande ye table wals spredrte forre ye fryare quithe 
 
 spede, 
 Ande he fesstedde ryghte plentyfullie : 
 Dydae a fryare wyghte everre lack off inyghte 
 Qunenne tiee token chepe hostekye ? 
 
 • TbeXimes. 
 
 Ande ye fryare hee ate, ande ye fryare hee dronks, 
 
 Tylle ye cellarmonne wonderred fuUe sore ; 
 
 And hee wysh'd hyinni atte home att Saynte Oswynnefl 
 
 tombe,* 
 Qi ithe hys relyckes ande myssall lore; 
 Botte ye fryare hee ate offe ye vensoane mete, 
 Ande ye fryare hee dronke ye more. 
 
 Nowe thys daie wals a daie off wassell k^npt, 
 Syr Delavalles byrthe daie I weene. 
 And monnie a knycghte ande ladye bryghte, 
 Ynne Syr Delavalles castell wals seene ; 
 Botte svnne ye sunne onne ye blue sea schonne, 
 They'd hiintedd ye woodes sae greene. 
 
 And ryche and rare wals ye feste prepardde 
 
 Forre ye knycghtes ande ladyes gaie ; 
 
 An<le ye fyelde ande ye iloode baytlie yyeldedd vers- 
 
 broode 
 Toe grace ye festalle daie ; 
 
 And ye Wynnes fro P^spagne wyche longe hadde layne. 
 And spyces fro farre Cathaye. 
 
 Botte fyrst ande fayrest offe al ye feste. 
 
 Bye Syr Delavalle pryzd njoste dere, 
 
 A fatte boare rostedde ynn seemlye gyze. 
 
 Toe grace hys lordlye chere : 
 
 Ye reke fro ye fyre sore hongerdde ye fryare, 
 
 Ynne spyte of refectynge gere. 
 
 Ande tliuss tlionghte ye fryare als lie sale, 
 
 Y'sse Boare ys ryghte savourie ; 
 
 I wot tys noe synn ytts hede toe wynne, 
 
 Oyffe I mote ryghte cunnynglie ; 
 
 Ysse goddelesse knycghte ys ane churehe natyngc- 
 
 wyghte, 
 Toe fylche hymme ne knaverie. 
 
 Quithe yatt hee toke hys lethernn-e poke, 
 
 Ande whettedde hys kiiyfe soe shene, 
 
 Ande hee patyentlye sate atte ye kytchenne yate 
 
 Tyll ne villeins quehere thyther seene ; 
 
 Yenne quithe meikle drede cutte offe ye boares herte. 
 
 Als thoc ytte nevere hadde beene. 
 
 Yenne ye fryare hee nymblie footedde ye swerde, 
 Ande bente hym toe halie pyle; 
 Forre ance quithynne yttes sacredd* shrynne, 
 Hee'd loucgche and joke atte hys guyle ; 
 Botte hie thee faste quithe thye outmoste haste, 
 Forre thye gate ys monnie a myle. 
 
 Nowe Ohryste ye save, quehene ye vylleins sawe. 
 
 Ye boare quithouten ye hede. 
 
 They wyst ande grie yatte wytcherie 
 
 Hadde donne ye featouse dede • 
 
 Ynne sore dystraiighte ye fryare they soucghte 
 
 Toe helpe y'em ynne yere nede. 
 
 Theye soucghte and soucghte ande lang theye soucghl* 
 
 Ne fryare ne hede cold fynde, 
 
 Forre fryare ande hede farre oer ye mede. 
 
 Were scuddynge ytte lyk ye wynde : , 
 
 Botte haste, botte haste, thoue jollie fryare, 
 
 Qr.ehere boltt and barre wylle bynde. 
 
 • St Oswyn's tomb was at Tynemouth Pncry. 
 
 iOO 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ife suune wals hyglie yiae hys journeye flyghfe, 
 
 Ande homewarde ye fysher bote rowedde,* 
 
 ftwheoBe yedeepe soundynge home shoudde SyrDela- 
 
 valles retorne, 
 Qiiithe hys l;nychtes ande lad yes proiide : 
 Ye baguvpes y'soude ande ye jeste went rorde, 
 Ande revelrye merrye ande loude. 
 
 Botte raeikle, botte meikle wals ye rage, 
 
 Oife ye hoste and compagnie, 
 
 O.uehenne ye tale wals tolde offe ye dede sos bolde, 
 
 liuilke wals layde toe wy tohene : 
 
 Ande howe ynne destraucghte ye moncke they soucgkte, 
 
 Ye mtmeke offe ye Pryorie. 
 
 Now ryoghrtie y wyss Syr Delavalle knewe, 
 
 Quehenne tould of ye fryare knave ; 
 
 Bye mye knycghthoode I vowe heeschalle derelye rne, 
 
 Thys trycke tee thounghte soe brave ; 
 
 Ande awaie fiewe ys knycghte, lyk ane egle's flychtei 
 
 9ere ye sandes of ye northerne wave. 
 
 (inde faste and faste Syr Delavalle rodde, 
 
 Tylle ye Pryorie yate wals ynne vyewe, 
 
 Ande ye knycghte wals awar offe a fryare talle, 
 
 CJuithe ane loke.baythe tiredde zuide grtwe. 
 
 Who quitlie rapydde spanne oerre ye grene swerde 
 
 ranne, 
 Ye wrathe offe ye knycghte toe eschewe. 
 Botte staie, botte staie, thou fryare knave, 
 Botte staie ande shewe toe mee, 
 Quatte thoue haste ynne yatte leatherne poke, 
 ijuilke thoue mayest carrie soe hie, 
 Now Chryste ye save, sayde ye fryare knave. 
 Fire-botte forre ye Pryorie. 
 
 Thoue lyest I thoue lyest I thoue knavyshe preste, 
 
 Thoue lyest ontoe mee. 
 
 Ye knycghte hee toke ye leatherne poke, 
 
 Ande hys boare's hede dydde espie, 
 
 And stylle ye reke fro ye scotchedde cheke, 
 
 Dydde seeme rychte savourie. 
 
 ^oddeswotte ! botte hadde ye seene ye fryar-^, 
 
 ijiiithe his skynne of lividde hue, 
 
 Quehenne ye knycghte drewe outte ye^ekynge snoutte, 
 
 Ande floryshedde hys huntynge thewe ; 
 
 Gramercye, gramercye, nowe godde Syr Knycghte, 
 
 Als ye Vyrgynne wylle mercye schewe. 
 
 Botte ye knycghte hee bangedde ye fryare aboutte, 
 
 Ande bette hys backe fuUe sore ; 
 
 And hee bette hym als hee roUedde onne ye swerde, 
 
 Tflle ye fryare dydde loudlie roare : 
 
 Ve mote hee spare ye fryare maire, 
 
 Y'snne Mahounde onne eastererc shore. t 
 
 Nowe tak ye yatte ye dogge offe ane moncke, 
 Nowe tak ye yatte fro mee ; 
 
 Ande awaie rodJe ye knycghte, ynne grete delyoghte, 
 \tte hys fete offe flagellrie ; 
 
 • There is an old picturesque fishing town, called 
 Callercoats, in the direct roat between the seat o*^ the 
 Delavals and Tyiiemouth abbey. 
 
 t The whipping de.-.cribed in this ballad was per- 
 formed within about three .]narters of a mile from the 
 entrance of the Abbey, within hearing and sight of the 
 aston'.hed " balie mocckes." 
 
 A.ide ye sands dydde rssounde toe hys <;.'ievala 
 
 boundde,* 
 Als hee rodde nere ye mergynnedde sea. 
 
 Botte whaes yatte hyghes fro ye Pryorie yatte. 
 
 Quithe a crosse soe halie ande talle, 
 
 Ande offe ir.onckes a crowde al yelpynge lovvde, 
 
 Atte quahatte mote ye fryare befalle; 
 
 Forre theye seene ye dede fra ye Pryorie hede, 
 
 Ande herde hym piteousse calle. 
 
 Ye fryare hee laye ynne sare distraucghte, 
 
 A] wrythynge ynne grymme disrnaie, 
 
 Kche leeshedde wo'mde spredde Mode onne ye grtnd* 
 
 And tyngedde ye daisie gaie: 
 
 Wae fa' ye dede, ande yere laye ye hede, 
 
 ■Bothe reekynge als welle mote tlieye. 
 
 Ne worde hee spak, ne cryne colde ntak, 
 Quelienne ye pryore cam breathlessenyghe ; 
 Botte ye teares y'ranne fro ye halie manne, 
 Als hee heavedde monie a syghe: 
 ■y'nne ye pryore wals redde otfe ye savourie hede, 
 Y'atte nere ye moncke dydde ly. 
 
 Y'enne theye bore ye moncke toe ye Pryorie yatte, 
 
 Ynne dolorousse steppe ande slowe. 
 
 They vengeannce vowdde, ynne curses loude, 
 
 Onne ye liorsmanne wyghte I trowe ; 
 
 Ye welkynne range wi yere yammerynges lange, 
 
 Als ye cam ye Pryorie toe. 
 
 A leache offe skylle, quithe meikle care. 
 
 Ande herbes ande conjurie, 
 
 Soone gav ye moncke hys wontedde sponke, 
 
 Forre hys quyppes ande knaverie ; 
 
 Quehenne hee tould how ye knycghte, Syr Delavaijf 
 
 hyghte, 
 Hadde doune ye batterie. 
 
 Botte woe forre thys knycghte offe hyghe degre. 
 
 And greete als welle hee maie, 
 
 Forre ye fryare y'wot lieebatteredde and bruysdde, 
 
 Toke ylle, als ye churchmenne saye, 
 
 Ande ys surelie dede quythouten remede, 
 
 CJuithynne yere ande eke a daie. 
 
 ■Farewelle toe y're landes, Syr Delavalle bolde, 
 
 Farewelle toe y're castelles three, 
 
 Y'ere gonne fro thye heyre, tho g;eiveste thoue sairp 
 
 Y'ere gonne toe ye Pryorie : 
 
 Ande thoue moste thole a wollenne stole, 
 
 Aude lacke thye libertle — 
 
 Three lange lange yeres ynne dolefulle gyze, 
 
 Ynne Tynemouthe Abbie praie. 
 
 And monie a masse toe hevenwerde passe, 
 
 Forre ye fryare yatte thou dyddsl slaye : 
 
 Thoue mayest loke oere ye sea ande wyshe toe be« 
 
 free, 
 •Botte ye pryore offe Tynemouthe saythe naye. 
 
 • The nearest road from Delaval Castle to Tyne 
 moutli Abbey is a fine sandy beach, beaten hardbv th* 
 ;e3sel€ss dash of the German Ocean wave. 
 
 301 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Qaefeeune thoue haste spente three lange lange yeres 
 
 Toe ye halie loude thoue moste hie, 
 
 Thye falchyonne wyelde onne ye battelled fyelde, 
 
 Gayuste ye paynimme chevalrie ; 
 
 Three crescentes bryghte moste thoue Wynne ynne 
 
 fyghte. 
 Ere thoue wyunste thye dere coiintrie. 
 
 Ande onne ye spotte quehere ye ruthless dede 
 
 Ystayndde ye medowe grene, 
 
 Al fayre toe see ynne masonrie, 
 
 Als talk- als ane oakenne treene, 
 
 Thoue moste sette a stonne quithe a legende thereonne, 
 
 Yatte ye murtherre yere hadde beene. 
 
 Ye masses maiste gryevedde Syr Delavalle sore, 
 Botte oraye he rnoste ande maye, 
 Hee thrummelldde hys bede, ande bente hys hede, 
 Thoroughe ye nyhte ande thoroughe ye daye, 
 Tylle ye three yeres oerre, Iiee lepte toe ye bhore, 
 Ande cryedde toe ye battelle awaye 1 
 
 Hee dofFedde hys stole offe "vvoolenne coorse, 
 
 Ande doiinde ynne knyoghtlye pryde, 
 
 Hys blade ande cuirasse. ande sayde ne mo masse, 
 
 Queliyle hee crossedde ye byllowye tyd: 
 
 Ne candle, ne roode, botte ye fyghtynge moode, 
 
 Wals ye moode o£fe ye borderre syde. 
 
 Soone soone myddst ye foes offe ye halie londe, 
 
 Quehere ye launces thyckestte grewe, 
 
 Wals Syr Delavalle seene, quithe hys brande soe kenc, 
 
 Onne hys stede soe stronge ande trewe; 
 
 Ye Pagannes they felle, ande passdde toe helle, 
 
 Ande hee monie a Saracenne slevve. 
 
 Ande hee soone fra ye rankes offe Saladynne bore 
 
 Three crescentes off sylverre sheene, 
 
 Ne paganne knycghte mote quithestonde hys myghte. 
 
 Who foughtenne forrewyffe and wene ; 
 
 Saincte George, cryedde ye knycghte, ande Englande's 
 
 myghte, 
 Orre a bedde nethe ye hyllocke grene. 
 
 Gsilantlye rodde Syr Delavalle onne 
 
 Quehere lethal woundes were gyvenne, 
 
 Ande ye onnesettes brave, lyk a swepynge wave, 
 
 RoUdde ye warriors off Chryste toe hevene : 
 
 Botte forre eohe halie knycghte y' slayne ynne fyghte, 
 
 A hondredde fals hertes were ryvenne. 
 
 Nowe brave Syr Delavalles penaunce wals donne, 
 
 Hee hamewerde soughtenne hys waie ; 
 
 <ro ye battel playne acrosse ye mayne. 
 
 Toe fayre Knglonndes wellcom baie ; 
 
 Toe see hys lone bryde, toe ye northe hee hyedde, 
 
 Quithoutenue stoppe orr siaye. 
 
 Ance maire ys merrye yr bdrderre londe, 
 
 Harke thoroughe ye myddnyghte gale, 
 
 Ye bagpypes agayne playe a wasselli ^trayne, 
 
 Ronde ronde flees ye joyaunce tale: 
 
 Monie a joke offe ye fryares poke 
 
 y» oassedde cKrre hylle ande dale 
 
 Ye Ladye Delavalle ance matre smylde, 
 
 Ande sange tylle herre wene onne herre knee, 
 
 Ande pryedde herre knycghte ynne fcmde delyghn. 
 
 QuihUe hee helde herre lovynglye : 
 
 Ne gryevedde hee maire offe hys dolorres sayre 
 
 The' stryppedde offe londe ande ffee. 
 
 Atte Werkeworthe castelle, quilke proudlie looke* 
 Oerre ye s-tormie corthernne mayne. 
 Ye Percye gretedde ye borderre knycghte, 
 Quithe hys merryeste mynstrelle strayne : 
 Throngedde wals ye hal, quithe nobles alle. 
 Toe wellcom ye knycghte agayne. 
 
 Nowe at thys daye quihile yeres rcUe onne 
 
 Ande ye knycghte dothe cauldlie iy. 
 
 Ye stonne doth stande onne ye sylente londe 
 
 Toe tellen toe strangeres nyghe, 
 
 Yatte ane horrydde dede forre a pygge hys heae 
 
 Dydde y'ere toe hevenwerdde crye. 
 
 Olv THE ABOVE LEGEND. 
 To the Editor. 
 
 The legend of " Syr Delavalle and the. 
 Moiicke " IS " owre true a rale. " The 
 slone syr Delavalle was compelled to erect 
 in eommemoration of this " horryd dede " 
 is (or rather the shattered remains of its 
 shaft are) stiil lying close to a neat farm- 
 house, called Monkhouse, supposed to be 
 built on the identical spot on which the 
 " fiagellrie " was effected, and is often bent 
 over by tlie devout lovers of monkish an- 
 tiquity. 
 
 The poem wa^ found amongst the papers 
 of an ingenious friend, who took pleasure ; 
 in collecting such rhymes; but as he has! 
 been dead many years, I have no means of 
 ascertaining at what period it was written, j 
 or whether it was the original chaanel 
 through which the story has come down to ! 
 posterity. I have some confused recollec-- 
 tion, that I heard it stated my friend got j 
 this, and several similar ballads, from a 
 very old man who resided at a romantic 
 village, at a short distance from Tynemouth 
 Priory, called " Holywell." It is possible 
 that there may be some account of its source 
 among my lamented friend's papers, but as 
 they are very multitudinous and in a con- 
 fused mass, I have never had courage to 
 look regularly through them. There are 
 several other poems of the like description, 
 the labour of copying which I may be in- 
 duced to undergo should I find that this is 
 within the range of the Table Book. 
 
 Alpha 
 Londoii, April 14. 18*7. 
 
 502 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 0^ CHATHA-M HILL, 
 
 This sketch, in tne pocket-oooK of an 
 artist, suddenly startled recollection to the 
 April of my life — the season of sunshine 
 dopes, and stormy fears — when each hour 
 was a birth-time of thought, and every 
 new scene was the birth-place of a new 
 feeling. Tlie drawing carried nie back 
 to an October morning in 1797, when I 
 eagerly set off on an errand to Boughton- 
 hill, near Canterbury, for the sake of seeing 
 the country on that side of Chatham for the 
 first time. The day was cloudy, with scales 
 of wind. I reached Chatham-hill, and 
 otood close to this sign, looking over the 
 flood of the Medway to the No-re, intently 
 peering for a further sea-view. Flashes of 
 fire suddenly gleamed in the dim distance, 
 and I heard the report of cannon. Until 
 then, such sounds from the bosom ot the 
 watery element were unknown to me, and 
 they came upon my ear with indescribable 
 solemnity. VVe were at war with France ; 
 and supposing there was a battle between 
 two fleets oflT the coast, my heart beat high ; 
 my thoughts were anxious, and my eyes 
 stiained with the hope of catching some- 
 thing of the scene I imagined. The firing 
 was from the fleet at the Nore, in expecta- 
 tion of a royal review. The king was then 
 nroceeding from Greenwich to Sheerness, 
 
 in the royal yacnt, attended by the lords cv 
 the admiralty, to uo on board the Dutch 
 ships captured by lord Duncan, at the 
 battle of Camperdown* On my return to 
 Chatham, the sign of " tlie Star " was sur- 
 rounded by sailors, who, with their ship- 
 mates inside the house, were drinking grosr 
 out of pewter-pots and earthen basins, and 
 vociferating " Rule Britannia." 
 
 The following year, on the evening of a 
 glorious summer's day, i found refuge in 
 this house from the grtattsl storm I had 
 then seen. It came with gusts of wind 
 and peals of thunder from the sea. Stand- 
 ing at the bow-window, I watched the 
 lightning sheeting the horizon, makini,' 
 visible the buried objects in the black 
 gloom, and forking fearfully down, while 
 the rain fell in torrents, and the trees bent 
 before the furious tempest like rushes. The 
 elements quickly ceased their strife, the 
 moon broke out, and in a few miuut'B 
 there was 
 
 The spacious firmament on nigh, 
 
 And all the blue ethereal sKy 
 
 And spangled heavens, a shining france. 
 
 Owing to adverse winds, his majesty could ko] 
 get farther than the Hope. 
 
 \uL. ill. 
 
 o05 
 
 A. 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The " Star" in war time was the constant 
 scene of naval and military orgies, and 
 therefore rather :epelled than courted other 
 vfisitants. It is now a respectable inn and 
 a stage for the refreshment of coach tra- 
 vellers. During a hasty trip to Canterbury 
 a short time ago, Mr. Samuel Williams 
 stopped there long enough to select its 
 sign, and the character of the view beyond 
 it, as " a bit" for his pencil, which I, in 
 turn, seized on, and he has engraved it 
 as a decoration for the Table Book. 
 
 My readers were instructed at the outset 
 of the work that, if they allowed me to 
 please myself, we might all be pleased in turn. 
 If I am sometimes not their most faith- 
 ful, I am never otherwise than their most 
 sincere servant ; and therefore I add that 
 I am not always gratified by what grati- 
 fies generally, and I have, in this instance, 
 presented a small matter of my particular 
 liking. I would have done belter if I 
 could. There are times when my mind 
 fails and breaks down suddenly — when I 
 can no more think or write than a cipple 
 can run : at other times it carries me off 
 from what I ought to do, and sets me to 
 something the very negative to what I wish. 
 I then become, as it were, possessed ; an 
 untamable spirit has its will of me in soite 
 of myself: — what I have omitted, or done, 
 in the present instance, illustrates the fact. 
 
 GREENGROCERS' DEVICES. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Dear Sir, — In my wanderings through the 
 metropolis at this season, I observe an 
 agreeable and refreshing novelty, an ing-e- 
 [lious contrivance to make mustard and 
 cress seeds grow in pleasant forms over 
 vessels and basketwork, covered on their 
 exterior with wet flannel, wherein the seeds 
 are deposited, and take root and grow, to 
 adorn the table or recess. The most curi- 
 ous which struck me, consisted of a " hedge- 
 hog" — a doll's head looking out of its 
 vernally-growing clothes— a " Jack in the 
 
 green " — a Dutch cheese in '' a bower " 
 
 " Paul Pry "—and " Pompey's pillar." 
 
 If greengrocers proceed in these devices, 
 their ingenuity may suggest a rivalry of 
 •signs of a more lasting nature, suitable to 
 -he shop windows of other tradesmen. 
 Yours, truly, 
 
 April ZO, 1827. J, R„ 
 
 No. XVII. 
 
 From the " Parliament of Beesj" further 
 Extracts.] 
 
 Oberon. Flora, a Bee. 
 
 Ober. A female Bee ! thy character ? 
 
 Flo. Flora, Oberon's Gardener, 
 Huswiye both of herbs and flowers, 
 To strew thy shrine, and trim thy bowers, 
 With violets, roses, eglantine, 
 Daifadown, and blue columbine. 
 Hath forth the bosom of the Spring 
 Pluckt this nosegay, which I bring 
 From Eleusis (mine own shrine_) 
 To thee, a Monarch all divine ; 
 And, as true impost of ray grove. 
 Present it to great Oberon's love. 
 
 Ober. Honey dews refresh thy meads. 
 Cowslips spring with golden heads ; 
 July-flowers and carnations wear 
 Leaves double-streakt, with maiden hair j 
 May thy lilies taller grow. 
 Thy violets fuller sweetness owe; 
 And last of all, may Phcebus love 
 To kiss thee : and frequent thy grove 
 As thou in service true shall be 
 Unto our crown and royalty. 
 
 Oberon koldx a Court, in which he sen- 
 tences the IVasp, the Drone, and the Hum- 
 ble-bee, for divers offences against the 
 Commoriwealth of Bees. 
 
 Oberon. Prorex, his Viceroy ; and othei 
 Bees. 
 
 Pro. And whither must these flies be sent ? 
 
 Ober. To Everlasting Banishment. 
 Underneath two hanging rocks 
 (Where babbling Echo sits and mocks 
 Poor travellers) there lies a grove. 
 With whom the Sun's so out of love. 
 He never smiles on't : pale Despair 
 Calls it his Monarchal Chair. 
 Fruit half-ripe hang rivell'd and shrunk 
 On broken arms, torn from the trunk , 
 The moorish pools stand empty, left 
 By water, stol'n by cunning theft 
 To hollow banks, driven out by snakes. 
 Adders, and newts, that man these lakes: 
 The mossy leaves, half-swelter'd, serv'd 
 As beds for vermin hunger sterv'd : 
 The woods are yew-trees, bent and broke 
 By whirlwinds ; here and there an oak. 
 Half-cleft with thunder. To this grove 
 We banish them. 
 
 Culprits. Some merey, Jove ! 
 
 Ober. You should have cned so in your youto. 
 Wh(.-n Chronos and his daughter 'I'rutn 
 Sojoum'd among you ; when you spent 
 
 304 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Whole years in riotous merriment, 
 rhrasting poor Bees out of their hives, 
 sieiiing both honey, wax, and lives. 
 You should have call'd for mercy when 
 You impaled common blossoms ; when. 
 Instead of giving poor Bees food, 
 You ate their fresh, and dt-ank their blood. 
 Fairies, thrust 'em to their fate. 
 
 Oberon then confirms Prorex in hu 
 Government ; and breaks up Session, 
 
 Obfr. now adieu ! 
 
 Prorex shall again renew 
 
 His potent reign : the massy world. 
 
 Which in glittering orbs is hurl'd 
 
 About the poles, be Lord of : w« 
 
 Only reserve our Royalty — 
 
 Field Music* Oberon must away -^ 
 
 Por us our gentle Fairies stay : 
 
 In the mountains and the rocks 
 
 We'll hunt the Grey, and little Fox 
 
 Who destroy our lambs at feed. 
 
 And spoil the nests where turtles feed. 
 
 [From " IXavid and Bethsabe," a Sacred 
 Drama, by George Peel, 1599.J 
 
 Nathan. David. 
 
 Nath. Thus Nathan saifh unto his Lord the Ring: 
 There were two men both dwellers in one town ; 
 The one was mighty, and exceeding rich 
 In oxen, sheep, and cattle of the field ; 
 The other poor, having nor ox, nor calf. 
 Nor other cattle, save one little lamb. 
 Which he had bought, and nourish'd by h's haad, 
 And it grew up, and fed with him and his. 
 And ate and drank as he and bis were wont. 
 And in his bosom slept, and was to live 
 As was liis daughter or his dearest child. — 
 There came a stranger to this wealthy man. 
 And he refused and spared to take his own. 
 Or of his store to dress or make his meat. 
 But took the poor man's sheep, partly poor man's 
 
 store ; 
 And drest it for this stranger in his house. 
 What, tell me, shall be done to him for this ? 
 
 Dav. Now, as the Lord doth live, this wicked man 
 Is judged, and shall become the child of death ; 
 Fourfold to the poor man he shall restore, 
 That without mercy took his lamb away. 
 
 Nath. Thou art the man, and thou hast judged 
 
 THYSELF. — 
 
 David, thus saith the Lord thy God by me ; 
 I thee anointed King in Israel, 
 And saved thee from the tyranny of Saul ; 
 Thy master's house I gave thee to possess. 
 His wives unto thy bosom I did give, 
 
 Tbo bu-B of Bees. 
 
 And Juda and Jerusalem withal ; 
 
 And might, thou know'st, if this had been too cmau, 
 
 Have given thee more. 
 
 Wherefore then hast thou gone so far astray. 
 
 And hast done evil, and sinned in my sight ? 
 
 Urias thou hast killed with the sword. 
 
 Yea' with the sword of the uncircumcised 
 
 Thou hast him slain ; wherefore from this day forth 
 
 The sword shall never go from thee and thine . 
 
 For thou hast ta'en this Hithite's wife to thee, 
 
 Wherefore behold I will, saifh Jacob's God, 
 
 In th^Tie own house stir evil up to thee. 
 
 Yea I before thy face will take thy wives. 
 
 And give them to thy neighbour to possess. 
 
 This shall be done to David in the day. 
 
 That Israel openly may see thy shame. 
 
 Dav. Nathan, I have against the Lord, I have 
 Sinned, oh sinned grievously, and lo ! 
 From heaven's throne doth David throw himself. 
 And groan and grovel to the gates of hell. 
 
 Nath. David, stand up; thus saith the Lord by me, 
 David the King shall live, for he hath seen 
 The true repentant sorrow of thy Iieart; 
 But for thou hast in this misdeed of thine 
 Stirr'd up the enemies of Israel 
 To triumph and blaspheme the Lord of Hosts, 
 And say, " He set a wicked man to reign 
 Over his loved people and his tribes ;" 
 The Child shall surely die, that erst was bom. 
 His Mother's sin, his Kingly Father's scorn. 
 
 Dav. How just is Jacob's God in all his works ^ 
 But must it die, that David loveth so ? 
 O that the mighty one of Israel 
 Nill change his doom, and says the Babe must die 
 Mourn, Israel, and vi'eep in Sion gates ; 
 Witlier, ye cedar trees of Lebanon ; 
 Ye spjouting almonds with your flowing tops. 
 Droop, drown, and drench in Hebron's fearful streams : 
 The Babe must die, that was to David born. 
 His Mother's sin, his Kingly Father's scorn. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 5 I. Name. 
 
 Doomsday Book, one of the most ancient 
 records of England, is the register from 
 ■which judgment was to be eiven upon the 
 value, tenure, and services of lands therein 
 described. 
 
 O-lher names by which it appears tc 
 have been known were Rotulus Wintoniit, 
 Scriptura Thesauri Regis, Liber de Win- 
 tonia, and Liber Regis. Sir Henry Spel- 
 man adds, Liber .ludiciarius, Censuah>i 
 Angliae, Anglise Notitia et Lustratio, ar.>' 
 Rotulus Regis. 
 
 305 
 
TSE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 § II. Date. 
 
 The exact time of the Conqueror's un- 
 aeviaking the Survey, is differently staie-i 
 by historians. The Red Book of the Kx- 
 chequer seems to have been erroneously 
 tj joted, as fixing the time of entrance upon 
 it in 1080 ; it being merely stated in that 
 record, that the work was undertaken at a 
 time subsequent to the total reduction of 
 the island to William's authority. It js 
 evident that it was finished in 1086. 
 Matthew Paris, Robert of Gloucester, the 
 Annals of Waverley, and the Chronicle of 
 Bermondsey, give the year 1'083, as the 
 date of the record ; Henry of Huntingdon, 
 in 1084; the Saxon Chronicle in 1085; 
 Bromton, Simeon of Durham, Florence of 
 Worcester, the Chronicle of Mailros, Roger 
 llovedon, Wilkes, and Hanningford, in 
 1'086 ; and the Ypodigma Neustrise and 
 Diceto in 1087. 
 
 The pel son and property of Odo, bishop 
 of Bayeux, are said to have been seized 
 by the Conqueror in 1082. 
 
 § III. Origin and Object. 
 
 Ingulphus affirms, that the Survey was 
 made in imitation of the policy of Alfred, 
 who. at the time he divided tlie kingdom 
 into counties, hundreds, and tithings, had 
 an Inquisition taken and. digested into a 
 Register, which was called, from the place 
 in which it was reposited, the Roll of Win- 
 chester. Ihe formation of such a Survey, 
 however, in the time of Alfred, may be 
 fairly doubted, as we have only a solitary 
 .authority for its existence. The separation 
 of counties also is known to have been a 
 division long anterior to the time of Alfred. 
 Bishop Kennet tells us, that Alfred's Regis- 
 ter had the name of Domeboc, from which 
 the name of Doomsday Book was only a 
 corruption. 
 
 Dom-boc is noticed in the laws of Ed- 
 ward the elder, and more particularly 
 in those of iEthelstan, as the code of Saxon 
 
 IdWS. 
 
 § IV. Mode of Execution. 
 For tlie adjusting of this Survey, certain 
 commissioners, called the king's justicia- 
 ries, were appointed inquisitors : it appears, 
 vipon the oaths of the slieriffs, the lords 
 of each manor the presbyters of every 
 church, the reeves of every hundred, the 
 bailiffs, and six villans of every village, 
 vere to inquire into tne name of the place, 
 who held it in the time of Edward (the 
 Confessor,) who was the present possessor, 
 hovT many hides in the manor, how many 
 onrrucates in dein&--3^e, how many homa- 
 
 gers, how many villans, how many cotarh 
 how many servi, what freemen, how many 
 tenants in socage, what quantity of wood 
 how many meadows and pasture, what 
 mills and fish-pands, how much added or 
 taken away, what the gross value in king 
 Edward's time, what the present value, and 
 how much each free-man or soch-man 
 had or has. All this was to be tiiply esti- 
 mated ; first, as the estate was in tne time 
 of the Confessor; then, as it was bestowed 
 by king William; and, thirdly, as its value 
 stood at the formation of the Survey. Tke 
 jurors ivere, moreover, to state whether 
 any advance could be made in the value. 
 The writer of the Saxon Chronicle, with 
 some degree of asperity, informs us, that 
 not a hyde or yardland, not an ox, cow, or 
 hog, were omitted in the census. 
 
 PRINCIPAL MATTERS NOTICED IN- 
 THIS RECORD. 
 
 § I. Persons. 
 
 (1.) After the bishops and abbats, the 
 highest persons in rank were the Norman 
 barons. 
 
 (2.) Taini, tegni, teigni, teini, or teinni,. 
 are next to be mentioned, because those 
 of the highest class were in fact nobility, 
 or barons of the Saxon times Archbishops,, 
 bishops, and abbats, as well as the great 
 barons, are also called thanes. 
 
 (3.) Futmssores, \n dignily, vfeve next to 
 the barons, and higher thanes. Selden says, 
 they either held of a mesne lord, and not 
 immediately of the king, or at least of the 
 king as of an honour or manor and not 
 in chief. The grantees, says sir Henry 
 Spelman, that received their estates fronr 
 the barons or capitanei, and not from the 
 king, were called valvasores, (a degree 
 above knights.") 
 
 (4.) The aloarii, alodarii, or alodiariiy 
 tenants in allodium, (a free estate " pos- 
 sessio libera.") The d'lnges mentioned., 
 tom 1. fol. 298, are supposed to have been 
 persons of the same description. 
 
 (5.) Mililes. The term miles appears- 
 not to have acquired a precise meaning al 
 the time of the Survey, sometimes im 
 plying a soldier, or mere military servant^ 
 and sometimes a person of higher distinc- 
 tion. 
 
 (6.) LJberi Homines appears to have been 
 a term of considerable latitude ; signifying 
 Dot merely the freeman, or freeholders ot a 
 nwnor, but occasionally including all the 
 ranks of society already mentioned, and 
 indeed all persons holding in military 
 tenure. " Tiie ordinary frtemen. before 
 
 aoG 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ihe conqueFt," snys Kelham, " and at tlie 
 time of compiling Doomsday, were under 
 ihe protection of g:reat men ; but what 
 their quality was, further than that their 
 persons and blood were free, that is, that 
 they were not nativi, or bondmen, it will 
 ^ive a knowing: man trouble to discover to 
 us." These freemen are called in the 
 Survey liberi hrnnines come-ddati. They ap- 
 pear to have placed themselves, by volun- 
 tary homage, under this protection: their 
 lord or patron undertook to secure their 
 estates and persons, and for this protection 
 and security they paid to him an annual 
 stipend, or perfoimed some annual service. 
 Some appear to have sought a patron or 
 protector, for the sake of obtaininsf their 
 freedom only; such the liberi homines co- 
 mendatione tantum may be interpreted. 
 According to the lavvs of the Conqueror, a 
 quiet residence of a year and a day, upon 
 the kmg's demesne lands, would enfran- 
 chise a villan who had fled from his lord. 
 " Item si servi permanserint sine calnmnia 
 per annum et diem in civitatibiis nostris vel 
 burgis ill muro vallatis, vel in castris nos- 
 tris, a die ilia liberi afficitintnr et liberi a 
 higo servitutis suce sunt in perpetnum. The 
 commendati dimidii were persons who de- 
 pended upon two protectors, and paid half 
 to one and half to the other. Sub commen- 
 dati were under the command of those 
 who were themsel-ves depending;" upon some 
 superior lord. Sub commendati dimidii 
 were those whowere under the commendati 
 dimidii, and had two patrons or protectors, 
 and the same as they had. Liberi homines 
 integri were those who were under the/?«// 
 protection of^ one lord, in contradistinction 
 to the liberi homines dimidii. Commendatio 
 sometimes signified the anrvual rent paid 
 for the protection. Liberi homines ad nnl- 
 lam Jirmam pertinentes were those who 
 held their lands independent of any lord. 
 Of others it is said, " qui remanent in manu 
 regis." In a few entries of the Survey, we 
 have libercp femince, and one or two of 
 UbercB femince eommendatcB. 
 
 (7.) Sochmamni, or socmens, were those 
 nferior landowners who had lands in the 
 oc or franchise of a great baron ; privileged 
 *dlans, who, though their tenures were 
 absolutely copyhold, yet had an interest 
 equal to a freehold. 
 
 (8.) Of this description of tenantry also 
 were the rachenistres, or radchenistres, who 
 appear likewise to have been ca;lled rad- 
 manui, or radmans. It appears that some 
 of the radchenistres, like the sochmen, 
 were less free than others. Dr. Nash con- 
 jectured that the radmanni and radchenistres 
 
 ■were probably a kind of freemen who 
 served on horseback. Rad-cniht: is usually 
 interpreted by our glossarists e<jue.itris 
 hi>mo sive miles, and Rabhejie eqnestris 
 exercitiis. 
 
 (9.) Villani. The clearest notion of the 
 tenure of villani is probably to be obtained 
 from sir W. Biackstone's Commentaries. 
 " With regard to folk-land," says he, " or 
 estates held in villenage, this was a species 
 of tenure neither strictly Feodal, Norman, 
 nor Saxon, but mixed or compounded of 
 them all ; and which also, on account of 
 the heriots that usually attend it, may seem 
 to have somewhat Danish in its composi- 
 tion. Under the Saxon government, there 
 were, as sir William Temple speaks, a sort 
 of people in a condition of downright ser- 
 vitude, used and employed in the most 
 servile works, and belonging, both they 
 and their children, and their effects, to the 
 lord of the soil, like the rest of the cattle 
 or stock upon it. These seem to have been 
 those who held what was called the folk- 
 land, from which they were removable a^ 
 the lord's pleasure. On the arrival of the 
 Normans here, it seems not improbable 
 that they, who were strangers to any other 
 than a feodal state, might give some sparks 
 of enfranchisement to such wretched per- 
 sons as fell to their share, by admitting 
 them, as well as others, to the oath of 
 fealty, which conferred a right of protec- 
 tion, and raised the tenant to a kind of 
 estate supeiior to downright slavery, but 
 inferior to every other condition. This they 
 called villenage, and the tenants villeins.; 
 either from the word tnlis, or else, as sir 
 Edward Coke tells us, a villa ; because 
 they lived chiefly in villages, and were em- 
 ployed in rustic works of the most sordid 
 kind. They could not leave their lord 
 without his permission ; but if they ran 
 away, or were purloined from him, might 
 be claimed and recovered by action, like 
 beasts or other chatels. The villeins could 
 acquire no property either in lands or 
 goods; but if he purchased either, the lord 
 might enter upon them, oust the villein, 
 and seize them to his own use, unless he 
 contrived to dispose of them before the lord 
 had seized them ; for the lord had then 
 lost his opportunity. The law however 
 protected the persons of villeins, as king's 
 subjects, against atrocious injuries of the 
 lord." 
 
 (10.) Bordari: of the Survey appear at 
 various times to have received a great variety 
 of interpretations. Lord Coke calls them 
 "boors, holding a little house, with some 
 land of husbandry, bigger than a cottage." 
 
 au7 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Some have considered them as cottagers, 
 taking their name from living on the bor- 
 ders of a village or manor; but this is suffi- 
 ciently refuted by Doomsday itself, where 
 we find them not only mentioned generally 
 among the agricultural occupiers of land, 
 but in one instance as " circa aulam ma- 
 nentes," dwelling near the manor-house : 
 and even residing in some of the larger 
 towns. Bojib. bishop Kennett notices, 
 was a cottage. The cos-cets, corcez, cozets, 
 or cozez, were apparently the same as the 
 cottarii and cotmanni ; cottagers who paid 
 a certain rent for very small parcels of land. 
 
 (11.) Bures, buri, or burs, are noticed 
 in the first volume of Doomsday itself, as 
 synonymous with coliberti. The name of 
 coliberti was unquestionably derived from 
 the Roman civil law. They are described 
 by lord Coke as tenants in free socage by 
 free rent. Cowel says, they were certainly 
 a middle sort of tenants, between servile 
 and free, or such as held their freedom of 
 tenure under condition of such works and 
 services, and were therefore the same 
 landholders whom we meet with (in after- 
 times) under the name of conditionales. 
 
 Such are the different descriptions of 
 tenantry, and their rights more particularly 
 noticed in Doomesday. 
 
 (1"2.) Servi. It is observed by bishop 
 Kennett, and by Morant after him, in his 
 History of Essex, that the servi and villani 
 are, all along in Doomsday, divided from 
 each other; but that no author has fixed 
 the exact distinction between them. The 
 servi, bishop Kennett adds, might be the 
 pure villanes, and villanes in gross, who, 
 without any determined tenure of land, 
 were, at the arbitrary pleasure of the lord, 
 appointed to servile works, and received 
 their wages and maintenance at the discre- 
 tion of the lord. The other were of a 
 superior degree, and were called villani, 
 because they were villae or glebsE adscript!, 
 i. e. held some cottagp and lands, for 
 which they were burthened with such 
 stated servile works as their lords had an- 
 nexed to them. The Saxon name for ser- 
 vus was 6j7ie. The ancillae of the Survey 
 were females, under circumstances nearly 
 similar to the servi. These were disposed 
 of in the same way, at the pleasure of the 
 lord. The laws, however, protected their 
 chastity; they could not be violated with 
 impunity, even by their owners. 
 
 (13.) Censarii, ceusoro.i, or censorii, 
 were also among the occupiers of land, 
 rhey appear to have been free persons, 
 nsecum reddentes. 
 
 (14.) Porcarii. Although in one or two 
 
 instances in Doomsday Survey mere swine- 
 herds seem to have been intended by Por' 
 carii, yet in the generality of entries in 
 which they are mentioned, they appear in 
 the rank of free occupiers, who rented the 
 privilege of feeding pigs in the woodlands, 
 some for money, and some for payments in 
 kind. 
 
 (15.) The homines, who are so fre- 
 quently mentioned, included all sorts of 
 feudatory tenants. They claimed a privi- 
 lege of having their causes and persons 
 tried only in the court of their lord, to 
 whom they owed the duty of submission, 
 and professed dependance. 
 
 (16.) Angli and J n glici occnr frequently 
 in the Survey among the under tenants, 
 holding in different capacities. 
 
 (17) Among the offices attached to 
 names, we find accipitrarii or ancipitrarii, 
 arbalistarii or balistarii arcarii biga, came- 
 rarii campo, constabularius, cubicularius, 
 dapifer, dispensator, equarius, forestarii 
 huscarli ingeniator, interpres, lagemanni, 
 Latinarius, legatus liberatores marescal, 
 or marescalcus medici, monitor, pincerna 
 recter navis regis, scutularius, stalre, stir- 
 man or stiremannus regis, thesaurarius and 
 venatores of a higher description. 
 
 (18.) Offices of an inferior description, 
 and trades, are aurifabri, carpentarii, ce- 
 metarii, cervisiarii, coci, coqui, or koci, 
 fdbri, ferrarii, figu'i fossarii, fossator, grane- 
 tarius, hostarius, inguardi, joculator regis, 
 joculatrix, lanatores, loricati, lorimarius, 
 loripes, mercatores, missatici, monetarii,par- 
 cher, parm't piscatores, pistores, porlarius 
 potarii, or poters, prebendarii prefecti, pre- 
 positi salinarii servientes, sutores, tonsor, 
 and vigilantes homines. Among eccle- 
 siastical offices, we have Capicerius, i5i,cel. 
 Winton the sacrist, and Matricularias, 
 Jicel. S. Johannis Cestrise. Buzecarls were 
 mariners. Hospites, occupiers of houses. 
 
 Among the assistants in husbandry, we 
 find apium custos, avantes homines, ber- 
 quarii bovarii caprarum mediator daia 
 granatarius mellitarii, mercennarius, por- 
 carii, and vacarius. S. R. F. 
 
 I. ANCIF.NT TENURK. 
 II. MODERN ANECDOTE. 
 For the Table Book. 
 Tenure of the akcient Manor of Bit- 
 siNGTON Priory, the Seat of Thomas 
 Carr Rider, Esq. 
 
 The manor of Bilsington inferior was 
 held in grand sergeantry in the reign of 
 Edward III. by the service of presenting 
 three maple cups at the king's coronation 
 
 308 
 
THE TABLE BOOK.. 
 
 and, at the time of the coronation of 
 Charles II., by the additional service of 
 carrying the last dish of the second course 
 to the king's table. The former service was 
 performed by Thomas Rider, who was 
 knighted (Mos pro Lege) by his late 
 majesty George III., when the king, on re- 
 ceiving the maple cups from the lord of 
 the manor, turned to the mayor of Oxford, 
 who stood at his right hand, and, having 
 received from him for his tenure of that 
 city a gold cup and cover, gave him these 
 tliree cups in return. 
 
 Anecdote of the illustrious Wash- 
 ington AND THE CELEBRATED ADMIRAL 
 
 Vernon, Uncle to the late Earl of 
 
 Shipbrook. 
 
 When the admiral was attacking Porto 
 Bello, with his six ships only, as is de- 
 scribed on the medal struck on the occasion, 
 he observed a fine young man in appear- 
 ance, who, with the most intrepid courage, 
 attended with the most perfect calmness, 
 was always in that part of the ship which 
 was most engag;ed. After the firing had 
 ceased, he sent his captain to request he 
 would attend upon him, which he imme- 
 diately obeyed ; and the admiral entering 
 into conversation, discovered by his an- 
 swers and observations that he possessed 
 more abilities than usually fall to the lot of 
 mankind in general. Upon his asking his 
 name, the young man told him it was 
 George Washington ; and the admiral, on 
 his return home, strongly recommended 
 him to the attention of the admiralty. This 
 great man, when he built his house in 
 America, out of gratitude to his first bene- 
 factor, named it " Mount Vernon," and at 
 this moment it is called so. 
 
 Zooloti^* 
 
 I. THE KING'S OSTRICH. 
 
 II. THE HORSE ECLIPSE. 
 
 Mr. Joshua Brookes, the eminent anato- 
 mist, gave a lecture on Wednesday evening, 
 the 2,'ith of April, 1827, at the house of 
 the Zoological Society, in Bruton-street, on 
 the body of an ostrich which his majesty 
 had presented to the society. The lecture 
 was attended by lord Auckland, lord Stan- 
 ley, Dr. Birkbeck, and several other noble- 
 men and gentlemen distinguished for their 
 devotion to the interests of science. The 
 ostrich, which was a female, and had been 
 presented to his majesty about two years 
 before by colonel Denham, had been kept 
 at Windsor, and had died about three weeks 
 previous to the lecture, of obesity, a disease 
 
 which frequently shortens the lives of wild 
 animals of every species, when attempts 
 are made to domesticate them. 
 
 Mr. Brookes commenced by observing, 
 that when he retired from the practice of 
 anatomy, he did not expect to appear again 
 before the public ; but, as the noble direc- 
 tors of the society had honoured him by 
 considering that his services might be of 
 some use in forwarding that most interest- 
 ing science zoology, he had only to remark 
 that he felt great pride in adding hfs mite of 
 information to the mass with which the 
 society was furnished from other sources. 
 The period had arrived, when the science of 
 natural history bad fair to reach a height in 
 this country, which would enable us to 
 rival the establishments founded for its pro- 
 motion abroad. The founder of the study 
 of zoology in England was the great John 
 Hunter; and he was followed by indivi- 
 duals well known to the scientific world, 
 in Edinburgh, Gottingen, and Amsterdam. 
 In the latter city, the science of zoology 
 was pursued with great success by professor 
 Camper, who, when he was in London, in- 
 vited him (Mr. Brookes) and a professional 
 friend to breakfast, and treated them with 
 bones, consisting of the teeth of rats, mice, 
 and deer, served up in dishes made out of 
 the rock of Gibraltar. The fact was, that 
 the professor had, shortly before, explored 
 this celebrated rock, in search of bones, for 
 the purposes of comparative anatomy. 
 The learned lecturer then entered into a 
 very minute account of the various peculia- 
 rities of the ostrich, and described with 
 great clearness the oigans by which this ex- 
 traordinary bird was enabled to travel with 
 its excessive speed. This peculiarity he 
 ascribed to the power of the muscles, which 
 pass from the pelvis to the foot, and 
 cause the ostrich to stand in a vertical 
 position, and not like other birds resembling 
 it, on the toes. 
 
 For proof of the intimate relation be- 
 tween muscular power and extraordinary 
 swiftness, Mr. Brookes mentioned that the 
 chief professor of the Veterinary College 
 had informed him, that upon dissecting the 
 body of the celebrated racer Eclipse, one of 
 the fleetest horses ever seen in this kingdom, 
 it was found that he possessed muscles of 
 unparalleled size. The lecturer here pro- 
 duced an anatomical plate of Eclipse, for 
 the purpose of displaying his extraordinary 
 muscular power, and observed, that if he 
 had not told his hearers that it represented 
 a race-horse, from the size of the muscles 
 they might conclude, that he was showing 
 them the plate of a cart-horse.* 
 
 • Xbe iiaiet. 
 
 309 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ECLIPSE. 
 
 This engraving is from a drawinsr, in a 
 treatise "on ihe proportions of Eclipse: 
 by Mr. Charles* Vial de Saint Bel, professor 
 of the Veterinary College of London, &c " 
 4ta. 1791. Mr. Saint Bel's work was writ- 
 ten with a view to ascertain the mechanical 
 causes which conspire to augment the ve- 
 locity of the gallop ; and no single race- 
 horse could have been selected as a speci- 
 men of speed and sireng'th equal to Eclipse. 
 According to a calculation by the writer 
 "ust mentioned, Eclipse, free of allweiiiht, 
 and galloping at liberty in his greatest 
 speed, could cover an extent of twenty-five 
 feet at each complete action on the gailop; 
 and could repeat this action twice and one 
 third in each second of time : consequently, 
 by employing without reserve all his natural 
 and mechanical faculties on a straight line, 
 he could run nearly foar miles in the space 
 of six minutes and iwo seconds. 
 
 Eclipse was preeminent above all other 
 
 horses, from having ran repeated races 
 without ever having been beat. The me- 
 ohanism of his frame was almost perfect . 
 and yet he was neither handsome, nor well 
 proportioned. Compared with a table o' 
 the geometrical portions of the horse, in 
 use at the veterinary schools of France. 
 Eclipse measured in height one seventh 
 more than he ought — his neck was one 
 third too 'long — a perpendicular line falling 
 from the stifle of a horse should touch the 
 toe ; tlii^ line in Eclipse touched the ground, 
 at the distance of half a head before tht 
 toe — the distance from the elbow to the bend 
 of the knee s'hou'id be the same as from 
 the bend of the knee to the ground ; the 
 former, in Eclipse, was two parts of a head 
 longer than the latter. These were some of 
 the remarkable differences between the 
 presumed standard of proportions in a well- 
 formed horse, and the horse of the greatest 
 celebrity ever bred in England. 
 
 310 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The excellence of Eciipse in speed, 
 blood, pedigree, and progen-y, will be trans- 
 mitted, perhaps, to the end of rime. He 
 was bred by the former duke of Cumber- 
 land, and, beinp; foaled during the " t;re;« 
 eclipse,'' was named " Eclipse'' by the 
 duke in consequence. II is royal iiiorhness, 
 however, did not survive to witness the very 
 ■ireat performances he himself had pre- 
 ilicted; for, when a yearling, Eclipse was 
 disposed of by auction, with the rest of the 
 >tud, and a remarkable circumstance at- 
 tended his sale. IMr. Wildman, a sporting 
 ijentleman, arrived afte-r the sale had com- 
 menced, and a few lots had been knocked 
 down. Producing his watch, he insisted 
 that the sale had begun before the time ad- 
 vertised. The auctioneer remonstrated; 
 ,Mr. Wildman was not to be appeased, and 
 demanded that the lots already sold should 
 be put up again. The dispute causing a 
 ioss of time, as well as a scene of confusion, 
 the purcha.sers said, if there was any lot 
 already sold, which he had an inclination to, 
 rather than retard progress, it was at his 
 service. Eclipse was the only lot he had 
 fixed upon, and the horse was transferred 
 to him at the price of forty-six guineas. 
 At four, or five years old, Captain O'Kelly 
 purchased him of Mr. Wildman for seven- 
 teen hundred guineas. He remained in 
 Col. O'Kelly's possession, winning king's 
 plates and every thing he ran for, until the 
 death of his owner, who deemed him so 
 valuable, as to insure the horse's life for 
 several thousand guineas. He bequeathed 
 liim to his brother, Philip O'Kelly, Esq. 
 The colonel's decease .was in November, 
 1787. Eclipse survived his old master 
 little more than a year, and died on the 
 27th of February, I78'9,in the twenty-sixth 
 year of his ag^e. His heart weighed ISlbs. 
 The size of this organ was presumed to 
 have greatly enabled him to do what he did 
 in speed and strength. He won more 
 matches than any horse of the race-breed 
 was ever known to have done. He was at 
 last so woin out, as to have been unable to 
 stand, and about six months before his 
 death was conveyed, in a machine con- 
 structed on purpose, from Epsom toCanons, 
 where he breathed his last. 
 
 Colonel Dennis O'Relly, the celebrated 
 owner of Eclipse, amassed an immense 
 fortune by gambling and the turf, and pur- 
 chased the estate of Canons, near Edgware, 
 which was formerly possessed by the duke 
 of Chandos, and is still remembered as the 
 site of the most magnificent mansion and 
 establishment of modern times. The colo- 
 Lei's training stables and paddocks, at 
 
 311 
 
 another estate near Epsom, were supposed 
 to be the best appointed in England. 
 
 Besides O'Kelly's attachment to Eclipse, 
 he had an all'ection to a parrot, which ia 
 famed for having been the best bred bi;d 
 that ever came to this country. He gave 
 fifty guineas for it at Bristol, and paid the 
 e>xpenses of the woman who brought it up 
 to town. It not only talked what is usually 
 termed " every thing," but sang with great 
 correctness a variety of tunes, and beat 
 time as he sang ; and if perchance he mis- 
 took a note in ihe tune, he returned to the 
 bar wherein the mistake arose, and cor- 
 rected himself, still beating the time with 
 the utmost exactness. He sang any tune 
 desired, fully understanding the request 
 made. The accounts of this bird are so ex- 
 traordinary, that, to those who had not seen 
 and heard thp bird, they appeared fabulous. 
 
 THE EVENING LARK. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 I love thee better at this hour, when rest 
 Is shadowing earth, than e'en the nightingale: 
 The b-adnpss of thy son?; that in the morn 
 Ranj over heaven, the day has softened down 
 To pensive music 
 
 In the evening, the body relaxed by the 
 toil of the day, disposes the mind to quiet- 
 ness and contemplation. The eye, dimmed 
 by close application to books or business, 
 languishes for the greenness of the fields ; 
 the brain, clouded by the smoke and va- 
 pour of close rooms and crowded streets, 
 droops for the fragrance of fresli breezes, 
 and sweet smelling flowers. 
 
 Summer cometh. 
 The bee hummeth. 
 The frrass springeth, 
 The bird singeth, 
 The flower groweth, 
 And man tnoweth 
 
 The time is come 
 
 When he maj ro^'e 
 
 Thro' vale and grove. 
 No longer dumb. 
 
 There he may hear sweet voices. 
 
 Borne softly on the gale ; 
 There he may have rich choice* 
 
 Of songs that never fail ; 
 The lark, if he be cneerful, 
 
 Aliove his head shall tower; 
 And the nightingale, if fearful. 
 
 Shall soothe him from the bower. 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 If red his eye with studv. 
 
 If paie with care his cheek. 
 To make them bright ana nildy, 
 
 The g;reen hills let him seek. 
 The quiet that it needeth 
 
 His mind shall there obtain ; 
 And relief from care, that feedeth 
 
 Alike on heart and brain. 
 
 Urged by this feeling, I rambled along 
 :he Old Kent Road, making my way 
 through the\Satiirnalian groups, collected 
 by that mobiemancipating-time Easter 
 Monday ; wearied with the dust, and the 
 exclamations of the multitude, I turned 
 down the lane leading to the fields, near 
 the place wherein the fair of Peckham is 
 held, and sought for quietness in their 
 tfreenness — and found it not. Instead of 
 verdure, there were rows of dwellings of 
 " plain brown brick," and a calf-formed road, 
 from whence the feet of man and horse im- 
 pregnated the air with stiflmg atoms or 
 vitrified dust. Proceeding over the Rye, 
 '.'D the lane at the side of Forest-hill, I 
 'ound the solitude I needed. The sun was 
 iust setting; his paiting glance came from 
 between the branches of the trees, like the 
 mild light of a lover's eye, from her long 
 (lark lashes, when she receives the adieu of 
 her beloved, and the promise of meeting 
 on the morrow. The air was cool and fitful, 
 playing with the leaves, as not caring to 
 stir them; and as I strayed, the silence 
 was broken by the voice of a bird — it was 
 the tit- lark. I recognised his beautifid 
 " weet " and " fe-er," as he dropped from 
 the poplar among the soft grass ; and I lin- 
 gered near the wood, in the hope of hear- 
 ingthe nightingale — but he had nut aitived, 
 or was disposed to quiet. Evening closed 
 over me : the hour came 
 
 When darker shades around us thrown 
 Give to thought a deeper tone. 
 
 Retracing my steps, I reached that field 
 which stretches from the back of the Rose- 
 maiy-branch to the canal; darkness was 
 veiliniif the earth, the hum. ot the multitude 
 was faintly audible ; above ii, high in the 
 cool and shadowy air, rose the voice of a 
 sky-lark, who had soared to take a last look 
 at the fading day, singing his vespers. 
 It was a sweeter lay than his morning, or 
 mid-day carol — more regular and less ar- 
 dent — divested of the fervour and fire of 
 his noontide song — its hurried loudness 
 and shrill tones. The softness of the pre- 
 sent melody suited the calm and gentle 
 hour. I listened on, and imagined it was 
 a bird I had heard in the autumn of last 
 v«'ur : I recollected the lengthy nnd well- 
 
 timed music — the "cheer che-er,'' "wee% 
 weet, che-er " — " we-et, weet, cheer" — 
 '• che-er " — " weet, weet " — " cheer, weet, 
 weet." I still think it to have been the 
 very bird of the former season. Since ther 
 he had seen 
 
 The g^reenness of the sprinj;, and all its flowers ; 
 
 The ruddiness of summer and its fruits ; 
 And cool and sleeping streams, and shading bowers 
 
 The sombre brown of autumn, that best suits 
 His leisure hours, whose melancholy mind 
 Is calm'd with list'nins to the moaning wind. 
 And watching sick leaves take their silent way. 
 On viewless wings, to death and to decay. 
 
 He had survived them, and had evaded the 
 hawk in the cloud, and the snake in tli" 
 grass. I felt an interest in this bird, for 
 liis lot had been like mine. The ills of 
 life — as baleful to man, as the bird of prey 
 and the invidious reptile to the weakest 
 of the feathered race — had assailed me, and 
 yet I had escaped. The notes in the air grev, 
 softer and fainter — I dimly perceived the 
 flutter of descending wings — one short, 
 shrill cry finished the song — darknes- 
 covered the earth — and I again sough' 
 human habitations, the abodes of carkint; 
 cares, and heart-rending jealousies. 
 
 S. R. J. 
 Jpril 16, 1827. 
 
 THE VOICE OF SPRING. 
 
 I come, I come ! ye have call'd me long; 
 I come o'er the mountains with light and song! 
 Ye may trace mv steps o'er the wakening earth, 
 By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, 
 By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass. 
 By the green leaves opening as I pass. 
 
 I have breath'd on the south, and the chestnut flowen 
 By thousands have burst from the forest bowers, 
 And the ancient graves, and the fallen fanes. 
 Are veil'd with wreaths on Italian plains. 
 — But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom. 
 To speak of the ruin of the tomb ! 
 
 I have pass'd o'er the hills of the stormy nortli. 
 
 And the larch has hung all his tassels forth; 
 
 The tisher is out on the sunny sea. 
 
 And the rein-deer bounds thro' the pasture free, 
 
 And the pine has a fringe of softer green. 
 
 And the moss looks bright where my step has been. 
 
 I have sent tnro' the wood-paths a gen'le sigh. 
 And call'd ont each voice of the deep blue sky, 
 From the nightbird's lay thro" the starry time 
 In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime. 
 To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes. 
 When the dark fir-bough into verdure bre«K«. 
 
 312 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Krom the streams and founts I have loos'd the chain. 
 They are sweeping on to the silvery main. 
 They are flashing down from the mountam-brows. 
 They are flinging spray on the forest-boughs. 
 They are bursting fresli from their starry caves. 
 And the earth resounds with the joy of waves. 
 
 Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come ! 
 Where the violets lie, may be now your home , 
 Ye of the rose-cheek and dew-bright eye. 
 And the bounding footstep, to meet nie fly. 
 With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay. 
 Come forth to the sunshine, I may not stay ! 
 
 Away from the dwellings of care-worn men. 
 The waters are sparkling in wood and glea. 
 Away from the chamber and dusky hearth, 
 The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth. 
 Their light stems thrill to tlie wild-wood strains. 
 And youth is abroad in my green domains. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 MOTHERING SUNDAY. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 To the accounts in the Every- Day Book 
 of the obser\'an<;e of Mid Lent, or " Mo- 
 thering Sunday," 1 would add, that the 
 day is scrupulously observed in this city 
 and neighbourhood ; and, indeed, I believe 
 generally in the western parts of England. 
 The festival is kept here much in the same 
 way as the 6th of January is with you : 
 that day is passed ovpr in silence with us. 
 
 All who consider tnemseives dutiful 
 children, or who wish to be so considered 
 by others, on this day make presents to 
 their mother, and hence derived the name 
 of " Mothering Sunday." The family all 
 assemble ; and, if the day prove fine, pro- 
 ceed, after church, to the neighbouring 
 village to eat frumerty. The higher classes 
 partake of it at their own houses, and in 
 the evening come the cake and wine. 
 The " Mothering cakes " are very highly 
 ornamented, artists being employed to 
 paint them. This social meeting does not 
 seem confined to the middling or lower 
 orders; none, happily, deem themselves 
 too high to be good and amiable. 
 
 The custom is of great antiquity ; and 
 long, long may it be prevalent amongst 
 lu. 
 
 Your constant reader, 
 
 JUVENIS (N.) 
 
 Brutal, March 28, 1827. 
 
 No. II. 
 MIXED BREEDS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 EDUCATION THROWN AWAY. 
 
 I came into a public-house once in Lon- 
 don, where there was a black Mulatto- 
 looking man sitting, talking very warmly 
 among some gentlemen, who I observed 
 were listening very attentively to what he 
 said; and I sat myself down, and did the 
 like ; 'twas with great pleasure I heard 
 him discourse very handsomely on several 
 weighty subjects ; I found he was a very 
 good scholar, had been very handsomely 
 bred, and that learning and study was his 
 delight ; and more than that, some of the 
 best of science was at that time his employ- 
 ment: at length I took the freedom to ask 
 him, if he was born in England? He re- 
 plied with a great deal of good humour, 
 but with an excess of resentment at his 
 father, and with tears in his eyes, " Yes, 
 yes, sir, I am a true born Englishman, to 
 my father's shame be it spoken ; who, 
 being an Englishman himself, could find in 
 hia htart to join himself to a negro woman, 
 thougli he must needs know, the children 
 he should beget, would curse the memory 
 of such an action, and abhor his very name 
 for the sake of it. Yes, yes, (said he re- 
 peating it again,) I am an Englishman, and 
 born in lawful wedlock ; happy it had been 
 for me, though my father had gone to the 
 
 devil for wh m, had he lain with a 
 
 cook-maid, or produced me from the mean- 
 est beggar in the street. My father might 
 do the duty of nature to his black wife ; 
 but, God knows, he did no justice to his 
 children. If it had not been for this black 
 face of mine, (says he, then smiling,) I had 
 been bred to the law, or brought up in the 
 study of divinity: but my father gave me 
 learning to no manner of purpose; for he 
 knew I should never be able to rise by it to 
 any thing but a learned valet de chambre. 
 What he put me to school for I cannot 
 imagine ; he spoiled a good tarpawling, 
 when he strove to make me a gentleman. 
 When he had resolved to marry a slave, 
 and lie with a slave, he should have begot 
 slaves, and let us have been bred as we 
 were born : but he has twice ruined me ; 
 first with getting me a frightful face, and 
 ■then going to paint agentleman upon me." 
 — It was a most affecting discourse indeed, 
 and as such I record it; ami I found it 
 ended in tears from tne person, who wa» 
 
 313 
 
THE TABLE BOOK- 
 
 in himself the most deservino^, modest, and 
 judicious man, that I ever met with, under 
 a negio counlenance. in my life. 
 
 CHINESE IDOL. 
 
 Tt had a thing instead of a head, but no 
 head ; it had a mouth distorted out of all 
 manner of shape, and not to be described 
 for a mouth, being only an unshapen 
 chasm, neither representing the mouth of a 
 man, beast, fowl, or fish : the thing was 
 neither any of the four, but an incongruous 
 monster: it had feet, hands, fingers, claws, 
 legs, arms, wings, ears, hortas, every thing 
 mixed one among another, neither in the 
 shape or place that nature appointed, out 
 blended together, and fixed to a bulk, not a 
 body ; formed of no just parts, but a shape- 
 less trunk or log.; whether of wood, or 
 stone, 1 know not; a thing that might have 
 stood with any side forward, or any side 
 backward, any end upward, or any end 
 downward; that had as mucli veneration 
 due to it on one s^ide, as on the other ; a 
 kind of celestiml hedgehog, that was rolled 
 up within itself, and was every thing every 
 way ; form.ed neither to walk, stand, go, 
 nor fly ; neither to see, hear, nor speak ; but 
 merely to instil ideas of something' nause- 
 ous and abominable into the minds of men 
 that adored it. 
 
 MANNERS OF A LONDON WATER- 
 MAN, AND HIS FARE, A HUN- 
 DRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 What I have said last \of the Manners 
 of a spruce London Mercer*^ makes me 
 think on another way of inviting customers, 
 the most distant in the world from what I 
 have been speaking of, I mean that which is 
 practised by the "watermen, especiady on 
 those whom by their mien and garb they know 
 to be peasants. It is not unpleasant to see half 
 a dozen people surround a man they never 
 saw in their lives before, and two of th.em 
 that can get the nearest, clapping each an 
 arm over his neck, hug him in as loving 
 and fimiliar a maimer as if he were their 
 brother newly come home from an East 
 India voyage; a 'third lirys hold of his 
 hand, another of his sleeve, 'his coat, the 
 buttons of it, or any thing he can come at, 
 whilst a fifth or a sixth, who has scampered 
 twice round him already without being 
 oble to get at him, plants himself directly 
 before the man in hold, and within three 
 
 • See Tabli Book, p. £67. 
 
 inches of his nose, contradicting his rivals 
 with an open-mouthed cry, shows him a 
 dreadful set of large teeth, and a small 
 njinainder of chewed bread and cheese, 
 which the countryman's arrival had hinder- 
 ed from being swallowed. At all this nt 
 offence is taken, and the peasant justly 
 thinks they are making much of him ; there- 
 fore far from opposing them he patiently 
 suffers himself to be pushed or pulled 
 which way the strentcth that surrounds him 
 shall direct. He has not the delicacy tc 
 find fault with a man's breath, who has 
 just blown out his pipe, or a greasy head 
 of hair that is rubbing against his chaps : 
 dirt and sweat he has been used to from 
 his cradle, and it is no disturbance to him 
 to hear half a score people, some of them 
 at his ear, and the furthest not five feet 
 from him, bawl out as if he was a hundred 
 yards off": he is conscious that he makes 
 no less noise when he is merry himself, and 
 is secretly pleased with their boisterous 
 usages. The bawling and pulling him 
 about he construes in the way it is intend- 
 ed ; it is a ci*iirtship he can feel and under- 
 stand : he can't help wishing them well for 
 the esteem they seem to hav-e for him : he 
 loves to be taken notice of, and admires 
 the Londoners for being so pressing in 
 their offers of service to him, for tne value 
 of threepence or less ; whereas in the coun- 
 try, at the shop he uses, he can have nothing 
 but be must first tell them what he wants, 
 an-d, though he lays out three or four shil- 
 lings at a time, has hardly a word spoke to 
 him unless it be in answer to a question 
 himself is forced to ask first. This alacrity 
 in his behalf moves his gratitude, and un- 
 willing to disoblige any, from his heart he 
 knows not Whom to choose. I have seen a 
 man think all this, or something like it, as 
 plainly as I could see the nose on his face ; 
 and at the same time move along very con- 
 tentedly under a load of watermen, and 
 with a smiling countenance carry seven or 
 eight stone more than his own weight, to 
 the water side. 
 
 Fable of the Bees : 1725. 
 
 MAY GOSLINGS.— MAY BATHERS.. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 On the first of May, the juvenile inha- 
 bitants of Skipton, in Craven, Yorkshire, 
 have a similar custom to the one in general 
 use on the first of April. Not content wi^'■ 
 makiner their companions fools on one day. 
 
 314 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 they set apart another, to make them •• May 
 gosling's," or geese. If a boy made any 
 one a May gosling on the second of May, 
 lite following rhyme was said in reply : — 
 
 •' May-day's past and gone, 
 Thou's a gosling, and I'm none." 
 
 This distich was also said, mnfatis m?t- 
 tandis, on the second of April. The uiitc- 
 tioe of making May goslings was very 
 common about twelve years ago, but is 
 riow dying away. 
 
 As the present month is one when very 
 severe colds are often caught by bathers, it 
 may not be amiss to submit to the readers 
 of the Table Book the following old say- 
 ing, which is very prevalent in Skipton : — ■ 
 
 " They wlio bathe in May 
 Will be soon laid in clay ; 
 They who bathe in June 
 Will sing a iiierrj tune." 
 
 T. Q. M. 
 
 SAiLOilS UN TiiE 1 IKST OF MAY. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Sir, — You have described the ceremony 
 adopted by our sailors, of shaving all nau- 
 tical tyros on crossing the line* but perhaps 
 you are not aware of a custom which pre- 
 vails annually on the first of May, in the 
 whale-fishery at Greenland and Davis's 
 Straits. I therefore send you an account of 
 the celebration which took place on board 
 the Neptune of London, in Greenland, 
 1824, of which ship I was surgeon at that 
 peiiod. 
 
 Previous to the ship's leaving her port, 
 the sailors collected fiom their wives, and 
 other female friends, ribands " for the 
 garland," of which great care was taken 
 until a few days previous to the first of 
 May, when all hands were engaged in pre- 
 paring the said garland, with a model of 
 the ship. 
 
 The garland was made of a hoop, taken 
 from one of the beef casks; this hoop, de- 
 corated with ribands, was fastened to a 
 stock of wood, of about four feet in length, 
 and a model of the ship, prepared ny the 
 carpenter, was fastened above the hoop to 
 the top of the stock, in such a marmer as 
 to answer the purpose of a vane. The first 
 of May arrives ; the tyros were kept 
 from between decks, and all intruders ex- 
 cluded while the principal performers got 
 ready the necessary apparatus and dresses. 
 The barber was the boatswain, the barber's 
 
 E-T^iy-Dav Book, vol. ii. 
 
 mate was the cooper, and on a piece oi 
 tarpawling, fastened to the ciitrance of tht 
 fore-hatchway, was the following inscrip- 
 tion .— . 
 
 '"Neptune's Easy Shaving Shop, 
 
 Kept by 
 
 John Johnson." 
 
 The performers then came forward, as 
 follows ; — First, the fiddler, playing as well 
 as he could on an old fiddle, " See the con- 
 quering hero comes;" next, four men, two 
 abreast,, disguised with matting, rags, &c. 
 so as to completely prevent them from 
 being recognised, each armed with a boat- 
 hook ; then came Neptune himself, als(j 
 disguised, mounted on the carriage of the 
 largest gun in the ship, and followed by 
 the barber, barber's mate, swab-bearer, 
 sha,ving-box carrier, and as many of the 
 ship's company as chose to join them, 
 dressed in such a grotesque manner as to 
 beggar all description. Arrived on the 
 quarter-deck they were met by tlie captain, 
 when his briny majesty immediately dis- 
 mounted, and the following dialogue en- 
 sued : — 
 
 Nept. Are you the captain of this ship 
 sir? 
 
 Capt, I am. 
 
 A^cpt. What's the name of your ship? 
 
 Cupt. The Neptune of London. 
 
 Nept. Where is she bound to ? 
 
 Cupt. Greenland. 
 
 Nept. What is your name ? 
 
 Capt. Matthew Ainsley. 
 
 Nept. You are engaged in the whale 
 fisheiy ? 
 
 Capt. I am. 
 
 Nept. Well, I hope I shall drink your 
 honour's health, and I wish you a pros- 
 perous fishery. 
 
 [_Here the' captain presented him with 
 three quarts of r?(Wi.] 
 
 Nept. {filling a glass.) Here's health to 
 you, captain, and success to our cause. 
 Have you got any fresh-water sailors on 
 board ? for if you have, I must- christen 
 them, so as to make them useful to our king 
 and country. 
 
 Capt. We have eight of them on board 
 at your seivice; I therefore wish you good 
 morning. 
 
 The procession then returned in the same 
 manner as it came, the candidates for 
 nautical fame following in the rear; after 
 descending the fore-hatchway they congre- 
 gated between decks, when all the offerings 
 to Neptune were given to the deputy, (the 
 cook,) consisting of whiskey, tobacco, &c. 
 The barber then stood readv with his box 
 
 oio 
 
THE TABLE \300K. 
 
 jf lather, and the landsmen were ordered 
 before Neptune, when the following dialogue 
 took place with each, only with the altera- 
 tion of the man's name, as follows : — 
 
 Nept. (to another.) What is your name ? 
 
 Aii/i. Gilbert Nicholson. 
 
 Nept. Where do you come from ? 
 
 yius. Shetland. 
 
 Nept. Have you ever been to sea before ? 
 
 Ans. No. 
 
 A'ept. Where are you going to ? 
 
 Ann. Greenland. 
 
 Al each of these answers, the brush dip- 
 ped in the lather (consisting of soap-suds, 
 oil, tar, paint, &c.) was thrust into the 
 respondent's mouth and over his face; then 
 the barber's-mate scraped his face with a 
 razor, made of a piece of iron hoop well 
 notched ; his sore face was wiped with 
 a damask towel, (a boat-swab dipped in 
 filthy water) and this ended the ceremony. 
 When it was over they undressed them- 
 selves, the fiddle struck up, and they danced 
 and regaled with their grog until they were 
 " full three sheets in the wind." 
 1 remain, sir, &c. 
 
 H. W. Dewhurst. 
 
 Cre.tcent-street, 
 Euston-square. 
 
 NAVAL ANECDOTE. 
 
 During the siege of Acre, Daniel Bryan, 
 an old seaman and captain of the fore-top, 
 who had been turned over from the Blanche 
 into sir Sidney Smith's ship Le Tigr^, re- 
 peatedly applied to be employed on shore; 
 but, being an elderly man and rather deaf, 
 his request was not acceded to. At the 
 first storming of the breach by the French, 
 one of their generals fell among the multi- 
 tude of the slain, and the Turks, in triumph, 
 struck off his head, and, after mangling the 
 body with their sabres, left it a prey to the 
 Hogs, which in that country are of great 
 ferocity, and rove in herds. In a few days 
 it became u shocking spec'acle, and when 
 any of the sailors who had been on shore 
 returned to their ship, inquiries were con- 
 stantly made respeciing the state of the 
 French general. To Dan's frequent de- 
 mands of his messmates why they had not 
 buried him, the only answer he received 
 was, " Go and do it yourself." One morn- 
 ing having obtained leave to go and see the 
 town, he dressed himself as though for an 
 excursion of pleasure, and went ashore 
 with the surgeon in the jolly-boat. About 
 an hour or twe ;i?t<:r, while the surgeon was 
 dressing the wounded Turks in the hospital, 
 in camf honest Dan, who, in his rough, 
 
 good-natured mannei, exclaimed, "I've 
 been burying the general, sir, and now I'm 
 come to see the sick !" Not particularly 
 attending to the tar's salute, but fearing 
 that he might catch the plague, which was 
 making great ravages among the wounded 
 Turks, the surgeon immediately ordered 
 him out. Returning on board, the cockswain 
 asked of the surgeon if he bad seen old 
 Dan ? It was then that Dan's words in the 
 hospital first occurred, and on further in- 
 quiry of the boat's crew they related the 
 following circumstances : — 
 
 The old man procured a pick-axe, a 
 shovel, and a rope, and insisted on being 
 let down, out of a port-hole, close to the 
 breach. Some of his more juvenile com- 
 panions offered to attend him. " No!" hf 
 replied, " you are too young to be shot yet; 
 as for me, I am old and deaf, and my loss 
 would be no great matter." Persisting in 
 his adventure, in the midst of the firing, 
 Dan was slung and lowered down, with his 
 implements of action on his shoulder. His 
 first difficulty was to btat away the dogs. 
 The French levelled their pieces — they 
 were on the instant of firing at the hero ! — 
 but an officer, perceiving the friendly in- 
 tentions of the sailor, was seen to throv 
 him'-elf across the file : instantaneously th? 
 din of military thunder ceased, a deac, 
 solemn silence prevailed, and the worth 
 fellow consigned the corpse to its parei 
 eRrth. He covered it with mould an \ 
 stones, placing a large stone at its head 
 and another at its feet. The unostentatious 
 grave was formed, but no inscription re- 
 corded the fate or character of its possessor. 
 Dan, with the peculiar air of a British 
 sailor, took a piece of chalk from his pocket, 
 and attempted to write 
 
 " Here you lie, old Croi' !" 
 
 He was then, with his pick-axe and shovel, 
 hoisted into tlie town, and the hostile firing 
 immediately recommenced. 
 
 A few days afterwards, sir Sidney, having 
 been informed of the circumstance, ordered 
 old Dan to be called into the cabin. — 
 " Well, Dan, I hear you have buried the 
 French general." — " Yes, your honour.'' — 
 " Had you any body with you .'" — " Yes. 
 
 your honour." — " Why, Mr. says you 
 
 had not." — " But I had, your honour.'' — 
 " Ah ! who had you ?" — " God Almighty, 
 sir." — "A very good assi^Umt, indeed. Give 
 old Dan a glass of grogr." — " Thank your 
 honour." Dan drank itie giog, and left the 
 cabin highly gratified. He was for severa. 
 years a pensioner in tne royal hospital ai 
 Greenwich. 
 
 316 
 
 J 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE " RIGHT" LORD LOVAT. 
 
 The following remarkable anecdote, com- 
 municated by a respectable correspondent, 
 with his name and address, may he relied 
 on as genume. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 An old man, claiming to be " the right 
 lord Lev at," i. e. heir to him who was be- 
 headed in 1745, came to the Mansion-house 
 in 1818 for advice and assistance. He was 
 in person and face as much like the rebel 
 lord, if one may judge from his pictures, 
 as a person could be, and the more espe- 
 cially as he was of an advanced age. He 
 said he had been to the present lord Lovat, 
 who had given him food and a little money, 
 and turned him away. He stated his pedi- 
 gree and claim thus : — The rebel lord had 
 an only brother, known by the family name 
 of Simon Fraser. Before lord Lovat en- 
 gaged in the rebellion, Simon Fraser went 
 to a wedding in his highland costume ; 
 when he entered the room where the party 
 was assembled, an unfortunate wight of a 
 bagpiper struck up the favourite march of a 
 clan in mortal enmity with that of Fraser, 
 which so enraged him, that he drew his 
 dirk and killed the ])iper upon the spot. 
 Fraserimmediately fled, and found refuge iti 
 a mine in Wales. No law proceedings 
 took place against him as he was absent, 
 and supposed to have perislied at sea. He 
 married in Wales, and had one son, the old 
 man abovenamed, who said he was about 
 sixty. When lord Lovat was executed his 
 lands became forfeited ; but in course of 
 time, lord L. not having left a son, the 
 estates were granted by the crown to a 
 collateral branch, (one remove beyond 
 Simon Fraser,) the present lord, it not 
 being known that Simon Fraser was alive 
 or had left issue. It is further remarkable 
 that the applicant further stated, that both 
 he and his father, Simon Fraser, were called 
 lord Lovat by the miners and other inhabit- 
 ants of that spot where he was known. 
 The old man was very ignorant, not know- 
 ing how to read or write, having been born 
 in the mine and brought up a miner ; but 
 lie said he had preserved Simon Fraser's 
 highland dress, and that he had it in' 
 Wales. 
 
 FAST-PUDDING. 
 Extract fkom the Famous Historie of 
 
 Friar Bacon. 
 How Friar Bacon deceived his Man, that 
 ivould fast for conscience sake. 
 Friar Bacon had only one man to attend 
 
 hmi; an(i he, too, was none of the wisest, 
 for he kept him in charily more than for 
 any service he had of him. This man ol 
 his, named Miles, never could endure to 
 fast like other religious persons did; for he 
 always had, in one corner or other, flesh, 
 which he would eat, when his master eat 
 bread only, or else did fast and abstain 
 from all things. 
 
 Friar Bacon seeing this, thought at one 
 time or other to be even with him, which 
 he did, one Friday, in this manner: Miles, 
 on the Thursday night, had provided a 
 great black-puddmg for his Friday's fast; 
 that pudding he put in his pocket, (think- 
 ing to warm it so, for his master had no 
 fire on those days.) On tiie next day, who 
 was so demuie as Miles ! he looked as 
 though he could not have eat any thing 
 When his master offered him some bread, 
 he refused it, saying, his sins deserved a 
 greater penance than one day's fast in a 
 whole week. His master commended him 
 for it, and bid hmi take heed he did not 
 dissemble, for if he did, it would at last be 
 known. " Then were I worse than a Turk," 
 said Miles. So went he forth, as if he 
 would have gone to pray privately, but it 
 was for nothing but to prey privily on his 
 black-pudding. Then he pulled out, and 
 fell to it lustily : but he was deceived, for, 
 having put one end in his mouth, he could 
 neither get it out again, nor bite it ofi'; so 
 that he stamped for help. His master hear- 
 ing him, came; and finding him in that 
 manner, took hold of the other end of the 
 pudding, and led him to the hall, and 
 showed him to all the scholars, saying, 
 " See here, my good friends and fellow- 
 students, what a devout man my servant 
 JNliles is ! He loved not to break a fast- 
 day — witness this pudding, that his con- 
 science will not let him swallow!" His 
 master did not release him till night, when 
 Miles did vow never to break any fast-day 
 while he lived. 
 
 CLERICAL ERRORS. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Alcocr, of Burnsal, 
 NEAR Skipton, Yorkshire. 
 Every inhabitant of Craven has heard 
 tales of this eccentric person, and number- 
 less are the anecdotes told of him. I have 
 not the history of Craven, and cannot name 
 the period of his death exactly, but 1 believe 
 it happened between fifty and sixty years 
 ago. He was a learned man and a wit — 
 sc much addicted to v^aggery, that h« 
 
 317 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 sometimes forgot his office, and indulged in 
 sallies rather unbecoming a minister, but 
 nevertheless he was a sincere Christian. 
 The following anecdotes are well known in 
 Craven, and may amuse elsewhere. One 
 of Mr. Alcock's *'r-ends, at whose house he 
 was in the habit of calling previously to 
 his entering the church on Sundays, once 
 took occasion to unstitch his sermon and 
 misplace the leaves. \t the church, Mr. 
 Alcock, when he had read a page, dis- 
 covered the joke. " Peter," said he, " thou 
 rascal ! what's thou been doing with my 
 sermon?" then turning to his congrejjation 
 he said, " Brethren, Peter's been misplacin<g 
 the leaves of my sermon, I have not time 
 to put them right, I shall read on as I 
 find it, and you must make the best of it 
 ihat you can ;" and he accordingly read 
 through the confused mass, to the astonish- 
 ment of his flock. On another occasion, 
 when in the pulpit, he found that he had 
 foigoiten his sermon ; nowise disappointed 
 at the loss, he called oat to liis clerk, " Jo- 
 nas, I have left my sermon at home, so 
 hand us up that Bible, and I'll read 'em a 
 chapter in Job worth ten of it I" Jonas, 
 like his masle:, was an oddity, and used lo 
 make a practice of falling asleep at the 
 commencement of the sermon, and waking 
 in the middle of it, and bawling out '■ amen,'' 
 thereby destroyed the gravity of the con- 
 gregation. j\lr. Alcock once lectured him 
 for this, and particularly requested he 
 would not say amen till he had finished his 
 discourse. Jonas promised compliance, 
 Dut on the following Sunday made bad 
 worse, for he fell asleep as usual, and in the 
 middle of the sermon awoke and bawled 
 out " Amen at a venture !" The Rev. Mr. 
 Alcock is, I think, buried before the com- 
 munion-table of Skipton church, under a 
 slab of blue marble, with a Latin inscrip- 
 tion to his memory. 
 
 T. Q. M. 
 
 PtEMARKABLE EPITAPH. 
 
 "^or the Table Book. 
 
 Frank Fry, of Christian Malford, Wilts, 
 whose bones lie undisturbed in the church- 
 yard of his native village, wrote for himself 
 the following 
 
 " Epitaph." 
 " Here lic.3 1 
 Who did die ; 
 I lie did 
 As I die did, 
 Old Frank Fry 1 " 
 
 " When the worms comes 
 To pick up their crumbs, 
 They'll have in I — 
 A rara Frank Fry!" 
 
 The worms have had, in Frank, a Iust\ 
 subject — his epitaph is recorded only in tfie 
 Table Book. « * p 
 
 A MODEllN MYSTERY. 
 To the Editor. 
 Blackwall, April 13, 1827. 
 Sir, — As I perceive you sometimes insert 
 in your Table Book articles similar to the 
 enclosed original printed Notice, you may 
 ])erhaps think it worthy of a place in your 
 amusing miscellanj ; if so, it is much at 
 your service. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 F. W. 
 (Literal Copy.) 
 
 NOTICE. 
 
 s, 
 
 'Aturday 30 and on Sunday 31 of the 
 corrent, in the Royal Theatre of St. Charles 
 will be represented by the Italian Com- 
 pany the famous Holy Drama intitled 
 
 XL TRIONFO DI GIUDITTA, 
 
 O SIA 
 
 LA MORTE D"OLOFERNE. 
 
 In the interval of the frist to the second 
 act it shall have a new and pompous Ball 
 of the composition of John Baptista Gia- 
 nini, who has by title : 
 
 IL SACRIFICIO D'ABRAMO, 
 in which will enter all the excellent corp of 
 Ball, who dance at present in the said 
 Royal Theatre ; the spectacle will be 
 finished with the second act and Ball ana- 
 log to the same Drama, all with the nesses- 
 sarv decoration. 
 
 This is who is offered to ■ he Respectable 
 Publick of whom is waiied all the procte- 
 t-ion and concurrence : 
 
 /( will bffrin at 8 o'clok. 
 
 Na Offioina de Simao Thaddeo Ferreira. 1811. Gom- 
 licenca. 
 
 ODD SIGN. 
 For the Table Book. 
 At West-eud, near Skipton in Craven, 
 Yorkshire, a gate hangs, as a sign to a 
 public-house, with this inscription on it — 
 This gate hangs well, 
 And hinders none ; 
 Eefresh and pay, 
 And travel on. 
 
 J. W. 
 
 318 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 I^a>^ THE TABLE BOOK, 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 PAIR OF CURIOUS OLD SNuTFERS. 
 
 Described on tlie next Page. 
 
 
 
 V 
 
 ^OL. III. 
 
 319 
 
 Y 
 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 SNll FFERS. 
 
 Perhaps there is no implement of domes- 
 tic use that we are less acquainted with, in 
 its old form, than snuffers. I have now 
 oefore me a pair, which for their antiquity 
 and elegant workmanslnp seem worth at- 
 tention : the engraving on the other side 
 represents their exact size and construction. 
 
 After some research, I can only meet 
 with particulars of one other pair, which 
 were found in digging the foundation of a 
 granary, at the foot of a hill adjoining to 
 Cotton Mansion-house, (formerly the seat 
 of the respectable family of the Mohuns,) 
 m the parish of St. Peter, fortisham, about 
 two miles north-east from Abbotsbury in 
 Dorsetshire. They were of brass, and 
 weighed six ounces. '' The great differ- 
 ence," says Mr. Hutchins, " between these 
 and modern utensils of the same name and 
 use is, that thc^e are in shape like a heart 
 Huted, and consequently terminate in a 
 point. They consist of two equal lateral 
 cavities, by the edges of which the snuff is 
 cut off and received into the cavities, from 
 which it is not got out without particular 
 application and trouble. There are two 
 circumstances attending this little utensil, 
 which seem to bespeak it of considerable 
 age : the roughness of the workmanship, 
 which is in ail respects as rude and coarse 
 as can be well imagined, and the awkward- 
 ness of the fo-rm." There is an engraving 
 of the Dorsetshire snuffers in the history of 
 that county. 
 
 The snuffers now submitted to notice are 
 superior in design and workmanship to 
 those found in Dorsetshire. The latter 
 seem of earlier dale, and they divide in the 
 middle of the upper as well as the lower 
 part, but in one respect both pairs are 
 alike : they are each " in shape like a 
 heart," and they each terminate in a point 
 formed exactly in the manner shown by the 
 present engraving. The print likewise shows 
 that the box of the snuffers bears a boldly 
 chased winged head of Mercury, who had 
 more employments and occupations than 
 any other of the ancient deities. Whether 
 as the director of theft, as the conductor of 
 the departed to their final destination, as an 
 interpreter to enlighten, or as an office- 
 bearer constantly in requisition, the portrait 
 of Mercury is a symbol appropriate to the 
 implement before us. The engraving shows 
 the exa:t ^ize of the instrument, and the pre- 
 sent appearance of the chasing, which is in 
 bold relief, and was, originally, very elegant. 
 
 These snuffers are plain on the under- 
 side» auQ made without legs. They were 
 
 purchased, with some miscellaneous articles, 
 ijy a person who has no clue lO their former 
 possessors, but who rightly imagined that 
 in an archaeological view thej v»ould be 
 acceptable to the Table Booh.. 
 
 (Bunitk f lapg* 
 
 No. XVIIt 
 
 [From " David and Bethsabe :" further 
 Extracts.] 
 
 yibsalon, rebelling. 
 
 Now for tlie crown and throne of Israel, 
 
 To be confirm'd with virtue of my sword, 
 
 And writ with David's blood upon the blade. 
 
 Now, Jove,* let forth the golden firmament, 
 
 And look on hino with all thy fierv eyes, 
 
 Which thou hast made to give their glories lighi. 
 
 To s-jiew thou lovest the virtue of thy hand, 
 
 Let fall a wreath of stars upon my head. 
 
 Whose influence may govern Israel 
 
 With state exceeding all her other Kings. 
 
 Fight, Lords and Captains, that your Soverei 
 
 May shine in honour brighter than the sun 
 
 And with the virtue of my beauteous rays 
 
 Make this fair Laud as fruitful as the fields. 
 
 That ivith sweet milk and honey overflowed. 
 
 Ood in the whissing of a pleasant wind 
 
 Shall march upon the tops of mulberry trees. 
 
 To cool all breasts that burn with any grieia ; 
 
 As whilom he was good to Moyses' men. 
 
 By day the Lord shall sit within a cloud. 
 
 To guide your footsteps to the fields of joy ; 
 
 And in the night a pillar bright as fire 
 
 Shall go before you like a second sun. 
 
 Wherein the Essence of his Godhead is ; 
 
 That day and night you may be brought to peA», 
 
 And ;c-ver swerve from that delightsome path 
 
 That leads your souls to perfect happiness : 
 
 This he shall do for joy when I am King. 
 
 Then fight, brave Captains, that these joys may fir 
 
 Into your bosoms with sweet victory. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Absalon, triumphant. 
 Ahsalon. First Absalon was by the trumpet's ssanj 
 Proclaim'd thro' Hebron King of Israel; 
 And now is set in fair Jerusalem 
 With complete state and glory of a crown. 
 Fifty fair footmen by my chariot run , 
 And to the air, whose rupture rings my fame, 
 Wheree'er 1 ride, they offer reverence. 
 Why should not Absalon, that in his face 
 Carries the final purpose of his God, 
 (That is, to work him grace in Israel), 
 
 * Jove, for Jehovab. 
 
 320 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Endeavour to achieTe witt all his strength 
 f he state that most may satisfy his joy — 
 Keeping his statutes and his corensnts sure ? 
 His thunder is iutaigled in my hair. 
 And with my beauty is his lightning quench'd. 
 I am the man he made to glory in. 
 When by the errors of my father's sin 
 He lost the path, that led into the Land 
 Wherewith oui chosen ancestors were blest. 
 
 [From a " Looking Glass for England and 
 London," a Tragi-connedy, by Thomas 
 Lodge and Robert Green, 1598.] 
 
 Alvida, Paramour to Rasni, Ike Great 
 King of Assyria, courts a petty King uf 
 Cilicia. 
 
 Alvida. Ladies, go sit you down amidst this bower, 
 And let the Eunucts play you all asleep: 
 Put garlands made of roses on your heads, 
 Asd play the wantons, whilst I talk awhile. 
 
 Ladies. Thou beautiful of all the world, we mil. 
 (E.reKnf.) 
 
 Alvida. King of Cilicia, kind and courtem;*; 
 Like to thyself, because a lovely King ; 
 Come lay thee down upon thy Mistress' knee. 
 And T will sing and talk of Lore to thee. 
 
 Cilicia. iviost gracious Paragon of excellence. 
 It fits not such an abject wretch as I 
 i'o talk with Rasnl's Paramour and Ix)ve. 
 
 Alvida. To talk, sweet friend ! who ;vonld not talK 
 with thee ? 
 Oh be not coy : art rhou not only fair ? 
 Come twine thine arms about this snox vl-tt . 
 A love-nest for the Great Assyrian Kin;;. 
 Blushing I tell thee, fair Cilician Princj, 
 None but thyself can merit such a grace. 
 
 Cilica. Madam, I hope you mean not for to iriKik me. 
 
 Alvida. No, King, fair King, my meaning is to yoke 
 thee, 
 Hear me but sing of Love : then by my sighs, 
 My tears, my glancing looks, nr.y chanp-ed cheer. 
 Thou shall perceive how I do hold thee dear. 
 
 Cilicia. Sing, Madam, if you please ; but love in jest. 
 
 Alvida. Nay, I will love, and sigh at every jest. 
 
 (S'A« sings.') 
 Beauty, alas 1 where wast thou born. 
 Thus to hold thyself in scorn. 
 When .IS Beauty kiss'd to wooe tbee ? 
 Thou by Beauty dost undo me. 
 Heigho, despise me not. 
 
 I and thou in sooth are one. 
 
 Fairer thoo, I fairer none : 
 
 Wanton thou ; and wilt thou, wanton, 
 
 yield a cruel heart to plant on ? 
 
 Do me right, and do me reajon ; 
 
 Cruelty is cursed treason. 
 
 Heigho, I love ; Heigho, I love ; 
 
 Heigho, and yet he eyes me not. 
 
 CUkia. Madam yoor Song is iiassirg passioLate. 
 
 /iloida. And wilt thou then not pity my estate/ 
 Cilicia. Ask love of them who pitv may impart, 
 Alvida. I ask of thee, sweet; thou hast stole a | 
 
 heart. 
 Cilicia. Your love is fixed on a greater King. 
 Alvida Tut, women's lOve — it is a fickle thing, 
 I love my Rasni for my dignity: 
 1 love Cilician King for his sweet eye. 
 I love my Rasni. since he rules the world: 
 Bat more [ love this Kingly little world. 
 How sweet he looks ! — were I Cynthia's sphere. 
 And thou Endymion, IsRould hold thee dear: 
 Thus should mine arms be spread about thy neck, 
 Thus would I kiss my Love at every beck. 
 Thus would I sigh to see thee sweetly sleep ; 
 And if thou wak'st not soon, thus would I weep : 
 And thus, and thus, and thus : thus much I love thee 
 
 [From "Tethys' Festival," by Samuel 
 Daniel, 1610.] 
 
 Song at a Court Masque 
 Are they shadows that we see 
 And can shadows pleasure give ? — 
 Pleasures only shadows be. 
 Cast by bodies we conceive ; 
 And are made the things we deem 
 in those figures which they seem. — 
 But these pleasures vanish fast. 
 Which by shadows are expreat : — 
 Pleasures are not, if they last; 
 In their passing is their best. 
 Glory is most bright and gay 
 In a flash, and so away. 
 Feed apace then, greedy eyes. 
 On the wonder you behold ; 
 Take it sudden as it flies, 
 Tho' you take it not to hold : 
 When your eyes have done their part. 
 Thought must lengthen it in the heart. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 ^r|)IIa antJ Cf)ar|?l)t!isi. 
 
 Ancient and Present State. 
 
 Incidit in Scyllim, cupiens vitare Charvbdis. 
 
 This Latin verse, which has become 
 proverbial, is thus translated : — 
 
 He falls on Scylla, who Charybdis shuns. 
 
 The line has been ascribed to Ovid ; it is 
 not, however, in that or any other classic 
 poet, but has been derived from Philippe 
 Gualtier, a modern Fr&nch writer of Latin 
 verses. Charybdis is a whirlpool in the 
 straits of Messina, on the coast of Sicily, 
 opposite to Scylla, a dangerous rock on the 
 coast of Italy. The danger to which mari- 
 ners were exposed by the whirlpool is thus 
 
 321 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ■ described by Homer in Pope's transla- 
 tion : 
 
 Dire Scylla tliere a scene of horror forms, 
 And here Charybdis fills the deep with storms; 
 When the tide rushes from her rumbling caves, 
 The rough rock roars ; tumultuous boil the waves : 
 They toss, they foam, a wild confusion raise. 
 Like waters bubbling o'er the fiery blaze: 
 Eternal mists obscure the atrial plain, 
 And high above the rock she spouts the main^ 
 When in her gulfs the rushing sea subsides, . 
 She drains the ocean with the reiiuent tides. 
 The rock rebellows with a thundering sound ; 
 Deep, wondrous deep, below appears the ground. 
 
 Virgil imagines the origin of this terrific 
 scene : 
 
 That realm of old, a ruin huge, was rent 
 In length of ages from the coctinen!;. 
 With force convulsive burst the isle sway;. 
 Through the dread opening broke the thund'ring sea : 
 At once the thund'ring sea Sicilia tore, 
 And sunder'd from the fair Hesperian shore ; 
 And still the neighbouring coasts and towns divides 
 With scanty channels, and contracted tides. 
 Fierce to the right tremendous Scylla roars, 
 Charybdis on the left the flood devours. 
 
 Pitt. 
 
 A great earthquake in the year "1783 
 diminished the perils of the pass.* Thir- 
 teen years before this event, which, renders 
 the scene less poetical, Brydone thus de- 
 scribes 
 
 Sc-i'LLA. 
 
 May 19, 1770. Found ourselves within 
 half a mile of the coast of Sicily, which is 
 low, but tinely variegated. The opposite 
 coast of Calabria is very high, and the 
 mountains are covered with the finest ver- 
 dure. It was almost a dead calm, our ship 
 scarce moving half a mile in an hour, so 
 that we had time to get a complete view of 
 the famous rocl<. of Scylla, on the Calabrian 
 side. Cape Pylorus on the Sicilian, and the 
 celebrated Straits of the Faro that runs be- 
 tween them. Whilst we were still some 
 miles distant from the entry of the Straits, 
 we heard the roaring of the current, like 
 the noise of some large impetuous river 
 confined between narrow banks. This in- 
 creased in proportion as we advanced, till 
 ^ve saw the water in many places raised to 
 a considerable height, and forming large 
 eddies or whirlpools. The sea in every 
 tither place was as smooth as glass. Our 
 old pilot told us, that he had often seen 
 ahips caught in these eddies, and whirled 
 
 • Bourn's Gaictteer. 
 
 about with great rapidity, without obeying 
 the helm in the smallest degree. When the 
 weather is calm, there is little danger ; but 
 when the waves meet with this violent cur- 
 rent, it makes a dreadful sea^ He says, 
 there were five ships wrecked in this spot 
 last winter. We observed that the cutient 
 set exactly for the rock of Scylla, and 
 would infallibly have carried any thing 
 thrown into it against that point; so that it 
 was not without reason the ancients have 
 painted it as an object of such terror. Ii 
 is about a mile from the entry of the Faro, 
 and forms a small promontory, which runs 
 a little out to sea, and meets the whole 
 force of the waters, as they come out of the 
 narrowest part of the Straits. The head of 
 this promontory is the famous Scylla. It 
 must be owned that it does not altogether 
 come up to the formidable description that 
 Homer gives of it ; the reading of which 
 (like that of Shakspeare's Clitf) almost 
 makes one's head giddy. Neither is the 
 passage so wondrous narrow and difficuU 
 as he makes it.. Indeed it is probable that 
 the breadth of it is greatly increased since 
 his time,, by the violent impetuosity of the 
 current. And this violence too must have 
 always diminished, in proportion as the 
 bieadth of the channel increased. 
 
 Our pilot says, there are many small 
 rocks that show their heads near the base of 
 the large ones. These are probably the 
 dogs that are described as howling round 
 the monster Scylla. There are likewise 
 many caverns that add greatly to the noise 
 of ttie wat-er, and tend still to increase the 
 horror of the scene. The rock is near two 
 hundred feet high. There is a kind of 
 castle or fort built on its summit ; and the 
 town of Scylla, or Sciglio, containing three 
 or four hundred inhabitants, stands on its 
 south side, and gives the title of prince to a 
 Calabrese family. 
 
 Charybdis. 
 
 The harbour of Messina is formed by a 
 stnall promontory or neck of land that runs 
 off from the east end of the city, and sepa- 
 rates that beautiful basin from the rest of 
 the Straits. The shape of this promontory 
 is that of a reaping-hook, the curvature of 
 which forms the harbour, and secures it 
 from all winds. From the striking resem- 
 blance of its form, the Greeks, who never 
 gave a name that did not either describe 
 the object or express some of its most re- 
 markable properties, called this place Zancle, 
 or the Sickle, and feigned that the sickle of 
 Saturn fell on this spot, and gave it its form. 
 But the Latins, who were not nuite so fond 
 
 d.22 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 of fable, alianged its name to Messina, (from 
 Messis, a harvest.) because of the great fer- 
 tility of Its fields. It is certainly one of the 
 safest harbours in the world after ships 
 have got in; but it is likewise one of the 
 most difficult access. The celebrated gulf 
 or whirlpool of Ch.arybdis lies near to its 
 entiy, and often occasions such an intestine 
 and irregular motion in the water, that the 
 helm loses most of its power, and ships 
 have great difficulty to get in, even with 
 the fan-est wind that can blow. This whirl- 
 pool, 1 think, is probably formed by the 
 small promontory I have mentioned; which 
 contracting the Straits in this spot, must 
 necessarily increase the velocity of ti^e cur- 
 rent; but no doubt other causes, of which 
 we are ignorant, concur, for this will by no 
 means account for all the appearances 
 vfhich it has produced. The great noise 
 occasioned by the tumultuous motion of the 
 waters in this place, made the ancients liken 
 it to a voracious sea-monster perpetually 
 roaring for its prey ; and it has been repre- 
 sented by their authors, as the most trem^en- 
 dous passage in the world. Aristotle gives 
 a long and a formidable description of it in 
 his 125th chapter De Admirundis, which 1 
 find translated in an old Sicilian book 1 
 have got here. Ii begins, " Adeo profun- 
 dum, horridumque spectaculum, &c." but 
 it is too long to transcribe. It is likewise 
 described by Homer, 12th of the Odyssey; 
 V^irgil, Sdil'^.neid ; Lucretius, Ovid, Sallust, 
 Seneca, as also by many of the old Italian 
 and Sicilian poets, wlio all speak of it in 
 terms of horror ; and represent it as an 
 object that inspired terror, even when looked 
 on at a distance. It certainly is not now 
 so formidable; and very probably, the vio- 
 lence of this motion, continued for so many 
 ages, has by degrees worn smooth tlie rug- 
 ged rocks and jutting sheWes, that may 
 have intercepted and confined tlie waters. 
 The breadth of the Straits too, in this place, 
 I make no doubt is considerably enlarged. 
 Indeed, from the nature of things it must 
 he so ; the perpetual friction occasioned by 
 the current must wear away the bank on 
 eacli side, and enlarge the bed of the water. 
 The vessels in this passage were obliged 
 to go as near as possible to the coast of 
 (alabria, in order to avoid the suction oc- 
 casioned by the whirling of the waters in 
 this vortex; by which means when they 
 came to the narrowest and most rapid part 
 jf the Straits, betwixt Cape Peloriis and 
 scylla, they were in great danger of being 
 carried upon that rock. From whence the 
 proverb, still applied to those, who in at- 
 lempting to avoid one evil fall into another. 
 
 Tliere is a fine fountain of white inarbie 
 on the key, representing Neptune holding 
 Scylla and Charybdis chained, under the 
 emblematical figures of two sea-monsters, 
 as represented by the poets. 
 
 The little neck of land, forming the har- 
 bour of Messina, is strongly fortified, llie 
 citadel, which is indeed a very fine work 
 is built on that part which connects it with 
 the main land. The farthermost point, 
 which runs out to sea, is defended by four 
 small forts, which command the entry into 
 the harbour. Betwixt these lie the lazaret, 
 and a lighthouse to warn sailors of their 
 approach to Charybdis, as that other on 
 Cape Pelorus is intended to give them no- 
 tice of Scylla. 
 
 It is probably from these lighthouses (by 
 the Greeks called Pharoi) that the whole of 
 this celebrated Strait has been denominated 
 the Faro of Messina. 
 
 According to Brydone, the hazard to 
 sailors was less in his time than the Nestor 
 of song, and the poet of the ^neid, had 
 depicted in theirs. In 1824, Capt. VV. H. 
 Smyth, to whom a survey of the coast 
 of Sicily was intrusted by the lords of the 
 Admiralty, published a ■" Memoir" in 1824, 
 with the latest and most authentic accounts 
 of these celebrated classic spots — viz. : 
 
 Scylla. 
 
 As the breadth across this celebrated 
 strait has been so often disputed, I particu- 
 larly state, that the Faro Tower is exactly 
 six thousand and forty-seven English yards 
 from that classical bugbear, the Rock of 
 Scylla, which, by poetical fiction, has been 
 depicted in such terrific colours, and to 
 describe the horrors of which, Phalerion, a 
 painter, celebrated for his nervous repre- 
 sentation of the awful and the tremendous, 
 exerted his whole talent. But the flights 
 of poetry can seldom bear to be shackled 
 by homely truth, and if we are to receive 
 the fine imagery, that places the summit 
 of this rock in clouds brooding eternal 
 mists and tempests — that represents it as 
 inaccessible, €ven to a man provided with 
 twenty hands and twenty feet, and immerses 
 its base among ravenous sea-dogs ; — why 
 not also receive the whole circle of mytho- 
 logical dogmas of Homer, who, though so 
 frequently dragged forth as an authority in 
 history, theology, surgery, and geography, 
 ought in justice to be read only as a po«»t. 
 In the writings of so exquisite a ba'd. we 
 must not expect to hnd a/( his lepresenta- 
 tion.s strictly confined to a mere accuwt» 
 
 'd-2'd 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 narration of facts Moderns of intelhgence, 
 in visiting tiiis spot, have gratified their 
 imaginations, already heated by svich de 
 scriptions as the escape of the Argonauts, 
 and the disasters of Ulysses, with fancying 
 it the scourge of seamen, arnd that in a gale 
 its caverns 'roar like dogs;' but I, as a sailor, 
 never perceived any difference between the 
 effect of the surges here, and on any other 
 coast, yet I have frequently watched it 
 closely in bad weather. It is now, as I 
 presume it ever was, a common rock, of 
 bold approach, a little worn at its base, and 
 surmounted by a castle, with a sandy bay 
 on each side. The one on the south side is 
 memorable for the disaster that happened 
 there during the dreadful earthquake of 
 1783, when an overwhelming wave (sup- 
 posed to have been occasioned by the fall of 
 part of a promontory into the sea) rushed 
 up the beach, and, in its retreat, bore away 
 with it upwards of two thousand people. 
 
 Charybdis. 
 
 Outside the tongue of land, or Braccio 
 di St. Rainiere, that forms the harbour of 
 Messina, lies the Galofaro, or celebrated 
 vortex of Charybdis, which has, with more 
 reason than Seylla, been clothed with ter- 
 rors by the writers of antiquity. To the 
 undecked boats of the Rbegians, Locrians, 
 Zancleans, and Greeks, it must have been 
 formidable ; for, even in the present day, 
 small craft are sometimes endangered by it, 
 md I have seen several men-of-war, and 
 even a seventy four gun ship, whirled round 
 m its surface ; but, by using due caution, 
 there is generally very little danger or in- 
 convenience to be apprehended. It appears 
 to be an agitated water, of from seventy to 
 ninety fathoms in depth, circling in quick 
 eddies. It is owing probably to the meet- 
 ing of the harbour and lateral currents with 
 the main one, the latter being forced over 
 in this direction by the opposite point of 
 Pezzo. This agrees in some measure with 
 the relation of Thucydides, who calls U a 
 violent reciprocation of the Tyrrhene and 
 Sicilian seas ; and he is the only writer of 
 remote antiquity I remember to have read, 
 who has assigned this danger its true situa- 
 tion, and not exaggerated its effects. Many 
 wonderful stories are told respecting this 
 vortex, particularly some said to have been 
 related by the celebrated diver. Colas, who 
 lost his life here. I have never found rea- 
 son, however, during my examination of 
 this spot, to believe one of them. 
 
 For the Table Booh. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 From Corneiius May's " .Iourney i« 
 
 THE CREATE MaRKETT AT OlYMPUS" — 
 
 " Seven Starrs op Witte." 
 
 One daye when tired with worldly toil, 
 
 Upp to fhe Olympian mounte 
 I sped, as from soul-cankering care. 
 
 Had ever been my wo»te ; 
 And there 'he gods assembled alle 
 
 I fonnde, O strange to tell I 
 Chaffering, like chapmen, and aroiiEd 
 
 The wares they had to sell. 
 Eache god had sample of his goodes. 
 
 Which he displaied od high ; 
 And cried, " How lack ye ?" " What's y're neede?' 
 
 To every passer by. 
 Quoth I, " What have yon here to sell? 
 
 To purchase being inclined ;" 
 Said one, " We're art and science here, 
 
 And every gifte of miade." 
 *' What coin is current here ?" I asted. 
 
 Spoke Hermes in a trice, 
 " ladastrie, perseveremie, toile, 
 
 And life the highest price." 
 I saw Apollo, and went on, 
 
 Liking his wares of olde ; 
 " Come buy," said he, " this lyre of mine 
 
 I'll pledge it sterling golde ; 
 This is the sample of its worthe, 
 
 'Tis cheape at life, come buy 1" 
 So saying, he drew olde Homer forth. 
 
 And placed him 'neath my eye. 
 I turn'd aside, where in a row 
 
 Smalle bales high piled up stood ; 
 Tyed rounde with golden threades of liffe 
 
 And eache inscribed with blood, 
 " Travell to far and foreign landes ;" 
 
 " i'he knowledge of the sea ;" 
 " Alle beastes, and birdes, and creeping thiajM, 
 
 And heaven's immensity ;" 
 •' Unshaken faitlie when alle men change-," 
 
 " The patriot's holy heart ;" 
 •' The might of woman's love to stay 
 
 When alle besides departe." 
 I ne ~u saw things soe strange of forme. 
 
 Their names 1 miglite not knowe. 
 Unlike aught either in heaven or earthe. 
 
 Or in the deeps below ; 
 Then Hermes to my thoughte replied, 
 
 " Strange as these thinges appeare. 
 Gigantic power, the mighte of arte 
 
 And science are laide here ; 
 Yeare after yeare of toile and thoughte 
 
 Can buy these stores alone ; 
 Yet boughte, bow neare the gods is maa. 
 
 What knowledge is made known 
 The power and nature of .ill thinges, 
 
 Fire, aire, and earthe, and flood. 
 Known and made subject to man's ivill 
 
 For evili or for Bood." 
 
 324 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Where hookeS in a darksome den. 
 
 Webbed o'er with spider's thread, 
 Next look'd I were piled, and on cache booke 
 
 I " metaphysics " read ; 
 Spoke Hermes, " Friend, the price of these 
 
 Is puzzling of the brain, 
 A gulf of words which, who gets in. 
 
 Can ne'er get onte again." 
 I then saw " law," piled up alofte. 
 
 And asked its price to know ; 
 " Its price is, conscience nd good name," 
 
 Said Hermes, whispering low. 
 Nexte, " Physic and divinity," 
 
 I stood as I was loth, 
 To take or leave, with curling lip, 
 
 Said Hermes, " Quackery, both !" 
 " Now, friend," said I, " since of your wares 
 
 You no good thing can telle. 
 You are the honestest chapman 
 
 That e'er had wares to selle." 
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND: 
 
 OR, 
 
 MANNERS OF LONDON MERCHANTS 
 
 A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 Tempore mutato de nobis fabula narratur. 
 
 Decio, a man of great figure, that had 
 large commissions for sugar from several 
 parts beyond sea, treats about a consider- 
 able parcel of that commodity with Alcan- 
 der, an eminent West India merchant ; 
 both understood the market very well, but 
 could not agree. Decio was a man of sub- 
 stance, and thought nobody ought to buy 
 cheaper than himself. Alcander was the 
 same, and not wanting money, stood for 
 his price. Whilst they were driving their 
 bargain at a tavern near the Exchange, 
 Alcander's man brought his master a letter 
 from the West Indies, tliat mformed him of 
 a much greater quantity of sugars coming 
 for England than was expected. Alcander 
 now wished for nothing more than to sell 
 at Decio's price, before the news was 
 public; but being a cunning fox, that he 
 might not seem too precipitant, nor yet 
 lose his customer, he drops the discourse 
 they were upon, and putting on a jovial 
 humour, commends the agreeableness of 
 the weather; from whence falling upon the 
 delight he took in his gardens, invites 
 Decio to go along with him to his country 
 house, that was not above twelve miles 
 from London. It was in the month of May, 
 and as it happened upon a Saturday in the 
 afternoon, Decio, who was a single man, 
 \nd would have no business in town before 
 
 Tuesday, accepts of the other's civility, and 
 away they go in Alcander's coach. Decio 
 was splendidly entertained that night and 
 the day following ; the Monday morning, 
 to get himself an appetite, he goes to take 
 the air upon a pad of Alcander's, and com- 
 ing back meets with a gentleman of his 
 acquaintance, who tells him news was come 
 the night before that the Barbadoes fleet 
 was destroyed by a storm ; and adds, that 
 before he came out, it had been confirmed 
 at Lloyd's coffee-house, where it was thought 
 sugars would rise twenty-five per cert, by 
 change time. Decio returns to his friend, 
 and immediately resumes the discourse 
 they had broke off at the tavern. Alcander 
 who, thinking himself sure of his chap, did 
 not design to have moved it till after dinner, 
 was very glad to see himself so happily 
 prevented ; but how desirous soever he was 
 to sell, the other was yet more eager 
 to buy ; yet both of them afraid of one 
 another, for a considerable time counter- 
 feited all the indifference imaginable, till at 
 last Decio, fired with what he had heard, 
 thought delays might prove dangerous, and 
 throwing a guinea upon the table, struck 
 the bargain at Alcander's price. The next 
 day they went to London ; the news proved 
 true, and Decio got five hundred pounds by 
 his sugars. Alcander, whilst he had strove 
 to overreach the other, was paid in his own 
 coin : yet all this is called fair dealing ; 
 but I am sure neither of them would have 
 desired to be done by, as they did to each 
 other. 
 
 Fable of the Bees, 1725. 
 
 CHILTERN HUNDREDS. 
 
 The acceptance of this office, or steward- 
 ship, vacates a seat in parliament, but with- 
 out any emolument or profit. Chiltern is 
 a ridge of chalky hills crossing the county 
 of Bucks, a little south of the centre, reach- 
 ing from Tring in Hertfordshire to Henly 
 ill Oxford. This district belongs to the 
 crown, and from time immemorial has given 
 title to the nominal office of stewards of 
 the Chiltern hundreds. Of this office, as 
 well as the manor of East Hundred, in 
 Berks, it is remarkable, that although fre- 
 quently conferred upon members of parlia- 
 ment, it is not productive either of honour 
 or emolument ; being granted at the request 
 of any member of that house, merely to 
 enable him to vacate his seat by the accept- 
 ance of a nominal office under the crown ; 
 and on this account it has frequently been 
 granted to three or four members a week. 
 
 325 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 TOMMY BELL OF HOUGHTON-LE-SPEINa, DURHAM. 
 
 Tl.is is an eccentric, good-humoured cha- 
 lacter — a lover of a chirruping cup — and a 
 favourite with the pitmen of Durham. He 
 dresses like them, and mixes and jokes 
 with them ; and his portrait seems an ap- 
 propriate illustration of the following paper, 
 by a gentleman of the north, well acquaint- 
 ed with their remarkable manners. 
 
 THE PITMAN. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 " O the bonny pit laddie, the cannie pit laddie. 
 
 The bonny pit laddie for me, 01— 
 H« sits ID a hole, as black as a coal, 
 
 And brings all the white money to me, 1" 
 
 Old Pit Sono. 
 
 Gentle Reader, — Whilst thou sittest 
 loasting thy feet at the glowing fuel in thy 
 
 grate, watching in dreaming unconscious- 
 ness the various shapes and fantastic forms 
 appearing and disappearing in the briobt, 
 red heat of thy tire — here a beautiful 
 mountain, towering with its glowing top 
 above the broken and diversified valley 
 beneath — there a church, with its pretty 
 spire peeping above an imagined village ; 
 or, peradventure, a bright nob, assuming 
 the ken of human likeness, thy playful 
 fancy picturing it the semblance of some 
 distant friend — I say, whilst thou art sitting 
 in this fashion, dost thou ever think of th?t 
 race of mortals, whose whole life is spent be- 
 yond a hundred fathoms below the surface 
 of mother earth, plucking from its unwilling 
 bosom the materials of thy greatest com- 
 fort ? 
 
 The pitman enables thee to set at 
 nought the " pelting of the pitiless storm," 
 
 326 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 and lender a season of severity and pinch- 
 ing; bitterness, one of warmth, and kindly 
 feeling, and domestic smiles. If thon hast 
 never heard Df these useful and daring men 
 who 
 
 " Contemn the terrors of the mine. 
 
 Explore the caverns, dart and drear. 
 Mantled around with deadly dew ; 
 AVhere congregated vapours blue, 
 Fir'd by tlie taper glimmering- near. 
 Bid dire explosion the deep realms invade, 
 \nd earth-born lightnings gleam athwart th' infernal 
 shade ;"* 
 
 —who dwell in a valley of darkness for thv 
 lake, and whose lives are hazarded every 
 moment in procuring the light and heat of 
 ihe flickering flame — listen with patience, 
 f not with interest, to a short account of 
 'hem, from the pen of one who is not un- 
 'nindfiil of 
 
 " The simple annals of the poor." 
 
 The pitmen, who are employed in bring- 
 ing coals to the surface of the eaith, from 
 immensely deep mines, for the London and 
 iieighbouring markets, are a race entirely 
 distinct from the peasantry surrounding 
 them. They are principally within a few 
 miles of the river Wear, in the county of 
 Durham, and the river Tyne, which traces 
 the southern boundary of Northumberland. 
 They reside in long rows of one-storied 
 b'^uses, called by themselves " pit-rows,"' 
 buiit near the chief entrance to the mine. 
 To each house is attached a small garden, 
 
 " For ornament or use," 
 
 and wherein they pay so much attention to 
 the cultivation of flowers, that they fre- 
 quently bear away prizes at floral cx- 
 liil;itions. 
 
 ' Within the memory of the writer, (and 
 liis locks ai-e not yet " silver'd o'er with 
 age,'') the pitmen were a rude, bold, savage 
 set of beings, apparently cut off from their 
 ffcllow men in their interests and feelings ; 
 often guilty of outrage in their moments of 
 ebrious mirth ; not from dishonest motives, 
 ur hopes of plunder, but from recklessness, 
 and lack of that civilization, which binds 
 the wide and ramified society of a great 
 city. Yrom the age of five or six years, 
 their children are immersed in the dark 
 abyss of their lower worlds ; and when 
 even they enjoy the " light of the blessed 
 sun," it is only in the company of their 
 /mmediate relations : all have the same vo- 
 Bation, and all stand out, a sturdy band, 
 
 separate and apart from the motley mixl^arc 
 of general humanity. 
 
 Tlie pitmen have the air of a primitive 
 race. They marry almost constantly with 
 ti)eir own people; their boys follow the 
 occupations of their sires — their dau<»-hters. 
 at the age of bloomirjg and modest maiden 
 hood, linking their fate to some hone.s 
 " neebors bairn ;" thus, from generation 
 to generation, family has united with family, 
 till their population has become a denst 
 mass of relationship, like the clans of oui 
 northern friends, " ayont the Cheviot's- 
 range." The dress of one of them is thai 
 of the whole peopk. Imagine a man, ol 
 only middling stature, (few are tall oi 
 robust,) with several large blue marks, 
 occasioned by cuts, impregnated with coal- 
 dust, on a pale and swarthy countenance, a 
 coloured handkerchief around his neck, a 
 " posied waistcoat " opened at the breast, 
 to display a striped shirt beneath, a .short 
 blue jacket, somewhat like, but rather 
 shorter than the jackets of our seamen 
 velvet breeches, invariably unbuttoned and 
 untied at the knee, on the " tapering calf " 
 a blue worsted stocking, with while clocks, 
 and finished downwaids by a long, low- 
 quartered shoe, and you have a pitman 
 before you, equipped for his Saturday's 
 cruise to " canny Newcastle,'' or for his 
 Sabbath's gayest holiday. 
 
 On a Saturday evening you will see a 
 long line of road, leading to the nearest 
 large market town, grouped every where 
 with pitmen and their wives or " lasses," 
 laden with large baskets of the " stomach's 
 comforts," sufhcient for a fortnight's con- 
 sumption. They only are paid for their 
 labour at such intervals; and their weeks 
 are divided into what they term " pay 
 week," and " bauf week," (the etymology 
 of " bauf,"* I leave thee, my kind reader, 
 to find out.) — All merry and happy — 
 trudging home with their spoils — not uii- 
 frequently the thrifty husband is eeen 
 " half seas over," wrestling his onward way 
 with an obstinate little pig, to whose hind 
 leg is attached a string, as security for al- 
 legiance, while ever and anon this third 
 in the number of " obstinate graces," seeks 
 a sly opportunity of evading its unsteady 
 guide and eftecting a retreat over the road, 
 and " Geordie" (a common name amona 
 them) attempts a masterly retrograde reel 
 to regain his fugitive. A long cart, lent 
 
 • Hdddesfoed. 
 
 • Quaere ? Whether vome wag ha.s not originall> 
 given the pitman the benefit of this term from b.-'Jler 
 or baffoJier, to mock or affront ; " aiblins." it may be 
 a corraption of our Knglish term " baik." (o disap 
 point. 
 
 327 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 by the owners of the colliery for the pur- 
 pose, is sometimes filled with the women 
 md their marketings, jogging homeward at 
 I smart pace; and from these every way- 
 tarer receives a shower of taunting, coarse 
 jokes, and the air is filled with loud, rude 
 merriment. Pitmen do not consider it any 
 deviation from propriety for their wives to 
 accompany them to the alehouses of the 
 market town, and join their husbands in 
 their glass and pint. I have been amused 
 by peeping through the open window of a 
 pothouse, to see parties of them, men and 
 women, sitting round a large fir table, 
 talking, laughing, smoking, and drinking 
 con amore ; and yet these poor women are 
 never addicted to excessive drinking. The 
 men, however, are not particularly abste- 
 mious when their hearts are exhilarated with 
 the bustle of a town. 
 
 When the pitman is abou* to descend to 
 the caverns of his labour, he is dressed in 
 a checked flannel jacket, waistcoat, and 
 trowsers, with a bottle or canteen slung 
 across his shoulders, and a satchell or 
 haversack at his side, to hold provender for 
 his support during his subterrene sojourn. 
 At all hours, night and day, groups of men 
 and boys are seen dressed in this fashion 
 wendmg their way to their colliery, some 
 carrying sir Humphrey Davy's (called by 
 ihem " Davy's") safety-lamp, ready trim- 
 med, and brightened for use They descend 
 the pit by means of a basket or " corfe," 
 or merely by swinging themselves on to a 
 chain, suspended at the extreme end of the 
 cordage, and are let down, with inconceiv- 
 able rapidity, by a steam-engine. Clean 
 and orderly, they coolly precipitate them- 
 selves into a black, smoking, and bottom- 
 less-looking crater, where you would think 
 it alUiOst impossible human lungs could 
 play, or blood dance thioJgh the heart. 
 At nearly the same moment you see others 
 coming up, as jetty as the object of their 
 search, drenched and tired, f have stood 
 in a dark night, near the mouth of a pit, 
 lighted by a suspended grate, filled with 
 flaring coals, casting an unsteady but fierce 
 reflection on the surrounding swarthy coun- 
 tenances ; the pit emitting a smoke as 
 dense as the chimney of a steam-engine ; 
 the men, with their sooty and grimed 
 faces, glancing about their sparkling eyes, 
 while the talking motion of their red lips 
 disclosed rows of ivory ; the steam-engines 
 clanking and crashing, and the hissing from 
 the huge boilers, making a din, only broken 
 by the loud, mournful, and musical cry of 
 the man stationed at the top of the pit 
 ** ihaft," calling down to his companions 
 
 in labour at the bottom. This, altogether, 
 is a scene as wild and fearful as a painter 
 or a poet could wish to see. 
 
 All have heard of the dreadful accidents 
 in coal-mines from explosions of fire-damp, 
 inundations, &c., yet few have witnessed 
 the heart-rending scenes of domestic cala- 
 mity which are the consequence. Aged 
 fathers, sons, and sons' sons, a wide branch- 
 ing family, all are sometimes swept away 
 by a fell blast, more sudden, and, if possi- 
 ble, more terrible, than the deadly Sirocca 
 of the desert. 
 
 Never shall I forget one particular scene 
 of family destruction. I was passing along 
 a " pit-row " immediately after a " firing," 
 as the explosion of fire-damp is called, when 
 I looked into one of the houses, and my 
 attention became so rivetted, that I scarcely 
 knew I had entered the room. On one bed 
 lay the bodies of two men, burnt to a livid 
 ash colour ; the eldest was apparently sixty, 
 the other about forty — father and son : — 
 on another bed, in the same room, were 
 *' streaked " three fine boys, the oldest not 
 more than fifteen — sons of the younger 
 dead — all destroyed at the same instant by 
 the same destructive blast, let loose from 
 the mysterious hand of Providence : and 
 I saw — Oh Ood! I shall never forget — I 
 saw the vacant, maddened countenance, 
 and quick, wild glancing eye of the father- 
 less, widowed, childless being, who in the 
 morning was smiling in her domestic feli- 
 city ; whose heart a few hours before was 
 exultingly beating as she looked on her 
 " gudeman and bonny bairns." Before the 
 evening sun had set she was alone in the 
 world ; without a prop for her declining 
 age, and every endearing tie woven around 
 her heart was torn and dissevered. I passed 
 into the neat little garden — it was the 
 spring time — part of the soil was fresh 
 turned up, and some culinary plants were 
 newly set : — these had been the morning 
 work of the younger father — his spade was 
 standing upright in the earth at the last 
 spot he had laboured at; he had left it 
 there, ready for the evening's employment : 
 — the garden was yet blooming with all the 
 delightful freshness of vernal vegetation 
 its cultivator was withered and dead — his 
 spade was at hand for another to dig its 
 owner's grave. 
 
 Amidst all their dangers, the pitmen are 
 a cheerful, industrious race of men. They 
 were a few years ago much addicted to 
 gambling, cock-fighting, horse-racing, &c. 
 Their spare hours are diverted now to a 
 widely different channel ; they are for the 
 most part members of the Wesleyan sects ; 
 
 328 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 and, not unfrequently in passing their hum- 
 ale but neat dwellings, instead of brawls 
 And fights you hear a peaceful congregation 
 of worshippers, uttering their simple pray- 
 ers ; or the loud hymn of praise breaking 
 the silence of the eventide. 
 
 The ancient custom of sword-dancing at 
 Christmas is kept up in Northumberland, 
 exclusively by these people. They may be 
 constantly seen at that festive season with 
 their fiddler, bands of swordsmen, Tommy 
 and Bessy, most grotesquely dressed, per- 
 forming their annual routme of warlike 
 evolutions. I have never had the pleasure 
 of seeing the Every-Day Book, but 1 have 
 no doubt this custom has there been fully 
 illustrated. 
 
 Some years ago a Tynemouth vessel, 
 called the " Northern Star,'' was lost, and 
 the following ballad made on the occasion : 
 the memory of a lady supplies the words — 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 THE NORTHERN STAR. 
 
 The Northern Star 
 Sail'd over the bar. 
 
 Bound to the Baltic sea — 
 In the morning grey 
 She stretch'd away, — 
 
 'Twas a weary day to me. 
 
 For many an hour 
 la sleet and shower 
 
 By the lighthouse rock I stray. 
 And watch till dark 
 For the winged bark 
 
 Of him that is far avay. 
 
 The castle's bound 
 I wander round 
 
 Amidst the grassy graves,* 
 But all I hear 
 Is the north wind drear. 
 
 And all I see are the waves. 
 
 Oh roam not there 
 Thou mourner fair, 
 
 Nor pour the useless tear. 
 Thy plaint of woe 
 Is all below — 
 
 The dead — they cannot hear. 
 
 The Northern Star 
 Is set afar. 
 
 Set in the Baltic sea, 
 And the waves have spread 
 The sandy bed. 
 
 That holds thy love from thee. 
 
 • Tynemouth-casUe, the grounds of which are used 
 •I • cemetery. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Mines of gold and silver, sufficient to re- 
 ward the conqueror, were found in Mexico 
 and Peru; but the island of Britain neve? 
 produced enough of the precious m.etalj 
 to compensate the i*ivader for the trouble 
 of slaughtering our ancestors. 
 
 Camden mentions gold and silver mines 
 in Cumberland, a mine of silver in Flint- 
 shire, and of gold in Scotland. Speaking oi 
 the copper mines of Cumberland, he says 
 that veins of gold and silver were found 
 intermixed with the common ore ; and in 
 the reign of Elizabeth gave birth to a suit 
 at law between the earl of Northumberland 
 and another claimant. 
 
 Borlase, in his History of Cornwall, 
 relates, " that so late as the year 1753 
 several pieces of gold were found in what 
 the miners call stream tin ; and silver is now 
 got in considerable quantity from several of 
 our lead mines." 
 
 A curious paper, concerning the gold 
 mines of Scotland, is given by Mr. Pennant, 
 in the Appendix, No. 10. to his second 
 part of a "Tour in Scotland, in 1772;" 
 but still there never was sufficient gold and 
 silver enough to constitute the price of 
 victory. The other metals, such as tin, 
 copper, iron, and lead, are found in abun- 
 dance at tiiis day ; antimony and manga- 
 nese in small quantities.* 
 
 Of the copper mines now working in 
 Cornwall, " Dolcoath," situated near Cam- 
 born, is the deepest, having a 220 fathom 
 level under the adil, which is 40 fathoms 
 from the surface ; so that the total depth is 
 260 fathoms, or 15G0 feet : it employs up- 
 wards of 1000 persons. The " Consolidated 
 JMines," in Gwennap, are the most pro- 
 ductive perhaps in the world, yielding from 
 10/. to 12000/. a month of copper ore, with 
 a handsome profit to the shareholders. 
 *' Great St. George " is the only productive 
 mine near St. Agnes, and the only one 
 producing metal to the " English Mining 
 Association." 
 
 Of the tin mines, " Wheal Nor," in 
 Breague, is an immense concern, producing 
 an amazing quantity, and a large profit ti- 
 the company. " Carnon Stream," nea2 
 Perran, is now yielding a good profit on its 
 
 • A Missouri paper states, that copper is in such 
 abundance and purity, from the falls of St. Antkony 
 to Lake Superior, that the Indians make hatchets and 
 ornaments of it, without any other instrument than the 
 hammer. The mines still remain in the possession nt 
 the Indiana. 
 
 3:^9 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 capital. It has a shaft sunk in the middle 
 of the stream. The washings down from 
 so many mines, the a^lits of which run in 
 this stieam, bring; many sorts of metal, with 
 some curious bits of gold. 
 
 Of late years the mine called Wheal 
 Rose, and some others belonging to sir 
 Christopher Hawkins, have been the most 
 prolific of lead, mixed with a fair proportion 
 of silver. Wheal Penhale, Wheal Hope, 
 and others, promise favourably. 
 
 As yet Wheal Sparnon has not done 
 much in cobalt ; the quality found in that 
 mine is very excellent, but quantity is the 
 " one thing needful." 
 
 The immense quantity of coals consumed 
 in the numerous fire-engines come from 
 Wales ; the vessels convey the copper ore, 
 as it is brought by the copper companies, to 
 their smelting works : if is a back freight 
 for the shipping. 
 
 Altogether, the number of individuals 
 who derive their living by means of the 
 mineral district of Cornwall must be incal- 
 culable ; and it is a great satisfaction to 
 know, that this county suffered less during 
 the recent bad times than perhaps any 
 other county. 
 
 Sam Sam's Son. 
 
 Jpr'd 30, 1827. 
 
 Singling: 
 
 AT THAMES DITTON. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Thames Ditton is a pretty little villas;-e, 
 delightfully situated on the banks of the 
 Thames, between Kingston and Hampton 
 Court palace. During the summ.er and 
 autumn, it is the much-frequented resort of 
 the followers of Isaac Walton's tranquil 
 occupation. 
 
 The Swan inn, only a few paces from the 
 water's edge, remarkable for the neatness 
 and comfort of its appearance, and for the 
 sfill more substantial attractions of its in- 
 ternal accommodation, is kept by Mr. John 
 Locke, a most civil, good-natured, and 
 obliging creature ; and, what is not of 
 slight importance to a bon-vivant, he has a 
 wife absolutely incomparable in the pre- 
 paration of " stewed eels," and not to be 
 despised in the art of cooking a good beef- 
 steak, or a mutton-chop. 
 
 But what is most remarkable in this 
 place is its appellation of " lying Ditton " — 
 from what reason I liave ever been unable 
 Hi discover, unless it has been applied by 
 tliose cockney anglers, who, chagrined at 
 
 their want of sport, \iave l>e,ilowed uootj v 
 that very opprobrious designation ; an(J 
 perhaps not entirely witliout foundation 
 for when they have been unsuccessful in 
 beguiling the finny tribe, the fishermen, 
 who attend thera in their punts, are always 
 prepared to assign a cause for their failure; 
 as that the water is too low — or not suffi- 
 ciently clear — or too muddy — or there is a 
 want of rain — or there has been too much of 
 that element — or — any thing else — except 
 a want of skill in the angler himself, who 
 patiently sits in his punt, watching the 
 course of his float down the stream, or its 
 gentle diving under the water, by which he 
 flatters himself he has a bite, listening to 
 the stories of his attendant, seated in calra 
 indifference at his side, informing him of 
 the mortality produced among the gelid 
 tribe by the noxious gas which flows into 
 the river from the metropolis, the alarming 
 effects from the motion of the steam-boats 
 on their fishy nerves, and, above all, from 
 their feeding at that season of year on the 
 green weeds at the bottom. 
 
 However, there are many most skilful 
 lovers of the angle who pay weekly, month- 
 ly, or annual visits to this retired spot; 
 amongst whom aie gentlemen of fortune, 
 professional men, and respec'able trades- 
 men. After the toils of the day, the little 
 rooms are filled with aquatic sportsmen, 
 who have left the cares of life, and the 
 great city behind them, and associate in 
 easy conversation, and unrestrained mirth. 
 
 One evening last summer there alighted 
 from the coach a gentleman, apparently o't 
 the middle age of live, who first seeing 
 his small portmanteau, fishing-basket, and 
 rods safely deposited with the landlord, 
 whom he heartily greeted, walked into the 
 room, and shaking hands with one or two 
 of his acquaintances, drew a chair to the 
 window, which he threw up higher than it 
 was before; and, after surveying with a 
 cheerful countenance the opposite green 
 park, the clear river with its sedgy 
 islands, and the little flotilla of punts, 
 whose tenants were busily engaged on 
 their gliding floats, he seemed as delighted 
 as a bird that has regained his liberty : 
 then, taking from his pocket a paper, he 
 showed its contents to me, who happened 
 to be seated opposite, and asked if I was a 
 connoisseur in " single hair ;" for, if I was, 
 I should find it the best that could be pro- 
 cured for love or money. I replied that I 
 seldom fished with any but gut-lines; yet 
 it appeared, as far as I could judge, to be 
 very fine. " Fine !" said he, " it would do 
 for tlie filament of a .spider's-web ; and yet 
 
 330 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 \ expect to-morrow to kill with it a fish of accompanied with a vast quantify of bodies 
 
 A pound weight. I recollect," continued 
 he, " when I was but a tyro in the art of an- 
 gling, once fishing with an old gentleman, 
 whose passion for single-hair was so great, 
 that, when the season of the year did not 
 permit him to pursue his favourite diver- 
 »!on, he spent the greatest part of his time in 
 f, avelling about from one end of the king- 
 tiim to the other, seeking the best speci- 
 mens of this invaluable article. On his 
 risits to the horse-dealers, instead of scru- 
 tnizing the liorses in the customary way, 
 ny examining their legs, inquiring into 
 their points and qualities, or trying their 
 paces, to the unspeakable surprise of the 
 venders, he invariably walked up to the 
 nether extremities of the animals, and seized 
 hold of their tails, by which means he was 
 enabled to select a capital assortment of 
 hairs for his ensuing occupation." 
 
 After the new-comer had finished his 
 amusing anecdote, the noise of a numerous 
 flock of starlings, which had assembled 
 among the trees in the park preparatory to 
 their evening adjournment to roost, attracted 
 his notice by the babel-like confusion of 
 their shrill notes, and led him again to en- 
 tertain us with a story touching their pecu- 
 liarities. 
 
 " I remember," said he, " when I was at 
 a friend's house in Yorkshire last autumn, 
 there were such immense numbers of these 
 birds, who sought their sustenance by day 
 on the neighbouring marshes, and at night 
 came to roost in his trees, that at length 
 there was not room for their entiie accom- 
 modation ; the consequence of which was, 
 that it became a matter of necessity that a 
 separation of their numbers should take 
 place — a part to other quarters, the re- 
 mainder to retain possession of their old 
 aaunts. If I might judge from tlie con- 
 flicting arguments which their confused 
 chatterings seemed to indicate, the contem- 
 plated arrangement was not at all relished 
 by those who were doomed to separate 
 from their companions — a separation, how- 
 ever, did take place — but the exiles would 
 not leave the field undisputed. Birds, like 
 aid-de-camps of an army, flew from one 
 side to the other — unceasing voices cave 
 note of dreadful preparation — and, at last, 
 both sides took flight at the same instant. 
 The whirring sound of their wings was 
 perfectly deafening ; when they had at- 
 tained a great height in the air, the two 
 
 of the starlings, which had been speared 
 through by hostile beaks — they literally fell 
 like hail. It was then growing rather dusk; 
 T could merely see the contending flocks far 
 above me for some time — it became darker 
 — and I returned to narrate this extraordi- 
 nary aerial combat to ray friend, who in the 
 morning had the curiosity to accompany 
 me to the field of battle, where we picked 
 up, according to an accurate calculation, 
 1087 of these birds, some quite dead, and 
 others generally severely wounded, with an 
 amazing quantity of their feathers." 
 
 1 saw this amusing gentleman on the 
 following morning sitting quietly in his 
 punt, exercising h"is single-hair skill, nearly 
 opposite to the little fishing-hous 
 
 E. J. n. 
 
 April, 1827. 
 
 TICKLliNG TROUT. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 It is a liberty taken by poachers with the 
 
 little brook running through Castle Coombe, 
 to catch trout by tickling. 1 instance the 
 practice there because I have there wit- 
 nessed it, although it prevails in other 
 places. The person employed wades into 
 the stream, puts his bare arms into the 
 hole where trout resort, slides his fingeis 
 under the fish, feels its position, com- 
 mences tickling, and the trout falls gradu- 
 ally into his hand, and is thiown upon the 
 grass. This is a successful snare, destruc- 
 tive to the abundance of trout, and the 
 angler's patient pleasure. The lovers of 
 the " hook and eye " system oppose thesp 
 ticklish practices, and the ticklers, when 
 caught, are "punished according to law," 
 while the patrons of the " rod and line " 
 escape. Shakspeare may have hinted at 
 retribution, when he said 
 
 " A thousand men the fishes gnawed upon.' 
 Pope tell us that men are 
 
 " Pleased with a feather, tickled.wilh a straw." 
 
 P. 
 
 THE CLERKS OP CORNWALL. 
 
 1. In the last age there was a familiarity 
 between the parson and the clerk and the 
 
 forces clashed together with the greatest people, which our feelings of decorum 
 
 impetuosity ; immediately the sky was ob- would revolt at, e. g-.— " 1 have seen ^the 
 
 scured with an appearance like the falling ungodly flourish like a green bay tree. — 
 
 ef snow, descending gradually to the earth, " How can that be, maister I saia the clers 
 
 aai 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 at St. Clement's. Of this I was myself an 
 ear-witness. 
 
 2. At Kenwyn, two dogs, one of which 
 was the parson's, were fighting at ihe west- 
 end of the church ; the parson, who was 
 then reading the second lesson, rushed out 
 of the pew, and went down and parted 
 them, returned to his pew, and, doubtful 
 where he had left off, asked the clerk, 
 " lioger, where was I ?'' " Why down 
 parting the dogs, maister," said Roger. 
 
 3. At Mevagizzey, when non-resident 
 clergymen officiated, it was usual with the 
 squire of the parish to mvite them to din- 
 tier. Several years ago, a non-resident 
 olergyman was requested to do duty in the 
 church of Mevagizzey on a Sunday, when 
 the Creed of St. Athanasius is directed to 
 be read. Before he had begun the service, 
 the parish-clerk asked him, whether he in- 
 tended to read the Alhanasian Creed that 
 morning. "Why?" said the clergyman. 
 " Because if you do, no dinner for you at 
 the squire's, at Penwarne." 
 
 4. A very short time since, parish-clerks 
 used to read the first iesson. I once heard 
 the St. Agnes clerk cry out, " At the mouth 
 of the burning viery vurnis, — Sliadrac, 
 Meshac, and Abednego. com voath and com 
 fief her." [Daniel, chap, iii.] 
 
 TL2 clerk of Lamorran, in giving out the 
 Psalm, " Like a timorous bird to distant 
 mountains fly," always said, " Like a tem- 
 mersum bnrde, &c. &c." with a shake of the 
 iiead, and a quavering of the voice, which 
 "ould not but provoke risibility.* 
 
 OBSERVED BY THE 
 
 LORD LIEUTENANTS OF IRELAND. 
 
 On the great road from London to West 
 Ciiester, we find, at the principal inns, the 
 coats of arms of several lord lieutenants of 
 Crelund, framed, and hung up in the best 
 vuoms. At tiie bottom of these armorial 
 pictures (as I may call them) is a full dis- 
 play of all the titles of the party, together 
 wi'li the date of the year when each vice- 
 royship commenced. I have often inquired 
 .he reason of this custom, but never could 
 procure a satisfactory answer. I do not 
 raprobate the idea of this rclique of an- 
 :ient dignity, as these heraldic monuments 
 were doubtless intended to operate as pub- 
 lic evidences of the passage of each lord- 
 
 • Rev. Mr. Polwhele's Recollections. 
 
 deputy to his delegated government. They 
 now seem only to be preserved for the 
 gratification of the vanity of the capital inn- 
 keepers, by showing to humble travellers 
 that such and such lord lieutenants did 
 them the honour to stop at their houses ; 
 and yet I will not say, but that for half-a- 
 crown handsomely offered to his excel- 
 lency's gentlem.an, they might likewise 
 become part of the furniture of every ale- 
 house in Dunstable. 
 
 After fruitless inquiry, accident furnished 
 me with the ground of this custom, which 
 now only serves to excite a little transitory 
 curiosity. Having occasion to look into sir 
 Dudley Digge's " Complete Ambassador," 
 published in 1654, I was obliged to the 
 editor for a solution, who, in the preface, 
 fsigned A. H.,) speaking of the reserve of 
 the English ambassadors, in not making 
 public their negotiations, has this observa- 
 tion: — "We have hardly any notion of 
 them but by their arms, which are hung up 
 in inns where they passed." 
 
 This paragraph at once accounts for the 
 point before us. and is suffioient, at the 
 same time, to show that the custom was 
 anciently, and even in the seventeenth cen- 
 tury, common to every ambassador, though 
 it now only survives with those who go in 
 the greater and more elevated line of royal 
 rejiresentation to Ireland. 
 
 Samuhl Pegge.* 
 
 For the luulc Book. 
 
 THE BACHELOR'S PLAINT 
 
 An Ode of the olden Time. 
 
 Hark ! the curfew, friend to night. 
 
 Banishes the cheerful light ; 
 
 Now the scholar, monk, and sage - 
 
 All by iamp that con the page — 
 
 All to whom the light is dear 
 
 Sigh that sullen knell to hear . 
 
 Labour now with day is done ; 
 
 To the wave the weary sun 
 
 Rushes, from its cool to borrow 
 
 Vigour for his course to-morrow: 
 
 Yet, in kindness, scorning quite 
 
 Thus to rob the world of light. 
 
 He lends the moon his useful beams, 
 
 And through the night by proxy gleams. 
 
 Kine unyok'd, sheep safely penn'd. 
 
 Ploughmen, hind, and shepherd wend 
 
 To the hostels welcome latch, 
 
 From the tankard's draught to snatch 
 
 '* Curialia Miscel.Bne^ 
 
 332 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Strength, relax'd, which, blithe of strain. 
 Deeds of day they act again! 
 Now the nightingale's sad note 
 Through the listening air 'gins float, 
 Warning youth in warded tower. 
 Maiden in her greenwood bower ; 
 Tis the very witching time, 
 Dear alike to love and rhyme ! 
 Every lover, at the strain. 
 Speeds the shady grove to gain. 
 Where awaits the treasur'd maid ; 
 Where each care and toil's repaid ! 
 Each fond heart now lightly veers. 
 With alternate hopes and fears ; 
 Each fond heart now sweetly glows. 
 With love's rapturous joys and woes ; 
 Kach Jond heart — ah, why not mine ! — 
 Gently hails the day's decline ; 
 But, alas ! mine, — woe is me ! — 
 Is benumb'd by apathy ; 
 Is indifference' dull throne — 
 There she reigns, unmov'd, alone ! 
 There one stagnant calm presides. 
 Chilling all sweet feelings' tides I 
 
 Ah, methinks, I fierce despair 
 Better than such calm could bear: 
 I have nought to hope or fear — 
 
 No emotion claims a tear — 
 No soft rapture wakes a smile, 
 
 Meeding centuries of toil ! 
 Listless, sad, forlorn, I rove. 
 
 Feeling still the heJirt wants Love I 
 
 Nought to me can pleasure give. 
 
 Shadow of the dead I live I 
 
 No sweet maid's consenting blush 
 
 On my cheek brings rapture's flush I 
 
 *ro fond maiden's tender tear 
 
 Thrills my soul with transports dear I 
 
 No kind maiden's kiss bestows 
 
 Blest reward for all my woes ! 
 
 No sweet maid's approving smile 
 
 Beanis my labours to beguile ! 
 
 B'st incentive Love can claim. 
 
 Leading age to wealth and fame. 
 
 A lone and lonely being I, 
 
 Only seem to live — to die ! 
 
 iVith mankind my vacant heart 
 
 Feels as if it had no part ! 
 
 Love, thy slave I'd rather be. 
 
 Than free, if this is being free I 
 
 Rather feel thy worst annoy. 
 
 Than live and never know thy Joy 1 
 
 Come, then, let thy keenest dart. 
 
 Drive this loath'd Freedom from my lieart : 
 
 I'll Dear ivhole ages of thy pain, 
 
 One moment of thy bliss to gain ! 
 
 W. T. M. 
 
 Afpi„i827 
 
 BIIUMMELLIANA, 
 
 A great deal used to be said of Beau 
 Nash and his witticisms ; but certainly we 
 never met with any thirjg of his which was 
 at all equal to tlie oracular sentences of the 
 gentleman who gives a name to this article. 
 Of all the beaux that ever flourished — at 
 least, of all that ever flourished on the same 
 score — exemplary of waistcoat, and having 
 authoritative boots from which there was 
 no appeal — he appears to, us to have been 
 the only one who made a proper and per- 
 fect union of the coxcombical and ingeni- 
 ous. tJther men may have been as scientific 
 on the subject of bibs, in a draper-like 
 point of view ; and others may have said as 
 good things, which had none of the colour- 
 ing arising out of the consciousness Oj 
 fashionable preeminence. Beau FiMins;, 
 we believe, stands on record as the hand- 
 somest of beaux. There is Beau Skeffing- 
 ton, now rather sir Lumley, who, under all 
 his double-breasted coats and waistcoats, 
 never had any other than a single-hearted 
 soul ; he is to be recorded as the most 
 amiable of beaux ; but Beau Brummell 
 tor your more than finished coxcomb. He 
 could be grave enough, but he was any 
 thing but a solemn coxcomb. He played 
 with his own sceptre, it was found a 
 grand thing to be able to be a consummate 
 iop, and yet have the ciedit of being some- 
 thing greater ; and he was both. Never 
 was nny thing more exquisitely conscious, 
 yet indifferent ; extravagant, yet judicious. 
 His superiority in dress gave such import- 
 ance to his genius, and his genius so 
 divested of insipidity his superiority in 
 dress, that the poet's hyperbole about the 
 lady might be applied to his coat ; and 
 
 " You might almost say the body thought." 
 
 It was a moot point which had the more 
 tact, his gloves or his fingers' ends. He 
 played the balls of wit and folly so rapidly 
 about his head, that they lost their distinc- 
 tions in one crowning and brilliant halo. 
 
 Mr. Brummell, it is true, is no longer in 
 favour as a settler of fashions. Why, it is 
 not our business to inquire. But though it 
 may be said of his waistcoat, like Troy, that 
 it iva.i, his wit is, and will remain ; and 
 here, for the first time, a few specimens of 
 it are collected. If George Etheridge him- 
 self would not have acknowledged a brother 
 in George Brummell, then are no two 
 gloves of a colour. 
 
 To begin with what is usually reckoned 
 the prince of his good things. Mr. Brum- 
 niell having fallen out of favour with an 
 
 333 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 illustrious person, was of course to be ctit, 
 as the phrase is, when met in public. 
 Riding one day with a friend, who hap- 
 pened to be otherwise regarded, and en- 
 countering the personage in question, wlio 
 spoke to the fiiend without noticing Mr. 
 Brummell, he affected the air of one who 
 waits aloof while a stranger is present ; 
 and then, when the great '3ian was moving 
 off, said to his companion, loud enough for 
 the other to hear, and placidly adjusting 
 his bibs, " Eh ! who is our fat friend ?" 
 
 Having talien it into his head, at one 
 time, to eat no vegetables, and being asked 
 by a lady if h€ had never eaten any in his 
 life, he said, " Yes, madam, I once eat a 
 pea." 
 
 Being met limping in Bond-street, and 
 asked what was the matter, he said he had 
 hurt his leg, and " the worst of it was, it 
 was his favourite leg." 
 
 Somebody inquiring where he was going 
 to dine next day, was told that he really 
 did not know : " they put me in my coach 
 and take me somewhere." 
 
 He pronounced of a fashionable tailor 
 that he made a good coat, an exceedingly 
 good coat, all but the collar : nobody could 
 achieve a good collar but Jenkins. 
 
 Having borrowed some money of a city 
 oeau, whom he patronised in return, he 
 was one day asked to repay it ; upon which 
 he thus complained to a friend : " Do you 
 know what has happened ?" — " No." — 
 " Why, do you know, there's that fellov.', 
 Tomkms, who lent me five hundred pounds, 
 has had the face to ask me for it ; and 
 yet I had called the dog ' Tom,' and let 
 myself dine with him." 
 
 " You have a cold, Mr. Brummell," ob- 
 served a sympathizing group. " Why do 
 you know,'' said he, " that on the Brighton 
 road, the other day, that infidel, Weston, 
 *,his valet,) put me into a room with a damp 
 stranger." 
 
 Being asked if he liked port, he said, 
 with an air of difficult recollection, " Port? 
 port? — Oh, port ! — Oh, ay; what, the hot 
 intoxicating liquor so much drank by the 
 lower orders ?" 
 
 Gomg to a rout, where he had not been 
 invited, or rather, perliaps. where the host 
 wished to mortify him, and attempted it, 
 he turned placidly round to him, and, with 
 a happy mixture of indifference and sur- 
 prise, asked him his name. " Jtihnson," 
 was the answer. " Jauhnson," said Brum- 
 mell, recollecting, and pretending to feel 
 for a card ; " Oh, the r.ame, I remember, 
 was Thaun-son (Thompson;) and Jauhn- 
 ^on and Thaonson, you know, Jauhnscn 
 
 and Thaunson, are really so much the same 
 kind of thing !" 
 
 A beggar petitioned him for charity 
 " even if it was only a farthing." — "Fel- 
 low," said Mr. Brummell, softening the 
 disdain of the appellation in the gentleness 
 of his tone, " I don't know the coin." 
 
 Having thought himself invited to some- 
 body's country seat, and being given to 
 understand, after one night's lodging, that 
 he was in error, he told an unconscious 
 friend in town who asked him what sort of 
 a place it was, that it was an " exceedingly 
 good place for stopping one night in." 
 
 Speaking lightly of a man, and wishinir 
 to convey his maximum of contemptuous 
 feeling about him, he said, " He is I fellow 
 row, that would send his plate up twice 
 for soup." 
 
 It was his opinion, that port, and not 
 porter, should be taken with cheese. " A 
 gentleman," said he, " never qhuUs with his 
 cheese, he always joo?'^*." 
 
 It being supposed that he once failed in 
 a matrimonial speculation, somebody con- 
 doled with him ; upon which he smiled, 
 w ith an air of better knowledge on that 
 point, and said, with a sort of indifferent 
 feel of his neckcloth, " Why, sir, the truth 
 is, I had great reluctance in cutting the 
 connection ; but what could I do ? (Here 
 he looked deploring and conclusive.) Sir, 1 
 discovered that the wretch positively ate 
 cabbage." 
 
 Upon receiving some affront from an 
 illustrious personage, he said that it was 
 '• rather too good. By gad, I have half a 
 mind to cut the young one, and bring old 
 G — e into fashion." 
 
 When he went visiting, he is reported to 
 have taken with him an elaborate dressing 
 apparatus, including a silver basin; " For," 
 said he, "it is impossible to spit in clay." 
 
 On being asked by a friend, during an 
 unseasonable summer, if he had ever seen 
 such a one? "Yes," replied B. "last 
 winter." 
 
 On a reference being made to him as to 
 what sum would be sufficient to meet the 
 annual expenditure for clothes, he said, 
 " that with a moderate degree of prudence 
 and economy, he thought it might be 
 managed for eight hundred per annum " 
 
 He told a friend that he was reforming 
 his way of life, " For instance," said he, 
 " I sup early ; I take a-a-little lobster, an 
 apricot puff, or so, and some burnt charn- 
 paigne, about twelve; and my man gets 
 me to bed by three."* 
 
 • Literary docket Hook, 
 
 334 
 
THE CROOKED BILLET, ON PEXGE COMMON. 
 
 Friday, May,— 1827. 
 I had appointed this morning with my 
 friend W. for a visit to tlie gallery of paint- 
 ings at Dulwich College ; and he was to 
 Dbtain from a printseller an admission 
 ticket, and brins it with him. He came 
 furnished with the ticket, but as the ticket 
 provided that the public were not to be 
 admitted on a Friday, our seeing the pic- 
 tures was out of the question. Neither of 
 us, however, was in a humour to be dis- 
 appointed of a holiday ; we therefore set 
 out in the direction we had intended. A 
 coachman hailed us from the box of a Dul- 
 wich stage; we gave liim an assenting nod, 
 and mounted the roof: and after a brisk 
 drive through Walworth and Camberwell, 
 which are now no other way distinguishable 
 from the metropolis, than by the irregular 
 forms and sizes of the houses, and the bits 
 of sickly grass and bottle-green poplars 
 that further diversify them, we attained to 
 
 !-'iesii;lit of the first uut-of-town looking treM 
 ami veidure on the ascent towards lleme- 
 hill. Here we began to feel "another air;'' 
 and during the calm drive down the hill into 
 Dulwich — the prettiest of all the vilbge 
 entrances in the environs of London — we 
 had glimpses, between the elms and syca- 
 mores, of pleasant lawns and bloommg 
 gardens, with bursts of the fine distances. 
 The calm of the scene was heightened by 
 the note of tiie cuckoo : it was no " note of 
 fear'' to us — we remembered our good wives 
 surrounded by their families; they had 
 greeted our departure with smiles, and 
 hopes that the day would be pleasant, and 
 that we should enjoy ourselves; — the 
 mother and the children rejoiced in "fa- 
 ther's holiday" as a day of happiness to 
 them, because it would make him happier. 
 Leaving Dulwich College on our rig-ht, 
 with an useless regret, that, by our mistake 
 as to the day, the picture-gallery wa» closed 
 
 V. L. III. 
 
 335 
 
 Z 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 10 us, we indulged in a passing remark on 
 the discrepancies of the building — the hall 
 and west wing of the Elizabethan age ; the 
 east wing in the Vanbrugh style; and tlie 
 gallery differing from each. Alighting, just 
 beyond, at the end of the old road, and 
 crossing to the new one in the same line, 
 we diligently perused an awful notice from 
 the parochial authorities against offenders, 
 and acquainted ourselves with the rewards 
 for apprehending them. The board seemed 
 to be a standing argument in behalf of 
 reading and writing, in opposition to some 
 of the respectable inhabitants of Dulwich, 
 who consider ignorance the exclusive pro- 
 perty of labourers and servants, which they 
 cannot be deprived of without injury to 
 their morals. 
 
 Ascending the hill, and leaving on the 
 left hand a large house, newly built by a rich 
 timber-merchant, with young plantations 
 that require years of growth before they 
 can attain sufficient strength to defend the 
 mansion from the winds, we reached the 
 summit of the hill, and found a direction- 
 post that pointed us to a choice of several 
 roads. We strolled into one leading to 
 Penge Common through enclosed wood- 
 lands. Our ears were charmed by throngs 
 of sweet singing birds : we were in a 
 cathedral of the feathered tribes, where 
 " every denomination " chanted rapturous 
 praises and thanksgivings ; the verjrer- 
 robins twittered as they accompanied us 
 with their full sparkling eyes and brigh* 
 liveried breasts. — 
 
 Chiefs of the choir, and highest in the heavens, 
 
 As emulous to join the angels' songs, 
 
 Were soaring larks ; and some had dared so far 
 
 They seein'd like atoms sailing in the Ijght ; 
 
 Their voices and themselves were scarce discern'd 
 
 Above their comrades, who, in lower air 
 
 Hung buoyant, brooding melody, that fell 
 
 Streaming, and gushing, on our thirsty ears. 
 
 In this celestial chancel we remain'd 
 
 To reverence tliese creatures' loud Te Deum — 
 
 A holy office of their simple natures 
 
 To Him — the great Creator and Preserver — 
 
 Whom they instinctively adored. 
 
 A gate in the road was opened to us by 
 a poor woman, who had seen our approach 
 from her road-side dwelling; she had the 
 care of collecting the toll from horsemen 
 and carriage-drivers — we were foot-p^s- 
 sengers, and credited our tailois for the 
 civility. At a few yards beyond this turn- 
 pike we stopped to read a dictatorial inti- 
 mation ; — " All trespassers on these woods 
 will be prosecuted, and the constables have 
 orders to take them into custody." I am 
 not sure that there is a " physiognomy of 
 hand-writing," but I am a believer in the 
 physiognomy of style, and the features of 
 this bespoke a Buonaparte of the hundred 
 who had partaken of the carvings under an 
 enclosure-act. No part was fenced off from 
 the common road, and the land had been 
 open to all till spoliation deprived the com- 
 jioners of their ancient right, and annexed 
 the common soil to a neighbouring domain. 
 Whose it now is, by law, I know not, nor 
 inquired. I look around, and cottages 
 have disappeared, and there are villas in- 
 'ttad ; and the workhouses are enlarged, 
 
 and, instead of labour, tread-mills are pro- 
 vided. According to a political economist 
 of ancient times, " There is much food in 
 the tillage of the poor;" and "He that 
 maketh haste to be rich shall not be inno- 
 cent." To whom of old was it said, " The" 
 spoil of the poor is in your houses V 
 
 We lingered on our way, and parsed a 
 bridge over the canal, towards a well-look- 
 insr public-house, called " the Old Crooked 
 Billet." Before the door is, what is called, 
 a " sign," which, according to modern 
 usage, is a ?ign-post, with a sign-board 
 without a sign, inscribed with the name of 
 what the sign had been. Formerly this was 
 a little ale-house, and to denote its use to 
 the iraveller, the landlord availed himself 
 of one of the large old trees then before 
 the door, and hung upon the lowest of its 
 fine spreading branches not the "sign " of 
 the billet, but a real " crooked billet :" this 
 was the origin of " the Old Crooked Billet" 
 on (what ivas) Penge Common. We had 
 set out late and loitered, and after a brief 
 reconnoitre entered the house in search ol 
 
 336 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 lefreshment. The landlord and his fanrlly 
 were at dinner in a commodious, respect- 
 able bar. He rose to us like " a giant re- 
 freshed," and stood before us a good- 
 humoured " Boniface " — every inch a man 
 — who had attamed to strength and fair 
 proportion, by virtue of the ease and con- 
 tent wherein he lived. We found from his 
 notable dame that we could have eggs and 
 bacon, and spinach put into the pot from 
 the garden, in a few minutes; nothing 
 could have been suggested more suitable to 
 our inclination, and we had the pleasure of 
 being smiled into a comfortable parlour, 
 with a bow-window view of the common. 
 The time necessary for the preparation of 
 our meal afforded leisure to observe the 
 hostel. W. went out to pencil the exterior 
 in his sketch-book. Except for the situa- 
 tion, and the broad, good-humoured, coun- 
 try face of our landlord, we might have 
 imagined ourselves in town ; and this was 
 the only uncomfortable feeling we had. 
 The sign-board on the other side of the 
 road revealed the name of our entertainer 
 ' — " R. Harding," and the parlour mantle- 
 piece told that he was a " Dealer in Foreign 
 Wines, Segars, 8tc." This inscription, 
 wiitten in clerk-like German text, framed 
 and glazed, was transportation against my 
 will, to the place from whence I came. 
 Our attention was diverted by the rolling 
 lip of a gig, espied afar off by " mine host," 
 who waited at the door with an eye to busi- 
 ness, and his hands in the pockets of his 
 ean jacket. The driver, a thin, sharp- 
 featured, pock- faced man, about forty, 
 alighted with as much appearance of kindly 
 disposition as he could bring his features to 
 assume, and begged the favour of an order 
 for " a capital article." His presented card 
 was received with a drop of the landlord's 
 countenance, and a shake of the bead. The 
 solicitor — and he looked as keenly as a 
 Chancery-lane one — was a London Capil- 
 laire-maker; he urged "a single bottle;" 
 the landlord pleaded his usage of sugar 
 and demurred, nor could he be urged on to 
 trial. Our repast brought in, and finished 
 with a glass of coi.ntry brewed and a segar, 
 W. completed his sketch, and we paid a 
 moderate charge, and departed with " the 
 Old Crooked Billet" as exhibited in the en- 
 gravino-. The house affords as " good accom- 
 modation for man and horse" as can be found 
 in any retired spot so near London. Our 
 stroll to it was delii^litful. We withdrew 
 along the pleasant road to the village of 
 Beckenham. Its white pointed spire, em- 
 bowered in trees, had frequently caught our 
 sight in the coa-jse of the day, and we de- 
 
 sired to obtain a near view of a churcfi that 
 Heightened the cheerful character of the 
 landscape. It will form another article — 
 perhaps two. 
 
 OTitrl) craft 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN ASH. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 IFitherslack, near Milnthorpe 
 TVestmoreland. 
 
 Sir,— I think you have not celebrated 
 in the Every-Day Book the virtues of 
 tue mountain ash, or as it is called in 
 the northern counties, the IViggen Tree. 
 — Its anti-witching properties are there 
 held in very high esteem. No witch will 
 come near it ; and it is believed that the 
 smallest twig, which might cross the path 
 of one of these communers with the powers 
 of darkness, would as effectually stop her 
 career, however wild it might be, or how- 
 ever intent she might be on the business o*^ 
 evil, as did the " key-stane" of the bridge 
 of Doon stop the fiendish crew, that pur- 
 sued poor Tam O'Shanter and his luckless 
 mare Maggie. 
 
 You are well aware that there are few 
 places, especially in the country, in which 
 one of these agents of the devil, ycleped 
 " witches," does not reside. She may 
 always be known by her extreme penury 
 and ugliness. There is generally also a 
 protuberance of flesh on some part of the 
 neck or jaw, by which it is known that she 
 has sold herself to the father of lies. She 
 has usually a large black cat, of which she 
 is prodigiously fond, and takes special care 
 Some shrewdly suspect this to be the "old 
 gentleman" himself. She is very envious, 
 and frequently makes malicious prognosti- 
 cations of evil, which subsequent events but 
 too faithfully verify. She must therefore, 
 with all these qualifications, be the authoress 
 of every mishap, which cannot more lea- 
 sonably be accounted for. For example, 
 should the " auld witch" call at any farm- 
 house during the operation of churning, 
 and be suffered to depart without a sop 
 being thrown to her, in the shape of a small 
 print of butter, you will be sure to have 
 many a weary hour of labour the next 
 time you churn, before butter can be ob- 
 tained. And, therefore, to prevent the old 
 beldam introducing herself into the churn, 
 the churn-staff must be made of the " fVig- 
 gen Tree," ana you will be effectually freed 
 
 337 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 from her further interference in tliat case. 
 
 The cattle in the stables and cow-houses, 
 if she takes a spite against you, are fre- 
 quently found, or dreaded to be found, 
 (for many an instance of such things is 
 recorded on undoubted testimony,!) in a 
 morning, tied together, standing on their 
 heads, the cows milked, and every other 
 mischievous prank played, ^Yhich a mali- 
 cious fiend could invent : and therefore to 
 prevent all these dire ills, the shafts of 
 the forks, and all other utensils used in 
 those places, must be made of the all- 
 powerful " Wiggen." She frequently does 
 the same mischief in places far remote on 
 the same night ; and although oM and 
 crippled, and showing " all the variety of 
 wretchedness" by day, at night she mounts 
 her broomstick, and wings her airy course 
 to the moon, if need be. All honest people, 
 who have a due regard to undisturbed 
 slumbers during the night, when all the 
 world knows that 
 
 Church-yards yawn. 
 And hell itself breathes forth contagiou to the world, 
 
 take special care to have a branch of 
 this never-failing antidote to witchery at 
 their bed heads. This has been the prac- 
 tice of my mother ever since I can re- 
 member; she also carries a hare's foot 
 in her pocket, to guard against all at- 
 tacks in that quarter by day. You will 
 think that these precautions are very un- 
 called for, perhaps, at this time of day, but 
 such we liave been in our generations, and 
 such to a considerable extent we now are, 
 and therefore pray do record us. 
 
 I remcun, Sir, &c. 
 
 CARLE. 
 
 A PARTICULAR DIRECTION. 
 
 A few months ago a letter, bearing thft 
 following curious superscription, was put 
 into the post-office in Manchester: — " For 
 Mr. Colwell that Keeps the Shop in Back 
 Anderson-st. to Bee Gave to Jack Timlen 
 that Keeps the pigs in his own Sellar in 
 Back Ar.derson-st. the Irish man that has 
 the Large family that bgs the mail from 
 Mr. Colwell and milk to Bolton."* 
 
 Boitoo Express. 
 
 No XIX. 
 
 [From the " Silver Age," an Histor ca. 
 Play, by Thomas Heywood, 1613.J 
 
 Proserpine seeking Floicers, 
 
 Pros. may these meadows ever barren be, 
 That yield' of flowers no more variety ! 
 Here neither is the White nor Sanguine Rosp, 
 The Strawberry Flower, the Paunce, nor Violet ; 
 Methinks 1 have too poor a meadow chose: 
 Going to beg, I am with a Beggar met. 
 That wants as much as I. I should do ill 
 To take from them that need. — 
 
 Ceres, after the Rape of her Daughter. 
 
 Cer. Where is my fair and lovely Proserpine? 
 Spealj, Jove's fair Daughter, whither art thou stray'd 
 I've sought the meadows, glebes, and new-reap'd fields 
 Yet cannot find my Child. Her scatter'd flowers, 
 And garland half-made-up, I have lit upon ; 
 But her I cannot spy. Behold the trace 
 Of some-strango wagon,* that hath scorch t the trees. 
 And singed the grass : these ruts the sun ne'er sear'd. 
 Where art thou, Love, where art thou, Proserpine? — 
 
 She questions Triton for her Daughter. 
 
 Cer. thou that on thy shelly trumpet 
 
 Summons the sea-god, answer from the depth. 
 
 2V/t. On Neptune's sea-horse with my concave tniiT;|- 
 Thro' all tlie abyss I've shrill'd thy daughter's loss. 
 The channels clothed in waters, the low cities 
 In which the water-gods and sea-nymphs dn-ell, 
 I have perused ; sought thro' whole woods and forests 
 Of leafless coral, planted in the deeps ; 
 Toss'd up the beds of pearl ; rouzed up huge whales. 
 And stem sea-monsters, from their rocky dens ; 
 Those bottoms, bottomless ; shallows and shelves, 
 And all those currents where th' earth's springs breai 
 
 in ; 
 Those plains where Neptune feeds his porpoises, 
 Sea-morses, seals, and all his cattle else : 
 Thro' all our ebbs and tides my trump hath blazed hei. 
 "Yet can no cavern shew me Proserpine. 
 
 She questions the Earth. 
 
 Cer. Fair sister Earth, for all these beauteous fields'. 
 iJpread o'er thy breast ; for all these fertile crops. 
 With which my plenty hath enrich'd thy bosom ; 
 For all those rich and pleasant wreaths of grain. 
 With which so oft thy temples I have crowned; 
 For all the yearly liveries, and fresh robes. 
 Upon thy summer beauty I bestow — 
 Shew me my Child 1 
 
 Earth. Not in revenge, fair Ceres, 
 That your remorseless ploughs have ralt't my breatt, 
 
 * The car of Du. 
 
 3S8 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Nor that your iron-tooth'd harrows print my face 
 So full of wrinkles ; that you dig my sides 
 For marie and soil, and make me bleed my springs 
 Thro' all my open'd veins to weaken me — 
 Do I conceal your Daughter. I have spread 
 My arms from sea to sea, look'd o'er ray mountains, 
 Examin'd all my pastures, groves, and plains. 
 Marshes and wolds, my woods and champain fields. 
 My dens and caves — and yet, from f(fot to head, 
 I hare no place on which the Moon* doth tread. 
 Cer. Then, Earth, thou'st lost her ; and, for Proser- 
 pine, 
 I'll strike thee with a lasting barrenness. 
 No more shall plenty crown thy fertile brows ; 
 I'll break thy ploughs, thy oxen murrain-strike: 
 With idle agues I'll consume thy swains ; 
 Sow tajes and cockles in thy lands of wheat. 
 Whose spikes the weed and coooh-grass shall outgrow. 
 And choke it in the blade. The rotten showers 
 Shall drown thy seed, which the hot sun shall parch. 
 Or mildews rot ; and what remains, shall be 
 A prey to ravenous birds. — Oh Proserpine ! — 
 You Gods that dwell above, and you below. 
 Both of the woods and gardens, rivers, brooks, 
 Fountains and wells, some one among you all 
 Shew me her self or grave : to you I call. 
 
 Arethusa riseth. 
 
 Are. That can the river Arethusa do. 
 My streams you know, fair Goddess, issue fortn 
 From Tartaj-y by the Tenarian isles : 
 My head's ia Hell where Stygian Pluto reigns. 
 There did I see the lovely Proserpiae, 
 Whom Pluto hath rapt hence ; behold her girdle, 
 Which on her way dropt from her lovely waist. 
 And scatter'd in my streams. — Fair Queen, adien I 
 Croivn you my banks with flowers, as 1 tell true. 
 
 [From the " Golden Age," an Historical 
 Play, by the same Author, 1611.] 
 
 Sibilla, the Wife of Saturn, is by him 
 enjoined to slay the new-born Jupiter. 
 None can do it for his smiles. 
 
 Sibilla. fiesta. Nurse. 
 
 Sib. Mother, of all that ever mothers were 
 Most wretched ! Kiss thy sweet babe ere he die, 
 That hath life only lent to suffer death. 
 Sweet Lad, I would thy father saw thee smile. 
 Thy beauty, and thy pretty infancy, 
 Would mollify his heart, were't hew'd from flint. 
 Or carved with iron tools from Corsic rock. 
 Thou laugh'st to think thou must be kill'd in jest. 
 Ch I if thou needs must die, I'll be thy murtheress. 
 And kill thee with my kisses, pretty knave.— 
 And can'st tbou laugh to see thy mother weep ? 
 Or art than in thy chearful smiles so free. 
 
 • Proserpine; who was also Luna in Heaven, Diana 
 on Earth. 
 
 In scorn of thy rude father's tyranny ? 
 I'll kiss thee ere I kill thee : for my life 
 The Lad so smiles, I oannot hold the knife. 
 
 Vest. Then give him me ; I am his Grandmother, 
 And I will kill him gently: this sad office 
 Belongs to me, as to the next of kin. 
 
 Sib. For heaven's sake, when you kill him, hurt Alia 
 not. 
 
 Vest. Come, little knave, prepare your naked throat 
 I have not heart to give thee many wounds. 
 My kindness is to take thy life at once. 
 Now — 
 
 Alack, my pretty Grandchild, srailest thou still ? 
 I have lust to kiss, but have no heart to kill. 
 
 Nurse. You may be careless of theKing'j command 
 But it concerns me ; and I love my life 
 More than I do a Stripling's. Give him me, 
 I'll make him sure ; a sharp weapon lend, 
 I'll quickly bring the Youngster to his end.— 
 Alack, my pretty knave, 'twere more than sin 
 With a sharp knife to touch thy tender skin. 
 
 Madam, he's so full of angel grace, 
 
 1 cannot strike, he smiles so in my face. 
 
 Sib. I'll wink, and strike; come, once more Teach 
 him hither; 
 For die he must, so Saturn hath decreed : 
 'Las, for a world I would not see him bleed. 
 
 Vest. Ne shall he do. But swear me secrecy ; 
 The Babe shall live, and we be dangerless. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 THE FIRST BUTTERFLY. 
 
 One of the superstitions prevailing in 
 Devonshire is, that any individual neglect- 
 ing to kill the first butterfly he may see for 
 the season will have ill-luck throughout 
 the year. The following recent example is 
 given by a young lady : — " The other Sun- 
 day, as we were walking to church, we mel 
 a man running at full speed, with his hat 
 in one hand, and a stick in the other. As 
 he passed us, he exclaimed, ' I sha'n't hat'ea 
 now, I b'lieve.' He did not give us time 
 to inquire what he was so eagerly pursuing; 
 but we presently overtook an old man, 
 whom we knew to be his father, and who 
 being very infirm, at upwards of seventy, 
 generally hobbled about by the aid of two 
 sticks. Addressing me, he observed, ' My 
 zin a took away wan a' my sticks, miss, 
 wan't be ebble to kill'n now, though, 1 
 b'lieve.' ' Rill what V said I. * Why, 'tia 
 a butterfly, miss, ihefurst hee'th a zeed for 
 the year; and they zay that a body win 
 have cruel bad luck if a ditn'en kill a/urrt 
 a zeeth.' "* 
 
 • Dorfwt Chronicle, May, 1835. 
 
 339 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 KING JAMES I. AT DURHAM. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — If you think th^ subjoined worthy 
 of a place in your Table Book, I snail feel 
 §lad to see it. I believe it has never been 
 in print ; it is copied from an entry in one 
 of the old corporation books. 
 
 Yours, very truly, 
 Durham, May, 1827. M. J. 
 
 The Manner of the Kinges Majesty 
 
 COMING TO THE CiTTIE OF DuRHAM, 
 
 Anno DoM. 1617, as followeth. 
 
 Upon Good Friday, being the 18th of 
 April, 1617, Mr. Heaborne, one of his 
 m-ijesties gentlemen ushers spoke to George 
 Walton, Maior, that it was his majesties 
 pleasure to come in state unto the cittie, 
 and that it were fitting that the maior and 
 aldermen should be ready upon the next 
 daie following, being Satt.urdaie, to give 
 their attendance upon his majestic in some 
 convenient place within the cittie; and 
 the said maior to have \i\5 foot-cloth horse 
 their ready to attend, which likewise was 
 done upon Elvet Bridge, near the tower 
 tliereof, being new rayled, within the rayles 
 of wood then made for that purpose: 
 at which time his said majesties said gen- 
 tleman usher standing by the said maior 
 and aldermen till his majesties coming, 
 when there was a speech delivered by the 
 said maior to his majestie, together with 
 the maces and staffe ; and at time fitting in 
 the same speech so made, a silver bowle gilt, 
 with a cover, was presented by the said 
 maior to his majestie, which appeares as 
 followeth: — 
 
 " Most gracious soveraigne. What un- 
 speakable joy is this your highness pre- 
 sents unto us, your loving subjects; our 
 tongues are not able to utter, nor our meanes 
 to shew you welcome. Your gracious 
 majestie, at your happie cominge hither 
 with much peace and plentie found this 
 cittie inabled, with divers liberties and pn- 
 veledges, all severing pittie and power 
 spiritual and temporal being in yourself, 
 gave unto us the same againe; and after- 
 wards, of your gracious bountie, confirmed 
 them under your great seal of England. 
 We humbly beseech your majestie continue 
 vour favours towards this cittie; and in 
 token of our love and loyaltie, crave the 
 acceptance of this myte, and we shall be 
 readie to the uttermost expeiice of our 
 dearest bloud, to defend you and your royal 
 progeny here on earth, as with our prayers 
 
 to God to blesse you and all yours in all 
 
 eternitie." 
 
 After which speech the maior was called 
 by his majesties gentleman usher to take 
 his horse, and to ride before his majestie ; 
 immediate upon which commandment made 
 by his majesties gentleman usher, there was 
 at the same place, about forty yards dis- 
 tance, certayne verses spoken by an appren- 
 tice of this cittie to his majestie, as follow- 
 eth : after which, the maior was placed in 
 rank next the sword, and so rode forward, 
 earring the citties mace, to the church. 
 
 To the Kinges most Excellent Majestie. 
 
 " Durham's old cittift thus salutes our kingf 
 With entertainment, she doth homlie bring: 
 And cannot smyle upon his majestie 
 With shew of greatness ; but humilitie 
 Makes her express herself in modern guise 
 Dejected to this north, bare to your eyes. 
 For the great prelate, which of late adorde 
 His dignities, and for vrhich we implore 
 Your highnesse aide to have a continuance — 
 
 And so confirmed by your dread arm. 
 
 Yet what our royal James did grant herein, 
 
 William, our bishoppe, hath oppngnant been ; 
 
 Small task to sway down smallnesse, where man's 
 
 might 
 Hath greater force than equity or right. 
 But these are only in yonr brest included 
 From your most gracious grant. Therefore we pray, 
 That the fairs sunshine of your brightest daie. 
 Would smyle upon this cittie with clere beams. 
 To exhale the tempest off insuing streames. 
 Suffer not, great prince, our ancient state. 
 By one forc'd will to be depopulate, 
 Tis one seeks our undoeing : but to you. 
 Ten tliousand hearts shall pray, and knees shall bowe 
 And this dull cell of earth wherein we live. 
 Unto your name immortal prayse shall give. 
 Confirm our grant, good kinge. Durham's old cittie 
 Would be more powerful so it has Jame's pittie." 
 
 Remark. 
 
 The complaint against the bishop arose 
 from a suit which he had instituted against 
 the corporation in the Exchequer, for taking 
 all the bishop's privileges and profits of 
 the markets and courts into their own 
 hands, and for driving his officers by vio- 
 lence out of the tollbooth on the 3d of 
 October, (7th of James I.,) and preventing 
 their holding the courts there as usual, as 
 well as for several other similar matters, 
 when judgment was given against the cor- 
 poration on the 24th of June, (8th of 
 James I.,) 1611. 
 
 340 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 MARCH OF INTELLECT. 
 
 Every intelligent mind of right reflection 
 tccords its wishes for general enlightenment. 
 It appears, from a fashionable miscellany, 
 that a late distinguished writer expressed 
 himself to that effect ; the following- are 
 extracts from the article referred to. They 
 contain, in the sequel, a forcible opinion on 
 the tendency of the present general diff'usion 
 of literature. — 
 
 Conversations of Maturin. 
 
 Maturin's opinions of poetry, as of every 
 thing else, were to be inferred rather than 
 gathered. It was very difficult to draw him 
 into literary conversation : like Congreve, 
 he wished to be an author only in his 
 study. Yet he courted the society of men 
 of letters when it was to be had ; but 
 would at any time have sacrificed it to 
 dallv an hour in the drawing-room, or 
 at the quadrille. Sometimes, however, 
 amongst friends (particularly if he was in 
 z splenetic mood) he freely entered into a 
 discussion upon the living authors of Eng- 
 land, and delivered his opinions rapidly, 
 brilliantly, and with effect. On one occa- 
 sion a conversation of this description took 
 place, in which I had the pleasure of parti- 
 cipating. I will recall the substance of it 
 as well as I can. Do not expect from 
 Maturin the turgidity of Boswell's great 
 man, or the amiable philosophy of Frank- 
 lin : you will be disappointed if you antici- 
 pate any thing profound or speculative from 
 him ; for at the best of times he was 
 exceedingly fond of mixing up the frivolity 
 of a fashionable conversazione with the 
 most solid subjects. 
 
 I met him in the county of Wicklow on 
 a pedestrian excursion in the autumn ; a 
 .-claxation he constantly indulged in, parti- 
 cularly at that season of the year. It was 
 in that part of the vale of Avoca, where 
 Moore is said to have composed his cele- 
 biated song: a green knoll forms a gradual 
 declivity to the river, which flows through 
 the vale, and in the centre of the knoll there 
 is the trunk of an old oak, cut down to a 
 seat. Upon that venerable trunk, say the 
 peasants, Moore sat when he composed a 
 song that, like the Rans de Vache of the 
 Swiss, will be sung amidst those mountains 
 and valleys as long as they are inhabited. 
 Opposite to that spot I met Maturin, ac- 
 companied by a young gentleman carrying 
 a fishing-rod. We were at the distance of 
 thirty miles from Dublin ; in the heart of 
 the most beautiful valley in the island ; 
 surrounded by associations of history and 
 
 poetry, with spirits subdued into tranquil- 
 lity Sy the Italian skies above, and the 
 peaceful gurgling of the waters below us. 
 Never shall I forget Maturin's strange ap- 
 pearance amongst those romantic dells. He 
 was dressed in a crazy and aff"ectedly shabby 
 suit of black, that had waxed into a " bril- 
 liant polish" by over zeal in the service of 
 its master ; he wore no cravat, for the heat 
 obliged him to throw it off, and his delicate 
 neck rising gracefully from his thrice-crested 
 collar, gave him an appearance of great 
 singularity. His raven hair, which he 
 generally wore long, fell down luxuriantly 
 without a breath to agitate it; and his head 
 was crowned with a hat which I could 
 sketch with a pencil, but not with a pen. 
 His gait and manner were in perfect keep- 
 ing ; but his peculiarities excited no sur- 
 prise in me, for I was accustomed to them 
 In a short time we were seated on the 
 banks of the Avoca, the stream cooling our 
 feet with its refreshing spray, and the green 
 foliage protecting us from the sun. 
 
 " Moore is said to have written his song 
 in this place." 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it," replied 
 Maturin. " No man ever wrote poetry 
 under a burning sun, or in the moonlight. 
 I have often attempted a retired walk in the 
 country at moonlight, when I had a madri- 
 gal in my head, and every gust of wind 
 rang in my ears like the footsteps of a rob- 
 ber. One robber would put to flight a 
 hundred tropes. You feel uneasy in a 
 perfectly secluded place, and cannot collect 
 your mind." 
 
 " But Moore, who is a poet by inspira- 
 tion, could write in any circumstances ?" 
 
 " There is no man of the age labours 
 harder than Moore. He, is often a month 
 working out the fag-end of an epigram. 
 'Pon my honour, I would not be such a 
 victim to literature for the reputation of 
 Pope, the greatest man of them all." 
 
 •' Don't you think that every man has his 
 own peculiarity in writing, and can only 
 write under particular excitements, and in 
 a particular way ?" 
 
 " Certainly. Pope, who ridiculed such 
 a caprice, practised it himself; for he never 
 wrote well but at midnight. Gibbon dic- 
 tated to his amanuensis, while he walked 
 up and down the rooir. in a terrible pas- 
 sion ; Stephens wrote on horseback in a 
 full gallop ; Montaiene and Chateaubriand 
 in the fields ; Sherman over a bottle of 
 wine ; Molifere with his knees in the fire ; 
 and lord Bacon in a small room, which he 
 said helped him to condense his thoughts. 
 But Moore, whose peculiarity is retirement. 
 
 341 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 would never come here to write a song he 
 could write better elsewhere, merely becauos' 
 it related to the place." 
 
 "Why omit yourself in the list? you 
 have your own peculiarity." 
 
 " 1 compose on a long walk ; but then 
 the day must neither be too hot, nor cold ; 
 it must be reduced to that medium from 
 which you feel no inconvenience one way 
 or the other ; and then when I am perfectly 
 free from the city, and experience no annoy- 
 ance from the weather, my mind becomes 
 lighted by sunshine, and I arrange my plan 
 perfectly to my own satisfaction." 
 
 " From the quantity of works our living 
 poets have given to the public, I would be 
 disposed to say that they write with great 
 facility, and without any nervous whim." 
 
 " But lord Byron — he must write with 
 great ease and rapidity ?" 
 
 " That I don't know ; I never could 
 finish the perusal of any of his long poems. 
 There is something in them excessively at 
 variance with my notions of poetry. He 
 is too fond of the obsolete ; but that I do 
 not quarrel with so much as his system of 
 converting it into a kind of modern antique, 
 by superadding tinsel to gold. It is a sort 
 of mixed mode, neither old nor new, but 
 incessantly hovering between both." 
 
 " What do you think of Childe Harold ?" 
 
 " I do not know what to think of it, nor 
 can I give you definitively my reasons for 
 disliking his poems generally." 
 
 " You have taken up a prejudice, per- 
 haps, from a passage you liave forgotten, 
 and never allowed yourself patience to 
 examine it." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but I am not conscious of 
 a prejudice." 
 
 " No man is." 
 
 " And which of the living poets fulfils 
 your ideal standard of excellence?" 
 
 " Crabbe. He is all nature without 
 pomp or parade, and exhibits at times deep 
 pathos and feeling. His characters are cer- 
 tainly homely, and his scenes rather un- 
 poetical; but then he invests his subject 
 with so much genuine tenderness and 
 sweetness, that you care not who are the 
 actors, or in what situations they are placed, 
 but pause to recollect where it was you met 
 something similar in real life. Do you re- 
 member the little story ' Delay is Danger?' 
 I'll recite you a few lines describiner my 
 favourite scene, an autumn-CTening land- 
 *<"apej — 
 
 " On the n.?ht side the jonth a woi)d "nrrey'd, 
 With all its dark intensity of shade ; 
 Where the rough wind alone was heard to move. 
 In this, the pause of nature and of love, 
 When now the young are rear'd, and when the old 
 Lost to the tie, grow negligent and cold — 
 Far to the left he saw the hute of men 
 Half hid in mist that hung upon the fen ; 
 Before him swallows, gathering for the sea. 
 Took their short flights, and twitter'd on the lea 
 And near the bean-sheaf .s-Lood, the harvest done, 
 And slowly blacken'd in the sickly sun ; 
 All these were sad in nature, or they took 
 Sadness from him, the likeness of his look, 
 And of his mind — he ponder'd for a while. 
 Tlien met his Fanny with a borrow'd smile.' 
 
 " Except Gray's Elegy, there is scarcely 
 so melancholy and touching a picture in 
 English poetry." 
 
 " And whom do you estimate aftei 
 Crabbe ?" 
 
 " I am disposed to say Hogg. His 
 Queen's Wake is a splendid and impas- 
 sioned work. I like it for its varieties, and 
 its utter simplicity. What a fine image is 
 this of a devoted vessel suddenly engulfed 
 at sea : 
 
 " Some ran to th* cords, some kneeJ'd at the shrinj. 
 But all the wild elements seem'd to combine ; 
 Twas just but one moment of stir and commotion. 
 And down went the ship like a bird of the ocean I" 
 
 " But do not altogether take me at my 
 word in what I say of Crabbe and Hogg. 
 They have struck the chord of my taste ; 
 but they are not, perhaps, the first men of 
 the day. Moore is a writer for whom I 
 feel a strong affection, because he has done 
 that which I would have done if I could : 
 but after him it would be vain to try any 
 thing." 
 
 « • « « « 
 
 " Is it your opinion that the swarm of 
 minor poets and writers advance the cause 
 of literature, or that the public taste would 
 be more refined and informed, if those who 
 administered to it were fewer and better?" 
 
 " I object to prescribing laws to the re- 
 public of letters. It is a free republic, in 
 which every man is entitled to publicity if 
 he chooses it. The effect unquestionably 
 of a swarm of minor poets is the creation 
 of a false taste amongst a certain class; 
 but then that is a class that otherwise would 
 have no taste at all, and it is well to draw 
 their attention to literature by any agency. 
 In the next age their moral culture will im- 
 prove, and we shall go on gradually dimi- 
 nishing the contagion."* 
 
 * :^ew Monthly Magazine 
 
 342 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ' Sixpence a poiind, fair cherries 1 " 
 
 OLD LONDON CEIES No. H. 
 
 We have here a print of the cherry- tached. The crier and his ware are wholly 
 
 womaw of a hundred years ago, when extinct. Now-a-days we give a boy the 
 
 cherries were so little firrown, that the first stick at hand to thrust between '.li? 
 
 popularstreetcry was double the price of the legs as a Bucephalus — the shadow of a 
 
 present day. Readers of the Every-Day shade: — our forefathers were better na- 
 
 Book may remember the engraving of the tured, for they presented him with some- 
 
 " London barrow-woman," with her cherry- thing of the semblance of the generous 
 
 cry — "round and sound" — the cherry- animal. Is a horse now less popular with 
 
 woman (that was) of our own times — the boys than then ? or did they, at that time, 
 
 recollection of whose fine person, and rather imitate the galloping of the real 
 
 melodious voice, must recur to every one hobby-horse in the pageants and muro- 
 
 who saw and heard her — a real picture to meries that passed along the streets, or 
 
 the mind's eye, discoursing " most excel- pranced in the shows at fairs and on the 
 
 ent music." stage ? Be that as it may, this is a pretiy 
 
 The man blowing a trumpet, "Troop, plaything for "little master;" and toy- 
 
 every one ! " was a street seller of hobby- makers would find account in reviving the 
 
 horses — toys for the children of a hundred manufacture for the rising generation. They 
 
 years ago. He carried them, as represented have improved the little girl's doll, and 
 
 2n the engraving, arranged in a partitioned baby-house: are they ignorant that boys, 
 
 frame on his shoulder, and to each horse's as soon as they can walk, demand a whip 
 
 head was a small flag with two bills at- and a horse ? 
 
 343 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 MR. HOBDAY'S GALLERY. 
 No. 54, Pall-mall. 
 
 In addition to the associations for the 
 exhibition and sale of pictures by living 
 artis's, Mr. Hobday opened an establish- 
 ment on the 21st of May for the same pur- 
 pose, adjoining the British Institution. 
 This gentleman is known to the public as 
 a respectable portrait paintei, with a taste 
 for art entitled to consideration for his pre- 
 sent spirited endeavour in its behalf. 
 
 In this exhibition there are performances 
 of distinu:uished merit by several eminent 
 artists. The Upas, or poison-tree of Java, 
 by Mr. Danby, in illustration of the legend 
 in Darwin's Loves of the Plants, is a fine 
 picture, already known. Another by Mr. 
 Danby — is a wood on the sea-shore, with 
 figures, Ulysses and Nausicaa, from Homer. 
 A Feie Champfetre, by Mr. Stothard, is one 
 of a class of subjects, which its venerable 
 painter has distinguished by his magic pen- 
 cil; Mr. Edwin Landseer's Lion disturbed at 
 his repast, a forcible and well-remembered 
 effort of his genius, stands near it. Mr. 
 Charles Landseer's Merchant, with Slaves 
 and Merchandise, reposing in a Brazilian 
 llancho ; the Entombmg of Christ, by Mr. 
 Westall ; landscapes, by Messrs. Daniel, 
 Glover, Hotfland, Laporte, Linnell, W. 
 Westall, &c. ; pictures by sir W. Beechey, 
 Messrs. Chalon, Kidd, Heaphy, Rigaud, 
 Singleton, Stephanoff, .T. Ward, &c., grace 
 the walls of the establishment. Every pic- 
 ture in this gallery is for sale ; and, under 
 Mr. Hobday's management, it promises to 
 be a means of introducing the public to an 
 acquaintance with distinguished works of 
 art still remaining open to the selection of 
 its patrons. 
 
 ORIGINAL NOTICE. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Denton-castle, in the West Riding of 
 Yorkshire, and on the north-west side of 
 Otley, was once the seat of the parliament's 
 general, Fairfax, and came to the present 
 family of Ibbetson by relationship. Prince 
 Rupert in passing by it on his march into 
 Lancashire, in order lo assist the king's 
 troops in that quarter, was about to raze 
 it, but going into the house, he observed 
 
 the pictures of the Manners and the Vil- 
 liers, Fairfax's ancestors, and out of good 
 will towards them he desisted. It, how- 
 ever, was afterwards unfortunately destroyed 
 by the carelessness of a maid servant, who 
 dropping asleep at the time she was pick- 
 ing feathers, the candle fell into the feathers 
 and burnt the house to the ground. In a 
 few years afterwards, it was rebuilt by the 
 father of sir Henry Ibbetson, bart. in the 
 year 1721, and has this remarkable motto 
 in the pediment : — 
 
 " Quod nee Jovis ira nee ignis nee potent fermm." 
 
 Verses 
 
 To the memory of Denzil Ibbetson, 
 fourth son of sir Menry Ibbetson, bart., 
 who unfortunately lost his life by an 
 accidental discharge of his gun when 
 shooting at Coeken, near Durham, the 
 seat of his aunt, lady Mary Carr, 
 sister of Henry earl of Darlington — 
 1774. 
 
 1. 
 
 Thy fate, lamented Ibbetson, we weep, 
 With an unfeign'd and synipathetic tear; 
 
 Thy virtues, on our tnem'ries graven deep. 
 Recall the painful thought of what was dear 
 
 Yet 'tis not for thy suffering?, but our own. 
 That heaves the heartfelt melancholy sijfh. 
 
 That death, which haply cost thee not a groan. 
 Leaves us to mourn with what we ne'er can vie. 
 
 3. 
 
 That life, good humour, and that manly sense, 
 Those ever-pleasinj^ ties, that friendly heart, 
 
 Which but unwittingly could give offence, 
 
 Disarm'd ev'u Death's grim tyrant of his dart. 
 
 4. 
 
 Without one pang or agonizing groan. 
 Thy soul reiiev'd forsook its vile abode, 
 
 For joys more worthy of the good alone — 
 " The bosom of thy Father and thy God." 
 
 PRONUNCIATION. 
 
 The difficulty of applying rules to the 
 pronunciation of our language may be 
 illustrated in two lines, where the combina- 
 tion of the letters ough, is pronounced in 
 no less than seven different ways, viz. as 
 0, nf, of, up, ow, 00, and ock. 
 
 Though the tough cough and hiccough olonpli m« 
 
 through ; 
 O'er life's dark lough my couriie I still pursue. 
 
 344 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 For the Table BooK' 
 EMIGRATION OF THE ROOKS 
 
 FROM 
 
 CARLTON GARDENS, 1827. 
 
 *' I Bhall not ask Jean Jacques Roussean, 
 If birds confabulate or no : — 
 ' Tis certain they were always able. 
 To hold discourse, at least in fable." 
 
 Cowprr, 
 
 The mandate pass'd, the axe applied, 
 
 The woodman's eflforts echoed wide ; 
 
 The toppling elm trees fell around. 
 
 And cumbrous ruin strew'd the ground. 
 
 The tuneful thrush, whose vernal song 
 
 Was earliest heard the boughs among, 
 
 Exil'd from grounds, where he was bred. 
 
 To some far habitation fled ; 
 
 Remote from court and courtly strife. 
 
 To pass a sober, quiet life. 
 
 O'er head the Rooks, in circles flew. 
 
 And closer still, and closer drew ; 
 
 Then perch'd amid the desolation. 
 
 In senatorial consultation : 
 
 The chairman, far advanc'd in age, 
 
 A sapient-looking personage. 
 
 Who long the councils of the land 
 
 Had sway'd with a tenacious hand ; 
 
 — For e'en among the fealher'd race. 
 
 There are, who cling to pow'r and place :— 
 
 There wanted not, among the throng. 
 
 Those who averr'd, that much too long 
 
 He had, within the sable state. 
 
 Continued to adjudicate ; — 
 
 So tardily his judgments came. 
 
 They injur'd his judicial fame ; 
 
 What, though they were unting'd by bribe, 
 
 Or fear ;^the sad impatient tribe. 
 
 Who fed on Hope's expectancies. 
 
 Were ruic'd — by his just decrees I 
 
 But to our tale :— the speaker now, 
 
 Perch'd on an elm tree's topmost bough. 
 
 Had hush'd the multitude in awe. 
 
 You might not hear a single " caw ," 
 
 He then in pride of conscious pow'r, 
 
 Commenc'd tlie bus'ness of the hour. 
 
 " Ye rooks and daws in senate met ;" 
 
 He said, and smooth'd his breast of jet : 
 
 " What crimes, among our sable band. 
 
 Have brought this ruin on our land? 
 
 Has murder mark'd our noonday flight ? 
 
 Or depredation in the night ? 
 
 Has rook or daw, in thought or word, 
 
 Rebell'd against our Sovereign Lord ? 
 
 No 1 rather say, our loyalty 
 
 Has echo'd oft, from tree to tree ! 
 
 Have we not, when the cannon's sound 
 
 Gave joyous intimation round. 
 
 Of triumph wen by land or sea, 
 
 Join'd in the general jubil«e ? 
 
 Why, then, ye advocates of tatf«t 
 
 Lay ye our habitations waste ? 
 
 Why level low our rookery. 
 
 And blot it out from memory ? 
 
 Man lacketh not a host of pleas. 
 
 To vindicate his cruelties. 
 
 ' Improvement's come ! ' 'tis thus they ihyiB* 
 
 * Upon the rolling car of Time.' * — 
 
 Yes I come, if blessings they dispense. 
 
 With due regard to feeling — sense ; 
 
 But when they emanate from pride. 
 
 And scheme on scheme is multiplied. 
 
 To beautify by acts like this. 
 
 Their overgrown metropolis. 
 
 To please the vitiate taste of men. 
 
 They cease to be improvements thea. 
 
 'Tis not enough, to please the eye. 
 
 With terrace walks, and turrets high ; 
 
 With sloping lawns, and dark arcades ; 
 
 With cock-boat lakes, and forest glades , 
 
 With schoolboy cataracts and jets ; 
 
 With Turkish mosques and minarets 
 
 Or Lilliputian arches, rich. 
 
 Spanning a vegetating ditch t 
 
 Improvement opes a nobler field, 
 
 Than Grecian plinth and column yield I 
 
 • Tis when the streams of treasure flow. 
 
 To lighten sorrow, — soften woe ; — 
 
 Rebuild the structure, ruin raz'd. 
 
 Relume the eye, that want hath glaz'd 
 
 And flowing far from revelry. 
 
 They cheer the sons of penury. 
 
 Who sicken in the breeze of health 1 
 
 And starve, amid a nation's wealth I 
 
 To chase despair — and bring relief. 
 
 For human crime, and human grief! 
 
 These are thy triumphs. Virtue ! tbeii« 
 
 Are sparks of heav'n-born sympathie*. 
 
 That through man's denser nature shine. 
 
 And prove his origin divine 1 
 
 Oh 1 may we hope, in Britain's school. 
 
 There are, who, free from sophist rule. 
 
 Have learnt not, 'neath Italian skies. 
 
 Their native genius to despise ; 
 
 In whom, amid the bosom's throes. 
 
 The innate love of country glows 1 
 
 Assembled birds I it is for you 
 
 To point the course we must pursue : 
 
 Our monarch ne'er could contemplate 
 
 Amid the recent change in state. 
 
 That we, like other rooks, should be 
 
 Exil'd from seats of royalty ! 
 
 Then let us humbly seek the throne. 
 
 And make our common grievanoe known 
 
 His Majesty will ne'er consent. 
 
 That this, our sable parliament. 
 
 Should thus be driv'n abroad to roam. 
 
 And banish'd from our native home." 
 
 Come bright Improvement on the car of Time. 
 And rule the spacious world Irom cl;me to clime . 
 PtcMurcs of Hop* 
 
 345 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 He ceas fl ;— a shout of wild applause, 
 Tumultuous burst, from rooks and daws * 
 Ne'er yet, had yonder central sur. 
 Since worlds had in their orbits r\:n. 
 Beheld upon a spot of earth 
 So much of simultaneous mirth. 
 Scarce had the turbulence subsided, 
 When, as if Fate their joy derided, 
 The hatchet reach'd with thund'ring stroke 
 The tree from whence the Chairman spoke. 
 Alas! the triumph was bat brief ; 
 The sound struck awe — like midnight thief — 
 The senate fled from falling tiees. 
 And stretch'd their pinions to the breeze : 
 Ihe shrubs behind Spring Garden-place 
 Receiv'd the emigrated race. 
 Now far from woodman's axe, with care 
 They build, and breed, and nestle there. 
 
 T. T. 
 
 MUSIC AND ANIMALS. 
 
 Bonaventure d'Argonne says, " Doubt- 
 ;ng the truth of those who say it is natural 
 for us to love music, especially the sounds 
 
 1 of instruments, and that beasts are touched 
 
 Iwiih it, I one day, being in the country, 
 endeavoured t© determine the point; and, 
 
 i while a man was playing on the trump 
 marine, made my observations on a cat, a 
 dog, a horse, an ass, a hind, cows, small 
 birds, and a cock and hens, who were in a 
 
 lyard, under a window on which I was 
 leaning. 1 did not perceive that the cat 
 was the least affected; and I even judged, 
 by her air, that she would have given all 
 the instruments in the world for a mouse, 
 sleeping in the sun all the time; the horse 
 stopped short from time to t-ime before the 
 window, liftmg Jiis head up now and then, 
 as he was feeding on the grass ; the dog 
 continued for above an hour seated on his 
 hind legs, looking steadfastly at the player ; 
 the ass did not discover the least indication of 
 his being touched, eating his thistles peace- 
 ably; the hind lifted up her large wide 
 ears, and seemed very attentive; the cows 
 slept a little, and after gazing as though 
 they had been acquainted with us, went 
 forward : some birds who were in an aviary, 
 and others on the trees and bushes, almost 
 tore their throats with singing; but the 
 cock, who minded only his hens, and the 
 hens, who were solely employed in scraping 
 on a neighbouring dunghill, did not show 
 in any manner that they took the least plea- 
 uie in hearing the trump marine." 
 
 IRISHMEN ON A HOLIDAY. 
 
 When they met at a " pattern," (patron, 
 perhaps,) or merry-making, the lively dance 
 of the girls, and the galloping jig-note of 
 the bagpipes, usually gave place to the 
 clattering of alpeens, and the whoops of 
 onslaught; when one of them sold his pig, 
 or, under Providence, his cow, at the fair, 
 the kicking up of a " scrimmage,'' or at 
 least the plunging head foremost into one, 
 was as much matter of course as the long 
 draughts of ale or whiskey that closed his 
 niercantile transaction. At the village 
 hurling-match, the " hurlet," or crooked 
 stick, with which they struck the ball, often 
 changed its playful utility ; nay, at a fune- 
 ral, the body was scarce laid in the grave, 
 when the voice of petty discord might be 
 heard above the grave's silence. 
 
 These contentions, like all great events, 
 generally arose from very trivial causes. 
 A drunken fellow, for instance, was in a 
 strange public-house ; he could not content 
 himself with the new faces near him, so 
 struck at some three, six, or ten, as it might 
 be; and, in course, got soundly drubbed. 
 On his return home he related his case of 
 injury, exhibitir>g his closed eye, battered 
 mouth, or remnant of nose ; enlisting all his 
 relatives, " kith-and-kin ;" in fact, all his 
 neighbours who liked " a bit of diversion," 
 and they generally included the whole male 
 population able to bear arms. At the head 
 of his faction he attended the next fair, or 
 other place of popular resort, where he 
 might expect to meet his foes ; the noise of 
 his muster went abroad, or he sent a pre- 
 vious challenge : the opposite party assem- 
 bled in as much force as possible, never 
 declining the encounter; one or other side 
 was beaten, and tried to avenge its disgrace 
 on the first opportunity ; defeat again fol- 
 lowed, and again produced like efforts and 
 results ; and thus the solemn feud ran 
 through a number of years and several 
 generations. 
 
 A wicked, " devil-may-care" fellow, fever- 
 ish for sport, would, at fair, pattern, or 
 funeral, sometimes smite another without 
 any provocation, merely to create a riot ; 
 the standers-by would take different sides, 
 as their taste or connections inclined them ; 
 and the fray, thus commencing between 
 two individuals who owed each other no 
 ill-will, embroiled half the assembled con- 
 course. Nay, a youth, in despair that so 
 fine a multitude was likely to separate 
 peaceably, stripped ofT his heavy outside 
 coat, and trailed it through the puddle, 
 dar ag any of the lookers on lO tread uuon 
 
 346 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 it ; his defiance was rarely ineffectual ; he 
 knocked down, if possible, the invited 
 offender; a general battle ensued, that 
 soon spread like wild-fire, and every " al- 
 peen" was at work in senseless clatter and 
 unimaginable hostility. 
 
 The occurrence of the word " alpeen" 
 seems to suggest a description of the weapon 
 of which it is the name, and this can best 
 be given in a piece of biographical anecdote. 
 
 Jack MuUally still lives in fame, though 
 his valiant bones are dust. He was the 
 landlord of a public-house in a mountain 
 district; a chivalrous fellow, a righier of 
 wrongs, the leader of a faction of desperate 
 fighting men, and, like Arthur, with his 
 doughty knights, a match for any four 
 among them, though each a hero ; and, 
 above all, the armourer of his department. 
 In Jack's chimney-corner hung bundles of 
 sticks, suspended there tor the purpose of 
 being dried and seasoned ; and these were 
 of two descriptions of warlike weapons; 
 shortish oaken cudgels, to be used as quar- 
 ter-staves, or, par excellence, geimine shil- 
 elaghs ; and the alpeens themselves, — long 
 vattles with heavy knobs at the ends, to be 
 wielded with both hands, and competent, 
 under good guidance, to the felling of a 
 reasonable ox. 
 
 Jack and his subjects. Jack and his 
 alpeens, were rarely absent from any fair 
 within twenty miles, having always business 
 on hands in the way of their association. 
 When a skirmish took place, the side that 
 could enlist in its interests Jack, his alpeens, 
 and his merry men, was sure of victory. 
 The patriarch was generally to be found 
 seated by his kitchen fire ; business was 
 beneath him ; he left ;dl that to the " vani- 
 thee;" and his hours lapsed, when matters 
 of moment did not warn him to the field, 
 either in wetting his sticks with a damp 
 cloth, and then heating them over the turf 
 blaze, to give them the proper curve ; or, in 
 teaching a pet starling to speak Irish, aid 
 whistle " Shaun Buoy ;" or, haply, in im- 
 bibing his own aie or whiskey, and smoking 
 his short black pipe, or doohdeen, as himself 
 termed it. And here he gave audience to 
 the nuiurrous suitors and ambassadors who, 
 day by day, came to seek his aid, prepara- 
 tory to a concerted engagement. His an- 
 swer was never hastily rendered. He pro- 
 mised, at all events, to be with his corps at 
 the appointed ground ; and then and there 
 he would proclaim of which side he was the 
 lily. This precautionary course became 
 the more advisable, as he was always sure 
 of a request from both factions; and time, 
 lorethought, and inquiry, were necessary 
 
 to ascertain which side irught prove the 
 weakest ; for to the weakest (the most ag- 
 grieved formed no part of his calculations 
 Jack invariably extended his patronage. 
 
 The vanithee, good woman, when she 
 heard of an approaching fair, or other 
 popular meeting, immediately set about 
 preparing plasters and ointments ; and 
 this resulted from a thrifty forecast; for 
 were she to call in a doctor every time her 
 husband's head wanted piecing, it would 
 run away with the profits of her business. 
 Jack, indeed, never forgot his dignity so far 
 as to inform his wife that he intended being 
 engaged on such occasions ; but she always 
 took it for granted, and with the bustle of 
 a good housewife, set about her prepara- 
 tions accordingly : till, at length, a breach 
 hapj^ened in his skull which set her art at 
 defiance ; and ever since she lives the sole 
 proprietor of the public-house wheie Jack 
 once reigned in glory. The poor widow 
 has thriven since her husband's death; and 
 is now rich, not having lately had Jack's 
 assistance m spending, (she never had it in 
 earning.) She recounts his exploits wiih 
 modest spirit ; and one blessing at least 
 has resulted from her former matronly care 
 of the good man — she is the Lady Bounti- 
 ful of her distr.ict ; a quack it may be, yet 
 sufficiently skilful for the uncomplicated 
 ailments of her country customers.* 
 
 LONDON HOLIDAYS. 
 
 Holidays, like all other natural and lively 
 things, are good things ; and the abuse 
 does not argue against the use. They 
 serve to keep people in mind that there is 
 a green and glad world, as well as a world 
 of brick and mortar and money-getting, 
 Thpy remind them disinterestedly of one 
 another, or that they have other things to 
 interchange besides bills and commodities. 
 If it were not for holidays and poetry, and 
 such like stumbling blocks to square-toes, 
 there would be no getting out of the v^ay 
 of care and common-places. — They keep 
 the world fresh for improvement. The 
 great abuse of holidays is when they are 
 too few. There are offices, we understand, 
 in the city, in which, with the exception of 
 Sundays, people have but one holiday or so 
 throughout the year, which appears to us a 
 very melancholy hilarity. It is like a single 
 living thing in a solitude, which only adds 
 to the solitariness. A clerk issuing forth 
 on his exclusive Good Friday must in vain 
 
 • Tsj^ of lie U'Hara Family. FirH Serun 
 
 347 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 attempt to be merry, unless he is a very 
 jierry person at other times. He must be 
 oppressed with a sense of all the rest of the 
 year. He cannot have time to smile be- 
 fore he has to be grave again. It is a diflfer- 
 ence, a dream, a wrench, a lay-sabbath, 
 any thing but a holiday. There was a 
 Greek philosopher, who, when he was 
 asked on his death-bed what return could 
 be made him for the good he had done his 
 country, requested that all the little boys 
 might have a holiday on the anniversary of 
 his birth-day. Doubtless they had many 
 besides, and yet he would give them an- 
 other. When we were at school, we had a 
 holiday on every saint's day, and this was 
 pretty nearly all that we, or, indeed, any 
 one else, knew of some of those blessed 
 names in the calendar. When we came to 
 know that they had earned this pleasure 
 for us by martyrdom and torment, we con- 
 gratulated ourselves that we had not known 
 :t sooner; and yet, upon the principle of 
 .he Greek philosopher, perhaps a true lover 
 of mannikin-kind would hardly object to 
 have his old age burnt out at the stake, if 
 he could secure to thousands hereafter the 
 beatitude of a summer's holiday.* 
 
 THE HUSBANDMEN OF HINDU. 
 
 They are generally termed Koonbees, 
 and on the whole they are better informed 
 than the lower classes of our own country- 
 men ; they certainly far surpass them in 
 propriety and orderliness of demeanour. 
 They are mild and unobtrusive in their 
 manners, and quickly shrink from any thing 
 like an opposite behaviour in others. Liti- 
 gation is not a marked part of their charac- 
 ter. They are forgetful of injury ; or if 
 they harbour animosity, they are seldom 
 hurried by it into acts of violence or cruelty. 
 Custom has taught them not to have much 
 respect for their women, or rather, indeed, 
 to look on them, with contempt; but they 
 are always indulgent to them, and never 
 put any restraint on their liberty. The 
 great attachment they have to their children 
 forms an amiable part of their character. 
 They are usually frugal, inclining to parsi- 
 mony, and not improvident ; but at their 
 marriage feasts they are lavish and profuse, 
 and on these and other occasions often con- 
 tract debts that are a burden to them for 
 life. Their religion strongly enjoins charity, 
 and they are disposed to be hospitable, but 
 It^eir exirC'ine poverty is a bar to their being 
 
 * Ltteiary Pocket Book 
 
 extensively so. No person, however, wovld 
 ever be in want of a meal amongst them, 
 and they are always kind and attentive to 
 strangers when there is nothing offensive m 
 their manners. They are just in their deal- 
 ings amongst themselves, but would not be 
 scrupulous in overreaching government or 
 those without. Theft is scarcely known 
 amongst them, and the voice of the com- 
 munity is loud against all breaches of de- 
 corum, and attaches weight and respecta- 
 bility to virtuous conduct in its members. 
 The vices of this people, which they owe 
 chiefly to their government, are dissimula- 
 tion, curming, and a disregard to truth. 
 They are naturally timid, and will endea- 
 vour to redress their wrongs rather by 
 stratagem than more generous means; when 
 roused, however, they will be found not 
 without courage, nor by any means con- 
 temptible enemies. Although not remark- 
 able for sharpness, they are not wanting in 
 intelligence. They are all minutely informed 
 in every thing that relates to their own call- 
 ing. They are fond of conversation, discuss 
 the merits of different modes of agricul- 
 ture, the characters of their neighbours, and 
 every thing that relates to the concerns of 
 the community, and many of them are not 
 without a tolerable knowledge of the lead- 
 ing events of the history of their country. 
 The Hindu husbandman rises at cock 
 crow, washes his hands, feet, and face, re- 
 peats the names of some of his gods, and 
 perhaps takes a whiff of his pipe or a quid 
 of tobacco, and is now ready to begin his 
 labour. He lets loose his oxen, and drives 
 them leisurely to his fields, allowing them 
 to graze, if there is any grass on the ground, 
 as they go along, and takes his breakfast 
 with him tied up in a dirty cloth, or it is 
 sent after him by one of his children, and 
 consists of a cake (made unleavened of the 
 flour of Badjeree or Juwaree,) and some ot 
 the cookery of the preceding day, or an 
 onion or two. On reaching his field it is 
 perhaps seven or eight o'clock ; he yokes 
 his oxen, if any of the operations of hus- 
 bandry require it, and works for an hour or 
 two, then squats down and takes his break- 
 fast, but without loosing his cattle. He re- 
 sumes his work in a quarter of an hour, 
 and goes on till near twelve o'clock, when 
 his wife arrives with his dinner. He then 
 unyokes his oxen, drives them to drink, and 
 allows them to graze or gives them straw ; 
 and takes his dinner 'oy the side of a well 
 or a stream, or under the shade of a tree it 
 there happens to be one, and is waited on 
 during his meal by his wife. After his 
 dinner he is joined by any of his fellow 
 
 348 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 labourers who may be near, and after a 
 chat lakes a nap on his spread cuinley or 
 jota for half an hour, while his wife eats 
 what he has left. He yokes his cattle again 
 about two or half-past two o'clock, and 
 works till sunset, when he proceeds leisurely 
 home, ties up and feeds his oxen, then goes 
 himself to a brook, bathes and washes, or 
 has hot water thrown over him by his wife 
 at home. After his ablutions, and perhaps 
 on holidays anointing himself with sandal 
 wood oil, he prays before his household 
 gods, and often visits one or more of the 
 village temples. His wife by this time has 
 prepared his supper, which he takes in 
 company with the males of the family. 
 His principal enjoyment seems to be be- 
 tween this meal and bed-time, which is nine 
 or ten o'clock. He now fondles and plays 
 with his children, visits or is visited by his 
 neighbours, and converses about the labour 
 of the day and concerns of the village, 
 either in the open air or by the glimmering 
 light of a lamp, learns from the shopkeeper 
 or beadle what strangers have passed or 
 stopped at the village, and their history, 
 and from any of the community that may 
 have been at the city j^Poohnah) what news 
 he has brought. In the less busy times, 
 which are two or three months in the year, 
 the cultivators take their meals at home, 
 and have sufficient leisure for amusement. 
 They then sit in groups in the shade and 
 converse, visit their friends in the neish- 
 'oouring villages, go on pilgrimages, itc. &c. 
 The women of the cultivators, like those 
 of other Asiatics, are seldom the subject of 
 gallantry, and are looked on rather as a 
 part of their live stock than as companions, 
 and yet, contrary to wliat might be expect- 
 ed, their condition seems far from being 
 unhappy. The law allows a husband to 
 beat his wife, and for infidelity to maim her 
 or else put her to death ; but these severi- 
 ties are seldom resorted to, and rarely any 
 sort of harsh behaviour. A man is despised 
 who is seen much in company with women. 
 A wife, therefore, never looks for any fond- 
 ling from her husband ; it is thought un- 
 becoming in him even to mention her name, 
 and she is never allowed to eat in company 
 with him, from the time of their wedding 
 dinner; but patiently waits on him during 
 his meals, and makes her repast on what he 
 leaves. But setting aside these marks of 
 contempt, sffie is always treated with kind- 
 ness and forbearance, unless her conduct is 
 very perverse and bad, and she has her 
 entire li'oerty. The women have generally 
 the sole direction of household aflairs, and 
 if clever, notwithstanding all their disad- 
 
 vantages, not unfrequently gam as great an 
 ascendancy over their lords as in oihei parts 
 of the world.* 
 
 ROUND ROBIN. 
 
 It was customary among the ancients to 
 write names, whether of the gods, or of 
 their friends, in a circle, that none might 
 take offence at seeing another's name pre- 
 ferred to his own. The Cordeliers have 
 formerly been known to have paid the same 
 attention to delicacy, and when a pope has 
 demanded the names of some priests of 
 their order, that one might be raised to the 
 purple, they have sent those names written 
 circularly, that they might not seem to re- 
 commend one more than another. The 
 race of sailors are the only people who 
 preserve this very ancient custom in its 
 purity, for when any remonstrance is on 
 foot among them, they sign it in a circle 
 and call it a round robin. 
 
 NAMES. 
 
 Toward tne middle of the fifteenth cen- 
 tury, it was the fancy of the wits and 
 learned men of the age, particularly in 
 Italy, to change their baptismal names for 
 classical ones. As Sannazarius, for instance, 
 who altered his own plair name " Jacopo " 
 to " Actius Syncerus." i"fumbers did the 
 same, and among the rest, Platina the his- 
 torian, at Rome, who, not without a solemn 
 ceremonial, took the name of " Callima- 
 chus," instead of " Philip." Pope Paul 
 II., who reigned about that time, unluckily 
 chanced to be suspicious, illiterate, and 
 heavy of comprehension. He had no idea 
 that persons could wish to alter their names, 
 unless they had some bad design, and 
 actually scrupled not to employ imprison- 
 ment, and other violent methods, to discovei 
 the fancied mystery. Platina was most 
 cruelly tortured on this frivolous account ; 
 he had nothing to confess, so the pope, after 
 endeavouring in vain to convict him ol 
 heresy, sedition. Sec released him, after a 
 long imprisonment. 
 
 Formerly t}H5re were many persons sor- 
 naraed Devil. In an old book, the title oi 
 which does not recur, mention is ;nad£ 
 of one Rogerius Diabolus, lord of Mon- 
 tresor. 
 
 * Mr. Coates in Trans. Bombay Lat. Se«. 
 
 349 
 
THE "TABLE BOOK. 
 
 An English monk, " \ iilelmus, cogno- 
 mento Diabolus," and another person, 
 " Hughes le Diable, lord of Lusignan." 
 
 Robert, duke of Normandy, son to Wil- 
 liam the Conqueror, was surnamed " the 
 Devil." 
 
 In Norway and Sweden there were two 
 families of the name of " Trolle," in Eng- 
 lish " Devil,'' and every branch of these 
 families had an emblem of the "Devil" 
 for their coat of arms. 
 
 In Utrecht there was a family of " Teu- 
 fels," or " Devils," and another in Brittany 
 named " Diable." 
 
 A SEA BULL. 
 
 An Irishman, who served on board a 
 man of war in the capacity of a waister, 
 •was selected by one of the officers to haul 
 in a tow-line of considerable length, which 
 was towing over the lafrail. After rowsing 
 in forty or fifty fathoms, which had put his 
 patience severely to proof, as well as every 
 muscle of his arms, he muttered to himself, 
 " Sure, it's as lonsf as to day and to-mor- 
 row ! It's a gc&d week's work for any five 
 in the ship! — Bad luck to the arm or leg 
 it'll leave rae at last! — What! more of it 
 yet! — Och, murder; the sa's mij^lity deep 
 to be sure !" — After continuina; in a similar 
 strain, and conceiving there was little pro- 
 bability of the completion of his labour, 
 he suddenly stopped short, and addressing; 
 the officer of the watch, exclaimed, " Bad 
 manners to me, sir, if I don't think some- 
 bcdy's cut off the other end of it f 
 
 CHEERFUL EUNERAL. 
 
 Lodovick Cortusius, an eminent lawyer, 
 who died at Padua on the 15th of July, 
 1518, when upon his death-bed forbad his 
 relations to shed tears at his funeral, and 
 even put his heir under a heavy penalty if 
 he neglected to perform his orders. On the 
 other hand, he ordered musicians, singers, 
 pipers, and fiddlers, of all kinds, to supply 
 the place of mourners, and directed that 
 fifty of them should walk before his corpse 
 with the clergymen, playing upon their 
 several instruments ; for this service he or- 
 dered eath of them half a ducat. He like- 
 wise appointed twelve maids in green habits 
 to carry his corpse to the church of St, 
 Sophia, where he 'vas buried, and that they 
 
 too as they went alo-ng should sing aloud 
 having each of them, as a recompense, a 
 handsome sum of money allotted for a por- 
 tion. All the clergy of Padua marched 
 before in long procession, together with ah 
 the monks of the convent, except those 
 wearing black habits, whom he expressly 
 excluded by his will, lest the blackness of 
 their hoods should throw a gloom upon the 
 cheerfulness of the procession. 
 
 ANECDOTE. 
 
 Charles I. and Parliaments. 
 
 Mr. Pye, the late poet laureate, in his 
 " Sketches," says, " When 1 was at Ox- 
 ford, my tutor having the revisal of some 
 papers relative to the civil war, (I knovv 
 not if they have been published,) showed 
 me a letter from one of the king's secieta- 
 ries, with remarks on the margin in the 
 king's own handwriting. One expression 
 particularly struck me, as seeming to show 
 his determination to lay aside the use of 
 parliaments. The paper was a circular re- 
 quest to some of the counties for their 
 pecuniary assistance, I believe on the Scots' 
 invasion. The words were, as nearly as 
 I can recollect, (sixteen years having 
 elapsed since I saw the letter,) ' Youi 
 obliging me in this instance will induce me 
 to ask your aid in a manner more agreeable 
 to yourselves.' These words had a line 
 drawn through them ; and there was written 
 on the margin, in the king's hand : 'I have 
 SCORED out these words, as they seem to 
 imply a promise of calling a parliament, of 
 which I have no intention.'" ; 
 
 THE YANKEE CAUGHT IN HIS OWN 
 TRAP. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 A Pat — an odd joter — and Yan"-cee more sljr, 
 
 Once riding together, a gallows pass'd by : 
 
 Slid the Yankee to Pat, " If I don't make too free. 
 
 Give that gallows its due, pray where then would yn» 
 
 be ?" 
 " Why honey,' said Pat, " faitk that's easily known 
 I'd be riding to town — by myself — all alone." 
 
 Sam Sam's Sov 
 
 550 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 BRIDGE ON THE ROAD TO BECKENHAM. 
 
 — Ancient Charity let flow tliis brook 
 Across the road, for sheep and beggar-men 
 To cool their weary feet, and slake their thirst 
 
 On our way from Penge,* W. thone;ht 
 this object worth sketching. He occupied 
 himself with his pencil, and T amnsed 
 myself witi) dropping grains of dust amon£r 
 a fleet of tadpoles on the yellow sands, 
 and watching their motions •, a few inches 
 from them., in a clearer shallow, lay a shoal 
 of stickle-backs as on their Dogger-bank : 
 a thread and a blood-worm, and the absence 
 of my friend, and of certain feelings in 
 behalf of the worms, would hare afforded 
 me excellent sport. The rivulet crosses the 
 road from a meadow, where I heard it in 
 iti narrow channel, and muttering inwardly 
 
 " the raprds are near." from the " Cana- 
 dian Boat-sona,' I fell into a reverie on 
 Wilson's magnificent painting of the fails 
 of Niagara, in iMr. Landseer's painting- 
 room. While I seated myself by the way- 
 side, and, among eround-ivy and periwinkle, 
 discriminating the diminutive forms of trees 
 in the varied mosses of an old bank, I 
 recollected descriptions I had read oi 
 transatlantic scenery, and the gigantic 
 vegetation on the Oliio and Mississipi. 
 
 A labourer told us, that this little brook is 
 called " ChafRnch's River," and that it 
 springs from " the Alders," near Croydon, 
 and runs into the Raver.sbourne. 
 
 • See p. 674. 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 351 
 
 2 A 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 1 
 
 #aiTirlt flaps. 
 
 No. XX. 
 
 I From " Bussy D'Ambois his Revenge," a 
 Tragedy, by George Chapman, 1613.] 
 
 Plays and Players. 
 
 Guise. — I would have these things 
 Brought upon Stages, to let mighty Misers 
 See all their grave and serious mischiefs play'd. 
 As once they were in Athens and old Rome. 
 
 Clermont. Nay, we must now have nothing bro.ight 
 on Stages 
 But puppetry, and pied ridiculous antics. 
 Men thither come to laugh, and feed fool-fat : 
 Check at all goodness there, as being profaned : 
 When, wheresoever Goodness comes, she makes 
 The place still sacred, though with other feet 
 Never so much 'tis scandal'd and polluted. 
 Let me learn any thing, that fits a man. 
 In any Stables shewn, as well as Stages. — 
 
 Baligny VVhy, is not all the World esteem'd aStas«? 
 
 Clermont. Yes, and right worthily; and Stagers too 
 Have a respect due to thftm, if but only 
 For what the good Greek Moralist says of tkciE • 
 " Is a man proud of greatness, or of riches ? 
 'jive me an expert Actor ; I'll shew all 
 That can within his greatest glorv fall : 
 s a man 'fraid with poverty and lowness ? 
 Give me an Actor ; I'll shew every eye 
 What he laments so, and so much does fiy : 
 The best and worst of bolh." — If but for this then. 
 To make the proudest outside, that most swells 
 With things without him, and above his worth. 
 See how small cause he has to be so blown up ; 
 And the most poor man, to be griev'd with poorness ; 
 Bolh being so easily borne by expert Actors : 
 The Stage and Actors are not so contemptful. 
 As every innovating Puritan, 
 And ignorant Swearer out of jealous envy. 
 Would have the world imagine. And besides 
 That all things have been liken'd to the mirth 
 Used upon Stages, and to Stages fitted ; 
 The Splenetive Philosopher, that ever 
 Laugh'd at them all, were worthy the enstaging : 
 All objects, were they ne'er so full of tears, 
 He so conceited, that he could distill thence 
 Matter, that still fed his ridiculous humour. 
 Heard he a Lawyer, never so vehement pleading 
 He stood and laugh'd. Heard he a Tradesman, s weal- 
 ing 
 Never so thriftily, selling of his wares. 
 He stood and bngh'd. Heard he a Holy Brother, 
 For hollow ostentation, at his prayers 
 Ne'er so impetuously, he stood and laugh'd. 
 Saw he a Great Man, n«ver so insulting. 
 Severely inflicting, gravely giving laws. 
 Not for theit good but his — he stood and laugh'd. 
 Saw he a Youthful Widow, 
 Never so weeping, wringing of her hands 
 For her dead Lord, still the Philosopher laugh'd. — 
 Now, whether he supposed all these Presentments 
 
 Were only maskerie.<i, and wore false facut. 
 
 Or else were simply vain, I take no care; 
 
 But still he laugh'd, how grave soe'c they were. 
 
 Stoicism. 
 
 in this one thing all the discipline 
 
 Of manners and of manhood is contain'd ; 
 A Man to join himself with the Universe 
 In his main sway; and make (in all things fit) 
 One with that All ; and go on, round as it : 
 Not plucking from the whole his wretched part. 
 And into straits, or into nought revert ; 
 Wishing the complete Universe might be 
 Subject to such a rag of it as He. 
 
 Apparitions before the Body's Death 
 ScoTicE, Second Sight. 
 
 these true Shadows of the Guise and Cardinal, 
 
 Fore-running thus their Bodies, may approve. 
 That all things to be done, as here we live. 
 Are done before all times in th' other life. 
 
 [From " Satiromastix," a Comedy, by Tho- 
 mas Decker, 1602: in which Ben Jon- 
 son, under the name o.f Horace, is repre- 
 hended, in retaliation of his "Poetaster;" 
 in which he had attacked .wo of his 
 Brother Dramatists, probably JVlaTSton 
 and Decker, ander the names of Crispi 
 nus and Demetrius.] 
 
 Horace. What could I do. out of a just revenge. 
 But bring them to the Stage ? they enyy me. 
 Because I hold more worthy company. 
 
 Demetrius. Good Horace, no ; my cheeks do blush 
 for thine. 
 As often as thou speaks't so. Where one true 
 And nobly-virtiious spirit for thy best part 
 Loves thee, I wish one ten even frc *. Try neart. 
 I make account I put up as deep share 
 In any good man's love, which thy worth owns. 
 As thou thyself; we envy not to see 
 Thy friends with bays to crown thy Poesy. 
 No. here the gall lies; we that know what stuff 
 Thy very heart is made of, know the stalk 
 On which thy learning grows, and can give life 
 To thy (once dying) baseness, yet must we 
 Dance antics on thy paper. 
 
 Crisplnus. This makes us angry, but not envious. 
 No ; were thy warpt soul put in a new mould, 
 I'd wear thee as a jewel set in gold. 
 
 fFrom the "Antipodes," a Comedy, by 
 Richard Brome, 1633.] 
 
 Directions to Players. 
 
 Nobleman. • My actois 
 
 Are all in readiness, and I think all perfect, 
 Tl"t one, that never will be perfect in a thitg 
 
 352 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 (le studies ; yet he makes such shifts extempore, 
 
 ''Knowing the purpose what he is to speak to), 
 
 That he moves mirth in me 'bove all the rest. 
 
 For I am none of those Poetic Furies, 
 
 That threats the actor's life, in a whole Play 
 
 That adds a syllable, or takes away. 
 
 If he caa fribble through, and move delight 
 
 In others, I am pleased. — • • • • 
 
 Let me not see you now, 
 
 [n the scholastic way you brought to town with yon, 
 
 Wlih see-saw sack-a-down, like a sawyer ; 
 
 Nor in a comic scene play Hercules Furens, 
 
 Tearing your throat to split the audients' ears ;— 
 
 And yi)U, Sir, you had got a trick of late 
 
 Of holding out your breech in a set speech ; 
 
 Your fingers fibulating on your breast, 
 
 As if your buttons or your bandstrings were 
 
 Helps to your memory ; let me see you in't 
 
 No more, I charge you. No, nor you. Sir, 
 
 In that o'er-action of your legs I told you of. 
 
 Your singles and your doubles— look you — thus — 
 
 Like one of the dancing-masters of the beai-gardcn ; 
 
 And when you've spoke, at end of every speech. 
 
 Not minditig the reply, you turn you round 
 
 As tumblers do, when betwixt every feat 
 
 They gather wind by firking up their breeches. 
 
 I'll none of these absurdities in my house ; 
 
 But words and actions married so together. 
 
 That shall strike harmony in the ears and eyes 
 
 Of the severest, if judicious, critics. 
 
 Players. Mv Lord, we are corrected. 
 
 Nubleman. Go, be ready. — 
 But you. Sir, are incorrigible, and 
 Take licence to yourself to add unto 
 Your parts your own free fancy ; and sometimes 
 To alter or diminish what the writer 
 With care and skill composed ; and when you are 
 To speak to your Co-actors in the scene. 
 You hold interloqutioQS with the audients. 
 
 Player. That is a v/ay, my Lord, has been allowed 
 On elder stages, to move mirth and laughter. 
 
 Nobleman. Yes, in the days of Tarleton and Kemp, 
 Before the Stage was purged from barbarism. 
 And brought to the perfection it now shines with. 
 Then Fools and Jesters spent tlieir wits, because 
 The Poets were wise enough to save their own 
 For nrotitabler uses. — 
 
 C. L. 
 
 THE DIVER OF CHARYBDIS. 
 
 Tu the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — Mr. Brydorie, in the quotations you 
 have made,* appears to doubt the accuracy 
 of the stories relating to Charybdis. I 
 never recollect to have heard mention of 
 tl;e name of Colus, but apprehend he was 
 the same as the famous Sicilian diver, 
 Nicolo Pesce. Associated with Charybdis, 
 
 • At page 613, &c. 
 
 some notice of this extraordinary inau may 
 not be uninteresting. 
 
 The authenticity of this account depends 
 entirely on the authority of Kircher. He 
 assures us, he had it from the archives of 
 the kings of Sicily ; but its having so much 
 of the marvellous in it, many have been 
 disposed to doubt its accuracy, historians 
 are too fond of fiction, but we should by 
 no means doubt their sincerity, when we 
 find them on other subjects not contempti- 
 ble authorities. 
 
 " In the time of Frederic, king of Sicily, 
 (says Kircher,) there lived a celebrated 
 diver, whose name was Nicholas, and who, 
 from his amazing skill in swimming, and 
 his perseverance under the water, was sur- 
 named the fish. This man had from his 
 infancy been used to the sea; and earned 
 his scanty subsistence by diving for corals 
 and oysters, which he sold to the villagers 
 on shore. His long acquaintance with the 
 sea at last brought it to be almost his 
 natural element. He was frequently known 
 to spend five days in the midst of the 
 waves, without any other provisions than 
 the fi;h which he caught there, and ate raw. 
 He often swam over from Sicily into Cala- 
 bria, a tempestuous and dangerous passage, 
 carrying letters from the king. He v/as 
 frequently known to swim among the 
 gulfs of Lipari, no way apprehensive of 
 danger. 
 
 " Some mariners out at sea one day 
 observing something at a distance from 
 them, regarded it as a sea-monster; but 
 upon its approach it was known to be 
 Nicholas, whom they took into their ship. 
 When they asked him whither he was going 
 iri so stormy and rough a sea, and at such 
 a distance from land, he showed them a 
 packet of letters, which he was carrying to 
 one of the towns of Italy, exactly done up 
 in a leather bag, in such a manner that 
 they could not be wetted by the sea. He 
 kept them company for some time in their 
 voyage, conversing and asking questions , 
 and, after eating with them, took his leave, 
 and jumping into the sea, pursued his 
 voyage alone. 
 
 " In order to aid these powers of endur- 
 ing in the deep, nature seemed to have 
 as-iisted him in a very extraordinary man- 
 ner; for the spaces between his fingers and 
 toes were webbed as in a goose: and his 
 chest became so very capacious, that he 
 was able, at one inspiration, to take in as 
 much breath as would serve him a whole 
 day. 
 
 " The account of so extraordinary a per. 
 son did not fail to reach the king himself; 
 
 353 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 who commanded Nicholas to be brought 
 before him. It was no easy matter to find 
 Nicholas, who generally spent his time in 
 t'he solitudes of the deep; but, at last, after 
 much searching, he was discovered, and 
 Drought before his majesty. The curiosity of 
 this monarch had long been excited by the 
 accounts he had heard of the bottom- of the 
 gulf of Charybdis ; he now therefore con- 
 ceived that it would be a proper oppor- 
 tunity to obtain more certain information. 
 He therefore commanded the poor diver to 
 examine the bottom of this dreadful whirl- 
 pool ; and, as an incitement to his obedi- 
 ence, he or.dered a golden cup to be thrown 
 into it. Nicholas was not insensible of the 
 danger to which he was exposed ; dangers 
 best known only to himself, and tlierefore 
 he presumed to remonstrate ; but the hopes 
 of the reward; the desire of pleasing the 
 king, and the pleasure of showing his skill, 
 at last prevailed. Pie instantly jumped 
 into the gulf, and was as instantly swal- 
 lowed up in its bosom. He continued for 
 three quarters of an hour below, during 
 which time the king and his attendants re- 
 mained on shore anxious for his fate : bat 
 he at last appeared, holding the cup in 
 triumph in one hand, and making his way 
 good among the waves with the other. It 
 may be supposed he was received with 
 applause when he came on shore ; the cup 
 was made the reward of his adventure ; the 
 king ordered him to be taken proper care 
 of; and, as he was somewhat fati-gued and 
 debilitated with his labour, after a hearty 
 meal he was put to bed, and permitted to 
 refresh himself with sleeping. 
 
 " When his spirits were thus restored, 
 he was again brought before the king, to 
 satisfy his curiosity with a narrative of the 
 wonders he had seen ; and his account 
 was to the following effect : — He would 
 never, he said, have obeyed the king's 
 commands, had he been apprized of half 
 the dangers that were before him. There 
 were four things, he said, which rendered 
 the gulf dreadful, not only to men but to 
 the fishes themselves. 1 . The force of the 
 water bursting up from the bottom, which 
 required great strength to resist. 2. The 
 abruptness of the rocks, which on every 
 side threatened destruction. 3. Tiie force 
 of the whirlpool dashing against these 
 ocks. And, 4. The number and magni- 
 tude of the polypous fish, some of which 
 appeared as large as a man ; and which, 
 every where sticking against the rocks 
 projected their fibrous arms to entangle 
 him. Being asked, how he was able so 
 readily to find the cup that had been thrown 
 
 m, he replied, that it happened to oe flung 
 by t!ie waves into the cavity of a rooK 
 against which he himself was urged in ha 
 descent. This account, however, did no" 
 satisfy the king's curiosity. Being lequect- 
 ed once more to venture Into the gulf fo? 
 further discoveries, he at first refused : bu 
 trie king, desirous of having the most accu^ 
 rate information possible of all things to be- 
 found in the gulf, repeated his solicita- 
 tions; and to give them greater weight, 
 produced a larger cup than the former, and 
 added also a purse of gold. Upon these 
 considerations the unfortunate diver once 
 again plunged into the whirlpool, and was 
 never heard of more." 
 
 This is Kircher's account, some asser- 
 tions of whom will undoubtedly excite in- 
 credibility in the minds of all. I do no4 
 wish to offer any remarks, but leave your 
 readers to form their own opinions. 
 
 People, by being accustomed to th<^ 
 water from their infancy, may often, ai 
 length, not only be enabled to stay much 
 longer under water, but putting on a kind 
 of amphibious nature, have the use of all 
 their faculties as well under the water a> 
 on the dry land. Most savage nations are 
 remarkable for this; and, even among ci- 
 vilized nations, many persons are found 
 capable of continuing submerged for aji 
 incredible time. 
 
 I am,. &c. 
 
 A. B. 
 
 Hackney, May, 1827. 
 
 COUNTRY LITTLE KNOWN. 
 
 We have to inform ttie public of a re- 
 markable discovery, which, though partially 
 disclosed by former travellers, has still 
 remained, for the most part, a strange 
 secret. It is this; — that there is actually, 
 at this present moment, and in this our own 
 beautiful country of Great Britain, a large 
 tract of territory, which to nine hundred 
 and ninety-nine thousandths of our beloved 
 countrymen is as much an undiscovered 
 land as the other end of New South Wales, 
 or the Pole which they have gone to find 
 out. We have read of places in romance, 
 which were more shut out by magic From 
 people's eyes, though close to them, than if 
 a fifty-foot wall encircled them. It would 
 seem as if some such supernatural prohibi- 
 tion existed with regard to the land in 
 question ; for the extremities of it reach to 
 within a short distance from the metropolis, 
 which it surrounds on all sides; nay, we 
 have heard of persons riding t>irough it. 
 
 354 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 without seeing' any thing but a sign-post or 
 iOine corn ; and yet it is so beautiful, that 
 n is called empliatically " the country." 
 
 It abounds in the finest natural produc- 
 ftons. The more majestic parts of it are at 
 a distance, but the zealous explorer may 
 come upon its gentler beauties in an incredi- 
 oly short time. Its pastures and cattle are 
 admirable. Deer are to be met with in tlie 
 course of half a day's journey; and the 
 traveller is accompanied, wherever he goes, 
 with the music of singing birds. Imme- 
 diately towards the south is a noble river, 
 which brings you to an upland of the most 
 luxuriant description, looking in the water 
 like a rich-haired beauty in her glass : yet 
 the place is in general solitary. Towards 
 the north, at a less distance, are some other 
 hilly spots of ground, which partake more 
 of the rudely romantic, running however 
 into scenes of the like sylvan elegance ; 
 and yet these are still more solitary. The 
 mhabitants of these lands, called the coun- 
 try-people, seem, in truth, pretty nearly as 
 blind to their merits as those who never see 
 them ; but their perceptions will doubtless 
 increase, in proportion as their polished 
 neighbours set the example. It should be 
 said for them, that some causes, with which 
 we have nothing to do in this place, have 
 rendered them duller to such impressions 
 than they appear to have been a century or 
 two ago; but we repeat, that they will not 
 live in such scenes to no purpose, if those 
 who know better take an interest in their 
 improvement. Their children have an in- 
 >tinct that is wiser, till domestic cares do it 
 •iway. They may be seen in the fields and 
 v^een lanes, with their curly locks and 
 'irown faces, gathering the Howers which 
 abound there, and the names of which are 
 is pretty as the shapes and colours. They 
 Are called wild roses, primroses, violets, the 
 'ose campion, germander, stellaria, wild 
 inemone, bird's-eye, daisies and butter- 
 cups, lady-smocks, ground-ivy, hare-bells 
 or blue-bells, wake-robin, lillies of the val- 
 ley, &c. &c. The trees are oaks, elms, 
 birches, ash, poplar, willow, wild cheriy, 
 the flowering may-bush, &c. &c. all, in 
 short, that we dote upon in pictures, and 
 wish that we had about us when it is hot 
 in Cheapside and Bond-street. It is per- 
 fectly transporting, in fine weather, like the 
 present for instance, to lounge under the 
 hedge-row elms in one of these sylvan 
 places, and see the light smoke of the cot- 
 tages fuming up among' the ^reen trees, the 
 cattle grazing or lying about with a heavy 
 placidity accordant to the time and scene, 
 * painted iays '' glancing about the glens. 
 
 the gentle hills sloping down into water, 
 the winding embowered lanes, the leafy 
 and flowery banks, the green oaks against 
 the blue sky, their ivied trunks, the silver- 
 bodied and young-haired birches, and the 
 mossy grass treble-carpeted after the vernal 
 rains. Transporting is it to see all this ; 
 and transporting to hear the linnets, thrush- 
 es, and blackbirds, the grave gladness ot 
 the bee, and the stock-dove " brooding ovet 
 her own sweet voice.'' And more trans 
 porting than all is it to be in such places 
 with a friend, that feels like ourselves, in 
 whose heart and eyes (especially if they 
 have fair lids) we may see all our own 
 happiness doubled, as the landscape itsell 
 is reflected in the waters.* 
 
 SPECTROLOGY. 
 A Remarkable Narrative. 
 
 Nicolai, the celebrated German book- 
 seller, a member of the royal society ot 
 Berlin, presented to that institution a me- 
 moir on the subject of a complaint with 
 which he was affected, and one of the sin- 
 gular consequences of which was, the re- 
 presentation of various spectres. M. Nicolai 
 for some years had been subject to a con- 
 gestion in the head, and was blooded 
 frequently for it by leeches. After a de- 
 tailed account of the state of his health, on 
 which he giounds much medical as well as 
 psychological reasoning, he gives the fol- 
 lowing interesting narrative : — 
 
 In the first two months of the year 1791, 
 I was much affected in my mind by several 
 incidents of a very dieagreeable nature, 
 and on the 24th of February a circumstance 
 occurred which irritated me extremely. At 
 ten o'clock in the forenoon my wife and 
 another person came to console me ; I was 
 in a violent perturbation of mind, owing to 
 a series of incidents which had altogether 
 wounded my moral feelings, and from which 
 I saw no possibility of relief: when sud- 
 denly I observed at the distance of ten 
 paces from me a figure — the figure of a 
 deceased person. I pointed at it, and 
 asked my wife whether she did not see it. 
 She saw nothing, but being much alarmed 
 endeavoured to compose me, and sent foi- 
 the physician. The figure remained some 
 seven or eight minutes, and at length I be- 
 came a little more calm ; and as I was 
 extremely exhausted, I soon afterwards fell 
 into a troubled kind of slumber, 'which 
 
 • The Indicator. 
 
 355 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 lasted for half an hour. The vision was 
 ascribed to the great agitation of mind in 
 which I had been, and it was supposed I 
 should have nothing more to apprehend 
 from that cause ; but the violent affection 
 havmg put my nerves mto some unnatural 
 state, from this arose further consequences, 
 which require a more detailed description. 
 
 In the afternoon, a little after four o'clock, 
 the figure which I had seen in the morning 
 again appeared. I was alone when this 
 happened; a circumstance which, as may 
 be easily conceived, could not be very 
 agreeable. I went therefore to the apart- 
 ment of my wife, to whom I related it. 
 But thither also the figure pursued me. 
 Sometimes it was present, sometimes it 
 vanished ; but it was always the same 
 standing figure. A little after six o'clock 
 several stalking figures also appeared ; but 
 they had no connection with the standing 
 figure. I can assign no other reason for 
 this apparition than that, though much more 
 composed in my mind, I had not been able 
 so soon entirely to forget the cause of such 
 deep and distressing vexation, and had re- 
 flected on the consequences of it, in order, 
 if possible, to avoid them ; and that this 
 happened three hours after dinner, at the 
 time when the digestion just begins. 
 
 At length 1 became more composed with 
 respect to the disagreeable incident which 
 had given rise to the first apparition ; but 
 though I had used very excellent medicines, 
 and found myself in other respects perfectly 
 well, yet the apparitions did not diminish, 
 but, on the contrary, rather increased in 
 number, and were transformed in the most 
 extraordinary manner. 
 
 After I had recovered from the first im- 
 pression of terror, 1 never felt myself par- 
 ticularly agitated by these apparitions, as I 
 considered them to be what they really 
 were, the extraordinary consequences of 
 indisposition ; on the contrary, I endea- 
 voured as much as possible to preserve my 
 composure of mind, that I might remain 
 distinctly conscious of what passed within 
 me. I observed these phantoms with great 
 accuracy, and very often reflected on my 
 previous thoughts, with a view to discover 
 some law in the association of ideas, by 
 which exactly these or other figures might 
 present themselves to the imagination. — 
 Sometimes I thought I had made a dis- 
 covery, especially in the latter period of my 
 visions ; but, on the whole, I could trace no 
 connection which the various figures that 
 thus appeared and disappeared to my sight 
 had, either with my state of mind or with 
 Try employment, and the other thoughts 
 
 which engaged my attention. After fre- 
 quent accurate observations on the subject, 
 having fairly proved and maturely con. 
 sidered it, I could form no other conclusion 
 on the cause and consequence of such ap- 
 paritions than that, when the nervous sys- 
 tem is weak, and at the same time too 
 much excited, or rather deranged, similar 
 figures may appear in such a manner as if 
 they were actually seen and heard ; for 
 these visions in my case were not the con- 
 sequence of any knovm law of reason, of 
 the imagination, or of the otherwise usual 
 association of ideas ; and such also is the 
 case with other men, as far as we can reason 
 from the few examples we know. 
 
 The origin of the individual pictures 
 which present themselves to us, must un- 
 doubtedly be sought for in the structure of 
 that organization by which we think ; but 
 this will always remain no less inexplicable 
 to us than the origin of these powers by 
 which consciousness and fancy are made to 
 exist. 
 
 The figure of the deceased person never 
 appeared to me after the first dreadful day ; 
 but several other figures showed themselves 
 afterwards very distinctly ; sometimes such 
 as I knew, mostly, however, of persons 1 
 did not know, and amongst those known 
 to me, were the serr,blances of both living 
 and deceased persons, but mostly the for 
 mer; and I made the observation, thai 
 acquaintances with whom I daily conversed 
 never appeared to me as phantasms; it was 
 always such as were at a distance. When 
 these apparitions had continued some weeks, 
 and I could regard them with the greatest 
 composure, I afterwards endeavoured, at 
 my own pleasure, to call forth phantoms of 
 several acquaintance, whom I for that rea- 
 son represented to my imagination in the 
 most lively manner, but in vain. — For 
 however accurately I pictured to my mind 
 the figures of such persons, I never once 
 could succeed in my desire of seeing them 
 externally ; though I had some short time 
 before seen them as phantoms, and they 
 liad perhaps afterwards unexpectedly pre- 
 sented themselves to me in the same man- 
 ner. The phantasms appeared to me in 
 every case involuntarily, as if they had been 
 presented externally, like the phenomena 
 in nature, though they certainly had their 
 origin ir.ternally ; and at the same time I 
 was always able to distinguish with the 
 greatest precision phantasms from pheno- 
 mena. Indeed, I never once erred in this, 
 as I was in general perfectly calm and self- 
 collected on th*; occasion. I knew extremely 
 well, when it only appeared to me that thf 
 
 356 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Joor was opened, and a phantom entered, 
 and when the door really was opened and 
 any person came in. 
 
 It is also to be noted, that these figures 
 appeared to me at all times, and uiider the 
 most different circumstances, equally dis- 
 tinct and clear. Whether I. was alone, or 
 in company, by broad daylight equally as 
 in the nighttime, in my own as well as in 
 my neighbour's house ; yet when I was 9t 
 another person's house, they were less fre- 
 quent; and when I walked the public street 
 they very seldom appeared. When I shut 
 my eyes, sometimes the figures disappeared, 
 sometimes they remained even after I h;id 
 closed them. If they vanished in the 
 former case, on opening my eyes ag:ain 
 nearly the same figures appeared which I 
 had seen before. 
 
 I sometimes conversed with my physician 
 and my wife, concerning the phantasms 
 which at the time hovered around rne ; for 
 in general the forms appeared' oftener in 
 motion than at rest. They did not always 
 continue present — they frequently left rne 
 altogether, and again appeared for a short 
 or longer sp;ice of time, singly or more at 
 once ; but, in general, several appeared 
 together. For the most part 1 saw human 
 figures of both sexes ; they commonly 
 passed to and fio as if they had no connec- 
 tion with each other, like people at a fair 
 where al'l is bustle; somttimes they ap- 
 peared to have business with one another. 
 ()nce or twice I saw amongst them persons 
 on horseback, and dogs and birds; these 
 figures all appeared to me in their natural 
 size, as distinctly as if they had existed in 
 real life, with the several tints on the un- 
 covered parts of the body, and with all the 
 difierent kinds of colours of clothes. But 
 I think, however, that the colours were 
 somewhat paler iha.n they are in nature. 
 
 None of the figures had any distinguish- 
 ing characteristic; they were neither terri- 
 ble, ludicrous, nor repulsive; most of them 
 were ordinary in their appearance — some 
 were even agreeable. 
 
 On the whole, the longer I continued in 
 this state, the more did the number of 
 phantasms increase, and the apparitions 
 became more frequent. About four weeks 
 afterwards I began to hear them speak : 
 semetimes the phantasms spoke with one 
 another; but for the most part they ad- 
 dressed themselves to me: those speeches 
 were in general sliort, and never contained 
 <iny thing disagreeable. Intelligent and 
 respected friends often appeared to me, 
 who endeavoured to console me in my 
 jrief, which still left deep traces in mv 
 
 mind. This speaking I heard most fre- 
 quently when I was alone; though I some 
 times heard it in company, intermixed with 
 the conversation of real persons; frequently 
 in single phrases only, but sometimes even 
 in connected discourse. 
 
 Though at this time I enjoyed rather a 
 good state of health, both in body and 
 mind, and had become so very familiar 
 with these phantasms, that at last they did 
 not excite the least disagreeable emotion, 
 but on the contrary afforded me frequent 
 subjects for amusement and mirth ; yet as 
 the disorder sensibly increased, and the 
 figures appeared to me for whole days 
 together, and even during the night, if I 
 happened to awake, I had recourse to se- 
 veral medicines, and was at last again 
 obliged to have recourse to the application 
 of leeches. 
 
 This was performed on the 20th of April, 
 at eleven o'clock in the forenoon. I was 
 alone with the surgeon, but during the 
 operation the room swarmed with human 
 forms of every description, which crowded 
 fast one on another; tliis continued till half- 
 past four o'clock, exactly the time when the 
 digesiion commences. I then observed that 
 the figures began to move more slowly ; 
 soon afterwards the colours became gradu- 
 ally paler; and every seven minutes' they 
 lost more and more of their intensity, with- 
 out any alteration in the distinct figure of 
 the apparitions. At about half-past six 
 o'clock all the figures were entirely white, 
 and moved very little; yet the forms ap- 
 peared perfectly distinct ; by degrees they 
 became visibly less plain, without decreas- 
 ing in number, as had often formerly been 
 the case. The figures did not move off, 
 neither did they vanish, which also had 
 usually happened on other occasions. In 
 this instance they dissolved immediately 
 into air ; of some even whole pieces re- 
 mained for a length of time, which also by 
 degrees were lost to the eye At about 
 eight o'clock there did not remain a vestige 
 of any of them, and I have never since 
 experienced any appearance of the same 
 kind. Twice or thrice since that tim*- 1 
 have felt a propensity, if I may be so al 
 lowed to express myself, or a sensation, as 
 if I saw something which in a moment 
 again was gone. I was even surprised by 
 this sensation whilst writing the present 
 account, having, in order to render it more 
 accurate, perused the papers of 1791, and 
 recalled to rny memory all the circumstances 
 of that time. So little are we sometimes, 
 even in the greatest composure of mind, 
 masters of our imagination 
 
 357 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE PORCH OF BECKENHAM CHURCH-YARD. 
 
 Beyond the Lich-gate stand ten ancient yews — 
 Branching so high they seem like giant mutes, 
 With plumes, awaiting rich men's funerals 
 And poor men's bury'ngs : — stretching, over all, 
 An arch of triumph for Death's victories. 
 
 * 
 
 Over tne wickets to many of the church- the death-owl was anciently called the Uch- 
 yards in Kent is a shed, or covered way, of owl. 
 
 ancient structure, used as a ,tsting-place 
 for funerals, and • for the shelter of the 
 corpse until the minister arrives to com- 
 mence the service for the dead. This at 
 Beckenham is one of the most perfect in 
 the county : the footway beyond, to the 
 great entrance-door of the church, is cano- 
 pied by a grove of trees, " sad sociate to 
 graces." These old ciiurch-yard buildings, 
 now only seen in villages, were formerly 
 called lich-gates, and the paths to them 
 wece called lich-lanes, or lich-ways. 
 The word lich signified a corpse Hence 
 
 The shrieking Litch-owl, that doth never cry 
 But boding death, and quick herself inters 
 In darksome graves, arid hollow sepulchres. 
 
 Drat/ton. 
 
 Also, from lich is derived the name oi 
 the city of Lichfield, so called because of a 
 massacre on that spot. 
 
 A thousand other saints whom Amphibal had taught, 
 Flying the pagan foe, their lives that strictly sought, 
 Were slain where Litchfield is, whose name doth right]? 
 
 sound 
 Theie, of those Christians slain, dead field, or buryisg 
 
 ground. Drnytoa. 
 
 35« 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 For the Table Book, 
 THE TWO GRAVES. 
 
 Fn yonder cowslip's sprinkled mead 
 
 A church's taperingf spire doth rise. 
 As if it were directing »is 
 
 Unto a fairer paradise^ 
 Within the yard, so fair and green. 
 Full many a grave is to be seen. 
 
 Often upon a summer's eye 
 
 The church-yard's smooth, green sward I've trod I 
 Reading the rugged epitaphs 
 
 Of those who lie beneath the sod ; 
 But in one spot two graves were seen-, 
 iVhich always stopp'd my wandering. 
 
 Upon one stone's expansive front 
 Was writ, in language stiff aud cold, 
 
 That he, who lay beneath that slab. 
 Had died when he was very old ; 
 
 And at its close a simple line 
 
 Said, that his age was ninety-nine. 
 
 Another small and polish'd stone 
 
 Beside the former did appear ; 
 It said, that that grave's occupant 
 
 Had died when in his third ywir : 
 How eloquent the polish'd praite 
 Lavish'd on that child's winning ways I 
 
 The old man lay beneath the stone, 
 Wliere nought in praise of him was tcld ; 
 
 It only said, that there he lay. 
 And that he died when he was old : 
 
 It did not chronicle his years. 
 
 His joys and sorrows — hopes and feart . 
 
 Ninety-nine years of varying life 
 
 On gliding pinions by had fled, 
 (Oh what long years of toil and strife I) 
 
 Ere he was number'd with the dead ; 
 But yet no line was left to tell 
 How he had liv'd, or how he fell 1 
 
 Had he no wife, — no child, — no friend ? 
 
 To cheer him as he pass'd a«'ay ; 
 No one who would his name commend, 
 
 And wail as he was laid in clay ? 
 Of this the record nought supplied, — 
 It only said he liv'd a«id died ! 
 
 How must his soul have been oppress'd. 
 
 As intimates dropp'd from his side ! 
 And he, almost unknown, was left 
 
 Alone, — upon this desert wide ! 
 Wife — children — friends— all, all were gone. 
 And he left in the world alone ! 
 
 His youthful friends had long grown old. 
 And then were number'd with the dead ; 
 
 His step had totter'd, sight grown dim. 
 And ev'ry source of pleasure fled ; 
 
 By nature's law such must have been, 
 
 IV effect of the long years he'd seen I 
 
 but then the record nought suppherf. 
 How he had spent this length'nt'd iifp; 
 
 Whetlier in peace and cpiietness, 
 Or had he worried been with stril'e : 
 
 Perhaps the muse to him had given 
 
 Visions of glory, fire from Heaven 
 
 All IS conjecture 1 He was laid 
 Beneath the cold, unfeeling clay , 
 
 His fame — if he had sigh'd for fajne — 
 Had from remembratice pass'd away. 
 
 Hope, joy, fear, sorrow, all were fled. 
 
 And he lay number'd with the dead ! 
 
 Oh ! cold and cheerless is the thought, 
 
 That I shall be as he is now , 
 My very name remember'd not. 
 
 And fame's wreath wither'd on my brow 
 Of me no record be supplied, 
 But that I liv'd, and that I died I 
 
 Such is the tone of sorrowing thought 
 That through my heart has often past. 
 
 As, on a summer's brightning eve, 
 A look upon those graves I've cast. 
 
 Where youth and age together lie, 
 
 i'lnblems of frail mortality I 
 
 O. N. Y. 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 A ROMANTIC AND TRUE An ECUOTE. 
 
 At Nottingham, a year or two ago, Sophia 
 Hyatt, in consequence of extreme deafness, 
 was accidentally run over by a carrier's cart, 
 at the entrance of the Maypole inn-yard, 
 and unfortunately killed. She had arrived 
 tliat morning in a gig from Newst-ead Pap- 
 plewick, or somewhere in that neighbour- 
 hood, and had been, for the three or four 
 preceding years, a lodger in one of the 
 farm-houses belonging to colonel Wild- 
 man, at Newstead Abbey. No one knew 
 exactly fiom whence she came, nor what 
 were her connections. Her days were 
 passed in rambling about the gardens and 
 grounds ot the abbey, to which, from the 
 kindness of colonel Wildman, she had fret 
 access. Her dress was invariably the same ; 
 and she was distinguished by the servants 
 at Newstead, as the " white lady." She 
 hnd ingratiated herself with the Newfound- 
 land dog which came from Greece with the 
 body of lord Byron, by regularly feeding 
 him; and on the evening before the fatal 
 accident, she was seen, on quitting the 
 gardens, to cut off a small lock of the dog's 
 hair, which she carefully placed in her 
 handkerchief. On that evening also, s.he 
 delivered to Mrs. Wildman a sealed packet, 
 
 359 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 with a request that it might not be opened 
 till the following morning. The contents 
 of the packet were no less interesting than 
 surprising ; they consisted of various poems 
 in manuscript, written during her solitary 
 walks, and all of them referring to the 
 bard to whom Newstead once belonged. 
 A letter, addressed to Mrs. Wildman, was 
 enclosed with the poetry, written with much 
 elegance of language and native feeling; it 
 described her friendless situation, alluded 
 to her pecuniary ditficulties, thanked the 
 family for their kind attention towards her, 
 and stated the necessity she was under of 
 removing for a short period from Newstead. 
 It appeared from her statement, that she 
 had connections in America, that her bro- 
 ther had died there, leaving a widow and 
 family, and she requested colonel Wild- 
 man's assistance to arrange certain matters, 
 in which she was materially concerned. 
 She concluded with declaring, that her only 
 happiness in this world consisted in the 
 privilege of being allowed to wander 
 through the domain of Newstead, and to 
 trace the various spots which had been 
 consecrated by the genius of lord Byron. 
 A most kind and compassionate note was 
 conveyed to her immediately after the 
 perusal of this letter, urgmg her, either to 
 give up her journeyj or to return to New- 
 stead as quickly as possible. With the 
 melancholy sequel the reader is acquainted. 
 Colonel Wddman took upon himself the care 
 jf her interment, and she was buried in the 
 church-yard of Hucknall, as near as pos- 
 sible to the vault which contains the body 
 of lord Byron. The last poem she com- 
 posed was the following: it seems to have 
 been dictated by a melancholy foreboding 
 2f her fate. 
 
 My last Walk in the Gardens of 
 Newstead Abbey. 
 
 Here no longer shall I wander 
 
 Lone, but in communion high. 
 Kindred spirits greet me — yonder 
 
 Glows the form that's ever nigh. 
 
 Wrapt in blissful contemplation. 
 
 From that hill no more I gaze 
 On scenes as fair as when creation 
 
 Rose — the theme of seraphs' lays. 
 
 And thon, fair sylph, that round its basis 
 Driv'st thy car, with milk-white steed ; 
 
 Oft I watch'd its gentle paces — 
 Mark'd its track with curious heed. 
 
 Why ? oh ! why thus interesting. 
 Are forms and scenes to me unknown ? 
 
 Oh you, the Muses' power confessing. 
 Define the charm your bosoms own. 
 
 Why love to gaze or playful fountain. 
 Or lake, that bore hi:n on Us breast? 
 
 Lonely to wander o'er each mountain. 
 Grove, or plain, his feet have preas'd ? 
 
 It is because the Muses hover. 
 
 And all around, a halo shed; 
 Ard still must every fond adorer 
 
 Worship the shrine, the idol fled. 
 
 But 'tis past; and now for ever 
 
 Fancy's vision's bliss is o'er ; 
 But to forget thee, Newstead — never, 
 
 Though I shall haunt thy shades no more.* 
 
 DUliLS. 
 
 Duelling in England was carried to its 
 greatest possible excess in the reigns of 
 James I. and of the twu Charles's, in the 
 reign of the latter Charles, the seconds 
 always fought as well as their principals ; 
 and as they were chosen for their courage 
 and adroitness, their combats were gene- 
 rally ttie most fatal. Lord Howard, of 
 Cai lisle, in the reign of Charles IL, gave a 
 grand fete champetre at Spring Gardens, 
 near the village of Charing, the Vauxhail 
 of that day. This fete was to facilitate an 
 intrigue between lord Howard and the 
 profligate duchess of Shrewsbury : but the 
 gay and insinuating Sidney flirted with the 
 duchess, abstracted her attention from 
 Howard, and ridiculed the fete. The next 
 day his lordship sent a cliallenge to Sidney, 
 who chose as his second a tall, furious, 
 adroit swordsman, named Dillon; Howard 
 selected a young gentleman, named Raw- 
 lings, just come into possession of an 
 estate of 10,000/. a year. Sidney was 
 wounded in two or three places, whilst his 
 second was run throuoh the heart, and lefi 
 dead on the lield. The duke of Shrews- 
 bury became afterwards so irritated as to 
 challenge the infamous Buckingham for 
 intriguing with his wife. The duchess of 
 Shrewsbury, in the disguise of a page, 
 attended Buckingham to the field, and held 
 his horse whilst he fought and killed 
 her husband. The profligate king, in 
 spite of every remonstrance from tht 
 queen, received the duke of Buckingham 
 with open arms, after this brutal murder. 
 
 In 172 duels fought during the last sixty 
 years, 69 persons were killed ; (in three of 
 these duels, neither of the combatants sur- 
 vived ;) 96 persons were wounded, 48 
 desperately and 48 slightly; and 188 
 escaped unhurt. Thus, rather more than 
 one-fifth lost their lives, and nearly one-halt 
 
 • N^ottingham Review 
 
 360 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 received the bullets of their antagonists. 
 It appears also, that out of this number of 
 duels, eighteen trials look place; six of 
 the arraigned vveie acquitted, seven found 
 guilty of manslaughter, and three of mur- 
 der ; two were executed, and eight impri 
 soned for different periods. 
 
 About thirty years ago, there was a duel- 
 ling society held in Charleston, South 
 Carolina, where each " gentleman" took 
 precedence according to the numbers he 
 had killed or wounded in duels. The pre- 
 sident and deputy had killed many. It 
 happened that an old weather-beaten lieu- 
 tenant of the English navy arrived at 
 Charleston, to see after some properly 
 which had devolved upon him, in right ot 
 a Charleston lady, whom he had married ; 
 and on going into a coffee-house, engaged 
 in conversation with a native, whose in- 
 sults against England were resented, and 
 the English lieutenant received a chal- 
 lenge. As soon as the affair was known, 
 some gentlemen waited upon the stranger 
 to inform him, that the man who had called 
 him out was a duellist, a "dead shot," the 
 president of the duellist club ; they added, 
 that the society and all its members, 
 though the wealthiest people of the place, 
 were considered so infamous by really re- 
 spectable persons, that he would not be 
 held in disesteem by not meeting the chal- 
 lenger. The lieutenant replied, that he was 
 not afraid of any duellist ; he had accepted 
 the challenge, and would meet his man. 
 They accordingly did meet, and at the first 
 f5re the lieutenant mortally wounded his 
 antagonist. In great agony, and con- 
 science-stricken, he invoked the aid of 
 several divines, and calling the "duellist 
 society " to his bedside, lectured them 
 upon the atrocity of their conduct, and 
 begged, as his dying request, that the club 
 might be broken up. The death of this 
 ruffian suppressed a society which the 
 country did not possess suflHcient morals or 
 gentlemanly spirit to subdue. 
 
 In Virginia, a Mr. Powell, a notorious 
 duellist, purposely met and insulted an 
 English traveller, for having said, that "the 
 Virginians were of no use to the American 
 Union, it requiring one half of the Vir- 
 ginians to keep the other half in order ;" 
 the newspapers took it up as a national 
 quarrel, and anticipated the meeting, with- 
 out the magistiacy having decency, morals, 
 or public spirit sufficient to interfere. The 
 Englishman, therefore, got an American 
 duellist as his second, went into training 
 and practice, and met his adversary amidst 
 I mob of many thousands to witness the 
 
 fight. Mr. Powell was killed on the first 
 shot, and the Englishman remained unhurt. 
 
 The brother of general Delancey, the late 
 barrack-master general, having high words 
 with a " gentleman" in a coffee-house at 
 New York, the American immediately 
 called for pistols, and insisted upon fight- 
 ing in the public coffee-room, across one of 
 the tables None of the "gentlemen" pre- 
 sent interfered ; ihey fought acioss the table, 
 and the American dishonestly firing before 
 his time, the Englishman was shot dead 
 upon the spot. Lately, at NashviiU, a 
 gentleman was shot dead before his own 
 door, in a duel, in the principal square of 
 the city. 
 
 In 1763, the secretary of the English trea- 
 sury, I\lr. Martin, notoriously trained him- 
 self as a duellist, for the avowed puipose of 
 shooting Mr. Wilkes, whom he first insulted 
 in the House of Commons, and afterwards 
 wounded in the park. This gave rise to 
 Churchill's poem of " The Duellist ;" the 
 House of Commons ordered his majesty's 
 seigeant surgeon to attend Mr. Wilkes, and 
 Mr. Martin was considered to " have done 
 the state some service." 
 
 At that period duels were frequent 
 among clergymen. In 1764, the Rev. Mr. 
 Hill was killed in a duel by cornet Gar- 
 dener, of the carabineer. The Reverend 
 Mr. l-iate fought two duels, and was subse- 
 quently created a baronet, and prefened to 
 a deanery after he had fought another duel. 
 The Revere7id Mr. Allen killed a Mr. Delany 
 in a duel, in Hyde Park, without incurring 
 any ecclesiastical censure, though judge 
 Buller, on account of his extremely bad 
 conduct, strongly charged his guilt upon the 
 jury. 
 
 In 1765, occurred a celebrated duel be- 
 tween the father of the late lord Byron and 
 Mr. Chaworth, a famous duellist. They 
 quarrelled at a club-dinner at the Star and 
 Garter, Pall Mall, about game ; Chaworth 
 was a great game preserver, and lord Byron 
 had argued upon the cruelty and impolicy 
 v>f the game laws. They agreed to fight in 
 an adjoining room, by the light of only one 
 candle. Lord Byron entered first; and, 
 as Chaworth was shutting the door, turning 
 his head round, he beheld lord Byron's 
 sword half undrawn; he immediately 
 whipped his own weapon out, and making 
 a lunge at his lordship, ran it through his 
 waistcoat, conceiving that his sword had 
 gone through his body: lord Byron closed, 
 and, shortening his sword, stabbed Mr. 
 Chaworth in the belly. The challenge had 
 proceeded from Chaworth. Lord Byron 
 read his d'-fence to the House of Lords 
 
 361 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ;ind was found guilty of mans.aughter ; and, 
 vjpon the privilege of his peerage, was dis- 
 chartied on y)ayinghis fees. 
 
 In 1772, a Mr. M'Lean was challenged 
 and killed by a Mr. Cameron ; and the 
 mother of Mr. M'Lean, on hearing of the 
 shocking event, instarUly lost her senses, 
 whilst a Miss M'Leod, who was to have 
 heen married to the deceased, was seized 
 with fits, and died in three days. 
 
 In Mr. Sheridan's duel with Mr. Ma- 
 thews, the parties cut and slashed at each 
 other, a la mode de theatre, until Mr. 
 Mathews left a part of his sword sticking 
 in Mr. Sheridan's ear. 
 
 In a famous duel in which Mr. Riddell 
 was killed, and Mr. Cunningham very 
 severely wounded, the challenge, by mis- 
 take, had fallen in the first instance into 
 the hands of sir James Riddell, father to 
 Mr. Riddell, who, on having it delivered 
 to him, did no more than provide surgeons 
 for the event. 
 
 In 1789, colonel Lennox conceived him- 
 self to have been insulted by the late duke 
 of York having told him, before all the 
 officers on the parade of St. James's, " that 
 he desired to derive no protection from his 
 rank of prince." The colonel accordingly 
 fought his royal highness, it was said, with 
 cork bullets; but be that as it may, he 
 contrived to disturb one of the huge rows 
 of curls which it was then the fashion to 
 wear on the side of the head. 
 
 In 1790, a captain Macrae fought and 
 killed sir George Ramsay, for refusing to 
 dismiss a faithful old servant who had in- 
 sulted captain Macrae. Sir George urged, 
 that even if the servant were guilty, he had 
 been sufficiently punished by the cruel 
 beating that captain Macrae had given him. 
 As soon as the servant heard that his mas- 
 ter had been killed on his account, he fell 
 into strong convulsions, and died in a few 
 hours. Captain Macrae fled, and was 
 outlawed. 
 
 In 1797, colonel Fitzgerald, a married 
 man, eloped from Windsor with his cousin, 
 the daughter of lord Kingston. Colonel 
 King, the brother, fought colonel Fitzge- 
 rald in Hyde Park. They fired six shots 
 each without effect; and the powder being 
 exhausted, colonel King called his opponent 
 " a villain," and they resolved to fight again 
 next day. They were, however, put under 
 an arrest, when colonel Fitzgerald had the 
 audacity to follow lord Kingston's family 
 to Ireland, to obtain the object of his seduc- 
 tion ftom her parents. Colonel King 
 nearing of this, repaired to the iim where 
 coir)nel Fitzgerald put up. Col« j-J FUi 
 
 gerald had locked himself in his room, and 
 refused admission to colonel King, who 
 broke open the door, and running to a case 
 of pistols, seized one, and desired colonel 
 Fitzgerald to take the other. The parties 
 grappled, and were fighting, when lord 
 Kingston entered the room; and perceiving, 
 from the position of the parties, that his 
 son must lose his life, instantly shot Fitz- 
 gerald dead on the spot. 
 
 In 1803, a very singular duel took place 
 in Hyde Park, between a lieutenant VV., of 
 the navy, and a captain I., of the army. 
 Captain I. had seduced the lieutenant's 
 sister. Lieutenant W. seemed impressed 
 with a deep sense of melancholy : he in- 
 sisted that the distance should be only six 
 paces. At this distance they fired, and the 
 shot of captain I. struck the guard of lieu- 
 tenant W.'s pistol, and tore off two fingers 
 of his right hand. The lieutenant delibe- 
 rately wrapped his handkerchief round the 
 wound, and looking solemnly to heaven, 
 exclaimed, " I have a left hand, which 
 never failed me.'' They again took theii 
 ground. Lieutenant W. looked steadfastly 
 at captain L, and castmg his eyes up to 
 heaven, was heard to utter " forgive me.'' 
 They fired, and both fell. Captain I. re- 
 ceived the ball in his head, and died in- 
 stantly : the lieutenant was shot througli 
 the breast. He inquired if captain I.'s 
 wound was mortal. Being answered in 
 the affirmative, he thanked heaven that he 
 had lived so long. He then took hi.'- 
 mourning ring off his finger, and said to 
 his second, " Give this to my sister, and 
 tell her it is the happiest moment I ever 
 knew." He had scarcely uttered the lasi 
 word, when a quantity of blood gushed 
 from his wound, and he instantly expired. 
 These are practices in a Christian country. 
 
 ANSWER TO A CHALLENGE. 
 
 At a late meeting under a commission o\ 
 bankruptcy, at Andover, between Mr. 
 Flef.t and Mr. Mann, both respectable 
 solicitors of that town, some disagreement 
 arose, which ended in the former sending 
 the latter a challenge, to which the follow- 
 ing answer was returned. 
 
 To Kingston Fleet, Esq. 
 
 I am honour'd thi» day, sir, with challenges two, 
 The first from friend I^an^don, the second from yon ; 
 A.S the one is to Jight, and the other to dine, 
 I accept Ats " engagement," and yours must decline. 
 Now, in giving this preference, I trust you'll admit 
 1 have acted with prudence, and done what was fit, 
 
 3G2 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Since enco'inlenng Aim, and ray weapon a knife, 
 There is some little chance o( preserving my life ; 
 Whilst a bullet from you, sir, migM. tal;e it away. 
 And the maxim, you know, is to live while you may. 
 It, however, you still should suppose I ill-treat you. 
 By sternly rejecting this challenge to meet you. 
 Bear with me a moment, and I will adduce 
 Three powerful reasons by way of excuse : 
 [n the first place, unless I am grossly decelv'd, 
 I myself am in conscience the party aggriev'd ; 
 And therefore, good sir, if a challenge must be. 
 Pray wait till that challenge be tender d by me. 
 Again, sir, I think it by far the more sinful. 
 To stand aud be shot, than to sit for a skinful ; 
 From whence you'll conclude (as I'd have you, indeed) 
 That fighting composes not part of my creed — 
 And my courage (which, though it was nevsr disputed. 
 Is not, I imagine, too, too deeply rooted) 
 Would prefer that its fruit, sir, whate'er it may yield. 
 Should appear at " the tabic" and not in " tlie field." 
 And, lastly, my life, be it never forgot, 
 Possesses a value which yuurs, sir, does not ;■* 
 So [ mean to preserve it as long as i can. 
 Being ju'jtly entitled " a family Man" 
 With three or four children, (1 scarce know how many.) 
 Whilst 2/OM, sir, have not, or ought not, to have any. 
 Besides, that the contest wca.d be too unequal, 
 I doubt not will plainly appear by the sequel : 
 For e'en yuu must acknowledge it would not be meet 
 That one small " Mann of war" should engage " a 
 whole Fleet." 
 
 Andover, July 24, 1826. 
 
 SIGNS OF LUVE, AT OXFOllD. 
 Jiy an Jnn-consolable Lover. 
 
 She's a^ li?ht as Ihe Greyhound, and fair as \h« Angel ; 
 
 Her luoKs tnan the Mitre more sanctified are ; 
 But she flies like the Roebuck, and leaves me to 
 range ill. 
 
 Still looking to her as my true polar Star. 
 New /n«-ventions I try, with new art to adore. 
 But my fate is, alas ! to be voted a Bvar ; 
 .\Iy Goats 1 forsook to contemplate her charms. 
 And must own she is fit for our noble King's Arms. 
 Now Cross'd, and now Jochey'd, now sad, now elate. 
 The Chequers appear but a map of my fate ; 
 I blush'd like a Blue-cur to send her a Pheasant. 
 But she call'd me a Turh, and rejected my present ; 
 So I moped to the Barley-mow, griev'd in my mind. 
 That the Ark from the flood ever rescu'd mankind ! 
 
 my dreams Liuns roar, and the Green Dragon grins 
 -.nd fiends rise in shape of the Seven deadly sins. 
 "hen I ogle the Bells, should I see her approach, 
 skip like a Nag and jump into the Coach. 
 She is crimson and white, like a Shoulder of Mutton, 
 Not the red of the Ox was so bright, when first put on • 
 uike the Hollybush prickles, she scratches ii;y liver, 
 labile I moan, and I dift like the Swan by the river I 
 
 The copiousness and the multiplicity oi 
 the writings of many authors, have shown 
 that too many find a pleasure in the act of 
 composition, which they do not communi- 
 cate to others. Great erudition and every- 
 day application is the calamity of that 
 voluminous author, who, without sfood 
 sense, and what is more rare, without that 
 ex(juisite judgment which we call good taste 
 is always prepared to write on any subject, 
 but at the same time on no one reasonably 
 We are astonished at the fertility and the 
 size of our own writers of the seventeenth 
 century, when the theological war of words 
 raged, spoiling so many pages and brains. 
 They produced folio after folio, like alma- 
 nacks. The truth is, that it was then easier to 
 write up to a folio, than in our days to 
 write down to an octavo; for correction, 
 selection, and rejection, were aits as yet 
 unpractised. They went on with theii 
 work, sharply or bluntly, like witless mowers 
 without stopping to whet theirscythes. They 
 were inspired by the scribbling demon oi 
 that rabbin, who, in his orietital style and 
 mania of volume, exclaimed, that were 
 " the heavens formed of paper, and were 
 the trees of the earth pens, and if the entire 
 sea run ink, these only could suffice" for 
 the monstrous genius he was about to dis- 
 charge on the world. 
 
 * Mi. Kleflt is a batchelor. 
 
 WILLIAM PRYNNE. 
 
 Prynne seldom dined : every three or 
 four hours he munched a manchet, and re- 
 freshed his exhausted spirits with ale 
 brought to him by his servant ; and when 
 " he was put into this road of writing," as 
 Anthony a Wood telleth, he fixed on " a 
 long quilted cap, which came an inch over 
 his eyes, serving as an umbrella to defend 
 them fiom too much light ;" and then, 
 hunger nor thirst did he experience, save 
 that of his voluminous pages. Prynne has 
 written a library, amounting, perhaps, to 
 neaily two hundred books. Our unlucky 
 author, whose life was involved in author- 
 ship, and his happiness, no doubt, in the 
 habitual exuberance of his pen, seems to 
 have considered the being debarred from 
 pen, ink, and books, during his imprison- 
 ment, as an act more barbarous than the 
 loss of his ears. The extraordinary perse- 
 verance of Prynne in this fever of the jien 
 appears in the following title of one of his 
 extraordinary volumes, "■ Comfortable Cor- 
 dials against discomfortable Fears of Im- 
 orisonment ; containing some Latin V^erses 
 
 363 
 
THE TABLE BOOiL 
 
 Sentences, and Texts of Scripture, trrifteii 
 hy Mr. ffm. Pryune on his Chamber fFalls, 
 in the Tower of London, during his Im- 
 prisonment there ; translated by him into 
 English Verse, 1641." Prynne literally 
 verified Pope's description : — 
 
 " Is there, who, looked from ink and paper, scrawls. 
 With desperate charcoal round his darkened walls." 
 
 We have also a catalogue of printed 
 books, written by Wm. Prynn-e, Esq., of 
 Lincoln's Inn, in these classes, 
 
 Before, 
 
 DURI 
 
 and 
 Since 
 
 [IE, -X 
 NG, f ,. 
 
 IS imprisonment, 
 
 with this motto, " Jucundi acti labores," 
 1643. The secret history of this volumi- 
 nous author concludes with a characteristic 
 event : a contemporary who saw Prynne in 
 the pillory at Cheapside, informs us, that 
 while he stood there they " burnt his huge 
 volumes under his nose, which had almost 
 suffocated him.'' 
 
 FRENCH PAMPHLETEER. 
 
 One Catherinot all his life was printing 
 a countless number of feuilles volantes in 
 history and on antiquities; each consisting 
 of about three or four leaves in quarto : 
 Lenglet du Fresnoy calls him " Grand au- 
 teur des petits livres." This gentleman 
 liked to live among antiquaries and histo- 
 rians ; but with a crooked head-piece, stuck 
 with whims, and hard with knotty combi- 
 nations, all overloaded with prodigious 
 erudition, he could not ease it at a less rate 
 than by an occasional dissertation of three 
 or four quarto pages. He appears to have 
 published about two hundred pieces of this 
 sort, much sousht after by the curious for 
 their rarity : Brunet complains he could 
 never discover a comp.ete collection. But 
 Catherinot may escape " the pains and 
 penalties " of our voluminous writers, for 
 De Bure thinks he generously printed them 
 to distribute among his friends. Such end- 
 less writers, provided they do not print 
 themselves into an alms-house, may be 
 allowed to print themselves out ; and we 
 would accept the apology which Monsieur 
 Catherinot has framed for himself, which 
 is preserved in Beyeri MemoricE Libro- 
 riim Rariorum. " 1 must be allowed my 
 freedoin in my studies, for I substitute my 
 writins^s for a game at the tennis-court, or a 
 2lub at the tavern ; I never counted among 
 •ny honours these opuscula of mine, but 
 
 merely as harmless amusements- It is my 
 partridge, as with St. John the Evangelist; 
 my cat, as with Pope St. Gregory ; my 
 little dog, as with St. Dominick; my lamb, 
 as with St. Francis ; my great black mastiff, 
 as with Cornelius Agrippa; and my tame 
 hare, as with Justus Lipsius." Catherinot 
 could never get a printer, and was rather 
 compelled to study economy in his two 
 hundred quartos of four or eight pages ; 
 his paper was of inferior quality, and 
 wlien he could not get his dissertations into 
 his prescribed number of pages, he used to 
 promise the end at another time, which did 
 not always happen. But his greatest anxiety 
 was to publish and spread his works ; in 
 despair he adopted an odd expedient 
 Whenever Monsieur Catherinot came to 
 Paris, he used to haunt the qiiaies where 
 books are sold, and while he appeared to 
 be looking over them, he adroitly slided 
 one of his own dissertations among these 
 old books. He began this mode of pub- 
 lication early, and continued it to his last 
 days. He died with a perfect conviction 
 that he had secured his immortality ; and 
 in this manner he disposed of more than 
 one edition of his unsaleable woiks.* 
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS OF A TOBAC 
 CONIST. 
 
 For the Table Book, 
 1. 
 
 When b!e5s'd with Fanny's rosy siQile.s 
 
 I thought myself in heaven; 
 Fanny is bloocning twenty-two, 
 
 Ani 1 am — thirty-seven. 
 
 2. 
 
 I thought her deck'd with every grace, 
 
 Without one vice to jar. 
 Fresh as new carrut was her face 
 
 And sweet as Macabar. 
 3. 
 Besides a person fair to view 
 
 She had a thousand pounds ; 
 Kot to be sneezed at — I had two. 
 
 And credit without bounds, 
 4. 
 Our courtship oft consisted in 
 
 Slight taps and gentle knocks ; 
 And when I gave her a nmM pinch. 
 
 She quick return'd a box. 
 5. 
 Howe'er, one morning, in a ra^e, 
 
 With rae herself she put, 
 She call'd me blachguard, and dcclit'it 
 
 I was from thence short cut. 
 
 * O'laracu. 
 
 364 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 6. 
 
 In vain I tiied the cause to smoke. 
 When she had ta'en offence; 
 
 In vnin recall'd the words I spoke. 
 That she had deeiri'd bad scants. 
 
 But soon » mutual friend contnv'd 
 Our quarrel up to botch ; 
 
 Fanny confess'd ho temper warm — 
 'Tvvas natural — sh;> was Seotch. 
 
 We married — snugly in my shop 
 
 Fanny's become a fixture, 
 And all the neighbourhood declare. 
 
 We're quite a peasant mixture. 
 
 Sam Sam's Son. 
 
 THE LORD CHANCELLOR. 
 
 The title of chancellor originated with 
 the Romans. It was adopted by the church, 
 and became a half ecclesiastic, and half lay 
 jffice. The chancellor was intrusted with 
 ill public injlruments which were authen- 
 ticated; and when seals came into use, the 
 custody of them was confided to that officer. 
 The mere delivery of the king's great seal, 
 or the taking it away, is all the ceremony 
 that is used in creating or unmaking a 
 chancellor, the officer of the greatest weight 
 and power subsisting m the kingdom. The 
 first chancellor iti England was appointed 
 in the reign of W)lliam the Conqueror, and 
 with only one exception, it was enjoyed by 
 ecclesiastics until the time of Elizabeth, 
 V. tien such officers were called keepers of 
 ihe great seal. From the time of sir Tho- 
 JDas More's appointment, which took place 
 in the reign of Henry VIIL, there is only 
 cne instance o^ a clergyman having been 
 elevated to the office — namely, Dr. \\i\- 
 lams, dean of Westminster, in the time of 
 James L — The chancellor is a privy coun- 
 sellor by office, and speaker of the house 
 of lords by prescription. To him belongs 
 the appointment of all justices of the peace 
 throughout the kingdom. When the chan- 
 cellor was an ecclesiastic, he became keeper 
 of the king's conscience, and remained so. 
 He is also visitor of all hospitals and col- 
 leges of the king's foundation. He is 
 patron of all livings under twenty pounds 
 per annum in the king's book. He is the 
 general guaidian of all infants, idiots, and 
 lunatics, and has the superintendence of all 
 charitable institutions in the kingdom. He 
 takes precedent of every temporal lord, ex- 
 cept the royal family, and of all others, 
 except the archbishop of Canterbury. It 
 
 is declared treason by statute of Edward 
 III. to slay the chancellor in his place, and 
 doing his office. — In the year 1689, there 
 were commissioners appointed for execut- 
 ing the office of lord chancellor. 
 
 The great Lord Chancellor. 
 
 Sir Thomas More, when at tlie bar, is 
 said to have undertaken only such causes 
 as appeared just to his conscience, and 
 never to have accepted a fee from a widow, 
 orphan, or poor person ; yet he acquired 
 by his practice the considerable sum, in 
 those days, of four hundred pounds per 
 annum. When he rose to the height of 
 his profession, his diligence was so great, 
 that one day being in court he called for 
 the next cause, on which it was answered, 
 that there were no more suits in chanceiy. 
 This made a punning bard of that time thus 
 express himself.- — 
 
 When More som,e years had chancellor been. 
 
 No more suits did remain ; 
 The same shall never more be seen. 
 
 Till More be there again. 
 
 CUANCERY. 
 
 Cancellcp, are lattice-work, by which the 
 chancels being formerly parted from the 
 body of the church, they took their names 
 from thence Hence, too, the court of 
 chmicert/ and the lord chancellor borrowed 
 their names, that court being enclosed with 
 open work of that kind. And, so, to cancei 
 a writing is to cross it out with the pen, 
 which naturally makes something like the 
 figure of a lattice. 
 
 DiLIGEMCE AND DELtGHT. 
 
 It is a common observation, that unless 
 a man takes a delight in a thing, he will 
 never pursue it with pleasure or assiduity. 
 Diligentia, diligence, is from diligo, to 
 love. 
 
 Pamphlet, Palm, Palmistry. 
 
 Pamphlet. — This word is ancient, see 
 Lilye's Euphnes, p. 5 ; Lambarde's Per- 
 ambulation of Kent, p. 188; Hearne's Cur. 
 Disc. p. 130 ; Hall's Chronicle, in Edward 
 V. f. 2 ; Richara III. f. 32 ; Skelton, p. 47 ; 
 Caxton's Preface to his Virgil, where it is 
 wriUiin paurijlel his ; Oldys's British Libri- 
 rian, p. 128; Nash, p. 3, 64; and also his 
 preface, wherein he has the phrase, *' to 
 pamphlet on a person " and pampheleter, p. 
 30. 
 
 365 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 rhe French have not the word pamphlet, 
 and yet it seems tabe of French extraction, 
 and no other than palm-feniUet, a leaf to 
 be held in the hand, a book being a thin^ 
 of a greater weight. So the French call it 
 now feuille volante, retaining one part of 
 the compound. 
 
 Palm is the old French word for hand, 
 from whence we have pulmhtry, the palm 
 of the hand, a palm or span, and to palm a 
 card, and from thence the metaphor of 
 palming any thing upon a person. 
 
 Cambridge Wit. 
 
 A gentleman of St. John's College, Cam- 
 bridge, having a clubbed foot, which occa- 
 sioned him to wear a shoe upon it of a 
 particular make, and with a high heel, cue 
 of the college wits called hirn Bildad the 
 shuhite. 
 
 Gradu SiL Reform. 
 
 When lord Muskerry sailed to New- 
 foundland, George Rot-ke went with hiin a 
 volunteer: George was greatly addicted to 
 •ying; and my lord, being very sensible of 
 >t ard very familiar v\ith George, said to 
 
 him one day, " F wonder you will not leave 
 off' this abominable custom of lying, 
 George." " I can't help it," said the other. 
 " Puh !" says my lord, " it may be done by 
 degrees ; suppose you were to begin with 
 uttering one truth a day." 
 
 PmvATE AND Public. 
 
 Charles II. spending a cheerful evening 
 with a few friends, one of the company, 
 seeing his majesty in good humour, thouo-fit 
 It a fit time to ask him a favour, and was 
 so absurd as to do so : after he had men- 
 tioned his suit, Charles instantly and very 
 acutely replied, " Sir, you must ask your 
 /dug for that." 
 
 A Hundred to One. 
 
 " There were a hundred justices," says 
 one, " at the monthly meeting." " A hiiri- 
 dred,"says another. " Yes," says he, " do 
 you count, and 1 will name them. There 
 was justice Balance, put down one; justice 
 Hall, put down a cipher, he is nobody; 
 justice House, you may put down another 
 cipher for him — one and two ciphers are a 
 hundred.'' 
 
 THE CHILD OF MIGHT 
 
 For the Table Bo-ok. 
 
 War was abroad, and the fleeting gale 
 I^Hid, o'er the wife's and the daughter's wail, 
 Brought the summoning sound of the clarion's blast— 
 ^geand affection looked their last 
 On the valour and youth that went forth to the tomb- 
 Young eyes were bright at the nodding plume — 
 Banner and spear gleam'd in the sun — 
 Ax\A the laugh was loud as the day were won: 
 But the sun shall set, and — ere 'tis night, — 
 Woe to thee, Child of Pride and Might, 
 
 'Tis the hour of battle, the hosts are met, 
 Piere'd is the hauberk, cleft the bass'net : 
 Like a torrent the legions tbunder'd on — 
 Lo ! like its foam, they are vanish'd and gone 
 Thou whom this day beauty's arms car>esi, 
 The hoof of the fleeing spurns thy crest — 
 Tliy pride yet lives on thy darK brow's height, 
 But, where is thy power, Child of MicHa"* 
 
 J. J.JL 
 
 366 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE OLD WATER CARKILK. 
 
 " Any Xew-River water here. " 
 
 Tliis .s anotlier of the criers of a hundred 
 vears ago, and, it seems, lie cried " A'ew- 
 River water." Tiie cry is scarce, though 
 scarcely extinct, in the environs of London. 
 
 I well remember the old prejudices of old- 
 fashioned people in favour of water brought 
 to the door, and their sympathy with the 
 complaints of the water-bearer. " Fresh 
 and fair nevv Kiver-water ! none of your 
 pipe sludge !" vociferated the water-bearer. 
 "' Ah dear !" cried his customers, " Ah dear ! 
 Well, what'll the world come to ! — they 
 ivo'n't let poor people live at all by and 
 by — here they're breaking up the ground, 
 and we shall be all under water some day 
 !ir other with their goings on — I'll stick to 
 (he earlier as long as he has a pail-full and 
 I've a penny, and when we haven't we must 
 all go to the workhouse together." This 
 ivas the talk and the reasoning of many 
 nonest people within my recollection, who 
 {'-referred taxing tiiemselves to the daily 
 Dayment of a penny and often twopence to 
 
 the water-carrier, in preference to having 
 " Company's-water " at eighteen shillings 
 per annum. Persons of this order of mind 
 were neither political economists nor do- 
 mestic economists : they were, for the mosl 
 part, simple and kind-hearted souls, wht 
 illustrated the ancient saying, that " the 
 destruction of the poor is their poverty" 
 — they have perished for " lack of know 
 ledge." 
 
 Tiie governing principle of Napoleon 
 ■was, that " every thing must be done for 
 the people, and nothing by them :" the 
 ruhng practice of the British people is to 
 do every thing for themselves ; and by the 
 maintenarce of this good old custom they 
 liave preserved individual freedom, and 
 attained to national greatness. All our 
 beneficial national works have originated 
 with ourselves — our roads, our bridges, our 
 canals, our water-companies, have all beer 
 constructed by our own enterprise, and in 
 the order of our wants. 
 
 Vt)L. III. 
 
 367 
 
 2B 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 No. XXI 
 
 [Fi om Sir Richard Fanshaw's Transla- 
 tion of " Querer Per Solo Querer" — "To 
 love for love's sake" — a Romantic Draaia, 
 written in Spanish by Mendoza: 1649.] 
 
 Fe'uisbravo, Prince of Persia, ffom a 
 Picture sent him of the hrave ^ina^Onian 
 Qiiee'i of Tartury, Zdidaura, becoming 
 e)iam mred, sets out for that realm ; in his 
 way thither diseuchditts a Queen of A ruby ; 
 but frst, overcome by fatigue, falls asleep 
 in th,> Enchanted Grove, where Zelidaura 
 herse f coming by, steals the Picture from 
 him. The passion of the Romance arises 
 from his remorse at being taken so negli- 
 gent and her disdain that he should sleep, 
 havin f the company of her Picture. She 
 here ilays upon him, who does not yet know 
 her, i i the disguise of a Rustic. 
 
 Fel. What a spanking Labradora 1 
 
 Zel. You, the unkent Knight, God ye gud mora I* 
 
 Fel The time of day thou dost mistake. 
 
 Zcl. — and joy — 
 
 Fel. —of what ? 
 
 Zel. That I discover, 
 By a; iTe sign, you are awake. 
 
 FcU Awake ? the sign — 
 
 Zel. Your being a lover. 
 
 Fel. In love am I ? 
 
 Zel. — and very deep. 
 
 Fel Deep in love ! how is that seen? 
 
 Zel. Perfectly. You do not sleep. 
 
 Fel. Rustic Kxcellence, unscreen. 
 And d cover that sweet face. 
 Which covers so much wit and grace. 
 
 Zel. You but dream so : sleep again. 
 And fi ;get it. 
 
 Fel. Why, now. Saint ? 
 
 Zcl. Why, the Lady, that weat in,f- 
 Looks IS if that she did paint. 
 
 Fel What has that to do with sleeping ? 
 She is ndeed angelical. 
 
 Zel. That picture now's well worth yonr keeping. 
 For vj y ? 'tis an original. 
 
 Fel Is this Shepherdess a Witch ? 
 Or sa'\ the sleeping treason, which 
 I com itted against Love 
 Krst, 1 the Enchanted Grove? 
 Me ha t thou ever seen before ? 
 
 Zel Seen ? aye, and know thee for a man 
 That ill turn him, and sleep more 
 Thau i. dozen dunces can. 
 fhou en'st little what sighs mean. 
 
 Fel Unveil, by Jove, that face serene. 
 
 Zcl. What, to make thee sleep again ? 
 
 • Sie affects rusticity. 
 
 + Tlie Enchanted Queen of Araby, of whom Zel'- 
 li^ira s jealous. 
 
 Fel. Still in riddles ? 
 
 Zel. Now he sees : 
 This pinching wakes him by degree*. 
 
 Ftl. Art thou a Nymph? 
 
 Zel. Of Pamass Green. 
 
 Fel. Sleep I indeed, or am I mad .' 
 
 Zel. None serve thee but the Enchanted (ioaaj? 
 I think what dull conceits ye have had 
 Of the bird Phoenix, which no eye 
 K'ef saw ; an odoriferous Lye : 
 rio'w of her beauty's spells she's told ; 
 That by her spirit thou art haunted ; 
 And, having slept away the old. 
 With this new Mistress worse enchanted. 
 
 Fel. I affect not. Shepherdess, 
 Myself in such fine terms to express; 
 Sufficeth me an humble strain ; 
 Too little happy to be vain. — 
 Unveil! 
 
 Zel. Sir Gallant, not so fast. 
 
 Fel. See thee I will. 
 
 Zel. See me you shall. 
 Bat touch not fruit you must not taste. 
 {^She takes off her veil.) 
 
 What says it, now the leaf doth fall ? 
 
 Fel. It says, 'lis worthy to comprize 
 The kernel of so rare a wit : 
 Nor, that it grows in Paradise ; 
 But Paradise doth grow in it. 
 I'he tall and slender trunk no less divine. 
 Xho' iu a lowly Shepherdesses rine. 
 
 (He begins to know her.) 
 
 This should be that so famous Queen 
 For unquell'd valour and disdain. — 
 In these Enchanted Wooas is seen 
 Nothing but iliusicns vain. 
 
 Zel. What stares the man at ? 
 
 Fel. I compare 
 A Picture — I once mine did call — 
 With the divine Original. 
 
 Zel. Fall'n again asleep you are • 
 We poor human Shepherd Lasses 
 Nor are pictured, nor use glasses. 
 Who skip their rank, themselves and betteis wrong 
 To our Uames, god bless 'em, such quaint things belo^ig 
 Here a tiny brook alone. 
 Which fringed with borrow'd flowers (he has 
 Gold and silver enough on his own) 
 Is heaven's proper looking-glass, 
 Copies us : and its reflections. 
 Shewing natural perfections. 
 Free from sooti.ing, free from error. 
 Are our pencil, are our mirror 
 
 Fel. Art thou a Shepherdess ? 
 
 Zel. — and bore 
 On a mountain, called There. 
 
 Fel. Wear'st thou ever heretofore 
 Lndy's clothes ? 
 
 Zel. I Lady's gear ? — 
 Yes — what a treacherous poll have I 1— 
 In a Country Comedy 
 I once enacted a main part- 
 
 368 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Sur. I £8 vt it half by heart : 
 
 The famous History it was 
 
 Of an Arabian — let me see — 
 
 No, of a Queen o( Tartary, 
 
 Who all her sex did far surpass 
 
 Zn beauty, wit, and chivalry : 
 
 Who with invincible disdain 
 
 Would fool, when she was in the vein. 
 
 Princes with all their wits about 'em ; 
 
 But, an they slept, to death she'd flout 'em. 
 
 And, by the mass, with such a mien 
 
 My Majesty did play the Queen ; 
 
 Our Curate had ray Picture made. 
 
 In the same robes in w'jich I play'd. 
 
 To my taste mis is hne, eiegani, (niuee n- 
 Sike raillery ; a second part of Love's La- 
 bours Lost which title this extraordinary 
 Play has still better pretensions than even 
 Shakspeare's : for after leading three pair 
 of Royal Lovers thro' endless mazes of 
 doubts, difficulties ; oppositions of dead 
 fathers' wills; a labyrinth of losings and 
 findings ; jealousies ; enchantments ; con- 
 flicts with giants, and single-handed against 
 armies ; to the exact state in which all the 
 Lovers might with the greatest propriety 
 indulge their reciprocal wishes — when, the 
 deuce is in it, you think, but they must all 
 be married now — suddenly the three Ladies 
 turn upon their Lovers ; and, as an exem- 
 plification of the moral of the Play, " Lov- 
 ing for lovina^'s sake," and a hyper-platonic, 
 truly Spanish proof of their affections — 
 demand that the Lovers shall consent to 
 their mistresses' taking upon them the vow 
 of a sintjle life ; to which the Gallants with 
 becoming refinement can do less than con- 
 sent. — The fact is that it was a Court Play, 
 in which the Characters; males, giants, and 
 all ; were played by females, and those of 
 the highest order of Grandeeship. No 
 nobleman might be permitted amongst 
 them ; and it was against the forms, that a 
 great Court Lady of Spain should consent 
 to such an unrefined motion, as that of 
 wedlock, though but in a play. 
 
 Appended to th^ Drama, the length of 
 which may be judged from its having taken 
 nine days in the representation, and me 
 three hours in the reading of it — hours well 
 wasted — is a poetical account of a fire, 
 which broke out in the Theatre on one of 
 the niglits of its acting, when the whole 
 Dramatis Personae were nearly burnt, be- 
 cause the common people out of " base 
 fear," and the Nobles out of " pure re- 
 spect," could not think of laying hands 
 upon such " great Donnas ;" till the young 
 King, breaking the etiquette, by snatching 
 up his Queen, and bearing her through the 
 
 flames upon nis back, the Grandees, (dil* 
 tory TEneases), followed his example, and 
 each saved one (Anchises-fashion), till the 
 whole Courtly Company of Comedians 
 were got off in tolerable safety. — Imagine 
 three or four stout London Firemen on such 
 an occasion, standing off in mere respect I 
 
 C. L. 
 
 THE STUART PAPERS, 
 In Possession of the KixNG. 
 
 in tne year Ibli tne public, or, more 
 correctly speaking, the English public at 
 Rome, were much excited by the report of 
 a very singular discovery. The largest and 
 the most interesting collection of papers 
 relating to the Stuart family, probably ex- 
 isting, was suddenly recovered. The cir- 
 cumstances connected with the discovery 
 are curious. Dr. W., whose residence on 
 the continent for many years had been 
 unceasingly devoted to every species of 
 research which could tend to throw liglit 
 on the antiquities of his country and the 
 history of her kings, had in the Scotch col- 
 lege at Paris, after much patient investiga- 
 tion, arrived at the knowledge of some 
 Gaelic MSS., and, what may be perhaps 
 deemed of more consequence, of several 
 papers relating to the dethroned family. 
 The Gaelic MSS., it was imagined, would 
 throw some light on the quarrel de lana 
 caprina of the Ussian " remains,'' a name 
 which, as it has been given to the Iliad and 
 Odyssey, cannot be considered as an insult 
 to the claims of the Irish or Scottish phan- 
 tom which has been conjured up under the 
 name of Ossian : but the Journals, he, 
 though they added little to his actual infor- 
 mation, and communicated few facts not 
 hitherto before the public, had at least the 
 merit of placing the end of the clue in his 
 hand, and hinting first the probability of a 
 more productive inquiry elsewheie. It 
 occurred to him that after the demise of 
 James II., as the majority of the family 
 habitually resided at Rome, much the 
 greater number of interesting documents 
 ought slill to be discoverable in that city, 
 and, whatever facilities might originally 
 have existed, they must have been increased 
 considerably, and indeed enhanced by the 
 late extinction of the direct line in the per- 
 son of the cardinal de York.* His journey 
 
 * His Royal Highness the Cardinal de York, or as he 
 was sometimes called, " Your Majesty," reposes in the 
 subterraneous church of St. Peter, under a plain sar 
 
 369 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 to Rome, and the results of his persever- 
 ance fully justified these conjectures, 
 '"here was nc thing in Dr. W.'s appear- 
 dnce or manner, nothing in the circum- 
 stances of his long absence from his coun- 
 try, which could offer motives of encourage- 
 ment; no man carried less before him, as 
 far as externals were in question, that letter 
 of recommendation to which the most un- 
 courteous are compelled to yield. He was 
 in bad odour with his own government, 
 and consequently with every thing legiti- 
 mate and subservient on the continent, and 
 one of the worst calculated individuals that 
 Providence could have selected, if not for 
 a discovery, at least for its preservation. 
 Dr. W. was known to few of his coun- 
 trymen at Rome ; and as well as I re- 
 collect, they were exclusively Scotch, but 
 his acquaintance amongst the natives was 
 extensive and useful. He had been en- 
 gaged in some cotton speculations in the 
 Campagna, which had altogether failed ; 
 more, I believe, from want of funds and 
 public spirit, than from any error in the 
 project or its execution. The soil was fa- 
 vourable, the climate favourable, and the 
 specimen I saw scarcely inferior to the 
 Asiatic. But whatever may have been the 
 causes, the results were salutary, and pro- 
 auctive at least of this advantage, that it 
 served to introduce him to the " mezzo 
 ceto. " circles of the capital. A mercante 
 di Campagna is a personage in nowise 
 inferior to a lawyer, and Dr. VV. knew 
 how to preserve his importance amongst 
 his competitors. The information which he 
 gained here was a new source of encou- 
 ragement. After much sagacious and per- 
 severing inquiry, and occasional but partial 
 disappointments, h^ at last chanced in a 
 happy hour on the great object of all his 
 labours. He was informed in rather a 
 circuitous manner, that a considerable por- 
 tion of the late cardinal de York's effects 
 
 eophag-ns, which ()Pars tlit; nainf^of Hen. IX. No one 
 will dispue the tJHf of a f^w haudfuls of dust, bu, it 
 i;i worth observing that something- very similar reap- 
 pears on the liiOiiiiinent m St. Peter's itself. This is 
 co.nsistent in a Roman: legitiniafy, like the priesthood, 
 is indelible, and cannot t)e rubbed out by misforlnne or 
 wrong. The sketch in Forsyth is interesting and deli- 
 cate, though rather .Tarobi'e nnit Scotch. I met many 
 persons who retained recollections of him at Rome, 
 but none of these recollections are worth nolicine:. He 
 se^-ms to have rendered himself more remarkable by 
 petty peeuliarities, than any gr-at qualify of heart or 
 head. He was supposed to tie the quickest driver for 
 2 cardinal of tlie wliole college, and sometimes came in 
 from Frascati, (his bishopric and habitual residence,) 
 a distance of about fourteen miles, in an hour and a 
 quarter. This was thought in tlie first instance mar- 
 rellous, and in the next indecorous. The only honours 
 \e retained were his titles great and little, and the 
 »ivilege of mountinir the Vatican in a sedan-chair. 
 
 lay still in the hands of the executors, Lut 
 coidd not at first ascertain whether they 
 comprehended any large masses of his pa- 
 pers. Enough, however, had been detected? 
 10 lead him much farther : he seized the 
 hint, profited by it, and in a few weeks 
 satisfactorily assured himself that the papers 
 were, as he suspected, included, and were 
 at that very moment at Rome. He lost no 
 time in addressing himself to the proper 
 quarter, but monsignor — — was out of 
 town, (the acting executor of the cardinal,) 
 and It was very doubtful whether his agent, 
 the abbateLupi, was sufficiently authorized 
 or empowered to dispose of them in his 
 absence; the abbate Lupi, less scrupulous, 
 or more is:norant than persons in situations 
 of such high trust, smiled at the communi- 
 cation, and conducted the doctor without 
 delay to the premises where these cartacci, 
 or paper-rubbish, as he termed them, were 
 still lying in confusion. It was a dark and 
 dreary garret or gallery, at the top of the 
 house. The abbate pushed back a crazy 
 door, and showed them heaped up, in large 
 lots, in various parts of the chamber. The 
 garret was crumbling, the wirid and rain 
 entered ad HMtum thruw^si.h the broken tiles 
 the rats prowled and plundered at full dis- 
 cretion, like the followers of Omar, and 
 had now lived for many years at free quar- 
 ters on the spoils ; but neither decay, nor 
 the seasons and their ravages, nor the rats 
 and their incursions, nor the appearance of 
 daily loss, were sufficient to rouse the 
 habitual indolence of the administrators to 
 the least effort for the preservation of the 
 remainder. There was a sufficient quantity, 
 however, left to surpass the most ardent 
 anticipations of the doctor : he gazed in 
 silence and astonishment ; it was a moment 
 of true and unalloyed delight — an in.stant 
 which, in the estimate of the enthusiast 
 will outbalance the sufferings of months 
 and years, like the " Land ! land !■" oi 
 Columbus, or the eureka of Pythagoras. 
 He hesitated, he doubted — he took up the 
 paper that was nearest to him ; his warmest 
 wishes were realized ; it was an autograph 
 of James IL A glance over the rest was- 
 sufficient ; it was with difficulty he could 
 suppress tlie feeling of exultation whicll 
 shivered and fled over his whole frame 
 After an affected question or two, the ab 
 bale accepted his proposal, and very nea» 
 five hundred thousand documents, of un- 
 questionable authenticity and of the first 
 historic impoitance and authority, wert 
 knocked down to him for not more than 
 three hundred Roman crowns. Dr. W 
 -Still meditated, paused, appeared reluetain 
 
 S70 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 inquired for the letter of attorney, examined 
 it, and finding all in order, and powers as 
 lie imaLjmpd sufficiently full, the arrange- 
 ment in a few moments was completed. 
 Two carts were brought to the door, the 
 papers were thrown into them confusedly, 
 and so little did the abbate value their 
 utility, that on two or three packets falling 
 into the street, they undoubtedly would 
 have lain there with other rubbish, had not 
 the doctor immediately hastened to take 
 them up and earned them himself to his 
 lodgings. 
 
 The prize was now won, and a collection 
 perhaps unrivalled in Europe, an El Dorado 
 of imaginary wealth and glory, was safely 
 lodged in the precincts of his own apart- 
 ment. Joy is talkative, and for once the 
 doctor altogether forgot his caution, and in 
 the dangerous moment of a first triumph, 
 rushed to his countrymen, and proclaimed 
 his veiii, vidi, vici to their envy and asto- 
 nishment. They were ini'ited to inspect 
 them. Rome, the capital of a considerable 
 state, is still a provincial town, and events 
 of this kind hardly require newspapers. 
 [n a few days the news of all the poets 
 and barbers was the singular good fortune 
 of the doctor. What it was no one knew, 
 except the duchess of D . Her draw- 
 ing-room was not only the rendezvous of 
 every stranger, and particularly of every 
 Rnglishman at Rome, but, what ought to 
 have been considered as of infinitely more 
 moment and indeed danger, was a sort of 
 antechamber to the Vatican. Her acquaint- 
 ance with the cardinal secretary intimately 
 connected her with the Papal government ; 
 and, during her life and his administration, 
 the English might almost be said to be, in 
 the language of the modern city, the assist- 
 ants of the pontifical throne. The duchess 
 requested a cabinet peep. The doctor ex- 
 postulated ; — he ouglit to have done so, 
 but on the contrary he was gtatified by the 
 compliment, and a little conversazione 
 packet was made up with expedition for 
 her next evening party. The doctor had 
 time to judge of his acquisition, and L7^de 
 a judicious selection, but so unfortunately 
 inviting, that his noble pationess could 
 with difficulty confine to her own breast 
 the sentiments she felt of surprise and 
 admiration. Besides, it would be selfish 
 to conceal the gratification from her friends; 
 the papers were of course in a ff,'w days to 
 start for England. Who could tell when 
 they were likely to be out? Then there 
 was an enjoyment, not likely to be resisted 
 hy a duche«s and a protectress, of all that 
 was literary at Home, in tumbling over an 
 
 original MS.— and such a MS.— and reau 
 ing and judging the important work, befoie 
 it was even dreamt of by the rest of th 
 world. She had been favoured, and could 
 not be blamed for extending, like the doc- 
 tor, the favour to others. iShe had two Oi 
 three very dear friends, and she could not 
 reflect without pain on what they might 
 say, and with so much justice, should they 
 discover, some days afterwards, that she 
 had been in possession of such a treasure, 
 though for a few hours, without kindly 
 paiticipating her pleasures with her ac- 
 quaintances. 
 
 These leasons, cogent at any time, were 
 altogether invincible under the circum- 
 stances of the case. The duchess had many 
 friends, but the most intimate of these 
 many was the cardinal secretary. The 
 practised eye of that statesman could not 
 be so easily seduced. He was one of the 
 chief invited of the evening, and as usual 
 appeared amongst the earliest of the guests. 
 'I he papers were on the table on his entry ; 
 they became the chief, the fiist, and soon 
 the only topic of conversation. They were 
 examined; the cardinal read, folded them 
 up, and was sdent ; but ere daylight the 
 next morning a guard of the pope's 
 carabiniers attacked Dr. W.'s apartment, 
 which was not the castle of an English- 
 man, and very important papers were irre- 
 coverably lost to him, and perhaps to tha 
 public for ever. 
 
 The next morning, all the valets de place 
 in Rome knew, and took care to inform 
 their masters, that during the night the 
 abbate Lupi had been arrested, and lay 
 actually in prison for a gross violation of 
 his trust; but it was not understood till 
 much later in the day, that the moment the 
 cartiinal had left the apartments of the 
 duchess, orders had been also given to 
 have the papers immediately put under the 
 seal and wardship of the state. The doctor 
 was consequently awakened, as we have 
 seen, rather earlier than usual, in the most 
 unceremonious manner imaginable, and 
 requested, in rather a peremptory manner, 
 to point out the treasury room. Tortures 
 were not used, but threats were. The 
 sanctuary was easily discovered; the m- 
 violable seal was fixed on the door; ar.d a 
 guard put over the house, during the re- 
 mainder of the day. 
 
 The arrest of the abbate was followed up j 
 by a measure of more rigour, and of far 
 greater importance. The contract itself 
 was annulled on the ground of incompe- 1 
 tence in the seller — the three hundred | 
 crowns were ordered to be paid back, and j 
 
 '671 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Dr. W. permitted to appeal, and satisfy 
 himself with civil answers as well as he 
 could, and with what every jurisconsult of 
 the Curia Innocenziana had decided, or 
 would decide if called upon by the secre- 
 tary, to be the ancient and existing law of 
 Rome. 
 
 The doctor made, through himself and 
 others, the ordinary applications, each of 
 which were received and answered in the 
 ordinary manner. This was encouraginif ; 
 and he vented his indignation amongst his 
 acquaintances ; and, when the access and 
 struggle was over, lay like Gulliver, fatigued 
 on his back. 
 
 In the mean time, a vessel arrived from 
 England at Civita Vecchia, and a boat's 
 crew a little after from Fiumiciuo at Rome. 
 The papers were released and embarked. 
 The doctor expostulated, and the cardinal 
 secretary received him with his usual urba- 
 nity. His visit was quite as satisfactory as 
 any of the preceding, and as conclusive as 
 such visits generally are at Rome. The 
 cardinal heard every thing with the most 
 dignified composure, and simply replied, 
 that any application to him personally was 
 now unavailing, and that he could not do 
 better than apply to the king of England, 
 in whose hands the papers in question 
 would probably be found in the course of 
 another month. 
 
 The doctor bowed and took the advice, — 
 but, in leaving the room, it occurred to him 
 that he might not meet a more favourable 
 reception at Downing-slreet than at the 
 Vatican. A friend at that time resident at 
 Rome proposed to act as his representative 
 to the minister, and acquitted himself in the 
 sequel with a fidelity as rare amongst am- 
 bassadors as attorneys. 
 
 I never heard any thing decisive of the 
 result of this interview ; — but I have no 
 doubt the cardinal was in the right. No 
 inquiries at all disquieting were made, or 
 questions asked, of the keeper of the king's 
 conscience, on the adjudication of the court 
 of Rome. The king of England, in right 
 of his Stuart blood, keeps, and will leave 
 to his descendants, probably, the care of 
 publishing all the Stuart MSS. 
 
 But in the momentous interval betweeii 
 the discovery of the papers, and their voyage 
 to England, more eyes than those of an 
 English duchess and a cardinal secretary 
 of state contrived to glance over the trea- 
 sure For a day or two they were exposed 
 to the inspection of the privileged few, at 
 the head of whom was the late professor 
 
 Playfair, lord S , lord of session, &c. : 
 
 to one of these favoured individuals I am 
 
 indebted for most of the particulars which 
 
 follow. 
 
 On entering the chamber where they 
 were arranged, which was a small room, oh 
 the first floor, of a small apartment in a 
 secondary quarter of Rome, he found the 
 walls to a great height literally covered 
 with piles of paper of every size and 
 quality. They were packed so close, had 
 been so long unopened, and had so much 
 suffered from the humidity, that each 
 packet was found to contain, on examina- 
 tion, a very much larger quantity than had 
 at first been expected. They were ar- 
 ranged in the most perfect order, and 
 classed according to the age, country, oi 
 writer. Several were autographs, aixi 
 copies, where they existed, were in the best 
 preservation, and generally under the eye, 
 and by the order of the first authority. The 
 series commenced about the period of the 
 king's arrival in France, and were continued 
 down, with scarcely any interruption or 
 hiatus, to the demise of the last direct heir, 
 the cardinal de York. They embraced not 
 only every document connected with poli- 
 tical matters, but entered into the most 
 minute details on the domestic and personal 
 affairs of the illustrious individuals, to 
 whom they related, and threw a very sin- 
 gular light on transactions which have been 
 long concealed, or viewed under very par- 
 tial bearings, by the British public. Not 
 only the private and confidential corres- 
 pondence between the different members 
 of the royal family, but references to the 
 most trivial circumstances connected with 
 the interior of the royal household, and 
 various other matters of similar interest, 
 were everywhere observable. The reve- 
 nues, the expenditure, were regularly noted; 
 a large volume or ledger, almost completely 
 filled with items of this kind, gave no bad 
 scale of the gradation or diminution of 
 expense, calculated on country, time, and 
 sitUcitiua, and therefore a very fair estimate 
 of their means under the successive fortunes 
 to which they had been exposed. But by 
 far the most interesting documents of the 
 collection referred to the important political 
 transactions of that memorable epoch. 
 James II. occupies a considerable, and, 
 indeed, a principal portion of this interest. 
 His letters to his son, written and corrected 
 in his own hand, give a very flattering 
 portrait, and perhaps a very authentic one, 
 of his character in almost all his domestic 
 relations, without much claim, but also 
 without much pretension, to style — the sin 
 of that age, and not less of the succeeding 
 they are not without a certain tinge of the 
 
 372 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 elegance of manner, which, though by no 
 means his apanage, had more or less been 
 contracted in tliose dissolute circles which 
 had inspired Hamilton. But there were 
 other qualities with which they abounded, 
 of much higher value and importance, 
 greater depth of feeling than what usually 
 exists in courts, paternal affection in all the 
 bitterness of an unrequited fondness, and 
 a settled and unavailing despair (he died, 
 indeed, of a lethargy) of the future destinies 
 of his house, grounded on the frail support 
 he could anticipate from the depraved 
 habits of his son. The reproaches ad- 
 dressed to him are frequent, and fraught 
 with the overflowing waters of fatherly dis- 
 appointment ; the brouiUou, or rough draft 
 of the letter, which was sometimes pre- 
 seived, was often blotted, and the wavering 
 and agitation of his mind betrayed itself 
 very visibly in his very hand. The general 
 view which they give is favourable, and 
 piesents a kmdlier aspect of his character 
 than what we are habituate't to meet with 
 n the generality of the Whig writers.* 
 
 THE PLANETS. 
 Their Comparative Sizes and Positions. 
 
 To assist the mind in framing a con- 
 ception of the mas;nitude and relative dis- 
 tances of the primary planets, let us have 
 recourse to the following method. The 
 dome of St. Paul's is 145 feet in diameter. 
 Suppose a globe of this size to represent 
 the Sun ; then a globe of 9^^ inches will 
 represent Mercury; one of 17/o inches, 
 Venus ; one of 13 inches, the Earth ; one 
 of 5 inches diameter, the Moon, (whose 
 distance from the earth is 240,000 miles ;) 
 one of 10 inches, Mars; one of 15 feet, 
 Jupiter; and one of 11^ feet, Saturn, with 
 his ring four feet broad, and at the same 
 distance from his body all round. 
 
 In this proportion, suppose the Sun to 
 be at St. Paul's, then 
 
 ^ Mercury might be at the Tower of 
 London, 
 
 ? Venus at St. James's Palace, 
 Q The Earth at Marylebone, 
 
 ^ Mars at Kensington, 
 
 21 Jupiter at Hampton Court, 
 
 Ij Saturn at Clifden ; 
 all moving round the cupola of St. Paul s 
 i£ O their common centre. 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE BEE-EAT I R 
 
 Of Selborne, Hampshire. 
 
 By THE Rev. Gilbert White, li S9. 
 
 We had in this village, more than t vventy 
 years ago, an idiot boy, whom I wi 11 re- 
 member, who, from a child, showed a ^trcng 
 propensity to bees: they were his focd, his 
 amusement, his sole object; and a^ peo- 
 ple of this cast have seldom more thsm one 
 point in view, so this lad exerted all liis few 
 faculties on this one pursuit. In the wi? iter he 
 dosed away his time, within his father's house, 
 by the fire-side, in a kind of torpid state, 
 seldom departing from the chimney-corner; 
 but in the summer he was all alert, and in 
 quest of his game in the fields and on sunny 
 banks. Honey-bees, humble-bees, and 
 wasps, were his prey, wherever he found 
 them : he had no apprehensions from their 
 stings, but would seize them iiudis manibus, 
 and at once disarm them of their weapons, 
 and suck their bodies for the sake of their 
 honey-bags. Sometimes he would fill his 
 bosom between his shirt and his skin with 
 a number of these captives ; and sometimes 
 would crmfine them in bottles. He was a 
 very merops apiaster, or bee-bird, and very 
 injurious to men that kept bees; for he 
 would slide into their bee-gardens, and 
 sitting down before the stools, woulc "-ai. 
 with his finger on the hives, and so cake 
 the bees as they came out. He has beei. 
 known to overturn hives for the sake o' 
 honey, of which he was passionately fond 
 Where metheglin was making, he would 
 linger round the tubs and vessels, beggmg 
 a d I aught of what he called bee-wine. As 
 he ran about, he used to make a bumming 
 noise with his lips, resembling the buzzing 
 of bees. This lad was lean and sallow 
 and of a cadaverous complexion ; and, 
 except in his favourite pursuit, in which he 
 was wonderfully adroit, discovered no 
 manner of understanding. Had his capa- 
 city been better, and directed to the same 
 object, he had perhaps abated much of our 
 wonder at the feats of a more modern ex- 
 hibiter of bees; and we may justly say o( 
 him now, 
 
 ' Thoa 
 Had thy presiding; star propitious shone, 
 Should'st JVildman be." 
 
 When a tall youth, he was removed frf»m 
 hence to a distant village, where he died, 
 as I understand, before he arrived atr)iv» 
 hood. 
 
 Xcw Monlbly Majraiine. 
 
 I 
 
 373 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 POOE'S-BOX IN CAWSTON CHURCH, NORFOLK. 
 
 Before the Reformation, says Anthony 
 .1 Wood, " in every church was a poor 
 man's box, but I never remembered the 
 use of it ; nay, there was one at great inns, 
 as 1 remember it was, before the wars." 
 
 Poor-boxes are often mentioned in tlie 
 Wfelfth century. At that period pope 
 Innocent III. extended papal power to an 
 inordinate height; absolved subjects from 
 allegiance to their sovereig'is ; raised cru- 
 sades throughout Europe lor the recovery 
 of the holy sepulchre; laid France under an 
 interdict; promised paradise to all who 
 would slaughter the Albigenses; excommu- 
 nicated John, king of England ; and ordered 
 hollow trunks to be placed in all the 
 churches, to receive alms for the remission 
 of the sins of the donors.* 
 
 A communication to the Antiquarian So- 
 ciety, accompanied by drawings of the poor- 
 boxes on this and the opposite page, briefly 
 describes them f The common poor-box 
 in the churches appeal s to have been a 
 ihaft of oak, hollowed out at the top, covered 
 
 • Fosbroke's Encyclopwdia of Antiquities. 
 + This communication from J. A. Repton, Ecq., is 
 printed, with engravings from his drawings, in the 
 •• Archicologia," Ifil 
 
 by a hinged lid of iron, with a slit in it 
 for the money to fall through into the cavity, 
 and secured by one or two iron locks. 
 
 Perhaps the most curiously constructed 
 of the ancient poor-boxes now remaining, 
 is that in the church of Cawston, near 
 Aylsham. The church was built between 
 138.5 and 1414. The poor-box was pro- 
 vided with three keys, two of which were 
 for the churchwardens, and the third was 
 most probably for the clergyman, as one of 
 the key-holes is more ornamented than the 
 others. The most singular part of this box 
 is an inverted iron cup, for preventing the 
 money from being taken out by means o( 
 any instrument through the holes on the 
 top of the box. 
 
 The engravings above represent — 1. this 
 poor-box, as it stands on an octangulai 
 stone basement ; 2. a perfect view of the 
 lid ; 3. another of the inferior, with thf 
 manner wherein the cup is suspended foi 
 the security of the money ; 4. a section ol 
 the box. 
 
 In places where the presumed vichnesj 
 of the boxes rendered them liable to be 
 plundered, they were strongly bound or 
 clamped with iron plates, as shown in thf 
 present engravings 
 
 374 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 POOE'S-BOX IN LODDON CHURCH, NORFOLK. 
 
 The church of Loddon, in the south- 
 eastern angle of the county of Norfolk, 
 about five miles from Bun^^ay, was built 
 about 1495, and contains a depository of 
 this description, with two separate boxes, 
 each of them secured by two padlocks : 
 over one of these is a hole in the lid for the 
 offerings. When a sufficient surn was col- 
 lected, it was taken out and placed in the 
 adjoining box in the presence of the two 
 churchwardens. 
 
 Ben Jonson, in his " Masque of the 
 Metamorphosed Gipsies, as it was thrice 
 presented before king James, 1621, &c." 
 makes a gipsy tell Tom Ticklefoot, a rustic 
 musician, — 
 
 " On Sundays you rob the poor's-box with yonr tabor 
 The collectors woiiW do it, you save them a labour." 
 
 Whereunto a countryman answers, 
 " Faith, but a little : they'll do it non-upstant."* 
 
 * No»-tipatant, DOtwitbstandinx. 
 
 From this we gather that it was custo- 
 mary at that time to put money in the 
 parish poor's-box on Sundays, and that the 
 trustees of the poor were sometimes sus- 
 pected of misapplying it 
 
 The neglect of this mode of public con- 
 tribution is noted in Hogarth's marriage 
 scene of the " Rake's Progress," by a cob- 
 web covering the poor's-box in the'church. 
 There is an intimation to the same effect in 
 one of Beaumont and Fletcher's plays, 
 which further intimates that poor's-boxes 
 had posies — 
 
 The poor man's box is there too : if ye find any thiii^ 
 Besides the posy, and that half rubb'd out too, 
 For fear it should awaken too much cliarity. 
 Give it to pious uses : that is, spend it. 
 
 Spanish Curate, 1647 
 
 The posies or mottoes on poor's-boxes. 
 were short sentences to incite beuevoience 
 — such as, " He that giveth to the pooi 
 lendeth to the Lord," &c. 
 
 375 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 ANGEL HELP* 
 
 This rare Tablet doth include 
 
 Poverty with Sanctitude. 
 
 Past midniglit this poor Maid hath spun. 
 
 And yet the work not half is done, 
 
 Which must supply from earnings scant 
 
 A feeble bed-rid parent's waut. 
 
 Her sleep-charged eyes exemption ask. 
 
 And Holy hands take up the task ; 
 
 Unseen the rock and spindle ply, 
 
 And do her earthly drudgery. 
 
 Sleep, saintly Poor One, sleep, sleep on. 
 And, waking, find thy labours done. 
 
 Perchance she knows it by her dreams ; 
 Her eye hath caught the golden gleams 
 (Angelic Presence testifying,) 
 That round her everywhere are flying ; 
 Ostents from which she may presume 
 That much of Heaven is in the room. 
 Skirting her own bright hair they nip. 
 And to the Sunny add more Sun : 
 Now on that aged face they fix. 
 Streaming from the Crucifix , 
 The flesh-clogg'd spirit disabusing, 
 Death-disarming sleeps infming, 
 Prelibations, foretastes high. 
 And equal thoughts to live or die. 
 
 Gardener bright from Eden's boM'er, 
 
 Tend with care that Lily Flower ; 
 
 To its leaves and root infuse 
 
 Heaven's sunshine. Heaven's dews ; 
 
 'Tis a type and 'tis a pledge 
 
 Of a Crowning Privilege : 
 
 Careful as that Lily Flower, 
 
 This Maid must keep ner precious dower; 
 
 Live a Sainted Maid, or die 
 
 Martyr to Virginity. 
 
 Virtuous Poor Ones, sleep, sleep on. 
 And, waking, find your labours done. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 C. Lamb. 
 
 New Monthly Magazine, 
 June I. 1827. 
 
 * Suggested by a picture in the jrossession of Charles 
 Aders, Esq. Euston-square, in which is represented the 
 Legend of a poor female Saint, who, having spun past 
 midnight to maintain a bed-rid mother, has fallen 
 asleep from fatigue, and Angels are finishing her work. 
 Id another part of the chamber, an Angel is tending a 
 Ijiy, the eniblesi of her purity. 
 
 The poet of " The Sofa," when " in 
 merry pin,"' trifled pleasantly. As an in- 
 stance of his manner, there remains the 
 following 
 
 Letter to the Rev. J. Newpon. 
 
 July 12, 1781. 
 
 My very dear Friend, — I am going to 
 send, what, when you have read, you may 
 scratch your head, and say, I suppose 
 there's nobody knows, whether what t 
 have got, be verse or not ; by the tune or 
 the time, it ought to be rhyme ; but if it 
 be, did you ever see, of late or of yore, such 
 u ditty before ? 
 
 I have writ Charity, not for popularity, 
 but as well as I could, in hopes to do 
 good; and if the reviewers should say "to 
 be sure, the gentleman's muse wears Me- 
 thodist shoes; you may know by her pace, 
 and talk about grace, that she and her bard, 
 liave little regard, for the taste and fashions 
 and ruling passions, and hoidening play, 
 of the modern day : and though she assume 
 a borrowed plume, and now and then weai 
 a tittering air, 'tis only her plan, to catch if 
 she can, the giddy and gay, as they go that 
 way, by a production, on a new construc- 
 tion ; she has baited her trap, in hopes to 
 snap, all that may come, with a sugar 
 plum." — This opinion in this will not ht 
 amiss: 'tis what I intend, my principal 
 end ; and if I succeed, and folks should 
 read, till a few are brought, to a serious 
 thought, I should think I am paid for all 1 
 have said, and all I have done, though 1 
 have run, many a time, after a rhyme, as 
 far from hence, to the end of my sense, and 
 by hook or crook, write another book, if 1 
 Kve and am here, another year. 
 
 I have heard before, of a room with a 
 foor, laid upon springs, and such like 
 things, with so much art, in every pari, 
 that when you went in, you was forced to 
 begin a minuet pace, with an air and a 
 grace, swimming about, now in and now 
 out, wiih a deal of state, in a figure oi 
 eiglit, without pipe or string, or any such 
 thing. And now I have writ, in a rhyming 
 tit, what will make you dance, and as you 
 advance, will keep you still, though against 
 your will, dancing away, alert and gay, tilt 
 you come to an end of what I have penned ; 
 which that you may do, ere madam and 
 you are quite worn out, with jigging about, 
 1 take my leav«i, and here you receive a 
 
 376 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 how profound, down to the ground, from HIGHLAND DEER AND SHEEP, 
 your humble me — 
 
 " The last Deer of Beann Doran." 
 
 W. C. 
 
 When prevented by rains and floods from 
 visiting the lady who sug^gested " The 
 Task," Cowper beguiled the time by writ- 
 ing to her the following lines, and after- 
 wards printing them with his own hand 
 He sent a copy of these verses, so printed, 
 to his sister, accompanied by the subjoined 
 note written upon his typographical labours. 
 
 To watch the storms, and hear the sky 
 Give all the almanacks the lie ; 
 To shake with cold, and see the plains 
 In autumn drown'd with wintry rains : 
 ' Tis thus I spend my moments here. 
 And wish myself a Dutch mynheer ; 
 I tlien should have no need of wit. 
 For lumpish Hollander unfit ; 
 Nor should I then repine at mud. 
 Or meadows delug'd with a flood ; 
 But in a boof live well content, 
 And find it just my element ; 
 Should be a clod, and not a msa. 
 Nor wish in vain for sister Anne, 
 With charitable aid to drag 
 My mind out of its proper quae; ; 
 Should have the genius of a boor. 
 And no ambition to have more. 
 
 My dear Sister, — You see my beginning; 
 I do not know but in time I may proceed 
 to the printing of halfpenny ballads. Ex- 
 cuse the coarseness of my paper; I wasted 
 so much before I could accomplish any 
 thing legible, that I could not afford finer. 
 I intend to employ an ingenious mechanic 
 of this town to make me a longer case, for 
 you may observe that my lines turn up 
 their tails like Dutch mastiffi? ; so difficult 
 do I find it to make the two halves exactly 
 coincide with each other. 
 
 We wait with impatience for the de- 
 parture of this unseasonable flood. We 
 think of you, and talk of you; but we can 
 do no more till the waters subside. I do 
 not think our correspondence should drop 
 because we are within a mile of each other ; 
 it is but an imaginary approximation, the 
 flood having in reality as efTectuaily parted 
 us, as if the British Channel rolled be- 
 tween us. 
 
 Yours, my dear sister, with Mrs. U.'s 
 best love. 
 
 William Cowpfr. 
 Monday, Aug. 12, 1782. 
 
 A note to a poem, with this title, by 
 John Hay Allan, Esq., relates, that in for- 
 mer times the barony of Glen Urcha was 
 celebrated for the number and the superior 
 race of its deer. When the chieftains re- 
 linquished their ancient character and their 
 ancient sports, and sheep were introduced 
 into the country, the want of protection, 
 and the antipathy of the deer to the intrud- 
 ing animals, gradually expelled the former 
 from the face of the country, and obliged 
 tliem to retire to the most remote recesses 
 of the mountains. Contracted in their 
 haunts fiom corral to corrai, the deer of 
 Glen Urcha at length wholly confined 
 themselves to Beann Doran, a mountain 
 near the solitary wilds of Glen Lyon, and 
 the vast and desolate mosses which stretch 
 from the Black Mount to Loch Ranach. In 
 this retreat they continued for several years; 
 their dwelling was in a lonely corrai at the 
 back of the hill, and they were never seen 
 in the surrounding country, except in the 
 deepest severity of winter, when, forced by 
 hunger and the snow, a straggler ventured 
 down into the straiths. But the hostility 
 which had banished them from their ancient 
 range, did not respect their last retreat. 
 The sheep continually encroached upon 
 their bounds, and contracted iheir resources 
 of subsistence. Deprived of the piotection 
 of the laird, those which ventured from 
 their haunt were cut off without mercy or 
 fair chase ; while want of range, and -hp 
 inroads of poachers, continually diminished 
 their numbers, till at length the race became 
 extinct. 
 
 About the time of the disappearance ol 
 the deer irom theSe wilds, an immense stag 
 was one evening seen standing upon the 
 side of Beann Donachan. He remained 
 for some time quietly gazing towards the 
 lake, and at length slowly descended the 
 hill, and was crossing the road at Stronn- 
 milchon, when he was discovered by some 
 herdsmen of the hamlet. They immediately 
 pursued him with their cooleys ; and the 
 alarm being given, the whole straith, men, 
 women, and children, gathered out to the 
 pursuit. The noble animal held them a 
 severe chase till, as he passed through the 
 copse on the north side of Blairachuran, 
 his antlers were entangled in the boughs, 
 he was overtaken by the pursuers, and 
 barbarously slaughtered h\ the imited on- 
 set, and assault of dogs, hay-foiks, and 
 " Sgian an Dubh." When divided, he 
 
 377 
 
TnE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 proved but a poor reward for the fatigue ; 
 tor liH was so old, that his flesh was scarcely 
 ratable. From that time the deer were 
 (■een no more in Beann Doran ; and none 
 now appear in Glen Urcha, except when, in 
 a hard winter, a solitaiy stag wanders out 
 of the forest of Dalness, and passes down 
 Glen Strae or Corrai Fhuar. 
 
 The same cause which had extirpated 
 the deer from Glen Urcha has equally acted 
 in most part of the Highlands. Wherever 
 the sheep appear, their numbers begin to 
 decrease, and at length they become totally 
 extinct. The reasons of this apparently 
 singular consequence is, the closeness with 
 which the sheep feed, and which, where 
 they abound, so consumes the pasturage, as 
 not to leave sufficient for the deer: still 
 more is it owing to the unconquerable 
 antipathy which these animals have for the 
 former. This dislike is so great, that they 
 cannot endure the smell of their wool, and 
 never mix with them in the most remote 
 situations, or where there is the most ample 
 pasturage for both. They have no abhor- 
 'renceof this kind to cattle, but, where large 
 nerds of these are kept, will feed and lie 
 among the stirks and steers with the great- 
 jest familiarity. 
 
 HIGHLAND MEALS. 
 
 Among the peculiarities of hig-hland 
 manners is an avowed contempt for the 
 luxuries of the table. A highland hunter 
 will eat with a keen appetite and sufficient 
 discrimination : but, were he to stop in any 
 pursuit, because it was meal time, to growl 
 over a bad dinner, or visibly exult over a 
 good one, the manly dignity of his character 
 would be considered as fallen for ever.* 
 
 TREAD MILLS. 
 
 At Lewes, each prisoner walks at the 
 rate of 6,600 feet in ascent per day; at 
 Ipswich, 7,450; at St. Alban's, 8,000; at 
 Bury, 8,650; at Cambridge, 10,176; at 
 Durham, 12,000; at Brixton, Guildford, 
 ind Reading, the summer rate exceeds 
 1.3,000; while at Warwick, the summer 
 rate is about 17,000 ieet in ten hours, f 
 
 • Mrs. Grant, 
 t The Times, 
 
 Extraordinary 
 
 ORAN-OUTANG, 
 
 The Wild Man of the Woods. 
 
 The largest and most remarkable orati- 
 outang ever seen by Europeans, was dis- 
 covered by an officer of the ship Marj 
 Anne Sophia, in the year 1 824, at a plact 
 called Ramboon, near Touromon, on the 
 west coast of Sumatra. 
 
 When the officer alluded to first saw the 
 animal, he assembled his people, and fol- 
 lowed him to a tree in a cultivated spot, on 
 which he took refuge. His walk was erect 
 and waddling, but not quick, and he was 
 obliged occasionally to accelerate his motion 
 with his hands ; but with a bough which 
 he carried, he impelled himself forward 
 with great rapidity. When he reached the 
 trees his strength was shown in a high 
 degree, for with one spring he gained a 
 very lofty branch, and bounded from it 
 with the ease of the smaller animals of his 
 kind. Had the circumjacent land been 
 covered with wood, he would certainly 
 have escaped from his pursuers, for his 
 mode of travelling by bough or tree was as 
 lapid as the progress of a very fleet horse • 
 but at Ramboon there are but few trees 
 left in the midst of cultivated fields, and 
 amongst these alone he jumped about to 
 avoid being taken. He was tirst shot on a 
 tree, and after having received five balls, 
 his exertion was relaxed, owing, no doubt, 
 to loss of blood ; and the ammunition hav- 
 ing been by that time expended, his pur- 
 suers were obliged to have recourse to 
 other mpasures for his destruction. One 
 of the first balls probably penetrated his 
 lungs, for immediately after the infliction 
 of the wound, he slung himself by his feet 
 from a branch with his head downwards, 
 and allowed the blood to flow from his 
 mouth. On receiving a wound, he always 
 put his hand over the injured part, and the 
 human-like agony of his expression had the 
 natural eflPect of exciting painful feelings in 
 his assailants. The peasantry seemed as 
 amazed at the sight of him as the crew 
 of the ship; for they had never seen one 
 before, althoueh living within two days' 
 journey from the vast and impenetrable 
 forests on the island. They cut down the 
 tree on which he was reclining exhausted: 
 but the moment he found it falling, he 
 exerted his remaining strength, and gained 
 another, and then a third, until he was 
 finally brought to the ground, and forced to 
 combat his unrelenting foes, who now 
 gathered very thickly round, and discharged 
 
 378 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 spears and other missiles against him. 
 The first spear, made of a very strong sup- 
 ple -wood, which would have resisted the 
 strength of the strongest man, was broken 
 by him like a carrot ; and had he not been 
 m almost a dying state, it was feared that 
 he would have severed the heads of some of 
 the party with equal ease. He fell, at 
 length, under innumerable stabs inflicted 
 by the peasantry. 
 
 The animal is supposed to have travelled 
 some distance from the place where he was 
 killed, as his legs were covered with mud 
 up to the knees. His hands and feet had 
 great analogy to human hands and feet, 
 only that the thumbs were smaller in pro- 
 portion, and situated nearer the wrist-joint. 
 His body was well proportioned ; he had a 
 fine bioad expanded chest and a narrow 
 waist; but his legs were rather short, and his 
 arms very long, though both possessed such 
 sinew and muscle as left no doubt of their 
 strength. His head was well proportioned 
 with his body, and the nose prominent ; 
 the eyes were large, and the mouth larger 
 than the mouth in man. His chin was 
 fringed, from the extremity of one ear to 
 the other, with a shaggy beard, curling 
 luxuriantly on each side, and forming alto- 
 gether an ornamental, rather than a fright- 
 ful appendage to his visage. When he 
 was first killed, the hair of his coat was 
 smooth and glossy, and his teeth and 
 whole appearance indicated that he was 
 young, and in the full possession of his 
 physical powers He was nearly eight 
 feet high. 
 
 The skin and fragments of thiri surprising 
 oran-outang were presented to the Asiatic 
 Society at Calcutta; and on the 5th 
 of January, 18-2.5, Dr. Abel examined 
 them, and read the observations he had 
 made. The height already mentioned is 
 according to the estimate of those who 
 saw the animal alive, but the measure- 
 ment of the skin went far to determine this 
 question. The skin, dried and shrivelled 
 as it was, in a straight line from the top of 
 the shoulder to the point whence the ancle 
 had been removed, measured five feet len 
 inches ; the perpendicular length of the 
 neck in the preparation, was three inches 
 and a half; the length of the face, from the 
 forehead to the chm, nine inches; and of 
 the skin attached to the foot, from the line 
 of its separation from the body to the iieel, 
 eight inches. The measurements were 
 made by Dr. Abel himself. Thus we have 
 me foot eight inches and a half to be added 
 *o the five feet ten inches, in order to 
 dpproximaie his real stature, which would 
 
 make seven feet six Inches and a half; and 
 allowing the six inches and a half for the 
 shortening that would result from the 
 folding of the skin over the shoulders, the 
 height would then be full seven feet. This 
 is the greatest ascertained height of any 
 tail-less monkey mentioned in the several 
 notices which Dr. Abel collected from 
 different writers on man-like apes. 
 
 The skin itself was of a dark leaden 
 colour ; the hair a brownish red, shaggy, 
 and long over the shoulders and flanks. 
 
 Dr. Abel remaiked, that of the small 
 animals more particularly known in Plurope, 
 under the designation of oran-outang, one 
 was an inhabitant of Africa, and the other 
 of the east. Several living specimens of 
 both have beev, seen in Europe, but all 
 were of small stature, and very young, 
 never exceeding three feet in height, or as 
 many years of age. These animals were 
 long considered as varieties of the same 
 species, although in point of fact they are 
 very distinctly separated by external cha- 
 racter and anatomical distinctions. Thfi 
 African animal being always black with 
 larsje ears, the eastern specimens as inva- 
 riably having reddish brown hair, and very 
 small ears ; the former also are unprovided 
 with the sacs communicating with the 
 windpipe, which are always found in tlie 
 latter.* 
 
 Different naturalists have deemed the 
 oran-outang to be the connecting link be- 
 tween the brute and the human being. 
 
 A LITTLE LEARNING 
 
 " not a dangerous thing." 
 
 Mr. Thimnis Camphdl having been cho- 
 sen lord rector of the university of Glasgow 
 made his inaugural speech on the 12;h of 
 April, 1827, wherein are the following 
 estimable remarks on desultory attain- 
 ments : — 
 
 " In comparing small learned acquisi- 
 tions with none at all, it appears to me to 
 be equally absurd to consider a little learn- 
 ing valueless, or even dangerous, as some 
 will have it, as to talk of a little virtue, a 
 little wealth, or health, or cheerfulness, or a 
 little of any other blessing under heaven, 
 being worthless or dangerous. 
 
 " To abjure any degree of information, 
 because we cannot grasp the whole circle 
 of the sciences, or sound the depths of 
 erudition, appears to be just about as sensi- 
 ble as if we were to shut up our windows 
 
 * Calcutta Go/?minent Gazette, Jan. 13. )8i5. 
 
 379 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 because they are too narrow, or because the 
 glass has not the magnifying power of a 
 telescope. 
 
 " For the smallest quantity of knowledge 
 that a man can acquire, he is bound to be 
 contentedly thankful, provided bis fate 
 shuts him out from the power of acquiring 
 a larger portion — but whilst the possibility 
 of farther advancement remains, be as 
 proudly discontented as ye will with a little 
 learning. For the value of knowledge is 
 like that of a diamond, it increases accor- 
 ding to its magnitude, even in much more 
 than a geometrical ratio. — One science and 
 literary pursuit throws light upon another, 
 and there is a connection, as Cicero re- 
 marks, among them all — 
 
 " ' Omnes Artes, quae ad humanitatera 
 pertinent, habent quoddam commune vin- 
 culum, et quasi cognatione quadam inter 
 se continentur.* 
 
 " No doubt a man ought to devote him- 
 self, in the main, to one department of 
 knowledge, but still he will be all the better 
 for making himself acquainted with studies 
 which are kindred to and t<7?7Athat pursuit. 
 — The principle of the extreme division of 
 labour, so useful in a pin manufactory, if 
 introduced into learning, may produce, in- 
 deed, some minute and particular improve- 
 ments, but, on the whole, it tends to cramp 
 human intellect. 
 
 " That the mind may, and especially in 
 early youth, be easily distracted by too 
 many pursuits, must be readily admitted. 
 But I now beg leave to consider myself 
 addressing those among you, who are con- 
 scious of great ambition, and of many 
 faculties ; and what I say, may regard 
 rather the studies of your future than of 
 your present years. 
 
 " To embrace different pursuits, diame- 
 trically opposite, in the wide circle of human 
 knowledge, must be pronounced to be al- 
 most universally impossible for a single 
 mind. — But I cannot believe that any strong 
 mind weakens its strength, in any one 
 branch of learning, by diverging into cog- 
 nate studies ; on the contrary, I believe 
 that it will return home to the main object, 
 bringing back illustrative treasures from all 
 rts excursions into collateral pursuits." 
 
 FIGURES, AND NUxMBERS. 
 
 Respecting the origin of the numeral 
 figures 1, ^.'s, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, there are 
 various opinions, but the one most generally 
 rpreived is, that they were brought into 
 
 Europe from Spain; that the Spaniards re- 
 ceived them from the Moors, the Moors 
 from the Arabians, and the Arabians from 
 the Indians. 
 
 Bishop Huet, however, thinks it impro- 
 bable that the Arabians received figures 
 from the Indians, but, on the contrary, that 
 the Indians obtained them from the Ara- 
 bians, and the Arabians from the Grecians ; 
 from whom, in fact, they acquired a know- 
 ledge of every science they possessed. The 
 shape of the figures they received under- 
 went a great alteration ; yet if we examine 
 them, divested of prejudice, we shall find 
 very manifest traces of the Grecian figures, 
 which were nothing more tiian letters of 
 their alphabet. 
 
 A small comma, or dot, was their mark 
 for units. 
 
 The letter fi (b) if its two extremities are 
 erased, produces the figure 2. 
 
 If we form the letter y (g) with more in- 
 clination to the left than usual, shorten the 
 foot, and give some rotundity to the left 
 horns near the left side, we shall make the 
 figure 3. 
 
 The letter A (D) is the figure 4, as we 
 should find on giving the left leg a perpen- 
 dicular form, and lengthening it below the 
 base, which also should be enlarged towards 
 the left. 
 
 From the t (e short) is formed the 5, by 
 only bringing towards the right side the 
 demicircle which is beneath inclining to the 
 left. 
 
 From the figure 5 they made the 6, by 
 leaving out the foot, and rounding the 
 body. 
 
 Of the z (Z) they make the 7, by leaving 
 out the base. 
 
 If we turn the four corners of the H (e 
 long) towards the inside, we shall make the 
 figure 8. 
 
 The S (th) was the figure 9 without any 
 alteration. 
 
 The tiought was only a point which they 
 added to their fis:ures, to make them ten 
 times more ; it was necessary that this point 
 should be made very distinctly, to which 
 end they formed it like a circle, and filled 
 it up; this method we have neglected. 
 
 Theophanus, the Eastern chronologist, 
 says in express terms, that the Arabians 
 had retained the Grecian numbers, not 
 having sufficient characters in their own 
 language to mark them. 
 
 Menage says, they were first employed 
 in Europe in 1240, in the Alphonsian Ta- 
 bles, made under the direction of Alphonso. 
 son to king Ferdinand of Castile, by Isaac 
 tlazan, a Jew of Toledo, and Abel Ragel. 
 
 380 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 an Arabian. Dr. Wallis conceives they 
 were generally used in England about the 
 vear 1130. 
 
 In the indexes of some old French books 
 these fiiruros are called Arabic ciphers, to 
 distinguish them from Roman numerals. 
 
 NUMBER X, 10. 
 
 It is observed by Huet as a remarkable 
 circumstance, that for calculation and nu- 
 merical increase the number 10 is always 
 used, and that decimal progression is pre- 
 ferred to every other. The cause of this 
 preference arises from the number of our 
 finj^ers, upon which men accustom them- 
 selves to reckon from their infancy. First, 
 they count the units on their fingers, and 
 when the units exceed that number, they 
 have recourse to another ten. If the num- 
 ber of tens increase, they still reckon on 
 their fingers; and if they surpass that num- 
 ber, tiiey then commence a different species 
 of calculation by the same aarents; as thus 
 — reckoning each finger for tens, then for 
 hundreds, thousands, Sic. 
 
 From this mode of reckoning by the 
 fingers then, we have been led to prefer the 
 number ten, thouoh it is not so convenient 
 and useful a number as twt-lve. Ten can 
 only be divided by two and five, but twelve 
 can be divided by two, three, four, and six. 
 
 The Roman numbers are adduced in 
 proof of the origin of reckoning by tlie 
 number ten, viz. — 
 
 The units are marked by the letter I, 
 which represent a finger. 
 
 The number five is marked by the letter 
 V, which represents the first and last finger 
 of a hand. 
 
 Ten, by an X, which is two V's joined 
 <t their points, and which two V's represent 
 the two hands. 
 
 Five tens are marked by an L ; that is 
 half the letter E, vhich is the same as C, 
 the mark for a hundred. 
 
 Y'we hundred is marked by a D, half of 
 the letter cd , which is the same as M, the 
 maik for a thousand. 
 
 According to this, the calculation of the 
 Roman numbers was from five to five, that 
 is, from one hand to the other. Ovid makes 
 mention of this mode, as also of the num- 
 ':er ten : — 
 
 •' Hie numeris niagao l.nnr in honorr fuit. 
 
 Seu quia totdigiti per quos niunerare solemmis. 
 
 Sen quia bis quino femina mense parit. 
 
 Seu quod ad usciue decern numero crescente venilur: 
 
 Priucipium spatiis sumitur inde novis." 
 
 Vitruvius also makes the same remar* . 
 he says, " Ex manibus denarius digitovu.m 
 numerus." 
 
 We have refined, however, upon the con- 
 venience which nature has furnished us 
 with to assist us in our calculations; for 
 we not only use our fingers, but likewise 
 various figures, which we place in dift'erenl 
 situations, and combine in certain ways, tc 
 express our ideas. 
 
 Many unlettered nations, as the inhabit- 
 ants of Guinea, Madagascar, and of tnt 
 inierior parts of America, know not Imw 
 to count farther than ten. The Brasiiians. 
 and several others, cannot reckon beyond 
 five; they multiply that number to express 
 a greater, and in their calculations they use 
 their fingers and toes. The natives of Peru 
 use decimal progression ; they count from, 
 one to ten ; by tens to a hundred ; and by 
 hundreds to a thousand. Plutarch says, 
 that decimal progression was not only used 
 among the Grecians, but also by every un- 
 civilized nation. 
 
 FOX, THE QUAKER. 
 
 This individual, many years deceased, 
 was a most remarkable man in his circle; 
 a great natural genius, which employed 
 itself upon trivial or not generally interest- 
 ing matters. He deserved to have Deen 
 known better than he was. The last ye ,',5 
 of his life he resided at Bristol. He was a 
 gieat Persian scholar, and published some 
 translations of the poets of that nation, 
 which were well worthy perusal. He was 
 self-taught, and had patience and persever- 
 ance for any thing. He was somewhat 
 eccentric, but had the quickest reasoning 
 power, and consequently the greatest cool- 
 ness, of any man of his day, who was able 
 to reason His house took fire in the 
 nis;ht ; it was situated near the sea ; it was 
 uninsured, and the flames spread so rapidly 
 nothing could be saved. He saw the con 
 sequences instantly, made up his miiid to 
 them as rapidly, and ascending a hill a. 
 some distance in the rear of his dwelling, 
 watched the picture and the reflection ol 
 the flames on the sea, admiring^ its beauties, 
 as if it were a holiday bonfire. 
 
 381 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 DIVING-BELLS. 
 
 The 'first diving-bell we read of was 
 nothing but a very large kettle, suspended 
 by ropes, with the mouth downwards, and 
 planks .to sit on fixed in the middle of its 
 concavity. Two Greeks at Toledo, in 1588, 
 made an experiment with it before the 
 emperor. Charles V. They descended in it, 
 with a lighted candle, to a considerable 
 dc-pth. In 1683, William Phipjjs, the son 
 of a blacksmith, formed a project for un- 
 loading a rich Spanish ship sunk on the 
 coast of Hispaniola. Charles II. gave him 
 a ship with every thing necessary for his 
 undertaking; but being -unsuccessful, he 
 returned in great poverty. He then en- 
 deavoured to procure another vessel, but 
 failing, he got a subscription, to which the 
 duke of Albemarle contributed. In 1687, 
 Phipps set sail in a ship of two hundred 
 tons, having previously engaged to divide 
 the profits according to the twenty shares 
 of which the subscripti-on .consisted. At 
 first all his labours proved fruitless ; but at 
 last, when he seemed almost to despair, he 
 was fortunate enough to bring up so much 
 treasure, that he returned to England with 
 the value of -200,000/. sterling. Of this 
 sum he got about -.^0,000/., and the duke 
 90,000/. Phipps was knigbted by the king, 
 and laid the foundation of the fortunes of 
 the present noble house of Mulgrave. 
 Since that time diving-bells have been often 
 employed. On occasion of the breaking 
 in of the water of the Thames during the 
 progress of the tunnel under the Thames, 
 Mr. Brunei frequently descended in one to 
 the bed of the iiver. 
 
 GAMING. 
 " The ruling passion strong in death." 
 
 In " Arliquiniana" avarice, and love of 
 gaming, are exemplified by the following 
 anecdote : — 
 
 A French woman, who resided on her 
 estate in the country, falliu'jj ill, sent to the 
 village curate, and otiered to play with him. 
 The curate being used to gaming, gladly 
 entertained the proposal, and they played 
 together till he lost all his money. She 
 then offered to play with him for the ex- 
 penses of her funeral, in case she should 
 die. They played, and the cuiate losing 
 these also, she obliged him to give her his 
 note of hand for so much money lent, as 
 her funeral expenses would amount to. 
 She delivered the note to her son. and died 
 
 witnin eigtii or ten days afterwards, and 
 the curate was paid his fees in his own 
 note of hand. 
 
 THE TANNER. 
 An Epigram. 
 
 A Bermondsey tanner would often engage, 
 
 In a long tete-a-tete with his dame, 
 While trotting to town in the Kennington stage, 
 
 About giving- their villa a name. 
 A neighbour, thus hearing the skin-dresser talk. 
 
 Stole out, half anhour after dark, 
 Pick'd up in the roadway a fragment of chalk. 
 
 And wrote on the palings — " Hide Park ! "* 
 
 FRIENDSHIP ON THE NAIL. 
 
 When Marigny contracted a friendship 
 With M'^iiage, he told him he was " upon 
 his tuiU." h was a rriethod he had of 
 speaking- of all his friends.; he also used it 
 in his letters; one which be wrote to Me- 
 nage begins thus : " Oh! illustrious of my 
 null." 
 
 When Marigny said, " you are upon my 
 iiail," he meant two things — 'one, that the 
 person was always present, nothing being 
 more easy than to look at his nail; the 
 other was, that good and leal friends were 
 so scarce, that even he who had the most, 
 might write their names on his nail. 
 
 TO THE CHANCE CUSTOMERS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 COMPANY OF FLYING STATIONERS. 
 
 Formerly there was a numerous class 
 who believed every thing they saw in print. 
 It is just possible that a few of these per- 
 suadable persons may survive ; I therefore 
 venture to remark, that my name printed 
 on the squibs novv crying about the street;- 
 is a forgery. 
 
 W. HONE. 
 
 June 8, 1827. 
 
 • NetT Monthly Majcasine. 
 
 .382 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 BECIvEXHA.M ClIUilCH, KENT, 
 
 The parish of Beckenham lends its 
 mine to the hundred, winch is in the 
 latn ot Sutton-at-Hone. It is ten miles 
 from London, two miles north from Brom- 
 ley, and, according to the last census, con- 
 tains J'^^ houses and 1180 inhabitants. 
 The living is a rectory valued in the king's 
 DOCKS at 61. 18s. 9d. The chmch is dedi,- 
 nated to St. George. 
 
 Beyond " Chaffinch's River" there 
 
 IS an enncmg field-path to BecKenTiam, but 
 occasional sights of noble trees kept us 
 along the high road, till the ring of the 
 blacksmith's hammer signalled that we were 
 close upon the village. We wound through 
 it at a slow pace, vainly longing for some- 
 thing to realize the expectations raised by 
 the prospect of it on our way. 
 
 Beckenham consists of two or three old 
 faim-like looking houses, rudely encroached 
 
 Vc L. III. 
 
 383 
 
 20 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 upon by a number of irregularly built 
 dwellings, and a couple of inns ; one of 
 them of so much apparent consequence, aa 
 to dignify the place. We soon came to an 
 edifice ■which, by its publicity, startles the 
 feelings of the passenger in this, as in 
 almost every other parish, and has perhaps 
 greater tendency to harden than reform the 
 rustic offender — the " cage," with its acces- 
 sory, the " poundv" An angular turn in 
 the road, from these lodgings for men and 
 cattle when they go astray, afforded us a 
 sadden and delightful view of 
 
 " The decent church that tops the neighb'riBg hill.'' 
 
 On the right, an old, broad, high wall, 
 flanked with thick buttresses, and belted 
 with magnificent trees, climbs the steep, to 
 enclose the domain of I know not whom; 
 on tlie opposite side, the branohf s, from a 
 plantation, arch beyond the footpath. At 
 the summit of the ascent is the village 
 church with its whitened spire, crowning 
 and pinnacl'ing this pleasant grove, point- 
 ing from amidst the graves — like man's last 
 only hope — towards heaven. 
 
 This village spire is degradingly noticed 
 in " An accurate Description of Bromley 
 and Five Miles round, by Thomas Wilson, 
 1797." He says, " An extraordinary cir- 
 cumstance happened here near Christmas, 
 1791 ; the steeple of this church was de- 
 stroyed by lightning, but a new one was 
 put up in 1796, made of copper, in the 
 form of an extinguisher." The old spire, 
 built of shingles, was fired on the morning 
 of the 23d of December, in the year seven- 
 teen hundred and ninety, in a dreadful 
 storm. One of the effects of it in London I 
 perfectly remember : — the copper roofing 
 of the new " Stone Buildings" in Lincoln's 
 Inn was stripped off by the wind, and vio- 
 lently carried over the opposite range of 
 high buildings, the Six Clerks' offices, into 
 Chancery Lane, where I saw the immense 
 sheet of metal lying in the carriage way, 
 exactly as it fell, rolled up, with as much 
 neatness as if it had been executed by 
 machinery. As regards the present spire 
 of Beckenham church, its " form," in rela- 
 tion to its place, is the most appropriate 
 that could have been devised — a picturesque 
 object, that marks the situation of the vil- 
 lage in the forest landscape many miles 
 round, and indescribably graces the nearer 
 view. 
 
 We soon came up to the corpse-gate of 
 the chuich-yard, and I left W. sketching it,* 
 whilst I retraced my steps into the village in 
 
 • Mr. W.'s engraving of his sketch is on p. 715. 
 
 search of the churcli-keys at the parish-clerk's, 
 from whence I was directed back again, to 
 '' the woman who has the care of the church," 
 and lives in the furthest of three neat 
 almshouses, built at the church-yard side, 
 by the private benefaction of Anthony 
 Rawlings, in 1694. She gladly accom- 
 panied us, with the keys clinking, through 
 the mournful yew-tree grove, and threw 
 open the great south doors of the church 
 It is an old edifice — despoiled of its ancient 
 font — deprived, by former beautifyings, of 
 carvings and tombs that in these times 
 would have been remarkable. It has rem- 
 nants of brasses over the burial places oi 
 deceased rectors and gentry, from whence 
 dates have been wantonly eraised, and 
 monuments of more modern personages, 
 which a few years may eoually deprave. 
 
 There are numerous memorials of the 
 late possessors of Langley, a predominant 
 estate in Beckenham. One in particular 
 to sir Humphry Style, records that he was of 
 great fame, in his day and; generation, in 
 Beckenham : he was " Owner of Langley in 
 this parish. Knight and Baionet of Englaixl 
 and Ireland, a gentleman of the privy 
 chamber in ordinary to James I, one of 
 the cupbearers in ordinary to King Charles, 
 and by them boath intrusted with the 
 weighty affairs of this oountye : Hee was 
 justice of peace and quorum. Deputy liefte- 
 nant, and alsoe (an hono'r not formerly 
 conferred upon any) made Coronell of all 
 the trayned band horse thereof.'' 
 
 The possession of Langley may be traced, 
 through the monuments, to its last herit- 
 able occupant, commemorated by an in- 
 scription ; " Sacred to the Memory of 
 Peter Burrell, Baron Gwydir, of Gwydir, 
 Deputy Great Chamberlain of England, 
 Born July 16, 1754; Died at Brighton, 
 June 29th, 1820, aged 66 years." After 
 the death of this nobleman Langley was 
 sold. The poor of Beckenham speak his 
 praise, and lament that his charities died 
 with him. The alienation of the estate de- 
 prived them of a benevolent protector, and 
 no one has arisen to succeed him in the 
 character of a kind-hearted benefactor 
 
 A tablet in this church, to " Harriet, wife 
 of (the present) J. G. Lambton, Esq. of 
 Lambton Hall, Durham," relates that she 
 died " in her twenty-fifth year." 
 
 Within the church, fixed against tne 
 northern corner of the west end, is a plate 
 of copper, bearing an inscription to this 
 import : — Mary Wragg, of St. John's, West- 
 minster, bequeathed 1 5/. per annum foj 
 ever to the curate of Beckenham, in trus' 
 for the following uses ; viz, a guinea to 
 
 384 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ^iimself for his trouble in taking care that 
 tier family vault should be keyt in good 
 repair; a guinea to be expended in a dinner 
 for himself, and the clerk, and parish offi- 
 cers ; 121. 10*. to defray the expenses of 
 such repair; if in any year the vault 
 should not require repair, the money to be 
 laid out in eighteen pennyworth of good 
 beef, eighteen pennyworth of good bread, 
 five shillings worth of coals, and 4s. 6d. in 
 money, to be given to each of twenty of 
 the poorest inhabitants of the parish ; if 
 repairs should be required, the money left 
 to be laid out in like manner ann quantity, 
 with -4*. 6d. to as many as it will extend 
 to ; and the remaining 8s. to be given to 
 the clerk. In consequence of Mary Wragg's 
 bequest, her vault in the church-yard is 
 properly maintained, and distribution made 
 of beef, bread, and money, every 28th of 
 Tanuary. On this occasion there is usually 
 a large attendance of spectators ; as many 
 as please go down into the vault, and the 
 parochial authorities of Beckenham have a 
 holiday, and " keep wassel." 
 
 There is carefully kept in this church a 
 small wooden hand-box, of remarkable 
 shape, made in king William's time, for the 
 receipt of contributions from the congrega- 
 tion when there are collections. As an 
 ecclesiastical utensil with which I was un- 
 acquainted, W. took a drawing, and has 
 cnade an engraving' of it. 
 
 This collecting-box is still used. It is 
 carried into the pews, and handed to the 
 occupants, who drop any thing or noiiiing, 
 as they please, into the upper part. When 
 ro^ney is received, it passes through an 
 
 open slit left between the back and the top 
 enclosure of the lower half; which part, thus 
 shut up, forms a box, that conceals from 
 both eye and hand the money deposited. 
 The contrivance might be advantageously- 
 adopted in making collections at the doois 
 of churches generally. It is a complete 
 security against the possibility of money 
 being withdrawn instead of given ; which, 
 from the practice of holding open plates, 
 and the ingenuity of sharpers, has some- 
 times happened. 
 
 In the middle of two family pews of this 
 church, which are as commodious as sitting 
 parlours, there are two ancient reading 
 desks like large music stands, with flaps 
 and locks for holding and securing the ser- 
 vice books when tliey are not in use. These 
 pieces of furniture are either obsolete in 
 churches, or peculiar to that of Beckenham; 
 at least I never saw desks of the like in 
 any other church. 
 
 Not discovering any thing further to re- 
 mark within the editice, except its peal of 
 five bells, we strolled among the tombs in 
 the church-yard, which offers no inscrip- 
 tions worth notice. From its solemn yew- 
 tree grove we passed through the " Lich- 
 gate," already described. On our return 
 to the road by which we had approached 
 the church, and at a convenient spot, W. 
 sketched the view he so freely represents in 
 the engraving. The melodists of the groves 
 were in full song. As the note of the 
 parish-clerk rises in the psalm above the 
 common voice of the congregation, so the 
 loud, confident note of the blackbird exceeds 
 the united sound of the woodland choir . 
 one of these birds, on a near tree, whistled 
 with all his might, as if conscious of our 
 listening, and desirous of particular dis- 
 tinction. 
 
 Wishing to reach home by a different 
 route than that we had come, we desired 
 to be acquainted with the way we should 
 go, and went again to the almshouses which 
 are occupied by three poor widows, of 
 whom our attendant to the church was one. 
 She was alone in her humble habitation 
 making tea, with the tokens of her office- 
 bearing, the church keys, on the table 
 befoie her. In addition to the required 
 information, we elicited that she was the 
 widow of Benjamin Wood, the late parish- 
 clerk. His brother, a respectable trades- 
 man in London, had raised an exce!|pit 
 business, " Wood's eating-house," at the 
 corner of Seething-lane, Tower-streei, and 
 at his decease was enabled toprovi.de com- 
 fortably for his family. Wood, the parisJi- 
 clerk, had served Beckenham in that cansi- 
 
 385 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 citv many years till his death, which left 
 his widow indigent, and threw her on the 
 cold charity of a careless world. She 
 seems to have outlived the recollection of 
 her husband's relatives. After his death 
 she struggled her way into this alms- 
 house, and gained an allowance of two 
 shillingrs. a week ; and on this, with the 
 trifle alloived for her services in keeping 
 clean the church, at past threescore years 
 and ten, sne somehow or other contrives to 
 
 We led dame Wood to talk ot her ** do 
 raestic management," and finding shd 
 brewed her own beer with the common 
 utensils and fire-place of her little room, 
 we asked her to describe her method : a 
 tin kettle is her boiler, she mashes in a 
 common butter- firkin, runs off the iiquur 
 in a " crock," and tuns it in a small-beer- 
 barrel. She is of opinion that " poor peo- 
 ple might do a great deal for themselves if 
 they knew how : but" says she, " where 
 there's a will, theie's a way.'' * 
 
 THE OLD FONT OF BECKENIiAM CHUivCIl. 
 
 A font often denotes the antiquity, and 
 frequently determines the former import- 
 ance of the churcli, and is so essential a 
 part of the edifice, that it is incomplete 
 v;ithout one. According to the rubrick, a 
 church may be without a pulpit, but not 
 without a font ; hence, almost the first 
 thing I look for in an old church is its old 
 stone font, Instead thereof, at Beckenham, 
 is a thick wooden baluster, with an un- 
 .«.eemlv circular flat lid, covering a sort oi 
 wash-hand-basin, and this the " gentlemen 
 
 of the parish " call a " fonf !" The odd- 
 looking thins was " a present " from a 
 parishioner, in lieu of ihe ancient stone 
 font which, when the church was repnired 
 after the lightning-storm, was carried away 
 by Mr. churchwarden Bassett, and placed 
 in his yard. It was afterwards sold to 
 Mr. Henry Holland, the former landlord ot 
 the " Old Crooked Billet," on Penge Com- 
 mon, who used it for several years as a 
 cistern, and the present landlord has it now 
 in his garden, where it appears as reprs;- 
 
 386 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 rented in the engraving. Mr. hamnie 
 expresses an intention of making a table of 
 it, and placing it at the front of his house: 
 in the interim it is depicted here, as a hint, 
 to induce some regard in Beckenhara 
 people, and save the venerable font from 
 an exposure, which, however intended as a 
 private respect to it by the host of the 
 ■' Crooked Billet," would be a pubLc 
 shame to Beckenham parish. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 GONE OR GOING. 
 1. 
 
 Fine merry franions, 
 Wanton companions. 
 My days are ev'n banyans 
 
 With thinking npon ye ; 
 How Death, that last stringer. 
 Finis-writer, end-bringer, 
 lias laid his chill finger. 
 
 Or is laying, on ye. 
 
 There's rich Kitty Wheatlef, 
 With footing it featly 
 That took me completely. 
 
 She sleeps in the Kirk-hons«; 
 And poor Polly Perkin, 
 Whose Dad was still ferking 
 The jolly ale firkin — 
 
 She's gone to the Work-koosfl : 
 
 3. 
 
 Fine gard'ner, Ben Carter 
 (In ten counties no smarter) 
 Has ta'en his departure 
 
 For Proserpine's orchards ; 
 And Lily, postillion. 
 With cheeks of vermilion. 
 Is one of a million 
 
 That fill up the church-yards. 
 
 And, lusty as Dido, 
 Fat Clemitson's widow 
 Flits now a small shadow 
 
 By Stygian hid ford ; 
 And good Master Clapton 
 Has thirty years nap't on 
 The ground he last hap't on ; 
 
 Intomb'd by fair Widford ; 
 
 And gallant Tom Docwra, 
 Of Nature's finest crockery, 
 Kow but thin air and mockery 
 
 Lurks by Arernus ; 
 Whose honest grasp of hand. 
 Still, while his life did stand. 
 At friend's or foe's command. 
 
 Almost did burn us. 
 
 «. 
 
 (Royer de Coverly 
 
 Not more good man than hrj. 
 
 Yet IS he equally 
 
 Push'd for Cocylus, 
 With cnckoldy Worral, 
 And wicked old Dorrel, 
 Gainst whom I've a quarrel — 
 
 His death might affright us * 
 
 7. 
 Had he mended in right time. 
 He need not in night time, 
 (That black hour, and fright-time,) 
 
 Till sexton interr'd him. 
 Have groan'd in his coffin. 
 While demons stood scoffing — 
 You'd ha* thought him a coughing — 
 
 My own father* h'^ard him 1 
 
 8. 
 
 Could gain so importune. 
 With occasion opportune. 
 That for a poor Fortune, 
 
 That should have been our8,T 
 In soul h« should venture 
 To pierce the dim center. 
 Where will-forgers enter. 
 
 Amid the dark Powers ?— 
 
 9. 
 
 Kindly hearts I have known ; 
 Kindly hearts, they are flown ; 
 Here and there if but one 
 
 Linger, yet uneffaced, — 
 Imbecile, tottering elves. 
 Soon to be wreck'd on shelves. 
 These scarce are half themselves. 
 
 With age and care crazed. 
 
 /a. 
 But this day, Fanny Hutton 
 Her last dress has put on ; 
 Her fine lessons forgotten. 
 
 She died, as the dunce died; 
 And prim Betsey Chambers, 
 Decay'd in her members. 
 No longer remembers 
 
 Things, as she once did : 
 
 II. 
 
 And prudent Miss Wither 
 Not in jest now doth wither. 
 And soon must go — whither 
 
 Nor I, well, nor you know ; 
 And flaunting Miss Waller — 
 That soon must befal her. 
 Which makes folks seem taller, % — 
 
 Though proud, once, as Jono I 
 
 Elia. 
 
 • Who sat up with him. 
 
 + I have this fact from Parental traditwi onlf . 
 
 i Death lengthens people to the eye. 
 
 387 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 HIGHLAND SCENERY. 
 
 The scenery and legend of Mr. James 
 Hay Allan's poem, " The Bridal of Cabl- 
 chairn," are derived from the vicinity of 
 Cruachan, (or Cruachan-Beinn,) a moun- 
 tain 3390 feet above the level of the sea, 
 situated at the head of Loch Awe, a lake in 
 Argyleshire. The poem commences with 
 the following lines : the prose illustrations 
 are from Mr. Allan's descriptive notes. 
 
 Orey Spirit of the Lake, who sit'st at eve 
 
 At mighty Cni&chan's gigantic feet ; 
 
 And lov'st to watch thy gentle waters heave 
 
 The silvery ripple down their glassy sheet ; 
 
 How oft I've wandered by thy margin sweet, 
 
 And stood beside the wide and silent bay. 
 
 Where the broad Urcha's stream thy breast doth meet. 
 
 And CaOlchairn's forsaken Donjon grey 
 
 Looks from its narrow rock upon thy watery way. 
 
 Maid of the waters I in the days of yore 
 
 What sight yon setting sun has seen to smile 
 
 Along thy spreading bound, on tide, and shore. 
 
 When in its pride the fortress reared its pile. 
 
 And stood the abbey on " the lovely isle ;" 
 
 And Fra6ch Elan's refuge tower grey 
 
 Looked down the mighty gulf's profound defile. 
 
 Alas 1 that Scottish eye should see the day, 
 
 When bower, and bield, and hall, in shattered ruin lay. 
 
 What deeds have past upon thy mountain shore ; 
 What sights have been reflected in thy tide ; 
 But dark and dim their tales have sunk from lore : 
 Scarce is it now remembered on thy side 
 Where fought Mao Colda, or Mao Phadian died. 
 But lend me, for a while, thy silver shell, 
 'Tis long since breath has waked its echo wide ; 
 Then list, while once again I raise its swell. 
 And of thy olden day a fearful legend tell — 
 
 INISHAIL. 
 
 - the convent on the lovely isle." 
 
 Inishail, the name of one of the islands 
 in Loch Awe, signifies in Gaelic " the 
 'ovely isle." It is not at present so worthy 
 of this appellation as the neighbouring 
 " Fraoch Elan," isle of heather, not having 
 a tree or shrub upon its whole extent. At 
 the period when it received its name, it 
 might, however, have been better clothed ; 
 and still it has a fair and pleasant aspect : 
 its extent is larger than that of any other 
 island in the lake, and it is covered with a 
 green turf, which, in spring, sends forth an 
 abundant growth of brackens. 
 
 There foi merly existed here a convent of 
 Cistercian nuns ; of whom it is said, that 
 thev were *' memorable for the sanctity of 
 
 tiuir lives and the punty of their manners ; 
 at the Reformation, when the innocent 
 Nvere involved with the guilty in the suffer- 
 ings of the times, their house was suppresi, 
 and the temporalities granted to Hay, the 
 abbot of InchafFrey, who, abjuring his for- 
 mer tenets of religion, embraced the cause 
 of the reformers."* Public worship was 
 performed in the chapel of the convent till 
 the year 17i6: but a more commodious 
 building having been erected on the south 
 side of the lake, it has since been entirely 
 forsaken ; nothing now remains of its ruin 
 but a small part of the shell, of which only 
 a few feet are standing above the founda- 
 tion. Of the remaining buildings of the 
 order there exists no trace, except in some 
 loose heaps of stones, and an almost ob- 
 literated mound, which marks the founda- 
 tion of the outer wall. But the veneration 
 that renders sacred to a Highlander the 
 tombs of his ancestors, has yet preserved 
 to the burying-ground its ancient sanctity. 
 It IS still used as a place of interment, and 
 the dead are often brought from a distanct 
 to rest there among their kindred. 
 
 In older times the isle was the principal 
 burying-place of many of the most con- 
 siderable neighbouring families : among 
 the tombstones are many shaped in the 
 ancient form, like the lid of a coffin, and 
 ornamented with carvings of fret-work, 
 running figures, flowers, and the forms of 
 warriors and two-handed swords. They 
 are universally destitute of the trace of an 
 inscription. 
 
 Among the chief families buried in In- 
 ishail were the Mac Nauchtans of Fraoch 
 Elan, and the Campbells of Inbherau. Mr. 
 Allan could not discover the spot appro- 
 priated to the former, nor any evidence of 
 the gravestones which must have covered 
 their tombs. The place of the Campbells, 
 however, is yet pointed out. It lies on the 
 south side of the chapel, and its site is 
 marked by a large flat stone, ornamented 
 with the arms of the family in high relief. 
 The shield is supported by two warriors, 
 and surmounted by a diadem, the significa- 
 tion and exact form of which it is difficult 
 to decide ; but the style of the carving and 
 the costume of the figures do not appear to 
 be later than the middle of the fifteenth 
 century. 
 
 On the top of the distant hill over which 
 the road from Inverara descends toCladicb 
 there formerly stood a stone cross, erected 
 on the spot where Inishail first became 
 visible to the traveller. These crosses were 
 
 • Statistictl Account, rol. viii. p. 347. 
 
 388 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 eeneral at such stations in monastic times, 
 and upon arriving at their foot the pilgrims 
 knelt and performed their reverence to the 
 saint, whose order they were approaching. 
 From this ceremony, the spot on the hill 
 bove-mentioned was and is yet called 
 the cross of bending." 
 
 FRAOCH ELAN. 
 
 " The refuge tower grey 
 Looked down the mighty gulf's profound defile." 
 
 The little castellated isle of " Fr&och 
 Elan" lies at a short distance from Inishail, 
 and was the refuge hold of the Mac Nauch- 
 tans. It was given to the chief, Gilbert 
 Mac Nauchtan, by Alexander III. in the 
 year 1276, and was held by the tenure of 
 entertaining the king whenever he should 
 pass Loch Awe. The original charter of 
 the grant was lately in possession of Mr. 
 Campbell of Auchlian, and a copy is to be 
 found in " Sir James Balfour's Collection 
 of Scottish Charters." The islet of " Fr^och 
 Elan" is in summer the most beautiful in 
 Scotland. On one side the rock rises al- 
 most perpendicular from the water. The 
 lower part and the shore is embowered in 
 tangled shrubs and old writhing trees. 
 Above, the broken wall and only remaining 
 gable of the castle looks out over the 
 boughs ; and on the north side a large ash- 
 tree grows from the foundation of what was 
 once the hall, and overshadows the ruin 
 with its branches. Some of the window- 
 niches are yet entire in the keep, and one 
 of these peeping through the tops of the 
 trees, shows a view of fairie beauty over 
 the waters of the lake, and the woody 
 banks of the opposite coast. In the sum- 
 mer, Fraoch Elan, like most of the islands 
 in Loch Awe, is the haunt of a variety of 
 gulls and wild fowl. They come from the 
 sea-coast, a distance of twenty-four miles, 
 to build and hatch their young. At this 
 season, sheldrakes, grey gulls, kitaweaks, 
 white ducks, teal, widgeon, and divers, 
 abound in the Loch. Fraoch Elan is chiefly 
 visited by the gulls, which hold the isle in 
 joint tenure with a water-eagle who builds 
 annually upon the top of the remaining 
 chimney. 
 
 It is not very long since this beautiful 
 isle has been delivered over to these inha- 
 bitants ; for a great aunt of a neighbouring 
 gentleman was born in the castle, and in 
 "the forty-five," preparations were privately 
 made there for entertaining the prince had 
 He passed by Loch Awe. 
 
 from thfi name of Fraoch Elan some 
 
 have erroneously, and without any authority 
 of tradition, assigned it as the dragon's 
 isle,* in the ancient Gaelic legend of 
 " Fraoch and the daughter of Mey." There 
 is, in truth, no farther relation between one 
 and the other, than in a resemblance of 
 name between the island and the warrior 
 The island of the tale was called " Elan na 
 Bheast," the Monster's Isle, and the lake in 
 which it lay was named Loch Luina. This 
 is still remembered to have been the ancient 
 appellation of Loch Avich, a small lake 
 about two miles north of Loch Awe. There 
 is here a small islet yet called " Elan na 
 Bheast," and the tradition of the neigh- 
 bourhood universally afhrms, that it was 
 the island of the legend. 
 
 RIVAL CHIEFS. 
 
 " Where fought Mac Colda, and Mac Phadian died." 
 
 " Alaister Mac Coll Cedach." Alexan- 
 der, the son of left-handed Coll, was a Mac 
 Donald, who made a considerable figure in 
 the gieat civil war : he brought two thou- 
 sand men to the assistance of Montrose, 
 and received from him a commission of 
 lieutenancy in the royal service. He is 
 mentioned by contemporary writers, under 
 the corrupted name of Kolkitto ; but time 
 has now drawn such a veil over his history, 
 that it is difficult to ascertain with any de- 
 gree of certainty from what family of the 
 Mac Donalds he came. By some it is 
 asserted, that he was an islesman ; but by 
 the most minute and seemingly authentic 
 tradition, he is positively declared to have 
 been an Irishman, and the son of the earl 
 of Antrim. 
 
 Of his father there is nothing preserved 
 but his name, his fate, and his animosity to 
 the Campbells, with whom, during his life, 
 he maintained with deadly assiduity the 
 feud of his clan. It was his piper who was 
 hanged at Dunavaig in Ceantir, and in his 
 last hour saved the life of his chieftain by 
 composing and playing the inexpressibly 
 pathetic pibroch, " Colda mo Roon." But 
 though he escaped at this juncture, Colda 
 was afterwards taken by the Campbells, 
 and hung in chains at DunstafTnage. His 
 death was the chief ground of that insatiate 
 "engeance with which his son ever after 
 pursued the followers of Atgyle. Long 
 after the death of his father, Alaister 
 chanced to pass by DunstafFnage in return 
 from a descent which he had made in the 
 Campbell's country. As he sailed near the 
 
 * Statistical Account of Scotland, vol. viii. p. 3K>i 
 rnd PenimJifR Toar in Scotland, 1774, p. 217. 
 
 38a 
 
TIIF TABLE BOOK. 
 
 castle, be saw the bones of his fat\.c;r still 
 hanging at thi; place where he had suffered, 
 and swinging in the sea-breeze. He was 
 so aflFected at the sight of the lamentable 
 remains, that he solemnly vowed to revenge 
 ■:hem by a fearful retribution, and hastening 
 his return to Ireland gathered what force 
 he was able, and sailing back to Scotland 
 offered his services to Montrose. He was 
 gladly accepted; and during the various 
 adventures of the marquis in the Hielands, 
 Alaister Mac Colda was one of the most 
 valuable of his adherents; and his follow- 
 ers were accounted among the bravest and 
 best experienced in the royal army. Some 
 of their exploits are recorded in the " Le- 
 obhair Dearg," or " Red Book of Clanra- 
 nald," and fully justify the fame which they 
 received. 
 
 Alaister was present at the battle of 
 Inbherlochie, and after the action he was 
 sent with his followers to the country of 
 Argyle. He entered the Campbell lands 
 by Glen Eitive, and wherever he came put 
 all who bore the name of that clan to tire 
 and sword. As he marched down Glen 
 Eitive, he crossed the bounds of the Mac 
 Intires in Glen O, and in passing the house 
 of their chieftain, a circumstance occurred, 
 which gives a lively picture of the extent 
 of the ancient respect paid by a clansman 
 to the ties of his blood. The Mac Intires 
 were originally descended from the Mac 
 Donalds, and lived from time immemorial 
 upon the border of the Campbells, between 
 that race and the south-east march of the 
 Clan Donald in Glen Coe. Upon the de- 
 cline of the vast power of this sept after 
 the fatal battle of Harlow, and upon the 
 subsequent increase of power to the Camp- 
 bells, the Mac Intires placed themselves 
 under the latter clan, and lived with them 
 as the most powerful of their followers. 
 When Alaister Mac Colda passed through 
 Glen O, he was not acquainted with the 
 name of the place nor the race of its inha- 
 bitants ; but knowing that he was within 
 the bounds of the Campbells, he supposed 
 ihat all whom he met were of that clan. 
 Glen O was deserted at his approach, and 
 it is probable that the men were even then 
 in service with Argyle. Alaister, in his 
 usual plan of vengeance, ordered fire to the 
 house of the chieftain. A coal was in- 
 stantly set in the roof, and the heather of 
 which it was made was quickly in a blaze. 
 Before, however, the flames had made much 
 progress, Alaister was told that the house 
 which he was burning was that of the 
 chieftain of Mac Intire. The man of Mac 
 rVnald immediately commanded his people 
 
 to do their endeavour to extinguish the fire; 
 " for,'' said he, " it is the house of our own 
 blood."* The flames were soon overcome, 
 and Colda passed through the glen of the 
 Mac Intires in peace into Glen Urcha, 
 where he burnt and destroyed all within 
 his reach. From hence he marched en- 
 tirely round Loch Awe, carrying devasta- 
 tion through the ancient and original patri- 
 mony of the Cam] bells. As he passed by 
 the Loch of Ballembr, the inhabitants (a 
 small race named Mac Chorchadell, and 
 dependant upon the former clan) retired 
 from their huts into the little castle of their 
 chieftain, which is situated in the midst of 
 the Loch. Being in no way connected with 
 his enemies by blood, Alaister did not con- 
 ceive that with them he held any feud, and 
 quietly marched past their deserted habita- 
 tions, without laying a hand upon their 
 property. But as his men were drawing 
 from the lake, one of the Mac Chorchadells 
 fired upon their rear, and wounded a Mac 
 Donald. Alaister instantly turned : " Poor 
 little Mac Chorchadell," said he in Gaelic, 
 " I beg your pardon for my want of respect 
 in passing you without stopping to pay my 
 compliments ; but since you will have it so, 
 I will not leave you without notice." — He 
 returned, and burnt every house in Balle- 
 mor. 
 
 The power of the Campbells had been 
 so broken at Inbherlochie, that it was noi 
 until Mac Colda had arrived near the west 
 coast of their country, that they were again 
 in a condition to meet him in a pitched 
 fight. At length they encountered him on 
 the skirt of the moss of Crenan, at the foot 
 of a hill not far from Auchandaroch. The 
 battle was fought with all the fury of indi- 
 vidual and deadly hatred, but at last the 
 fortune of Alaister prevailed, and the 
 Campbells were entirely routed, and pur- 
 sued with great slaughter off the field of 
 battle. Some time afterwards they again 
 collected what numbers they could gather, 
 and once more offered battle to Alaister, as 
 he was returning to Loch Awe. The con- 
 flict was fought at the ford of Ederline, the 
 eastern extremity of the lake ; but here the 
 success of the Mac Donalds forsook them. 
 They were entirely beaten and scattered, 
 so that not six men were left together; and 
 those who escaped from the field were cut 
 off by their enemies, as they endeavoured 
 
 • When the chieftain Tetnrred to his house, the co»l 
 which had so near proved its destruction, was fouud in 
 the roof; it was taken out by order of Mac Intire. and 
 preserved with great care bj his descendants, till the 
 late Glen was driven to America by the misfortnucs 
 of the Highlands and the oppression of his superior. 
 
 39J 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 to lurk out of iheir countvy. Of Alaister's 
 fate eaoh clan and eanh district has a dif- 
 ferent story. The Argyle Campbells say 
 that he was killed at the ford, and a broad- 
 sword said to have been his, and to have 
 been found on the field of battle, is at this 
 day in the possession of Peter Mac Lellich 
 (smith), at the croft of Dalmallie. The 
 Louden Campbells, on the contrary, assert, 
 that Alaister escaped from the overthrow, 
 and wandering into Ayrshire, was slain by 
 them while endeavouring to find a passage 
 into Ireland. The Mac Donalds do not 
 acknowledge either of these stories to he 
 true, but relate that their chieftain not only 
 escaped from the battle, but (though with 
 much difficulty) eflTected his flight to Ire- 
 • and, where a reward being set upon his 
 head, he was at length, in an unguarded 
 moment, when divested of his arms, slain 
 by one of the republican troopers, by whom 
 he was sought out. 
 
 The fate of Alaister Mac Colda is said to 
 liave been governed by that fatality, and 
 Dredicted by that inspiration, which were 
 fnce so firmly believed among the High- 
 landers. His foster-mother, says tradition, 
 VNas gifted with the second sight; and, pre- 
 vious to his departure from Ireland, the 
 chieftain consulted her upon the success of 
 Ins expedition. " You will be victorious 
 over all born of woman," replied the seer, 
 ' till you arrive at Goch-dum Gho; but 
 when you come to that spot, your fortune 
 shall depart, for ever." — "Let it be so," said 
 Alaister, " I shall receive my glory." He 
 departed and the spirit of his adventure 
 and the hurry of enterprise, perhaps, 
 banished trom his mind the name of the 
 fatal place. It was indeed one so insigni- 
 ficant and remote, that its knowledge was 
 most probably confined to the circle of a 
 I few miles, and not likely to be restored 
 1 to the notice of Mac Colda, by mention or 
 I inquiry. It was on the eve of his last 
 j battle, as his " bratach" was setting up at 
 , the ford of Ederline, that his attention was 
 i caught by a mill at a little distance; for 
 Some accidental reason he inquired its 
 n;ime: — "Mullian Goch-dum Gho,'' re- 
 plied one of his men. The prediction was 
 at once remembered. The enemy were nt 
 'land, and Alaister knew that he should 
 fall. Convinced of the fatality of the pro- 
 phecy, he sought not to retreat from the 
 evil spot : the bourne of his fortune was 
 past, and he only thought of dying as be- 
 came him in the last of his fields. He made 
 no comment upon the name of the place ; 
 but, concealing from his followers the con- 
 nection which it bore with his fate, gave 
 
 directions for the proceedings of the ap- 
 proaching morning. In the battle he be- 
 haved as he was wont, and in the close oi 
 the day was seen fighting furiously witl- 
 two of the Campbells, who appeared unable 
 to overcome him. Nothing more was heard 
 of him : his body was never discovered ; 
 but when the slain were buried by the con- 
 querors, his claidh-m5r was found beneath 
 a heap of dead. 
 
 Mac Phadian was an Irish captain, who. 
 with a considerable body of his country- 
 men, assisted Edward L of England in his 
 war to subvert the independence of Scot- 
 land ; but though he took a very active pan 
 in the turbulent period in which he lived, 
 and possessed sufficient courage and talents 
 to raise himself from obscurity to power, 
 yet we have nothing left of his history but 
 the account of his last enormities, and the 
 overthrow and death which they finally 
 brought. It is probable, that we aie even 
 indebted for this information to the cele- 
 brity of the man by whom he fell, and 
 which in preserving the victory of the con- 
 queror, has also perpetuated the memory 
 of the vanquished. 
 
 The scene of the last actions of Mac 
 Phadian lay in Lorn and Argyle ; and the 
 old people in the neighbourhood of Loch 
 Awe still retain a tradition, which maiks 
 out the spot where he fell. Time, however, 
 and the decay of recitation during the last 
 century, have so injured all which remained 
 of oral record, that the legend of I\iac Pha- 
 dian is now confined to a very few of the 
 elder fox-hunters and shepherds of the 
 country, and will soon pass into oblivion 
 
 with those by whom it is retained 
 
 Some time in the latter end of the year 
 1297, or the beginning of the year 1298, 
 Edward made a grant to Mac Phadian of 
 the lordships of Argyle and Lorn. Ihe 
 first belonged to sir Niel Campbell, knight, 
 of Loch Awe, and chief of his clan ; the 
 second was the hereditary patrimony of 
 John, chief of Mac Dougall. Sir Niel did 
 his endeavour to resist the usurpation of 
 his lands, and though fiercely beset by th^ 
 traitor lords, Buehan, Athol, and MentietL 
 he for some time maintained his indepenc'- 
 ence against all their united attempts. Lul 
 John of Lorn, who was himself in the in- 
 terest and service of the English, and :\! 
 that time in London, concurred with kiiJ 
 Edward in the disponing of his territories, 
 and received in remuneration a more con- 
 siderable lordship. Mac Phadian did not. 
 however, remain in quiet possession of h*s 
 
 391 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ill-acquired domains; he was strongly 
 opposed by Duncan of Lorn, uncle to the 
 lord; but joining with Buchan, Athol, and 
 Mentieth, he at length drove out his enemy, 
 and compelled him to seek shelter with sir 
 Niel Campbell. Upon this success the 
 above-mentioned allies, at the head of a 
 mixed and disorderly force gathered from 
 all parts, and from all descriptions, Irish 
 and Scots, to the amount oi' fifteen thousand 
 men, made a barbarous inroad into Argyle, 
 and suddenly penetrating into the district 
 of Netlier Loch Awe, wasted the country 
 wherever they came, and destroyed the in- 
 habitants without regard to aj^e or sex. In 
 this exigency the Campbell displayed that 
 constancy and experience which had ren- 
 dered his name celebrated among his coun- 
 trymen. Unable to resist the intoxicated 
 multitude of his enemies, with Duncan of 
 Lorn, and three hundred of his veteran 
 clansmen, he retired by the head of Loch 
 Awe and the difficult pass of Brandir to 
 the inaccessible heights of Craiganuni, and 
 breaking down the bridge over the Awe 
 below, prevented the pursuit of the enemy 
 to his position. Nothing could be more 
 masterly than the plan of this retreat. 
 
 Mac Phadian, thus baffled and outma- 
 noeuvred, not only failed in his object of 
 offence, but found himself drawn into an 
 intricate and desolate labyrinth, where his 
 multicude encumbered themselves: the want 
 of subsistence prevented him from remain- 
 ing to blockade sir Niel, and his ignorance 
 of the clues of the place made it difficult to 
 extricate himself by a retreat. In this exi- 
 gence he was desirous of returning to 
 Nether Loch Awe, where there was abun- 
 dance of cattle and game for the support of 
 his men. At length he discovered a pas- 
 sage between the rocks and the water ; the 
 way was only wide enough for four persons 
 to pass abreast ; yet, as they were not in 
 danger of pursuit, they retired in safety, 
 and effected their march to the south side 
 of the lake. 
 
 The measures employed by Wallace to 
 relieve the Campbell, and to reach the 
 fastness wherein Mac Phadian had posted 
 himself, were romantic and daring 
 
 Mac Phadian's followers were completely 
 surprised and taken at disarray. They 
 snatched their arms, and rushed to defend 
 <he pass with the boldest resolution. At 
 the first onset the Scots bore back their 
 enemies over five acres of ground ; and 
 Wallace, with his iron mace, made fearful 
 havoc among the enemy. Encouraged, 
 however, by Mac Phadian, the Irish came 
 'o the rescue; the battlfi th'^kenM with 
 
 more stubborn fury; and for two hours 
 was maintained with such obstinate eager- 
 ness on both sides, that neither party had 
 any apparent advantage. At length the 
 cause and valour of Wallace prevailed. The 
 Irish gave way and fled, and the Scots of 
 their party threw down their arms, and 
 kneeled for mercy. Wallace commanded 
 them to be spared for their birth sake, but 
 urged forward the pursuit upon the Irish. 
 Pent in by the rocks and the water, the 
 latter had but little hope in flight. Many 
 were overtaken and slain as they endea- 
 voured to climb the crags, and two thou- 
 sand were driven into the lake and drowned. 
 Mac Phadian, with fifteen men, fled to a 
 cave, and hoped to have concealed himself 
 till the pursuit was over; but Duncan of 
 Lorn having discovered his retreat, pursued 
 and slew him with his companions; and 
 having cut off the head of the leader, 
 brought it to Wallace, and set it upon a 
 stone high in one of the crags as a trophy 
 of the victory. 
 
 In one of the steeps of Cru'achan, nearly 
 opposite the rock of Brandir, there is a 
 secret cave, now only known to a very few 
 of the old fox-hunters and shepherds : it ia 
 still called " Uagh Phadian," Mac Pha- 
 dian's cave ; and is asserted by tradition to 
 be the place in which Mac Phadian died. 
 The retr.embrance of the battle is nearly 
 worn away, and the knowledge of the real 
 cave confined to so few, that the den in 
 which Mac Phadian was killed is generally 
 believed to be in the cliffs of Craiganuni : 
 this is merely owing to the appearance of a 
 black chasm in the face of tnat height, and 
 to a confusion between the action of Mac 
 Phadian with Wallace, and his pursuit ot 
 sir Niel Campbell. But the chasm in 
 Craiganuni, though at a distance it appears 
 like the mouth of a cave, is but a cleft in 
 the rock ; and the few who retain the 
 memory of the genuine tradition of the 
 battle of the Wallace, universally agree 
 that the cave in the side of Cruachan was 
 that in which Mac Phadian was killed. 
 
 The " Bridal of Cadlchairn" is a legen 
 dary poem, founded upon a very slight 
 tradition, concerning events which are re- 
 lated to have occurred during the absence 
 of sir Colin Campbell on his expedition to 
 Rome and Arragon. It is said by the tale, 
 that the chieftain was gone ten years, and 
 that his wife having received no intelligence 
 of his existence in that time, she accepted 
 the addresses of one of her husband's vas- 
 sals. Man Nab of Barachastailan. Tlip 
 
 392 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ftridal was fixed ; but on the day when it 
 was to have been solemnized, the secret 
 *vas imparted to sir Colm in Spain, by a 
 spirit of the nether world. When the 
 <night received the intelligence, he bitterly 
 .amented the distance which prevented him 
 from wreaking vengearnie upon his pre- 
 sumptuous follower. The communicat- 
 ing spirit, either out of love for mischief, 
 or from a private familiarity v\ith sir Colin, 
 promised to obviate this obstacle ; and on 
 tl.e same day, before the bridal was cele- 
 brated, transported the chieftain in a blast 
 of wind from Arragon to Glen Urcha. In 
 what manner sir Colin proceeded, tradition 
 does not say ; it simply records, that the 
 bridal was broken, but is silent upon the 
 nature of the catastrophe. The legend is 
 now almost entirely forgotten in the neigh- 
 bourhood where its events are said to hav« 
 taken place. '' As far as I know," says 
 Mr. Allan, " it is confined to one old man, 
 named Malcolm Mac Nab, who lives upon 
 the hill of Barachastailan ; he is between 
 eighty and ninety years of age, and the last 
 of the race of ancient smiths, who remains 
 in the place of his ancestors. A few yards 
 from his cottage there is the foundation of 
 one of those ancient circular forts built by 
 t/he Celts, and so frequently to be met 
 in the Highlands : these structures are 
 tisualiy ascribed by the vulgar to Fion and 
 his heroes. In a neighbouring field, called 
 ^ Larich nam Fion,' there were formerly 
 two others of these buildings; their walls 
 of uncemented stone were not many years 
 since entire, to the height of eight or nine 
 feet; but they have since been pulled down 
 and carried away to repair the neighbour- 
 ing cottages : it is from these buildings that 
 the hill received its name of ' Bar-a-chas- 
 tailan,' the * eminence of the castles.' " 
 
 The tide of centuries tas rolled away 
 
 O'er Innishail's solltaiy isle. 
 
 The wind of ages and the world's decay 
 
 Has swept upon the Campbells' fortress piJe : 
 
 And far from what they were is changed the while 
 
 The monks' grey cloistei, and the baron's keep. 
 
 I've seen the snn within the dungeon smile. 
 
 And in the bridal bower the ivy creep. 
 
 I've f tood upon the fane's foundation stone. 
 
 Heard the grass sigh upon the cloister's heap. 
 
 And sat upon the holy cross o'erthruwn. 
 
 And marked within the cell where warriors sleep. 
 
 Beneath the broad grey stone the timorous rabbit peep 
 
 The legend of the dead is past away 
 As the dim eve amid the night doth fail, 
 The memorie of the fearful bridal day 
 Is parted from th« people of tlie vale ; 
 And none are left to tell the weary tale. 
 Save on yon lone green hill by Fion's tower 
 
 Yet lives a man bowed down with age and aii ; 
 Still tells he of the fearful legend's hour — 
 It was his father fell within the bridal bower. 
 
 But though with man there is a weary waste. 
 
 It is not so beyond the mortal way ; 
 
 With the unbodied spirits nought is spaced ; 
 
 But when the aged world has worn away. 
 
 They look on earth where once their dwelling lay; 
 
 And to their never-closing eye doth show 
 
 Ail that has been — a fairie work of day ; 
 
 And all which here their mortal life did show. 
 
 Yet lives in that which never may decay ; 
 
 When thought, and life, and memorie below 
 
 Has sunk with all it bore of gladness or of woe. 
 
 At eventime on green Inchail's isle 
 
 A dim grey form doth sit upon the hill : 
 
 No shadow casts it in the moonshine smile. 
 
 And in its folded mantle bowed and still 
 
 No feature e'er it showed the twilight chill, 
 
 But seems beneath its hood a void grey. 
 
 The owlet, when it comes, cries wild and shriU ; 
 
 The moon grows dim when shows it in its ray. 
 
 None saw it e'er depart ; — but it is not at day. 
 
 By CaOlchairn at night when all is still, 
 
 And the black otter issues from his lair. 
 
 He hears a voice along the water chill. 
 
 It seems to speak amid the cloudy air ; 
 
 But some have seen beyond the Donjon stair 
 
 Where now the floor from the wall is gone, 
 
 A form dim standing 'mid the ether fair. 
 
 No light upon its fixed eye there shone. 
 
 And yet the blood seems wet upon its bosom wan. 
 
 MY ARM-CHAIR. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 In my humble opinion an arm-chair is 
 far superior to a sofa; for although I bow 
 to Covvper's judgment, (who assigned ilie 
 superiority to the sofa,) yet we must recol- 
 lect that it was in compliance with the re- 
 quest of a fair lady that he chose that 
 subject for praise : he might have eulogized 
 in equal terms an arm-chair, had he con- 
 sulted his own feelings and appreciation of 
 comfort. I acknowledge the " soft recum- 
 bency of outstretched limbs," so peculiar 
 to the sofa — the opportunity afforded the 
 fair sex of displaying grace and elegance 
 of form, while reposing in easy negligence 
 on a Grecian couch — but then think of the 
 snug comfort of an easy-chair. Its very 
 name conveys a multitude of soothing 
 ideas : its commodious repose for your 
 back ; its generous and unwearied support 
 of your head; its outstretched arms wooing 
 you to its embraces : — think on these 
 things, and ask yourself if it be possible to 
 withstand its affectionate and disinterested 
 advances. 
 
 %n 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Un entering a room where there is an 
 easy-chair, you are struck by the look of 
 conscious self-importance which seems to 
 distinguish it as the monarch of all the 
 surrounding chairs ; there is an appearance 
 of regal superiority about it, blended, how- 
 f ver, with such a charming condescension, 
 that you immediately avail yourself of its 
 gracious inclination to receive the burden, 
 of your homage. 
 
 There is one kind of arm-chair for which 
 I entertain a very resentful feeling, it 
 assumes the title of an easy-ciiair to induce 
 you to believe it one of that amiable frater- 
 nity, whereas it only claims kindred on 
 account of its shape, and is in reality the 
 complete antipodes of ease — I mean the 
 horse-hair arm-chair. Its arms, like those 
 of its brethren, invite you to repose; but, 
 if you attempt it, you are repulsed by an 
 ambusli of sharp shooting prickles. It is 
 'ike a person who has a desire to please 
 and obtain you for his friend, but who is of 
 so incorrigibly bad a temper that attach- 
 ment is impossible. If you try to com- 
 jiose yourself with one of these pretenders, 
 by endeavouring to protect the back of 
 your head with your pocket-handkerchief 
 for a pillow, you either dream that you are 
 under the hands of a surgeon who is cup- 
 ping you on the cheek, or that you are 
 transformed into your cousin I-ucy, and 
 struggling to avoid being kissed by old Mr. 
 
 D , who does not shave above once a 
 
 week. When you awake, you discover 
 that your face has slipped off the handker- 
 chief, and come immediately in contact 
 with the chevau.r de frise of bristles. 
 
 As an excellent specimen of an ea-y- 
 chair, I select the one I at present occupy. 
 Its ancient magnificence of red daina^^k 
 silk — embossed in wavy flowers and curved 
 arabesque-;, surrounded by massive g It 
 carving — is now shrouded with an unosten- 
 tatious covering of white dimity. This, 
 however, does not compromise its dignity 
 — it is rather a resignation of fatiguing 
 splendour, and the PSiumption of the ease 
 suitable to retirement in old age. Perhaps 
 a happy father once sat in it surrounded by 
 his smiling offspring: some climbing up 
 the arms ; others peeping over the lofty 
 back, aiming to cling round his neck ; his 
 favourite little girl insinuating herself be- 
 hind him, while he gazes with affectionate 
 out anxious thoughts on the countenance of 
 vtis eldest son, standing between his knees. 
 J-erhaps two lovers once sat in it together, 
 although there were plenty of other chairs 
 in the room. (For fear some of my fair 
 readers should be incredulous, I beg leave 
 
 to assure them that it is quite possible fo» 
 two people to sit together in an arm-chair, 
 if they choose to be accommodating; tiiere- 
 fore I would not have them dislike an easy- 
 chair on the plea of its being unsocial.) 
 Perhaps it may have been the means of 
 concealment — in a similar way with the arm- 
 chair in " Le Nozze di Figaro. Often have 
 I when a child curled myself round in it, 
 and listened to my old nurse's wonderful 
 stories, till I have fallen fast asleep. Often 
 iiave I since enjoyed many a delightful 
 book, while lolling indolently enclosed in 
 its soft, warm, cushioned sides — 
 
 M. H. 
 
 No. XXII. 
 
 [From " Querer Por Solo Querer:'' 
 concluded from last Number.] 
 
 Address to Solitude. 
 
 Sweet Solitude ! still Mirth ! that fear'st no wrong. 
 Because thou dost none : Morning all day long ! 
 Truth's sanctuary ! Innocency's spring 1 
 Inventions Limbeck! Contemplation's wing i 
 Peace of my soul, which I too late pursned ; 
 That know'st not the world's Tain inquietude . 
 Where friends, the thieves of time, let us alone 
 Whole days, and a man's hours are all his own 
 
 Song in praise of the Same, 
 
 Solitude, of friends the best. 
 
 And the best companion ; 
 
 Mother of truths, and brought at least 
 
 Kvery day to bed of one : 
 
 In this flowery mansion 
 
 I contemplate how the rose 
 
 Stands upon thorns, how quickly goes 
 
 The dismaying jessamine : 
 
 Only the soul, which is divine. 
 
 No decay of beauty knows. 
 
 The World is Beauty's Mirror. Flowers, 
 
 In their first virgin purity, 
 
 Flatt'rers both of the nose and eye. — 
 
 To be crept by paramours 
 
 Is their best 6f destiny : 
 
 And those nice darlings of the land. 
 
 Which seem'd heav'n's painted bow to scora. 
 
 And bloom'd the envy of the mom. 
 
 Are the gay trophy of a hand. 
 
 Unu'illing to love agatn. 
 
 — sadly I do live in fear. 
 For, though I would not fair appear. 
 And though in truth I am not fair 
 Haunted I am like those that an 
 
 |J 
 
 394 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 And here, among these rngtling leaves, 
 With which the wanton wind must play, 
 Inspired by it, my sense perceives 
 This snowy Jasmin whispering say. 
 How much more frolic, white, and fair 
 In her green lattice she doth stand. 
 To enjoy the free and cooler air. 
 Than in the prison of a hand.* 
 
 Loving without hope. 
 
 I look'd if underneath the cope 
 Were one that loved, and did not hope ; 
 But from his nobler soul remove 
 That modern heresy in luve • 
 When, hearing a shrill voice, I turn. 
 And lo ! a sweet-tongued Nightingale, 
 Tender adorer of the Morn, — 
 In him I found that One and All. 
 Kor that same faithful bird aad true. 
 Sweet and kind and constant lover, 
 Wond'rous passion did discover. 
 From the terrace of an eugh. 
 And tho' ungrateful she appear'd 
 Unmoved with all she saw and heard; 
 Every day, before 'twas day. 
 More and kiuder things he'd say. 
 Courteous, and never to be lost, 
 Return'd not with complaints, but praise 
 Loving, and all at his own cost ; 
 Suffering, and without hope of ease: 
 For with a sad and trembling throat 
 He breathes into her breast this note : 
 " I love thee not, to make thee mine ; 
 But love thee, 'cause thy form's divine." 
 
 The Trne Absence in Love. 
 
 Zelidaura, star divine, 
 
 That do'st in highest orb of beauty shiue ; 
 
 Pardon'd Murd'ress, by that heart 
 
 Itself, which thou dost kill, and coveted smart 
 
 Though my walk so distant lies 
 
 From the sunshine of thine eyes; 
 
 Into sullen shadows hurl'd. 
 
 To lie here buried from the world 
 
 ' Tis the least reason of my moan. 
 
 That so much earth is 'twixtus thrown. 
 
 'Tis absence of another kind, 
 
 Grieves me ; for where you are present too. 
 
 Love's Geometry does find, 
 
 I have ten thousand miles to you. 
 
 ' Tis not absence to be far. 
 
 Bat to abhor is to absent ; 
 
 To those who in disfavour are. 
 
 Sight itself is banishment.^ 
 
 To a JVarrioress. 
 
 Heav'n, tliat created thee thus warlike, itole 
 Into a woman's body a man's soul. 
 But nature's law in vain dost thou gainsay , 
 The woman's valour lies another way. 
 
 • Claridiana, the Enchanted Queen, speaks this, and 
 the following speech, 
 t Claridoio, rival to Felisbravo, ipeaki tkia. 
 
 The 'Iress, the tear, the blush, the witchinj eye. 
 
 More witching tongue, are beauty's armoury : 
 
 To railly ; to discourse m companies. 
 
 Who's fine, who courtly, who a wit, who wise ; 
 
 And with the awing sweetness of a Dame, 
 
 As conscious of a face can tigers tame. 
 
 By tasks and circumstances to discover. 
 
 Amongst the best of Princes, the bestLover; 
 
 (The fruit of all those flowers) who serves with most 
 
 Self diffidence, who with the greatest boast; 
 
 Who twists an eye of Hope in braids of Fear ; 
 
 Who silent (made for nothing but to bear 
 
 Sweet scorn and injuries of love) envies 
 
 Unto his tongue the treasure of his eyes : 
 
 Who, without vaunting shape, hath only wit ; 
 
 Kor knows to hope reward, tho' merit it : 
 
 Then, out of all, to make a choice so rare. 
 
 So lucky-wise, as if thou wert not fair.* 
 
 Ail mischiefs reparable but a lost iiove. 
 
 1. 
 A second Argo, freighted 
 With fear and avarice. 
 Between the sea and skies 
 Hath penetrated 
 To the new world, unworn 
 With the red footsteps ot the snowy mom, 
 
 2. 
 Thirsty of mines ; 
 
 She comes rich back; and (the ou:Td rampire past 
 Of watry mountains, cast 
 Up by the winds) 
 Ungrateful shelf near home 
 Gives her usurped gold a silver home. 
 
 A devout Pilgrim, wlio 
 
 To foreign temple bare 
 
 Good pattern, fervent prayer, 
 
 Spurr'd by a pious vow ; 
 
 Measuring so large a space, 
 
 That earth lack'd regioLS for liis plaiitsr to tri 
 
 4. 
 Joyful returns, tho' poor 
 And, just by his abode. 
 Falling into a road 
 Which laws did ill secure, 
 Sees pluflder'd by a thief 
 (O happier man than 1 I for 'tis) his lif». 
 
 5. 
 
 Conspicuous grows a Tree, 
 
 Which wanton did appear. 
 
 First fondling of the year, 
 
 With smiling bravery. 
 
 And ID his blooming pride 
 
 The Lower House of Flowers did deride ; 
 
 * Addressed to Zelidaura. 
 t Solea of his feet. 
 
 395 
 
THE 1:able book. 
 
 When hi8 silk robes aad la.it 
 
 (His youth's embroidery. 
 
 The crownetof a spring. 
 
 Narcissus of the air) 
 
 Rough Boreas doth confound. 
 
 And with his trophies strews the scorned ground. 
 
 Trusted to tedious hope 
 
 So many months the Corn ; 
 
 Which now begins to turn 
 
 Into a golden crop : 
 
 The lusty grapes, (which plump 
 
 Are the last farewell of the summer's pomp) 
 
 How spacious spreads the vine ! — 
 Nursed up with how much care, 
 She lives, she thrives, grows fair ; 
 'Bout her loved Elm doth twine : — 
 Comes a cold cloud ; and lays. 
 In one, the fabric of so many days. 
 
 A silver River small 
 
 In sweet accents 
 
 His music vents, 
 
 (The warbling virginal. 
 
 To which the merry birds do sing- — 
 
 Timed with stops of gold* the silver string); 
 
 10. 
 
 He steals by a greenwood 
 
 With fugitive feet ; 
 
 Gay, jolly, sweet : 
 
 Comes me a troubled flood ; 
 
 And scarcely one sand stays. 
 
 To be a witness of his golden days. — 
 
 11. 
 
 The Ship's upweigh'd ; 
 
 The Pilgrim made a Saint; 
 
 Next spring re-crowns the Plant; 
 
 Winds raise the Corn, was laid ; 
 
 The Vine is pruned ; 
 
 The Rivulet new tuned : — 
 
 But in the 111 l have 
 
 I'm left alive only to dig my grave. 
 
 12. 
 
 Lost Beauty, I will die. 
 
 But I will thee recover ; 
 
 And that I die not instantly. 
 
 Shews me more perfect Lover: 
 
 For (my Soul gone before) 
 
 I lire not now to live, but to deplore. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 * AUuiioc to the Tagus, and golden sands. 
 
 WELSH WEDDINGS. 
 From a Lady — To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — If a brief account of the manney 
 of celebrating marriage in some parts oi 
 Wales should afford entertainment to your 
 readers, I shall feel gratified. 
 
 The early part of my life was spent at a 
 village in the mountainous part of Gla- 
 morganshire, called Myrther Tidvel. Since 
 then it has become a considerable place for 
 the manufactory of iron, and I expect both 
 the manners and inhabitants are much 
 changed : the remembrance of its rural 
 and lovely situation, and of the simplicity 
 of its humble villagers, when I lived 
 amongst them, often produces in my mind 
 the most pleasing sensations. 
 
 Some weeks previous to a wedding taking 
 place, a person, well-known in the parish, 
 went round and invited all, without limita- 
 tion or distinction, to attend. As the cere- 
 monies were similar I shall select one, as 
 an illustration, in which I took part as 
 bride's-maid to a much valued servant. 
 
 On the evening previous to the marriage, 
 a considerable company assembled at the 
 bride's father's, and in a short time the 
 sound of music proclaimed the approach 
 of the bridegroom. The bride and her 
 company were then shut up in a room, and 
 the house-doors locked ; great and loud 
 was the cry for admittance from without, 
 till I was directed, as bride's-maid, by an 
 elderly matron, to open the window, and 
 assist tne bridegroom to enter, which being 
 done the doors were set open, and his party 
 admitted. A room was set apart for the 
 young people to dance in, which continued 
 for about an hour, and having partaken of 
 a common kind of cake and warm ale, 
 spiced and sweetened v.'ith sugar, the com- 
 pany dispersed. 
 
 At eight, next morning, I repaired to the 
 house of the bridesfroom, where there had 
 assembled in the course of an hour about 
 one hundred and tifty persons : he was a 
 relation to the dissenting minister, a man 
 highly esteemed ; and he was much re- 
 spected on that as well as his own account. 
 The procession set out, preceded by a cele- 
 brated harper playing " Come, haste to the 
 wedding;" the bridegroom and I came 
 next, and were followed by the large com- 
 pany. At the door of the bride's father we 
 were met by the bride, led by her brother, 
 who took their station behind the bride- 
 groom and me; her company joining, and 
 adding nearly as many again to the pro- 
 cession : we then proceeded to the church, 
 the music playing as before. After ilie 
 
 396 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ceremony the great door of the church was 
 opened, and the bride and her maid having 
 changed their partners were met at it by 
 the harper, who struck up " Joy to the 
 bridegroom," and led the way to a part of 
 the church-yard never used as a burial- 
 ground ; there placing himself under a large 
 yew-tree the dancers immediately formed, 
 the bride and bridegroom leadmg off the 
 two first dances, — " The beginning of the 
 world," and " My wife shall have her 
 way :" these are never danced but on like 
 occasions, and then invariably. 
 
 By this time it was twelve o'clock, and 
 the bride and bridegroom, followed by a 
 certain number, went into the house, where 
 a long table was tastefully set out with 
 bread of two kinds, one plain and the other 
 with currants and seeds in it ; plates of 
 ornamented butter; cold and toasted cheese; 
 with ale, some warmed and sweetened. 
 The bride and her maid were placed at the 
 head of the table, and the bridegroom and 
 her brother at the bottom. After the com- 
 pany had taken what they liked, a plate 
 was set down, which went round, each 
 person giving what they chose, from two to 
 five shillings; this being done, the money 
 was given to the bride, and the company 
 resigned their places to others ; and so on 
 in succession till all had partaken and given 
 what they pleased. Dancing was kept up 
 till seven, and then all dispersed. At this 
 wedding upwards of thirty pounds was 
 collected. 
 
 In an adjoining parish it was the custom 
 for the older people to go the evening be- 
 fore, and take presents of wheat, meal, 
 cheese, tea, sugar, &c., and the young peo- 
 ple attended next day, when the wedding 
 was conducted much in the way I have 
 described, but smaller sums of money were 
 given. 
 
 This method of forwarding young people 
 has always appeared to me a pleasing trait 
 m the Welsh character; but it only prevails 
 amongst the labouring classes. 
 
 When a farmer's daughter, or some 
 young woman, with a fortune of from one 
 hundred to two hundred pounds, marries, 
 it is generally very privately, and she re- 
 turns to her father's house for a few weeks, 
 where her friends and neighbours go to see 
 her, but none go empty-handed. When 
 the appointed time arrives for the young 
 man to take home his wife, the elderly 
 women are invited to attend the starald, 
 that is, the furniture which the young 
 woman provides; in general it is rather 
 considerable. It is conveyed in £;reat 
 order, there being fixed rules as to t\ie ai ti- 
 
 des to be moYed off fiist, and those which 
 are to follow. I have thought this a pleas 
 ing sight, the company being all on horse- 
 back, and each matron in her a]>pointed 
 station, the nearest relations going first ; ali 
 have their allotted basket or piece of smaij 
 furniture, a horse and car following after- 
 wards with the heavier articles. The next 
 day the young couple are attended by the 
 younger part of their friends, and this is 
 called a turmant, and is frequently pre- 
 ceded by music. Tne derivation of starald 
 and turmant I never could learn, though I 
 have frequently made the inquiry. 
 
 I am, sir, &c. &c. 
 
 A. B. 
 
 CUMBERLAND WEDDINGS. 
 
 In Cumberland, and some other parts of 
 the north of England, they have a custom 
 called a " bridewain," or the public celebra- 
 tion of awedding. A short time after a match 
 is entered into, the parties give notice of it; 
 in consequence of which the whole neigh- 
 bourhood, for several miles round, assemble 
 at the bridegroom's house, and join in 
 various pastimes of the county. This 
 meeting resembles the wakes or revels cele- 
 brated in other places ; and a plate or bowl 
 is fixed in a convenient place, where each 
 of the company contributes in proportion to 
 his inclination and ability, and according 
 to the degree of respect the parties are held 
 in ; by which laudable custom a worthy 
 couple have frequently been beretiled with 
 a supply of money, from fifty to a hundred 
 pounds. The following advertisements are 
 from Cumberland newspapers : — 
 
 Invitation. 
 
 Suspend for one day your cares and your labours, 
 And nome to this wedding, kind friends and good neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 Notice is hereby given, that the mar- 
 riage of Isaac Pearson with Frances Atkin- 
 son, will be solemnized in due form in the 
 parish church of Lamplugh, in Cumberland, 
 on Tuesday next, the 30th of May inst. 
 (1786); immediately after which the bride 
 and bridegroom, with their attendants, will 
 proceed to Lonefoot, in the said parish, 
 where the nuptials will be celebrated by a 
 variety of rural entertainments. 
 Then come one and all 
 At Hymen's soft call, 
 From Whitehaven, Workington, Harington, Dean 
 Hall, Ponsonby, Bluing, and all places between; 
 From Kgremont, Cockermouth, Barton. St. Bee'., 
 Cint, Kinnyside, Calder, and parts such as the>e; 
 And the country at large may fiock is if ttey plcaM. 
 
 sy? 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 fcnch spoils there wll be as na^-c seldom been seen, 
 Such wrestiing and fencing, ind dancing between, 
 And races for prizes, for frolic and fun. 
 By horses and asses, and doars, vi'iU be run, 
 Fhat you'll go home happy — as sure as a gun. 
 In a word, such a wedding can ne'er fail to please ; 
 For the sports of Olyojpus were trifles to tliese. 
 Nota Bene — You'll please to observe that the day 
 Of this grand bridal pomp is the thirtieth of May, 
 When 'tis hop'd that the sun, to enliven the sight. 
 Like the flambeau of Hymen, will deign to burn bright. 
 
 Another Advertisement. 
 Bridewain. 
 
 There let Hymen oft appear, 
 In saffron robe and taper clesr. 
 And pomp and feast and revelry. 
 With mask and antic pageantry ; 
 Such sights as youthful poets dream. 
 On summer eves by haunted stream. 
 
 George Hayto, who married Ax\x\e, the 
 
 EARLY RISING. 
 
 Buffon rose always with the sun, and he 
 wsed often to tell by what m'eans he had 
 2ccustomed himself to get out of bed so 
 early. " In my youth," said he, " I was 
 very fond of sleep; it, robbed me of a great 
 deal of my time; but my poor Joseph (hi* 
 domestic') was of great service in enablins^ 
 me to overcome it. I promised to give 
 Joseph a crown every time that he coulj 
 make me get up at six. The next morning 
 he did not fail to awake and torment me , 
 but he received only abuse. The day aftei i 
 he did the same, with no better success, 
 and I was obliged at noon to confess that 
 I had lost my time. I told him, that he 
 did not know hov/ to m.aiiant^ his business; 
 that tie ought to think of my ])i'omise, and 
 not to mind my threats. Tlie day follow- 
 ing he employed force ; I begged for in- ' 
 daughtel- of Joseph and Dinah Colin, of dulgence, I bid him begone, I stormed, bnt 
 
 Crosby mill, purposes having a Bridewain 
 at his house at Crosby, near Maryport, on 
 Thursday, the 7th day of May next, (1 7 69), 
 where he will be happy to see his friends 
 and well-wishers ; for whose amusement 
 there will be a variety of racer., wrestling- 
 matches, &;c. &c. The prizes will be — a 
 saddle, two bridles, a pair o'i gauds (V amour, 
 gloves, which, whoever wins, is sure to be 
 married within the twelvemonths ; a girdle 
 {ceiitture de Venus) possessing qualities not 
 to be described ; and many other articles, 
 sports, and pastimes, too numerous to men- 
 tion, but which can never prove tedious in 
 the exhibition. 
 
 From fashion's laws and customs free. 
 
 We welcome sweet variety ; 
 
 By turns we laugh, and dance, and sing , 
 
 Time's for ever on the wing ; 
 
 And nymphs and swains on Cumbria's plain. 
 
 Present the golden age again. 
 
 Joseph persisted. I was therefore obliaed 
 to comply, and he was rewarded every day 
 for tlie abuse which he suffered at ihe mo- 
 ment when I awoke, by thanks accom- 
 panied with a crown, which he received 
 about an hour after. Yes, I am indebted 
 to poor Joseph for ten or a dozen of ilie 
 volumes of my work. " 
 
 A GOOD EXCUSE. 
 
 In the Court of Session in Scotland, the 
 judges who do not attend, or give a proper 
 excuse for their absence, are, by law, liable 
 to a fiii-ie ; but it is common, on the first day 
 of the session, for the absentee to send an 
 excuse to the lord president. I^ord Stone- 
 field having sent such an excuse, on the 
 
 PUNCTUALITY 
 " A Quarter before." 
 
 Industry is of little avail, without a habit 
 of very easy acquirement — punctuality : on 
 tliis jewel the whole machinery of success- 
 ful industry may be said to turn. 
 
 When lord Nelson was leaving London 
 on his last, but glorious, expedition against 
 the enemy, a quantity of cabin furniture 
 was ordered to be sent on board his ship. 
 He had a farewell dinner party at his 
 house ; and the upholsterer having waited 
 upon his lordship, with an account of the 
 completion of the goods, he was brought into 
 the dining-room, in a corner of which his 
 lordship spoke with him. The upholsterer 
 stated to his noble employer, that every 
 thing was finished, and packed, and would 
 
 president mentioning it, the late lord jus- go in the waggon, from a certain inn, at nlv 
 
 tice clerk Braxfield said, in his broad dia 
 lect, " What excuse can a stout fallow like 
 him hae ?" " My lord," said the president, 
 '* he has lost his wife." The justice, who 
 wvas fitted with a Xanthippe, replied, " lias 
 ;ie / mat is a gude t- xcuse indeed ; I wish 
 we had a' the same." 
 
 o'clock. " And you go to the inn, Mr. A , 
 nnd see them off." " I shall, my lord; 1 
 shall be there punctually at sis:." " A 
 quarter before six, Mr. A," returned lord 
 Nelson ; " be there a quarter before : to 
 that quarter of an hour I owe every thiuK 
 \a life " 
 
 398 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 READING THE NEWSPAPER. 
 
 The folio of four pages, happy work ! 
 Which not even critics criticize. — Cowper, 
 
 A venerable old man is, as the reader 
 of a newspaper, still more venerable ; for 
 his employment implies that nature yet 
 lives in him ; — that he is anxious to 
 learn how much better the world is on his 
 leaving it, than it was when he came into 
 it. When he reads of the meddlings of over- 
 legislation, he thinks of " good old times," 
 and feels with the poet — 
 
 But times are alter'd ; trade's unfeeling train 
 Usurp the land and dispossess the swain ; 
 Along the lawn where scatter'd hamlets rose, 
 Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose ; 
 And ev'ry want to luxury ally'd. 
 And ev'ry pang that folly pays to pride. 
 Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom. 
 Those calm desires tliat ask'd but little room ; 
 Tbose healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful seen* 
 L)T'd in ea'-h look, and brighten'd all tbe p^=en ; 
 
 These, far departingi seek ai kinder shore* 
 And rural mirth and manners are no more. 
 
 He reads of proposals for extending the 
 poor-laws to one part of the United King- 
 dom not yet cursed with that sure and cer- 
 tain means of increasing the growth of 
 poverty — he reads of schemes of emigration 
 for an alleged surplus of human beings 
 from all parts of the empire — he reads of 
 the abundance of public wealth, and of the 
 increase of private distress — and he remem 
 bers, that 
 
 A time there was, ere England's griefs began. 
 When ev'ry rood of ground maintain'd its man ; 
 For him light labour spread her wholesome stort. 
 Just giive what life lequir'd, but gave no more : 
 His bast com-panions, innocence and health : 
 And his best riches, ignorance of wealtk. 
 
 YuL. ilx. 
 
 o99 
 
 2D 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 T!.? old man, who thus reads and recol- 
 lects, has seen two much of factions to be a 
 partisan. His only earthly interest is the 
 good of his country. A change in the 
 administration is to \i\rp of no import, if it 
 b'ing not blessings to the pres« it genera- 
 tion that entail a debt of grat.'-ude upon 
 posterity. Alterations in public affairs, if 
 violently effected, he scarcely expects will be 
 lasting, and loves human nature too well 
 to desire them ; yet he does not despair of 
 private undertakings on account of their 
 novelty or vastness; and therefore he was 
 among the earliest promoters of vaccination, 
 and of Winsor's plan for lighting the streets 
 with gas. He was a proprietor of the first 
 vessel navigated by steam, and would ratlier 
 fail with Brunei than succeed at court. 
 
 The old man's days are few. He has 
 discovered that the essential requisites of 
 human existence are small in number; arid 
 that in strength itself there is weakness. 
 He speculates upon ruling mankind by the 
 law of kindness ; and, as a specimen of the 
 possibility, he kindles good-will with the 
 materials of strife. 
 
 (^aiTicfe ^ln^^4 
 
 No. XXIH. 
 
 From the " Downfall of Robert, Earl of 
 Huntingdon," an Historical Play, by T. 
 Heywood, 1601.] 
 
 Chorus ; Skelton, the Poet. 
 
 Skelton, {to the Audience). The Youth that leads 
 yon virgin by the hand 
 As doth the Sun the Morning richly clad. 
 Is our Earl Robert — or your Robin Hood — 
 That in those days was Earl of Huntingdon. 
 
 Robin reconnts to Marian the pleasures 
 of a forest life. 
 
 Robin. Marian, thou see'st, tho' courtly pleasures 
 want. 
 Yet country sport in Sherwood is not scant : 
 t'or the soul-ravishing delicious jund 
 Of instrumental music, we have found 
 The winged quiristers, with divers note? 
 Sent from theur quaint recording pretty throats, 
 Ou every branch that compasseth our bower, 
 Without command contenting us each hour. 
 For arras hangings and rich tapestry. 
 We have gweet Nature's best embroidery. 
 For thy steel glass, wherein fhou wont'st to look. 
 Thy chrystal eves gaze in a chrystal brook. 
 At Court a flower or two did deck thy head ; 
 Now with whole garlands it is circled : 
 
 VoT what we want i'l wcaltl . we have ir. flowRTS ; 
 And what we lose in halls, we find in bowers. 
 
 Marian. Marian hath all, sweet Rjbert. having 
 tl\f e ; 
 And guesses thee as rich in having me. 
 
 Scarlet recounts to Scathlock the plea- 
 sures of an Outlaw's life. 
 
 Srarlet. It's full seven years since we viete outlavf' 
 first. 
 And wealthy Sherwood was our heritage. 
 For all those years we reigned uncontroU'd, 
 From Barnsdale shrog? to Nottingham's red cliffs. 
 At Blithe and Tickhill were we welcome guests ; 
 Good GeoT^e-a-green at Bradford was our friena. 
 And wanton Wakefield's Pinner loved us well. 
 At Barnsley dwells a Potter tough aiid strong. 
 That never brook'd we brethren should have wrong. 
 The Nuns of Farnsfiali, pretty Nuns they be. 
 Gave napkins, shirts, and baid-s, to him aud me. 
 Bateman of Kendal gave us Kendal green, 
 And^harpe of Leeds sharp arrows for us made. 
 At Rotherham divelt our Bewyer, God him bliss ; 
 Jackson he higbt. his bows did never miss 
 
 Fitzioater, banished, seeking his daughter 
 Matilda (Robins Marian) in the forest oj 
 Sherwood, makes hia complaint. 
 
 Fitz. Well did he write, and mickle did he knov/, 
 That said " This world's felicity was woe. 
 Which greatest states can hardly undergo." 
 'V^ihilom Fitzwater in fair England's Court 
 Possest felicity and happy state. 
 And in his hall blithe Fortune kept her sport ; 
 Which glee one hour of woe did r'llnate. 
 Fitzwater once had castles, towns, and towers; 
 Fair gardens, orchards, and delightful bowers ; 
 But now nor garden, orchard, town, nor tower 
 Hath p.oor Fitzwater left within his power. 
 Only wide walks are left me in the world, 
 Which these stiff limbs will hardly let me tread : 
 And when I sleep, heavn's glorious canopy 
 Me and my mossy couch doth overspread. 
 
 He discovers Robin Hood sleeping ; 
 Marian strewing flowers over him. 
 
 Fitz. — in good time see where my comfort stands. 
 And by her lies dejected Huntingdon. 
 Look how my Flower holds flowers in her hands, 
 And flings those sweets upon my sleeping son. 
 
 Feigns himself blind, to try if she tviU 
 know him. 
 
 Marian. What aged man art thou ? or by what 
 chance 
 Camest thou thus far into the wayless wood ? 
 
 Fitz. Widow, or wife, or maiden, if thou be ; 
 Lend me thy hand: thou see'st I canijot see. 
 Blessing betide thee I little feel'st thou want ; 
 With ice, good child, food is both hard and scant. 
 These smooth even veins assure me, He is kind, 
 Whate'er he be, my girl, that thee doth find. 
 
 400 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 I poor and old am reft of all earth's good ; 
 Aod desperately am crept into this wood, 
 To seek the poor man's patron, Robin Hood. 
 
 Marian. And thou art welcome, welcome^ aged man. 
 Aye ten times welcome to Maid Marian. 
 Here's wine to cheer thy heart; drink, aged man. 
 There's venison, and a knife; here's manchetfiue. — 
 My Robin stirs: I mast sing him asleep. 
 
 A Judgment. 
 A fVicked Prior. Servingman. 
 
 Prior. What news with yo«, Sir? 
 
 Serv. Ev'n heavy news, my Lord ; for tne light fire, 
 Falling in manner of a fire-drake 
 t/pon a barn of yours, hath burnt six barns, 
 Aiid cot a strike of corn reserv'd from dust. 
 No hand could save it ; yet ten thousand hands 
 Labour'd their best, though none for love ot you • 
 For every tongue with bitter cursing bann'd 
 Your Lordship, as the viper of the land. 
 
 Prior. What meant the villains ? 
 
 Serv. Thus and thus they cried : 
 ** Upon this churl, this hoarder up of com. 
 This spoiler of the Earl of Huntingdon, 
 This lust-defiled, merciless, false Prior, 
 Heav'n raineth judgment down in shape of fire." 
 Old wives that scarce could with their crutches creep. 
 And little babes that newly learn'd to speak. 
 Men masterless that thorough want did weep. 
 All in one voice with a confused cry 
 In execrations bann'd you bitterly. 
 <* Plague follow plague," they cried ; " he hath undone 
 The good Lord Robert, Earl of Huntingdon." 
 
 fFroir. " Phillis of Scyros," a Dramatic 
 Pastoral, Author Unknown, 1635.] 
 
 True Lave irremovable by Death. 
 
 Serpilla. Phillis. 
 
 Serpilla. Thyrsis believes thee dead, and justly may 
 Within his youthful breast then entertain 
 New flames of love, and yet therein be free 
 From the least show of doing injury 
 To that rich beauty which he thinks extinct, 
 And happily liath mourn'd for long ago : 
 But when he shall perceive thee here alive, 
 His old lost love will then with thee revive. 
 
 Phillis. That love, Serpilla, which can be removed 
 With the light breath of an imagined death. 
 Is but a faint weak love ; nor care I much 
 Whether it live within, or still lie dead. 
 Ev'n I myself believ'd him long ago 
 Dead, and enclosed within an earthen urn ; 
 And yet, abhorring any other love, 
 I onlv loved that pale-faced beauty still ; 
 And those dry bones, dissolved into dust: 
 And underneath their ashes kept alive 
 The lively flames of my still-burning fire. 
 
 Celia, being pnt to sleep by an ineffectual 
 poison, leaking believes herself to be among 
 the dead. The old Shepherd Narete Jinds 
 
 her, and re-assures her of her sfiU being 
 alive. 
 
 Shepherd. Celia, thou talUest idly; call again 
 Thy wandering senses ; thou art yet alive. 
 And, if thou wiU not credit what I say, 
 lottk up, and see the heavens turning round ; 
 The sun descending down into the west. 
 Which not long since thou saw'st rise in the east. 
 Observe, that with the motion of the air 
 These fading leaves do fall ; — 
 In the infernal region of the deep 
 The nun doth never rise, nor ever set ; 
 Nor doth a falling leaf there e'er adorn 
 Those black eternal plants. 
 Thou still art on the earth 'mongst mortal men, 
 And still thou livest. 1 am Narete. These 
 Are the sweet fields of Scyros. Know'st thou not 
 The meadow where the fountain springs ? this wood' 
 F'irn's great mountain, and Ormino's hill; 
 Alio lull wiiere thou wert born ? 
 
 Thyrsis, upbraided by Phillis for lovivq 
 another^ while he supposed her dead, re- 
 plies — 
 
 Thirsts. O do not turn thy face another way. 
 Perhaps thou thinkest, by denying thus 
 That lovely visage to these eyes of mine. 
 To punish my misdeeds ; but think not so. 
 Look on me stitl, and mark me what I say, 
 (For, if thou know'st it not, I'll tell thee then), 
 A more severe revenger of thy wrongs 
 Thou canst not have than those fair eyes of thine. 
 Which by those shining beams that wound iny heart 
 Punish me more than all the world can do. 
 What greater pain canst thou inflict on me. 
 Than still to keep as fire before my face 
 That lovely beauty, which I have betray'd ; 
 That beauty, 1 have lost ? 
 
 Night breaks off her speech. 
 
 NioHT. — But stay I for there methinks 1 see tli« 
 Sun, 
 Eternal Painter, now begin to rise. 
 And limn the heavens in vermilion dye , 
 And having dipt his pencil, aptly framed. 
 Already in the colour of the morn. 
 With various temper he doth mix in one 
 Darkness and Light : and drawing curiously 
 Strait golden lines quite thro' the dusky sky, 
 A rough draught of the day ne seems to yield, 
 With red and tawny in an azure field. — 
 Already, by the clattering of their bits. 
 Their gingli-ng harness, and their neighing sounds. 
 I hear Eous and fierce Pirous 
 Come panting on my back; and therefore I 
 Must fly away. And yet I do not fly, 
 But follow on my regulated course. 
 And those eternal Orders I received 
 From the First Mover of the Universe. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 401 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Tlie following communication from " a- 
 matter-of-fact" correspondent, controverts 
 ati old dramatist's authority on an historical 
 point. It should be recollected, however, 
 that poets have large license, and that few 
 playwrights strictly adhere to facts without 
 injury to poetical character and feeling. 
 The letter is curious, and might suggest 
 an amusing parallel in the manner of Plu- 
 tarch, between the straightforward cha- 
 racter and the poetical one. 
 
 KING JOHN AND MATILDA. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — Having been in the country durmg 
 the publication of the first parts of the 
 Table Book, I have but now just bought 
 them ; and on perusing them, I find in 
 part 1, col. 112 et infr^, Mr. C. Lamb's 
 first specimen of the Garrick Plays, called. 
 "King John and Matilda;" wherein tlie 
 said Matilda, the daughter of the oW baron 
 Fiizwater* is supposed to be poisoned by 
 King John's order, in a nunnery. She is 
 especially entitled therein as " immaculate" 
 — " Virtue's white virgin," — and " maid&nd 
 martyr." Now, sir, I presume it to be well 
 known, that in the best lesends extant of 
 the times of Richard I. and John, this iden- 
 tical Matilda, or Maud Fitzwater, is chro- 
 .licled as the chere amie and companion of 
 the outlawed Robert Fitzooth, earl of Hunt- 
 ingdon, whom, as " Robin Hood," she fol- 
 lowed as " Mairf Marian ;" and with whom, 
 on his restoration to his honours by king 
 Richard, (to his earldom and estates,) she 
 intermarried, and became countPss of Hunt- 
 ingdon, and was in every respect a wife, 
 ihoagh we have no records whether she 
 ever becam.e a mother ; and that when by 
 king John the earl was agjain outlawed, 
 and driven to the wilds of Sherwood forest, 
 us countess also again shared his misfor- 
 , jnes, and a second time took the name of 
 " Maid Marian," (then rather a misnomer,) 
 as he did that of" Robin Hood." 
 
 During the_/?r«i outlawry of Robin Hood, 
 and while Marian, or more properly Ma- 
 tilda, was yet a maid, John (then prince 
 John, Richard being in Palestine) made 
 overtures to the old baron Fitzwalter fur 
 his daughter as a mistress, and being re- 
 fused, and finding she was in the society of 
 Robin Hood and his merry men, attacked 
 them, and a bloody fray ensued; during 
 
 • This li. au enor of the poet's. His real name wus 
 Fit2-Wa/ter, i. e. the sou of tValter. 
 
 •which, John and Matilda (in the male cos- 
 tume of foiest green) met, and fought; 
 John required her to yield, and she as 
 resolutely desired him, in a reproachful 
 taunt, to win her first ; and so stoutly did 
 she belabour him, as the rest of the forester.'* 
 did his party also, that he was constrained: 
 to yield, and to withdraw from a contest in 
 which nothing was to be got but blows. 
 
 We hear nothing more of any attempt? of 
 John's to molest her or her party till aitei 
 the death of Richard, and his own accession 
 to the throne, when he spitefully ousted 
 the earl and countess from their honours 
 and possessions, and confiscated all to hi.-- 
 own use; and thus this unfortunate pair 
 as I have above stated, were again con- 
 strained to quit the castle for the forest. 
 
 But it is certain, that long before John, 
 became king, Matilda, alias Maud, alias- 
 Marian, had ceased to be a maid ; and we 
 have no account of any attempts whatsoever 
 made by king John upon or against the 
 quondam Matilda Fitzwalter,. afterwards 
 alternately Maid Marian and countess of 
 Huntingdon. Indeed all the legends of 
 Robin Hood's life present " Maid Marian" 
 as having lived with him unmolested by any 
 such attempts during the whole of his second 
 outlawry, and as having survived Robin's- 
 tragical end ; though of her subsequent fate 
 they are all silent, expressing themselves- 
 indeed ignorant of what was her destiny. 
 Certainly she may then have retired into a 
 nunnery, but at all events not as Matilda- 
 Fitzwalter; for she had been legally mar- 
 ried and formally acknowledged by Rich- 
 ard I. as countess ot Huntingdon ; and as- 
 she spent the last part of her fellowship, 
 with her husband in Sherwood forest under 
 her romantic forest appellation, it is scarcely 
 probable that she would resume her title 
 on entering into a nunnery. I would pre- 
 sume, therefore, that however and wher- 
 ever she ended her days,.it must have been 
 under the cognomen of " Maid Marian." 
 And as her husband lived for some years 
 in the forest after the accession of John, L 
 should think it scarcely likely that after 
 such a great lapse of time, and after the- 
 change which had taken place in Matilda 
 both as regard.* her worldly station and; 
 age, and I should presume person, (from 
 such a continued exposure to the air and. 
 weather,) John should renew any attemp' 
 upon her. 1 should therefore feel exceed- 
 ingly gratified if either yourself or Mr. C 
 Lam,b could adduce any historical facts to 
 reconcile all these discrepancies, and' to 
 show how the facts, as supposed in the 
 play of " King John and Matilda," could. 
 
 402 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ;n the natural course of events, and in the 
 very teeth of the declarations made in tlie 
 history of Robin Hoei and his consort, 
 have taken place. 
 
 Mark this also ;— the historians of Robin 
 Hood and Maid Marian (and their history 
 was written, if not by contemporaries, yet in 
 Ihe next generation ; nor is it likely that 
 <uch a renowned personage should be un- 
 noticed in chronicles for any space of time) 
 all declare that they could not ascertain the 
 fate of Marian after the death of Robin. 
 His death and burial are well known, and 
 the inscription to his memory is still extant ; 
 but i/te was lost sight of from the time of 
 his decease. How comes it then that 
 Robert Davenport, in the 17th century, 
 should be so well informed, as to know thr.t 
 Matilda ended her days in a nunnery by 
 poison administered by order of king John, 
 when there is no tradition extavt of the 
 time or manner oi her decease? We have 
 no other authority than this of Davenport's 
 tragedy on the subject ; and I should there- 
 fore be inclined to think that he was mis- 
 informed, and that the event recorded by 
 him never happened. As to its being ano- 
 ther Matilda Fitzwalter, it is highly pre- 
 posterous to imagine. Is it likely that at 
 the same time there should be two barons 
 of that name and title, each having a daugh- 
 ter named Matilda or Maud? Davenport 
 calls his baron the old baron Fitzwater ; 
 and the father of Maid Marian is described 
 as the oW baron : both must therefore have 
 lived in the reign of Richard I., and also in 
 that ■ John till their death. Indeed we 
 have proof that the baron was alive in 
 John's reign, because Richard I. having 
 restored him at the same time that he par- 
 doned Fitzooth, John dispossessed them both 
 on his accession. 
 
 I think it therefore highly improbable 
 that there should have been so remarkable 
 a coincidence as two barons Fitzwalter, and 
 two Matildas at the same time, and both 
 the latter subject to the unwelcome ad- 
 dresses of John : consequently I cannot 
 give credence, without proofs, to the inci- 
 dent in Davenport's play. 
 
 I ain. Sir, 
 
 respectfully yours, 
 " The Veiled Spirit." 
 May 17, 1827. 
 
 p. S. — Since writing the above, my fr'end 
 F. C. N. suggests to me, that there was a 
 baron Fitzwalter in John's reign, proprietor 
 of Castle Baynard, whose daughter Matilda 
 fohn saw at a tourney, and being smitten 
 
 with her charms, proposed to her father rot 
 i.er as his mistress, (precisely the events 
 connected with Maid Marian ;) and being 
 refused, he attacked Castle Baynard, and 
 ultimately destroyed it. However,- for the 
 reasons 1 have before stated, I am decidedly 
 of opinion, that if such a baron was pro- 
 prietor of Castle Baynard, it must have 
 been the father of Maid Marian, as I can- 
 not suppose that there were two. I cannot 
 precisely remember, nor have I any thing 
 at hand to refer to, but I believe it was at a 
 tourney somewhere that prince John fksl 
 saw Maud. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 THE PHANTOM LIGHT 
 
 What phantom light from yonder lonely tovver. 
 Glimmers yet paler than the pale moon bearn ; — 
 
 Breaking; the darkness of the midnight hour, — 
 What bodes its dismal, melancholy gleam ? 
 
 '•Tis not the brightness of that glorious light. 
 That bursts in splendour from the hoary north • 
 
 'Tis not the pharos of the dangerous night, 
 Mid storms and winds benignly Shining forth. 
 
 Still are the waves that wash this desert shore. 
 No breath is there to fill the fisher's sail ; 
 
 Yet round yon isle is heard the distant roar 
 Of billows writhing in a tempest's gale. 
 
 Doomed are the mariners that rashly seek 
 To land in safety on that dreadful shore ; 
 
 For once engulfed in the forbidden creek. 
 Their fate is sealed— they're never heard of more. 
 
 For spirits there exert nnholy sway — 
 
 When favoured by the night's portentous glooai — 
 Stfduce the sailor from his trackless way. 
 
 And lure the wretch to an untimely doom. 
 
 A d'emon tenant's yonder lonely tower, 
 
 A dreadful compound of hell, earth, and air ; 
 
 To-night he visits not his favourite bower. 
 So pale the light that faintly glimmers there. 
 
 In storms he seeks that solitary haunt, 
 
 And, with their lord, a grim unearthly crew ; 
 
 Who, while they join in wild discordant chant. 
 The mystic revels of their race pursue. 
 
 But when the fiends have gained their horrid lair. 
 The light then bursts forth with a blood-red glare • 
 And phantom torms will flit along the wave 
 Whose corses long had tenanted ttie fiST« 
 
 403 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 A GROVE 
 
 The Formation of one with a View 
 TO THE Picturesque. 
 
 The prevailing character of a grove is 
 beauty ; fine trees are lovely objpcts ; a 
 grove is an assemblage of them ; in which 
 every individual retains much of its own 
 peculiar elegance; and whatever it loses is 
 transferred to the superior beauty of the 
 whole. To a grove, therefore, which admits 
 of endless variety in the disposition of the 
 trees, differences in their shapes and their 
 greens are seldom very important, and 
 sometimes they are detrimental. Strong 
 contrasts scatter trees which are thinly 
 planted, and which have not the connection 
 of underwood ; they no longer form one 
 plantation ; they are a number of single 
 trees. A thick grove is not indeed ex- 
 posed to this mischief, and certain situa- 
 tions may recommend different shapes and 
 different greens for their effects upon the 
 surface ; but in the outline they are seldom 
 much regarded. The eye attracted into 
 the depth of the grove passes by little cir- 
 cumstances at the entrance ; even varieties 
 in the form of the line do not always en- 
 gage tlie attention : they are not so appa- 
 rent as in a continued thicket, and are 
 scarcely seen, if they are not considerable. 
 
 But the surface and the outline are not 
 the only circumstances to be attended to. 
 Though a grove be beautiful as an object, 
 it is besides delightful as a spot to walk or 
 to sit in; and the choice and the disposi- 
 tion of the trees for effects within are there- 
 fore a principal consideration. Mere ir- 
 regularity alone will not please ; strict 
 order is there more agreeable than ab«olute 
 confusion ; and some meaning better than 
 none. A regular plantation has a degree 
 of beauty ; but it g'wes no satisfaction, 
 because we know that the same number of 
 trees might be more beautifully arranged. 
 A disposition, however, in which the lines 
 only are broken, without varying the dis- 
 tances, is less natural than any ; for though 
 we cannot find straight lines in a forest, we 
 are habituated to them in the hedge-rows 
 of fields ; but neither in wild nor in culti- 
 vated nature do we ever see trees equidis- 
 tant from each other: that regularity belongs 
 to art alone. The distances therefore should 
 be strikingly different; the trees should 
 gather into groups, or stand in various ir- 
 regular lines, and describe several figures : 
 the intervals between them should be con- 
 trasted both in shape and in dimensions : a 
 large space should in some places be quite 
 open ; in others the trees should be so close 
 
 together, as hardly to leave a passage be- 
 tween them ; and in others as far apart as 
 the connection will allow. In the forms 
 and the varieties of these groups, these 
 lines, and these openings, principally con- 
 sists the interior beauty of a grove. 
 
 The consequence of variety in the dis- 
 position, is variety in the light and shade 
 of the grove ; which may be improved by 
 the choice of the trees. Some are impene- 
 trable to the fiercest sunbeam ; others let 
 in here and there a ray between the large 
 masses of their foliage ; and others, thin 
 both of boughs and of leaves, only checker 
 the ground. Every degree of light and 
 shade, from a glare to obscurity, may be 
 managed, partly by the number, and partly 
 by the texture of the trees. Differences 
 only in the manner of their growths have 
 also corresponding effects ; there is a close- 
 ness under those whose branches descend 
 low and spread wide, a space und liberty 
 where the arch above is high, and frequent 
 transitions from the one to the other are 
 very pleasing. These still are not all the 
 varieties of which the interior of a grove is 
 capable ; trees, indeed, whose branches 
 nearly reach the ground, being each a sort 
 of thicket, are inconsistent with an open 
 plantation ; but though some of the cha- 
 racteristic distinctions are thereby excluded, 
 other varieties more minute succeed in their 
 place ; for the freedom of passage through- 
 out brings every tree in its turn near to the 
 eye, and subjects even differences in foliage 
 to observation. These, slight as they may 
 seem, are agreeable when they occur; it is 
 true they are not regretted when wanting, 
 but a defect of ornament is not necessarily 
 a blemish. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 GROVES AND HIGH PLACES. 
 
 Tlie heathens considered it unlawful to 
 build temples, because they thought no 
 temple spacious enough for the sun. Hence 
 the saying, Mundus universus est templum 
 solis, " The whole world is a temple of 
 the sun." Thus their god Terminus, and 
 others, were worshipped in temples open- 
 roofed. Hills and mountains became the 
 fittest places for their idolatry ; and these 
 consecrated hills are the " high places" so 
 often forbidden in the sacred writings. As 
 the number of their gods increased, so the 
 number of their consecrated hills multiplied; 
 and from them their gods and goddesses 
 took names, as Mercurius Cylienius, Venus 
 Erycina, Jupiter Capitolinus. To beautify 
 these holy hills, the places of their idola- 
 
 404 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 trous worship, they beset them with trees ; 
 And thence arose the consecration of groves 
 and woods, from whence also their idols 
 were often named. At length certain 
 choice and select trees began to be conse- 
 crated. The French magi, termed Dryadae, 
 worshipped the oak ; the Etrurians wor- 
 shipped an elm-tree; and amongst the 
 Celtae, a tall oak was the very idol of 
 Jupiter. 
 
 Amongst the Israelites, idolatry began 
 under the judges Othniel and Ehud, and 
 became so common, that ihey had peculiar 
 priests, whom they termed the prophets of 
 the grove and idols of the grove. 
 
 Christians, in the consecration of their 
 churches, make special choice of peculiar 
 saints, by whose name they are called. The 
 heathens consecrated their groves to pecu- 
 liar idols ; whence in profane authors we 
 read of Diana Nemorensis, Diana Ardu- 
 enna, Albunea Dea, &c., all receiving their 
 n imes from the groves in which they were 
 worshipped. The idol itself is sometimes 
 called a grove — " Josiah brought out the 
 grove from the house of the Lord." It is 
 probable, that in this idol was portraited 
 the form and similitude of a grove, and 
 that from thence it was called a grove, as 
 those similitudes of Diana's temple, made 
 by Demetrius, were termed temples of 
 Diana. 
 
 These customs appear exemplified by 
 inscriptions on coins, medals, in church- 
 yards, and the various buildings commemo- 
 rated by maible, flowers, and durable and 
 perishing substances. J. R. P. 
 
 \* The iJjroves round London within a 
 few years have been nearly destroyed by 
 the speculating builders. 
 
 J. R. P.'s note may be an excuse for 
 observing, that the " grove" best known, 
 perhaps, to the inhabitants of London is 
 that at Camberwell — a spacious roadway 
 and fine walks, above half a mile in length, 
 between rows of stately trees, from the 
 beginning of the village and ascending the 
 hill to its summit, from whence there is, or 
 rather was, the finest burst of scenery the 
 eye can look upon within the same dis- 
 tance from London. The view is partially 
 obstructed by new buildings, and the cha- 
 racter of the " grove " itself has been gra- 
 dually injured by the breaking up of the 
 adjacent grounds and meadows into brick- 
 fields, and the flanking of its sides with 
 town-like houses. This grove has been tho 
 theme of frequent song. Dr. Lettsom first 
 gave celebrity to it by his writings, and 
 pleasant residence on its eastern extremity ; 
 
 and It was further famed by Mr. Maurice 
 in an elegant poem, with delightful en- 
 gravings on wood. After the death of the 
 benevolent physician, and before the de- 
 cease of the illustrator of "Indian Anti- 
 quities," much of the earth, consecrated by 
 their iove and praise, " passed through the 
 fire'' in sacrifice to the Moloch of improve- 
 ment. In a year or two " Grove Hill'' may 
 be properly named " Grove Street." 
 
 Hampstead, however, is the " place of 
 groves ;" — how long it may remain so is a se- 
 cret in the bosom of speculators and builders. 
 Its first grove, townward, is the noble private 
 avenue from the Hampstead-road to Bel- 
 size-house, in the valley between Primrose 
 hill and the hill whereon the church stands, 
 with Mr. Memory-Corner Thompson's re- 
 markable house and lodge at the corner of 
 the pleasant highway to the little village of 
 West-end. In the neighbourhood of Hamp- 
 stead church, and between that edifice 
 and the heath, there are several old groves. 
 Winding southwardly from the heath, 
 there is a charming little grove in Well 
 Walk, with a bench at the end ; where- 
 on I last saw poor Keats, the poet o( 
 the " Pot of Basil," sitting and sobbing 
 his dying breath into a handkerchief, — 
 gleaning parting looks towards the quiet 
 landscape he had delighted in — musing, as 
 in his Ode to a Nightingale. 
 
 My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 
 My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, 
 Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 
 
 One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk : 
 Tis not through envy of thy happy lot. 
 But being too happy in thine happiness, — 
 That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees. 
 In some melodious plot 
 Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 
 Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 
 0, for a draught of vintage 1 that hath been 
 
 Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth. 
 Tasting of Flora and the country green. 
 
 Dance, and Provengal song, and sunburnt mirth ' 
 O for a beaker full of the warm south. 
 Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 
 With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, 
 And purple-stained mouth ; 
 That I migfit drink, and leave the world unseen. 
 And with thee fade away into the forest dim : 
 Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 
 
 What thou among the leaves hast never known. 
 The weariness, the fever, and the fret 
 
 Here, where men sit and hear each other groan ; 
 Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs. 
 Where youth grows pale.and spectre-thin, and diO« 
 Where but lo think is to be full of sorrow 
 And leaden-eyed despairs. 
 Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes. 
 Or new love pine at them beyond to-monow 
 
 405 
 
\ 
 
 WEST WICKHAM CHUECH, KENT. 
 
 From Beckenham church we walked 
 
 about two miles along a nearly straight 
 road, fenced off' from the adjoining lands, 
 till we reached West Wickham. It was 
 from a painted window in this church that 
 I made the tracing of St. Catherine engraved 
 in the Every-Day Book, where some men- 
 tion is made of the retired situation of this 
 village. 
 
 *' Wickham Court," the ancient manor- 
 house adjacent to the church, was formerly 
 the residence of Gilbeit West, the transla- 
 tor of Pindar, and author of the " Obser- 
 vations on the Resurrection of Christ." for 
 which the university of Oxford conferred 
 on him the degree of doctor of laws. " He 
 was very often visited by Lyttelton and 
 Pitt, who, when they were weary of faction 
 and debates, used, at Wickham, to find 
 books and quiet, a decent table, and lite- 
 rary conversation."* It was in West!3 
 
 • Dr. J^lmscii. 
 
 society, at Wickham, that lord Lyttelton 
 was convmced of the truth of Christianity. 
 Under that conviction he wrote his cele- 
 brated " Dissertation on the Conversion 
 and Apostleship of St. Paul," which, until 
 the appearance of Paley's " Horse Pauhna," 
 was an unrivalled treatise. Mr. Pitt, (the 
 great earl of Chatham,) during his intimacy 
 with West, formed a walk at Wickham 
 Court. In a summer-house of the grounds, 
 Mr. West inscribed the following lines, in 
 imitation of Ausonius, a Latin poet of the 
 fourth century, " Ad Villam :" — 
 
 Not wrapt in smoky London's sulphiirons clouds. 
 And not far distant stands my rural cot ; 
 
 Neither obnoxious to intruding crowds. 
 Nor for the good and friendly too remote. 
 
 And when too much repose brings on the s}>Jee«, 
 Or the gay city's idle pleasures cloy ; 
 
 hwrft as my changing wish I change the scene, 
 Aud now the country, now the town enjc7 
 
 406 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The ancient manor of West Wickham 
 was vested in sir Samuel Lennard, bart., 
 from whom it passed to his daughter 
 Mary, the present dowager lady Farnaby, 
 who resides in the manor-house, and with 
 "vhose permission we were permitted a 
 look at the hall of the mansion, wliich 
 Dontains in the windows some painted le- 
 nains of armorial bearings on glass, removed 
 rom the windows of the church. A view 
 ui Hasted's " History of Kent " represents 
 tlie tov\ers of this mansion to have been 
 surmounted by sextagon cones, terminated 
 at the top with the tl«ur de lis, a bearing in 
 ihe family arms; these pinnacles have been 
 taken down, the roofs of the towers flat- 
 tened, and the walls castellated. By a 
 charter of free warren, in the eleventh year 
 of Edward II., a weekly maiket was grant- 
 ed to West Wickham, but it is no longer 
 held, and Wickham, as a town, has lost its 
 'mportance. 
 
 The manor-house and church are dis- 
 tant from the village about half a miie, 
 with an intervening valley beautifully 
 pleasant, in which is a road from Haytes 
 Common to Addirigton and Croydon. The 
 church is on a hill, with an old lich-gate, 
 like that at Beckenhain, though not so large. 
 At this spot W. sat down, and made the 
 sketch here represented by his graver. Al- 
 though 1 had been in the edifice before, I 
 could not avoid another visit to it. At the 
 north-east corner, near the communion 
 table, are many ancient figured tiles sadly 
 neglected, loose in the privement; some 
 displaced and lying one upon the other. 
 Worst of all, — and I mean oflf'enee to no one, 
 but surely there is blame somewhere, — the 
 ancient stone font, which is in all respects 
 perfect, has been removed from its original 
 situation, and is thrown into a corner. In 
 Us place, at the west end, from a nick (not 
 a niche) between the seats, a little trivet- 
 like iron bracket swings in and out, and 
 upon it is a wooden hand-bowl, such as 
 scullions use in a kitchen sink ; and in this 
 hand-bowl, of about twelve inches diame- 
 ter, called a font, I found a common blue- 
 and-white Staffordshire-ware halt'pint basin. 
 It might be there still; but, while inveigh- 
 ing to my friend W. against the deprava^ 
 tion of the fine old font, and the substitu- 
 tion of such a paltry modicum, in my 
 vehemence I fractured the crockery. I felt 
 that I was angry, and, perhaps, I sinned ; 
 but I made restitution beyond the extent 
 that would replace the baptismal sLj;- 
 basin. 
 
 The fragments of old painted glass in 
 the windows of this church are really fine. 
 
 The best are, 5it. Anne teacning the virgin 
 to read; whole lengths of St. Christophes 
 wading, with the infant Saviour bearing 
 the globe in his hand; an elderly female 
 saiiii, very goud ; and a ske^leton with armour 
 before him. Some years ago, collectors of 
 curiosities paid their attentions to these win- 
 dows, and carried off specimens : since 
 then wires have been put up on the out- 
 side. On the walls are hung pennons. With 
 an iron helmet, swor i, spurs, gloves, and 
 other remains of a funeieal pageant. A 
 small orean stands on the floor : the parti- 
 tions of some of the pewiiigs are ver) 
 ancient 
 
 GODSTOW NUNNERY, 
 Near Oxford. 
 
 The wild-flower wayes, in lonely bloom. 
 
 On Godstow's desolated wall : 
 There thi.n shades flit through twilight gloom. 
 
 And murmured accents feeo.y fall. 
 The aged hazel nurtures there 
 Its hollow fruit, so seeming fair. 
 And lightly throws its huuible shade. 
 Where Rosamonda's form is laid. 
 
 The rose of earth, the sweetest flmver 
 That ever graced a monarcn's breast. 
 
 In vernal beauty's loveliest hour. 
 Beneath that sod was laid to rest. 
 
 In vain the bower of love around 
 
 The Daedalgan path was wound : 
 
 Alas ! that jealous hate should find 
 
 The clue for love alone designed 1 
 
 The venomed bowl,— the mandate dire, — 
 
 The menaced steel's uplifted glare. — 
 Tlie tear, that quenched the blue eye's hre^— 
 
 The humble, ineffectual prayer : — 
 All these shall live, recorded long 
 In tragic and romantic song. 
 And long a moral charm impart. 
 To melt and purify the heart. 
 A nation's gem, a monarch's pnde. 
 In youth, in loveliness, she died : 
 The morning sun's ascending ray- 
 Saw none so fair, so blest, so gay : 
 Ere evening came, her funeral knell 
 Was toiled by Godstow's convent bslL 
 
 The marble tomb, the illumined shrine. 
 Their ineffectual splendour liave : 
 
 Where slept in earth the maid divine, 
 Tlie votive sil'K was seen to wave. 
 
 To her. as to a martyred saiot, 
 Hi» vows the weeping pilgrun poured 
 
 407 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The drooping traveller, sad and f ain t. 
 
 Knelt there, and found his strength restored : 
 To that fair shrine, in solemn hour. 
 
 Fend youths and blushing maidens came. 
 And gathered from its mystic power 
 
 A brighter, purer, holier flame : 
 The lightest heart with awe could feel 
 
 The charm her hovering spirit sheii 
 But superstition's impious zeal 
 
 Distilled its venom on the dead 
 
 The illumined shrine has passed awav ; 
 
 The sculptured stone'in dust is laid . 
 But when the midniglit breezes play 
 
 Amid the barren hazel's shade. 
 The lone enthusiast, lingering near. 
 
 The youth, whom slighted passion grieves. 
 Through fancy's magic spell niay hear 
 
 A spirit in the whispering leaves ; 
 And dimly see, while mortals sleep. 
 
 Sad forms of cloistered maidens move. 
 The transient dreams of life to weep. 
 
 The fading flowers of youth and lovel 
 
 Note. 
 
 A small chapel, and a wall, enclosing an 
 ample space, are ail now remaining of the 
 Benedictine nunnery at Godstow. A hazel 
 grows near the chapel, the fruit of which is 
 always apparently perfect, but is invariably 
 found to be hollow. 
 
 This nunnery derives its chief interest 
 from having been the burial-place of Rosa- 
 mond. The principal circumstances of her 
 story are thus related by Stowe : " Rosa- 
 mond, the fair daughter of Walter lord 
 Clifford, concubine to Henry II., (^poisoned 
 by queen Eleanor, as some thought,) died 
 at Woodstock, (a. d. 1177,) where king 
 Henry had made for her a house of wonder- 
 ful working ; so that no man or woman 
 might come to her, but he that was in- 
 structed by the king, or such as were right 
 secret with him touching the matter. This 
 house, after some, was named Labyrinthus, 
 or Daedalus work, which was wrought like 
 unto a knot in a garden, icalled a maze : 
 but it was commonly sai I, that lastly the 
 queen came to her by a clue of thread, or 
 silk, and so dealt with her, that she lived 
 not long after : but when she was dead, she 
 was buried at Godstow, in a house of.nuns, 
 beside Oxford, with these verses upon her 
 tomb : 
 
 Hic jacet in tnmba, Rosa mundi, non Rosa munda : 
 Non redolet, sed olet, quao rcdolere solet." 
 
 After her death, she appears to have 
 been considered as a saint, from the foUow- 
 uig inscription on a stone cross, which, 
 Leland says, was erected near the nunnery : 
 
 Qui meat hue, orcv, signumque saluti* adoret, 
 Utque sibi detur veniam, Rosamunda precetur. 
 
 A fanatical priest, Hugh, bishop of Lin- 
 coln, visiting he nunnery at Godstow, and 
 observing a tomb covered with silk, and 
 splendidly illuminated, which he found, on 
 inquiry, to be the tomb of Rosamond, 
 commanded her to be taken up, and buiied 
 without the church, lest the Christian reli- 
 gion should grow into contempt. This 
 brutal order was instantly obeyed : but " the 
 chaste sisters," says Speed, " gathered her 
 bones, and put them in a perfumed bag, 
 enclosing them so in lead, and laid them 
 again in the church, under a fair large 
 grave-stone, about whose edges a fillet of 
 brass was inlaid, and thereon written her 
 name and praise : these bones were at the 
 suppression of the nunnery so found."* 
 
 ST. MARY MAGDALEN, BEKMOND- 
 SEY, SURREY. 
 
 In the parish register of this church is 
 the following very singular entry ; 
 
 " The forme of a solemn vowe made 
 betwixt a man and his wife, having been 
 long absent, through which occasion the 
 woman being married to another man, took 
 her again as foUoweth : 
 
 The Man's Speech. 
 
 " Elizabeth, my beloved wife, I am right 
 sorie that I have so long absented myself 
 from thee, whereby thou shouldst be occa- 
 sioned to take another man to be thy bus- 
 band. Therefore I do now vowe and pro- 
 mise, in the sight of God and this company, 
 to take thee again as mine owne; and will 
 not onlie forgive thee, but also dwell with 
 thee, and do all other duties unto thee, as 
 I promised at our marriaa^e." 
 
 The Woman's Speech. 
 
 " Raphe, my beloved husband, I am 
 righte sorie that I have in thy absence 
 taken another man to be my husband ; but 
 here, before God and this compauie, I do 
 renounce and forsake him, and do promise 
 to keep mysealfe only to thee duiinge life, 
 and to performe all the duties which I first 
 promised to thee in our marriage." 
 
 Then follows a short occasional prayer, 
 and the entry concludes thus :• — 
 
 • From the " O nius of the Thames, a Lyrical Poem, 
 with Notes, by Thomas Lore Peacook," 1810. 
 
 408 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 " The first day of August, 1604, Raphe 
 Goodchilde, of the parish of Barking, in 
 Thames-street, and Elizabeth, his wife, 
 were agreed to live together, and thereupon 
 gave their hands one to another, making 
 either of them a solemn vow so to do in 
 the presence of us, 
 
 " William Stere, — Parson. 
 " Edward Cuker ; and 
 "Richard Eyers, — Clerk." 
 
 There is also in the same register the 
 lollowing entry : — 
 
 " James Herriot, Esq. and Elizabeth 
 Josey, gent, were married June 4th, 1624- 
 5. — N. B. This James lierriott was one of 
 the forty children of his father, a Scotch- 
 man." 
 
 Query. — Was this James Herriot related 
 *o Geoige Heriot, the munificent founder 
 of the hospital at Edinburgh, who died at 
 London in January of the same year? 
 
 BROUGH, WESTMORELAND. 
 
 The church at Brou^h is a pretty large 
 handsome building. The steeple is not so 
 old; having been lauilt about the year 1513, 
 under the direction of Thomas Blenkinsop, 
 of Helbeck, Esq. There are in it four ex- 
 cellent bells, by much the largest in the 
 county, except the great bell at Kirkby 
 Thore. Concerning these bells at Brough, 
 there is a tradition that they were given by 
 one Brnnskill, who lived upon Stanemore, 
 in the remotest part of the parish, and had 
 d great many cattle. One time it happened 
 that his bull fell a bellowing, which, in the 
 dialect of the country, is called criming, 
 (this being the Saxon word to denote that 
 vociferation.) Whereupon he said to one 
 of his neighbours, " Ilearest thou how loud 
 this bull crunes? If these cattle should all 
 crune together, might they not be heard 
 from Brough hither?" He answered, 
 "Yea." " Well, then," says Brnnskill, 
 " I'll make them all crune together." And 
 he sold them all ; and with the price thereof 
 he bought the said bells, (or pernaps he 
 might get the old bells new cast and made 
 larger.) — There is a monument in the 
 church, in the south wall, between the 
 highest and second windows, under which. 
 It is said, the said Brunskill was the last 
 that was interred. 
 
 The pulpit is of stone. There was here, 
 tofore a handsome reading desk, given by 
 sir Cuthbert Buckle, knight, vintner in 
 London, who was born upon Stanemore in 
 this parish, and was lord mayor of London 
 in the year 1593. His name was upon the 
 desk thus : — " By Cuthbert Buckle, Anne 
 Domini 1576." He built also a bridge 
 upon Stanemore, which still bears the name 
 of Buckle's Bridge ; and gave eight pounds 
 a year to a school ucon Stanemore. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 TO MY PSEUDO-MUSE. 
 
 Hence, thou •.ormenting wayward Beirjj' 
 For ever courting, trifling, spreeing. 
 
 Thou Erysipelas of thraH ; 
 For ever, with thine addled hatch, 
 I'll shun thee as an arrant Scratch, 
 
 Unworthy to be scratch'd at all. 
 
 Thy Sonnets, staves, and stanzas rhyming 
 To every key, to every chiming;, 
 
 St. Vitus' Dance is ease to Thee ; 
 Thou shalt no more provoke my Quill 
 To deeds of labour, or of skill. 
 
 Thou cacucthes mise-re. 
 
 Promethean fire-^Pamassus smiling, 
 Helicon's spirituous drops beguiling, — 
 
 Where'er thou com'st — whatc'er thou ba , 
 The Vagrant Act may take thee in ; 
 I'll drive thee out as Satan's sin 
 
 rhou worse thanjire of Anthony. 
 
 Hence Jade ! tormentress of the feelings ; — 
 Thou PVitch of E»d-or like revealings i — 
 
 Go — haunt the brains, not frenzy past : 
 I'll haste to Monmouth Street and buy 
 A suit of Prose — then joyful cry 
 
 Ecce Stultus I grown wise at last. 
 
 If thou shou'd'st to my brain-door, Vnockinj!-, 
 Come with thy wheedling-pamby, mocking , 
 
 I'll catch thee tit et armis : — then 
 By Habeas Corpus to tbe Pleas — 
 — Sure I will rob thee of degrees. 
 
 And scare thee from my Smithfield Pen. 
 
 If I'm asleep — then thou art waiting. 
 Angler-like, with thy couplets baiting. 
 
 To drag my crazy thought to light : 
 AAvake! thy float, with stanza-hook. 
 Is ever dipping in Mai-Brook — 
 
 I'll brook no more — if sense is right. 
 
 '. H 
 
 400 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 BATEIING. 
 
 I do not know any author who has 
 reckoned man among the amphibious race 
 of animals ; neither do I know any animal 
 that belter deserves it. Man is lord of the 
 little ball on which he treads, one half of 
 which, at least, is water. If we do not 
 allow him to be amphibious, we deprive 
 iiim of half his sovereignty. He justly 
 bears that name, who can live in the water. 
 Many of the disorders incident to the hu- 
 man frame are prevented, and otiiers cured, 
 both by fresh and salt bathing ; so that we 
 may properly remark, " He lives in tkii 
 irater who can find life, nay, even health in 
 that friendly element." 
 
 Tlie greatest treasure on earth is health ; 
 but a treasure, of all others, the least valued 
 by the owner. Other property is best rated 
 when in possession, but this can only be 
 rateil when lost. We sometimes observe a 
 man, who, having l©st this inestimable 
 jewel, seeks it with an ardour equal to its 
 worth ; but when every research by land is 
 eluded, he fortunately finds it in the water. 
 Liike the fish, he pines away upon shore, 
 but, like that, recovers again in the deep. 
 
 The cure of disease among the Romans, 
 by bathino-, is sup|3orted by many authori- 
 ties ; among others, by the number of baths 
 frequently discovered, in which pleasure, 
 in that warm climate, bore a part. But 
 this practice seemed to decline with Roman 
 freedom, and never after held the eminence 
 it deserved. Can we suppose the physician 
 slept between the disease and the bath to 
 hinder iheir junction ; or, that he lawfully 
 holds by prescription the tenure of sickness 
 1 n fee ?'* 
 
 ivural J'ports;* 
 
 ANGLING. 
 
 Wlien genial spring a living warmth bestows, 
 \n(l o'er the year her verdant mantle throws, 
 S'o swelling inundation hides the grounds, 
 But crystal currents glide within their bounds ; 
 The finny brood their wonted haunts forsake, 
 Kloat in the sun, and skim along the lake. 
 With frequent leap they range the shallow streams, 
 Their silver coats reflect the kiazzling beams. 
 Mew let the fisiherman his toils prepare, 
 \nd arm himself with every wat'ry stiare; 
 His hooks, his linss peruse with careful eye, 
 Increase his tackle, and his rode retie. 
 
 W. Hutton. 
 
 When floating clouds their spongy fleeces drai* 
 Troubling the streams with swift-descending rum 
 And waters tumbling down the mountain's side. 
 Bear the loose soil into the swelling tide ; 
 Then, soon as vernal gales begin to rise. 
 And drive the liquid burthen thro' the skies, 
 The fisher to the neighbouring current speeds. 
 Whose rapid surface purls., unknown to weeds ; 
 Upon a rising border of the brook 
 He sits him down, and ties the treach'rous hook; 
 Now expectation cheers his eager thought. 
 His bosom glows with treasures yet uncaught ; 
 Before his eyes a banquet seems to stand. 
 Where every guest applauds his skilful hand. 
 
 Far up the stream the twisted hair he throws. 
 Which down the murni'ring current gently flows , 
 When if or chance, or hunger's pow'rful sway. 
 Directs tne roving trout this fatal way, 
 He greedily sucks in the twining bait. 
 And tugs and nibbles the fallacious meat ; 
 Now, happy fisherman, now twitch the line ! 
 How thy rod bends ! betiold, the prize is thine 
 Cast on the bank, he dies with gasping pains. 
 And trickling blood his silver mail distams. 
 
 You must not ev'ry worm promiscous use. 
 Judgment will tell thee proper bait to choose ; 
 The worm that draws a long iinmnd'rate size 
 The rrout abhors, and the rank morsel flies ; 
 And if too small, the naked fraud's in sight. 
 And fear forbids, while hunger does irvlte. 
 ITiose baits will best reward the fisher's pains, 
 Whose polish'd tails a shining yellow stains: 
 Cleanse them from filth, to give a tempting gloss. 
 Clierish the suUy'd reptile race with moss; 
 Amid the verdant bed they twine, they toil 
 And fron. their bodies wipe their native soi 
 
 But when the sun displays his glorious beams. 
 And shallow rivers flow with silver streams. 
 Then the deceit the scaly breed survey. 
 Bask in the sun, and look into the day. 
 You now a more delusive art must try, 
 .^.nd tempt their hunger with the curious fly. 
 
 To frame the little animal, provide 
 All the gay hues that wait on female pnde : 
 Liet nature guide thee ; sometimes golden wire 
 The shining bellies of the fly require ; 
 The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not fail. 
 Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tail. 
 Each gaudy bird some slender tribute brings. 
 And lends the growing insect proper wings : 
 Silks of all colours must their aid impart. 
 And ev'ry fur promote the fisher's art. 
 So the gay lady, with expensive care. 
 Borrows the pnde of land, of sea, and air; 
 Furs, pearls, and plumes, the glittering thing displaya 
 Dazzles our eyes, and easy hearts betrays. 
 
 Mark well the various seasons of the year. 
 How the succeeding insect race appear ; 
 In this revolving moon one colour reigns, 
 Whicli in the next the fickle trout disdaint 
 
 410 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Oft bave I seen a skilful angler try 
 
 The various colours of the treach'rous fly; 
 
 When he with fruitless pam hath skimm'd the brook, 
 
 And the coy fish rejects the skipping hook. 
 
 He shakes the boughs that on the margin grow. 
 
 Which o'er the stream a waving forest throw ; 
 
 When if an insect fall, (his certain guide) 
 
 He gently takes hina from the whirling tide ; 
 
 Examines well his form with curious eyes. 
 
 His gaudy vest, his wings, his boms, and size. 
 
 Then round his hook the chosen fur he winds. 
 
 And on th'i back a speckled feather binds ; 
 
 So just the colours shine thro' every part. 
 
 That Nature seems to live again in art. 
 
 Let not thy wary steps advance too near. 
 
 While all thy hope hangs on a single hair : 
 
 The new-form'd insect on the water moves. 
 
 The speckled trout the curious snare approves ; 
 
 Upon the curling surface let it glide, 
 
 With nat'ral motion from thy hand supply'd, 
 
 Against the stream now gently let it plav, 
 
 Now in the rapid eddy roll away. 
 
 The scaly shoals float by, and seiz'd with fear. 
 
 Behold their fellows toss'd in thinner air ; 
 
 But soon they leap, and catch the swimming bait. 
 
 Plunge on the hook, and share an equal fate. 
 
 When a brisk gale against the current Wows, 
 And all the wat'ry plain in wrinkles flows. 
 Then let the lisherman his art repeat. 
 Where bubbling eddies favour tlie deceit. 
 If an enormous salmon chance to spy 
 The wanton errors of the floating fly. 
 He lifts his silver gills above the flood, 
 And greedily sucks in th' unfaithful food ; 
 Then downward plunges with the fraudful prey. 
 And bears with joy the little spoil avaj, 
 Soon in smart pain he feels the dire mistake. 
 Laches the wave, and beats the foamy lake: 
 With sudden rage he now aloft appears. 
 And in his eye convulsive anguish bears ; 
 And now again, impatient ot the wound. 
 He rolls and wreaths his shining body round ; 
 Then headlong shoots beueath the dashing tide. 
 The trembling iiiis the boiling wave divide; 
 Now hope exalts the fisher's beating heart, 
 Now he turns pale, and fears his dubious art ; 
 He views itie tumbling fish with longing eyes ; 
 While the line stretches with th' unwieldy prize; 
 Each nnocion humours with his steady hands. 
 And one sligtit hair the mighty bulk commands : 
 Till tir'd at last, despoil'd of all his strength. 
 The game athwart the stream unfolds his length. 
 He now. with pleasure, views the gasping prize 
 Gnash his sharp teeth, and roll his blood shot ey, 
 Then draws him to the shore, with artful care. 
 And lifts his nostrils in the sick'ning air: 
 Upon the burthen'd stream he floating lies. 
 Stretching his quivering fins, and gasping dies. 
 
 Would you preserve a num'rous tinny race i 
 Let your fierce dogs the rav'nous otter chase ; 
 fn' amphibious monster ranges all the shores. 
 Darts through the waves, and ev'ry haunt exclores • 
 
 Or let the gin his roving steps betray. 
 And save from hostile jaws the scaly prey. 
 
 I never wander where the bordering reeds 
 O'erlookthe muddy stream, wnosc tangling weeds 
 Perplex the fisher ; I, nor choose to bear 
 The thievish nightly net, nor barbed spear ; 
 Nor drain I ponds the golden carp to take. 
 Nor troll for jiikes. dispeoplers of the lake. 
 Around the steel no tortur'd worm shall twine. 
 No blood of living insect stain my line ; 
 let me, less cruel, cast the feather'd hook. 
 With pliant rod athwart the pebbled brook, 
 Silent along the mazy margin stray. 
 And with the fur-wrought fly delude the prey. 
 
 Gay. 
 
 GOOD-LIVING. 
 
 A Domestic Scene. 
 
 Gent. I wish, my dear, you would not 
 keep tlte carriage an hour always at the 
 door, when we go to a parly. 
 
 Lady. Surely, my dear, it could not ha've 
 waited half so long ; and tlidt was owing 
 to the unusual length of our rubber. 
 
 Gent. 1 feel exceedingly unwell this even- 
 ing, my head aches confoundedly, and my 
 stomach is very uneasy. 
 
 Lady. You know, my dear, Mr. Aber- 
 uelhy told you, that after such a severe ht 
 you ought to be very careful and moderate 
 in your living. 
 
 Geiit. Mr. Abernethy is a fool. Can 
 any body be more moderate than I am ? 
 you would have me live upon water-giuel, 
 i suppose. The rich pudding, indeed, that 
 Mrs. Belcour made me eat, might possibly 
 not have sat quite easy on the soup, and 
 the salmon, and the chicken and ham, and 
 the harrico, and the turkey and sausages ; 
 or, it is possible, the patties I eat before 
 dinner might not perfectly agree wilii me, 
 for I had by no means a good appetite 
 when I sat down to dinner. 
 
 Lady. And then, you know, you eat so 
 many cakes, and such a quantity of al- 
 monds and raisins, and oranges after din- 
 ner. 
 
 Gent. How could I have got down Bel- 
 cour's insuflferable wine, that tasted of the 
 cork, like the fag bottle at a tavern dinner, 
 without eating something ? 
 
 Lady. And I am sure you drank a glass 
 of Madeira with every mouthful almost at 
 dinner ; for I observed you. 
 
 Gent. Why how could one swallow such 
 ill-drcbsed things, half cold too, without 
 drinking? I can't conceive what makes 
 me feel so unwell this cveninc; ; these fiatu- 
 
 411 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 lencies will certainly kill me. It must be 
 the easterly wind we liave had for these 
 three days that affects me: indeed, most of 
 Hiy acquaintance are complaining, and the 
 doctors say, disorders are very prevalent 
 
 now. What can I have? John, make 
 
 me a tumbler of brandy and water — make 
 it strong:, and put ginger enough in it. I 
 have not the least appetite — what can 1 
 have ? 
 
 Lady. There is ham, and, I believe, 
 some chicken — 
 
 Gent. Why, do you think I have the 
 stomach of a ploughman, that I can eat 
 such insipid things ! Is there nothing 
 else . 
 
 Ladif. There is a loin of pork — perhaps 
 you could relish a chop, nicely done? 
 
 Gent. IVliy, if it iras nicely done, very 
 nicely, perhaps I could ; I'll try — but re- 
 member it must be done to a motnent, or I 
 shan't be able to touch it — and made hot — 
 and some nice gravy. Confound these 
 parties ! — could any thing be more stupid. 
 While Martin was sleeping on one side of 
 me, there was Bernard on the other did 
 nothing but bore me about his horses, and 
 his wines, and his pictures, till I wished 
 them all at old Harry — I think I shall have 
 done with parties. 
 
 Lady. 1 am sure, my dear, they are no 
 pleasure to me ; and, if they were, I pay 
 dear enough for it : for you generally come 
 home in an ill humour — and your health 
 and your pocket too suffer for it. Your 
 last bill came to more than ninety pounds, 
 besides your expenses at Cheltenham — and 
 the nest thing, I suppose, will be a voyage 
 to Madeira, or Lisbon — and then what will 
 become of us ? 
 
 Gen^. What, do you grudge me the ne- 
 cessaries of life? It IS I thai am the suf- 
 ferer— 
 
 Lad I. Not entirely so : I am sure J feel 
 the effects of it, and so do the servants. 
 Your t 'Uiper is so entirely chane^ed, that 
 the po )r children are afraid to go near you 
 
 A'n't I as regular as clockwork ? Indeed, 
 my dear, if you cannot talk more rationally 
 you had better go to bed. lohn ! why 
 don't you bring the brandy and water! and 
 see if the chop is ready ; if I am not better 
 ill the morning, 1 am sure I shall not be 
 able to attend my appointment in the 
 city 
 
 There will always be a few ready to re- 
 ceive the hints of experience, and to them 
 only can this scene be useful. 
 
 DRINKING. 
 
 Lime applied to trees makes them put 
 forth leaves and flourish, and produce fruii 
 early, but then it kills them. Wine cheers 
 and stimulates men, and makes them thrust 
 forth flowers of wit ; but, then, there is no 
 doubt it shortens life* 
 
 KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD 
 By St. Evremond. 
 
 The first thing' by which we know men, 
 is the physiognomy, the colour, and the 
 lineaments of the face; the briskness, the 
 air, the motion of the body, the action, the 
 sound of the voice, the aspect, &c. : and 
 there is no man, but at.,first sight we are 
 either well or ill affected towards him. 
 Every man makes some impressions upon 
 us of what he is ; but these impressions, 
 being sudden, are not always certain, a 
 little frequent conversation with him per- 
 fects our knowledge of him. 
 
 Hear the mtin with whom you keep com- 
 pany ; endeavour to draw him in to make 
 a Ions? discourse, and then you will easily 
 perceive the greatness or meanness of his 
 
 wit, his civility, his inclination to vice or 
 you make every body about^you miser- ^'irt»e^ and to^ what kind of vice^or virtue 
 able, and you know Smith lost his caus' 
 
 from your not being able to attend at the 
 last assizes, which will bo nearly the ruin 
 of him and his family. Two days before 
 you were tolerably well, but after you had 
 
 dined at 's, you were laid up. 
 
 Gent. Nay, I was as much concerned at 
 It as any body could be ; and I think I had 
 reason to be so, for I lost three hundred 
 pounds myself — but who can help illness? 
 Is it not a visitation of Providence? I am 
 sure nobody can live more temperately 
 than I do— do you ever see me drunk? 
 
 he is most inclined ; whether he be sincere 
 in his speech or a man of artifice ; whether 
 he aggravates matters, if he be a liar, or a 
 proud man, and to what degree he carries 
 his good or bad qualities. 
 
 Study well the persons with whom you 
 converse familiarly, and with least circum- 
 spection. Examine them when they are 
 sedate, in an obliging humour ; and when 
 they are in anger, in a disdainful and mo- 
 rose humour. When something vexes oi 
 
 412 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 pleases them, observe ihern in their sorrow 
 and disgrace, in their pleasures, in their 
 advancement, and in their humihation. Be 
 attentive to their discourse in ail these 
 several states, consider their behaviour, 
 their sentiments, their projects, and the 
 different motions which their passions, 
 their ranks, and their affairs, produce in 
 them. 
 
 Moreover, endeavour also to know your- 
 self very well; consider in all the different 
 states, wherein good or bad fortune has 
 placed you, the designs which you pursue, 
 and the resolutions for doing good or evil, 
 you are capable of making. These several 
 observations upon yourself and others wjil 
 infallibly make you know mankind. And 
 the reason of it is this : — all men, and even 
 philosophers themselves, ure, more or less, 
 subject to the same passions, and all of 
 them think very nearly after the same 
 manner. 
 
 Of the most excellent qualities, that of 
 knowing the world is most necessary for 
 our behaviour, and for our fortune : — for 
 our behaviour, because otherwise our life is 
 liable to continual crosses, and is nothir'g 
 else but one continued series of extra-a- 
 gancies, which will bring upon us a thou- 
 sand bad businesses ; — for our fortune, be- 
 cause if we do not know men, we cannot 
 make use of them in that way which is 
 most convenient with respect to our inter- 
 est. It IS necessary therefore to know 
 them, and to behave ourselves with each of 
 them after such a manner as ic most agree- 
 able to their character. A prudent man, 
 with respect to others, is like a master who 
 Knows all the springs of an engine, and 
 makes them play as he pleases, either for 
 his pleasure or advantage. 
 
 It seems to me, that our first motion 
 should be to distrust the world in general, 
 and even to have a bad opinion of it. The 
 world, such as it should be, is full of virtue; 
 out as we see it, it is full of wickedness 
 and malice; and this latter world is that 
 we should endeavour to know well, because 
 we live in it, and it concerns us very much 
 to dvoid Its deceits. 
 
 But why should we have so bad an 
 opinion of the world? Why, because men 
 are born with a bad disposition, and they 
 carry in their heart at their birth the source 
 of all vices, and an aversion to ail virtues, 
 which would hinder their singularity ; and 
 which they cannot acquire but by such 
 pains as they are not willing t^s^ take. Yet 
 r do not say that we must tljfrefore think 
 ill of all ])articular persons, b it it is good 
 to know them. 
 
 THE TONGA ISLANDS. 
 
 Wild and straggling as the flowers 
 
 Is hiiinaa nature there ; 
 Uncultivated all its powers 
 
 In that secluded air: 
 The passions fiery, bold, and strong', 
 Impetuous urge their course aloujf. 
 
 Like mountain torrent rolling 
 More rapid as the more confined. 
 Far leaving Reason's rules behind. 
 
 No curb of law controlling I 
 The spectre Superstition there 
 
 Sits trembling on her gloomy throjie I 
 Pale c'flild of Ignorance and Fear, 
 
 Embodying shapes of things unknown; 
 When, when shall rise the glorious morn 
 
 Of heavenly radiance unconfined? 
 When shall the mental veil be torn. 
 
 And God be known by all mankind ? 
 
 Full many a ray must pierce the soul, 
 i-.re darkness quits the southern pole : 
 Yet here are maidens kind and true 
 As ever northern pencil drew ; 
 And here are Avarriors brave and young' 
 As ever northern minstrel sung ! 
 A nd see, upon the valley's side 
 With fairy footstep lightly glid? 
 A train of virgins soft and fair. 
 With sparkling eyes and shining hair, 
 As beauteous as the flowers they bear — 
 Fresh flowers of every scent and buc. 
 Besprinkled with the morning dew, 
 Which they have risen before the sun 
 To gather for some favourite one. 
 
 It is a custom at Tonga for the young 
 women to gather flowers in the earlier par! 
 cf the morning, and twine them on iheii 
 return into various ornaments, for them- 
 selves, and their relations and friends. 
 They gather them at sunrise while the 
 dew of the morning is still fresh on them : 
 because, when plucked at that time, their 
 fragrance is of longer continuance.* 
 
 SENSIBILITY IN A RAVEN. 
 
 In 1785 there was living at the Red 
 Lion inn, liungerford, Wiltshire, a raven, 
 respecting which a correspondent commu- 
 i:icated to "Mr. TJiban" the f)llowing 
 Mnecdote : — 
 
 His name, I think, is " Rafe :" and you 
 must know, that going into that inn, my 
 chaise ran over, or bruised, the leg of my 
 Newfoundland dog . While we were ex- 
 amining the injury done to the dog's fool, 
 
 • From the " Ocean Cavern, a Tale of thf Ttre-f 
 Islands," 1819. 
 
 4:13 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Rafe was evidently a concerned spectator ; 
 for, the minute the dog was tied up under 
 the manger with my horses, Rafo not only 
 visited, but fetched him bones, and attended 
 upon him with particular and repeated 
 marks of kindness. The bird's notice of 
 the dog was so marked, that I observed it 
 to the hostler. John then told me, that the 
 raven had been bred from his pin-feather 
 in intimacy with a dog; that the affection 
 between them was mutual; and that all 
 the neighbourhood had often been witnesses 
 of the innumerable acts of kindness they 
 had conferred upon each other. Kafe's 
 poor dog, after a while, unfortunately broke 
 his leg; and during the long time he was 
 confined, Rafe waited upon him constantly, 
 carried him his provisions daily, and never 
 scarce left him alone. One night, by acci- 
 dent, the hostler had shut the stable door, 
 and Rafe was deprived of the company of 
 his friend the whole night; btit the hostler 
 found in the morning the bottom of the 
 door so pecked away, that, had it not been 
 opened, Rafe would, in another hour, have 
 made his own entrance-port. I then in- 
 quired of my landlady, (a sensible woman,) 
 and heard what I have related contirmed 
 by her, with several other singular traits of 
 the kindnesses this bird showed to all dogs 
 in general, but particularly to maimed or 
 wounded ones. 
 
 STOICAL WIT. 
 
 DIAMONDS. 
 
 And the sparkling stars began to shine. 
 Like scatter'd gems in the diamond mine. 
 
 The diamond is chiefly found in the 
 provinces of Golconda and Visiapour, and 
 also in that of Bengal. Raolconda, in 
 Visiapour, and Gandicotta, are famed for 
 their mines, as is Coulour in Golconda. 
 The diamond is generally found in the nar- 
 row crevices of the rocks, loose, and never 
 adherent to the fixed stratum. The miners, 
 with long iron rods, which have hooks at 
 the ends, pick out the contents of the fis- 
 sures, and wash them in tubs, in order to 
 extricate the diamonds. In Coulour they 
 dig on a large plain, to the depth often or 
 fourteen feet ; forty thousand persons are 
 employed ; the men to dig, and the women 
 and children to carry the earth to the places 
 where it is deposited till the search is 
 made.* 
 
 Zeno detected his slave in a theft, and 
 ordered him to he flogged. The slave hav- 
 ing in mind the dogmas of his master, and 
 thinking to compliment him, in order to 
 save himself from punishment, exclaimed — 
 " It was fated that I should commit this 
 theft.'* — " And also that you should be 
 flogged for it," replied Zeno. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE WIT, 
 
 When Dr. Jeggon, afterwards bishop oi 
 Norwich, was master of Bennet College 
 Cambridge, he punished all the under gra- 
 auates for some general offence; and 
 because he disdained to convert the penalty- 
 money into private use, it was expended on 
 new whitening the hall of the college. A 
 scholar hung the following veses on the 
 screen : — 
 
 " Dr. Jeggon, Bennet CoUeje master. 
 Broke the scholars' heads, and gave the walls a plas- 
 ter." 
 
 The doctor, perusing the paper, wrote 
 underneath, extempore : — 
 
 " Knew I but th« wag that writ these verses in bra- 
 very, 
 
 I'd commend him for his wit, but whip him for hi 
 knavert/." 
 
 * A note to the " Ocean Cavern." 
 
 SENTENCES 
 
 WOUTIIY TO BE GOT BY HeaUT. 
 
 As vou cannot overtake time, the best 
 way is to be always a few minutes before 
 him. 
 
 Whatever your situation in life may be, 
 lay down your plan of conduct for the day. 
 The half hours will glide smoothly on, 
 without crossing or jostling each other. 
 
 When you set about a good woi'k, do 
 not rest till you have completed it. 
 
 In the morning, think on what you are 
 to do in the day, and at night, think on 
 what you have done. 
 
 Religion is the best armour, but the 
 worst cloak. 
 
 If you make an intentional concealment 
 of any thing in a court of judicature, it will 
 lie like lead upon your conscience all the 
 days of your life. 
 
 Do as you wish to be done by. Follow 
 this rule, and you will need no force to keep 
 you honest. 
 
 414 
 
THE 
 
 TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE GIMMAL BINQ. 
 
 This is an ancient form of the " tool of 
 matrimony," from one found at Horsley- 
 down, and exhibited in 1800 to the Society 
 of Antiquaries. Mr. Robert Smith, the 
 possessor of this curious ring, transmitted 
 Avith it some remarks and descriptions of a 
 naiure very interesting to the lovers of 
 archaeology, and the " happy estate ;" and 
 fiom thence is derived the following ac- 
 count of this particular ring, with illustra- 
 tions of the form and use of the gimmal- 
 ring generally. — 
 
 This ring is constructed, as the name 
 imports, of twin or double hoops, which 
 play one within another, like the links of a 
 cham. Each hoop has one of its sides flat, 
 the other convex ; each is twisted once 
 round, and each surmounted by a hand, 
 issuing from an embossed fancy-work wrist 
 or sleeve ; the hand rising somewhat above 
 the circle, and extending in the same direc- 
 tion. The course of the twist, in each 
 hoop, is made to correspond with that of 
 'ts counterpart, so that on bringing toge- 
 ther the flat surfaces of the hoops, the latter 
 immediately unite, in one ring. On the 
 tower hand, or that of which the palm is 
 .ippermost, is represented a heart ; and, as 
 the hoops close, the hands slide mio con- 
 tact, forming, with their ornamented wrists, 
 a head to the whole. The device thus pre- 
 sents a triple emblem of love, fidelity, and 
 union. Upon the flat side of the hoops are 
 engraven " Us6 de Vertu," in Roman 
 capitals; and, on the inside of the lower 
 wrist, the figures "990." The whole is of 
 fine gold, and weighs two pennyweights 
 four grains. 
 
 It is of foreign workmanship, probably 
 French, and appears to be of no great anti- 
 quity ; perhaps about the reign of our 
 queen Elizabeth : for though the time of 
 the introduction into Europe of the Arabic 
 numerals be referred by some to an aera 
 
 nearly corresponding with the figures on 
 the ring, the better opinion seems to be, 
 that the Arabian method of notation was 
 unknown to the Europeans until about tlie 
 middle of the 13th century. It is conjec- 
 ture, therefore, that the figures were meant 
 to express; not a date, but the artist's num- 
 ber ; such as we see still engraven on 
 watches. The workmanship is not incuri- 
 ous ; and the ring furnishes a genuine spe- 
 cimen of the gimmal, (a term now almost 
 forgotten.) 
 
 Rings, it is well known, are of great anti- 
 quity ; and, in the early ages of the world, 
 denoted authority and government, lliese 
 were communicated, symbolically, by the 
 delivery of a ring to the person on whom 
 they were meant to be conferred. Thus 
 Pharaoh, when he committed the govern- 
 ment of Egypt to Joseph, took the ring 
 from his finger and gave it to Joseph, as a 
 token of the authority with which he in. 
 vested him. So also did Ahasueius to his 
 favourite Haman, and to Mordecai, who 
 succeeded him in his dignity. 
 
 In conformity to this ancient usage, re- 
 corded in the Bible, the Christian church 
 afterwards adopted the ceremony of the 
 ring in marriage, as a symbol of the autho- 
 rity which the husband gave the wife over 
 his household, and over the " earthly goods" 
 with which he endowed her. 
 
 But the gimmal ring is comparatively of 
 modern date. It should seem, that we are 
 indebted for the design to the ingenious 
 fancies of our Gallic neighbours, whose skill 
 in diversifying the symbols of the tendei 
 passion has continued unrivalled, and io 
 th€ language of whose country the mottoes 
 employed on almost all the amorous trifles 
 are still to be found. It must be allowed, 
 that the double hoop, each apparently free 
 yet inseparable, both formed for uniting, 
 and complete only in their union, affords a 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 415 
 
 2 E 
 
TFTR TABLE BOOK. 
 
 not unapt representation of the married 
 
 state. 
 
 Among the numerous " love-tokens " 
 which lovers have presented to their mis- 
 tiesses, in all ages, the ring bears a con- 
 spicuous part; nor is any more likely than 
 the gimmal to " steal the impression of a 
 mistress's fantasy," as none so clearly ex- 
 presses its errand. In the " Midsummer- 
 Night's Dream " of Shakspeare, where 
 Egeus accuses Lysatider, before the duke, 
 of having inveigled his daughter's affec- 
 tions, or, as the old man expresses it, 
 "witch'd the bosom" of his child, he ex- 
 claims, 
 
 " Thou hast given her rhimes. 
 And interchang'd love-tokens with my child : 
 Thou hast, by moon-light, at her window sung. 
 With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; 
 And stol'n the impression of her fantasie. 
 With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits." 
 
 From a simple love-token, the gimmal 
 was at length converted into the more seri- 
 ous " sponsalium annulus," or ring of affi- 
 ance. The lover putting liis finger through 
 one of the hoops, and his mistress hers 
 through the other, were thus, symbolically, 
 yoked together; a yoke which neither could 
 be said wholly to wear, one half being 
 allotted to the other. In this use of the 
 gimmal may be seen typified, "a commu- 
 nity of interests, mutual forbearance, and a 
 participation of authority." 
 
 The French term for it is foi, or alli- 
 ance i which latter word, in the " Diction- 
 naire de Tr^voux," is defined, "bague on 
 jonc que Vaccord^ donne a son aecordee, oii 
 il y a un fil d'or, et un til d'argent." This 
 definition not only shows the occasion of its 
 use, but supposes the two hoops to be 
 composed, one of gold, the other of silver; 
 a distinction evidently meant to characterise 
 the bridegroom and bride. Thus Columella 
 calls those vines which produce two differ- 
 ent sorts of grapes, " gemellse vites." 
 
 Our English glossaries afford but little 
 information on the subject. Minshew refers 
 the reader from gimmal to gemow ; the 
 former he derives from " gemellus," the 
 latter from the French " jumeau :" and he 
 explains the gemow ring to signify "donhle 
 or twinnes, because they be rings with two 
 or more links." Neither of the words is in 
 Junius. Skinner and Ainsworth deduce 
 gimmal from the same Latin origin, and 
 suppose it to be used only of something 
 consisting of correspondent parts, or dou- 
 ble Dr. Johnson gives it a more extensive 
 signification; he explains gimmal to mean, 
 " some little quaint devices, or pieces of 
 
 machinery," and refers to Hanmer : bui he 
 inclines to think the name gradually coi- 
 rupted from geometry or geometrical, be- 
 cause, says he, " any thing done by occult 
 means is vulgarly said to be done by geo 
 metry." 
 
 The word is not in Cnaucer, nor in Spen- 
 ser; yet both Blount in his " Glossography," 
 and Philips i-n his " World of Words,"' have 
 gerninals ; which they interpret twins. 
 
 Shakspeare has gimmal in two or three 
 places ; though none of the commentators 
 seem thoroughly to understand the term. 
 
 Gimmal occurs in " King Henry the 
 Fifth," Act IV. Scene IL, where the French 
 lords are proudly scoffing at the condition 
 of the English army. Grandpree says, 
 
 " The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks. 
 
 With torch-staves in tlieir hands ; and their poor ja-ie* 
 
 Lob down their heads, dropping the hide and hips : 
 
 The glim down-roping from their pale dead eyes ; 
 
 And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit 
 
 Lies foul with chaw'd grass, stili and motionless." 
 
 We may understand the gimmal bit, 
 therefore, to mean either a double bit, in 
 the ordinary sense of the word {duples,) 
 or, which is more appropriate, a bit com- 
 posed of links, playing one within another, 
 {gemellus.) 
 
 In the " First Part of King Henry the 
 Sixth,'' after the French had been beaten 
 back with great loss, Charles and his lords 
 are concerting together the farther measures 
 to be pursued, and the king says, 
 
 " Let's leave this town, for they arehare-brain'd slaves. 
 And hunger will enforce them to be more eager: 
 Of old I know them; rather with their teeth 
 The walls they'll tear down, than forsake the siege." 
 
 To which Reignier subjoins, 
 
 " I think, by some odd gimmals or device. 
 Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on ; 
 Else they could ne'er hold out so, as they do, 
 By iny consent we'll e'en let them alone." 
 
 Some of the commentators have the fol- 
 lowing note upon this passage: ^^ A gimmal 
 is a piece of jointed work, where one piece 
 moves within anotiier; whence it is taken 
 at large for an engine. It is now vulgarly 
 called ' gimcrack.' " 
 
 Mr. Archdeacon Nares instances a stage 
 direction in " Lingua,'' an old play — 
 " Enter Anamnestes (a page to Memory) 
 in a grave sattin sute, purple buskins, &c. 
 a gimmal ring with one link hanging.'' He 
 adds, that gimmal rings, though originally 
 double, were by a flirther fefiuement made 
 
 416 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 .rijile, or even more complicated; yet the 
 name remained unchanged Herrick, in 
 his •' Hesperides," has the following verses. 
 
 The Jimmu.1 Ring, or True-love-knot. 
 
 Thou sent'st to ine a true-love-knot ; but I 
 Return'd a ring of jimmals, to imply 
 Thy love had one knot, mine a triple-tye. 
 
 According to Randle Holme, who, under 
 the terra " annulet," figures the gimmal 
 ring,* Morgan, in his " Sphere of Gen- 
 try," speaks of " three triple gimbal rings 
 borne by the name of Hawberke :" which 
 Mr. Nares says was " evidently because 
 the hawberk was formed of rings linked 
 into each other." 
 
 A further illustration of the gimmal ring 
 may be gathered from the following pas- 
 sage. " it is related in Davis's Rites of the 
 Cathedral of Durham, (8vo. 1(372, p. 51,) 
 that over our lady of Bolton's altar there 
 was a marvellous, lively, and beautiful 
 image of the picture of our lady, called 
 tlie lady of Bolton, which picture was 
 made to open with gimmes (or linked fast- 
 enings) from the breast downward ; and 
 within the said image was wrought and 
 pictured the image of our Saviour rnarvel- 
 iously finely gilt."t 
 
 I find that the brass rings within which 
 the seaman's compass swings, are by the 
 seamen called gimbals. This is the only 
 instance I can discover of the term being 
 still used. 
 
 The gimmal ring appears in common 
 language to have been called a joint-ring. 
 There is a passage relating to it in Dryden's 
 '• Don Sebastian." 
 
 " A curious artist wrought 'em. 
 With joynts so close as not to be perceiv'd ; 
 Yet are th<>y both each other's counterpart. 
 (Her part had Juan inscrib'd, and his had Zat/da. 
 You know those names were theirs -.j and, in the midst, 
 A heart divided in two halves was plac'd. 
 Now if the rivets of those rings, inclos'd. 
 Fit not each other, I have forg'd this lye : 
 But if they join, you must for ever part." 
 
 According to other passages in this play 
 one of these rings was worn by Sebastian's 
 father : the other by Almeyda's mother, as 
 pledges of love. Sebastian pulls off his, 
 which had been put on his finger by his 
 dying father : Almeyda does the same with 
 
 • Academ" of Armory, I), iii. c- 2. p. 20. 
 f Boue on Aneieot Mysteries, v. '<'i<2 
 
 hers, which had been giTen her by her 
 mother at parting : and Alvarez unscrews 
 both the rings, and fits one half to the 
 other. 
 
 There is a beautiful allusicm to the em- 
 blematical properties of the wedding ring 
 in the following poem : — 
 
 TO S D , WITH A RIKG. 
 
 Emblem of happiness, not bought, nor sold. 
 
 Accept this modest ring of virgin gold. 
 
 Love in the small, but perfect, circle, trace. 
 
 And duty, in its soft, though strict embrace. 
 
 Plain, precious, pure, as best becomes the wife ; 
 
 Yet firm to bear the frequent rubs of life. 
 
 Connubial love disdains a fragile toy, 
 
 Which rust can tarnish, or a touch dt^stroy ; 
 
 Nor much admires what courts the gen'ral 
 
 The dazzling diamond's meretricious blaze. 
 
 That hides, with glare, the anguifh of a heart 
 
 By nature hard, tho' polish'd bright by art. 
 
 More to thy taste the ornament that shows 
 
 Domestic bliss, and, without glaring, glows. 
 
 Whose gentle pressure serves to keep the mind 
 
 To all correct, to one discreetly kind. 
 
 Of simple elegance th' unconscious charm. 
 
 The holy amulet to keep from harm ; 
 
 To guard at once and consecrate the shrine. 
 
 Take this dear pledge — It makes and tbet 
 
 No. XXIV. 
 
 [From " Chabot, Admiral of France," a 
 Tragedy, by G. Chapman and J. Shirley 
 1639.] 
 
 No Advice to Self Advice. 
 
 another's knowledge, 
 
 Applied to my instruction, cannot equal 
 
 My own s-oul's knowledge how to inform acts. 
 
 Tlie sun's rich radiance shot thro' waves most fair, 
 
 Is but a shadow to his beams i' th' air ; 
 
 His beams that in the air we so admire, 
 
 Is but a darkness to his flame in fire ; 
 
 In fire his fervour but in vapour flies. 
 
 To what his own pure bosom rarities : 
 
 And the Almighty Wisdom having given 
 
 Kach man within himself an apter light 
 
 To guide his acts than any light without him, 
 
 (Creating nothing, not in all th-ngs equal). 
 
 It seems a fault in any that depend 
 
 On otiiers' knowledge, and exile their own. 
 
 Virtue under Calumny. 
 
 as in cloudy days we see the Sun 
 
 Glide ever turrets, temples, richest fields, 
 
 * CoUectioii of Poems, Dablin, IdOl, 8vo. 
 
 417 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 (AM tBoM left dnrk and sligTiteJ in his vf ay) ; 
 
 And on the wretched plight of some poor bhed 
 Pours all the glories of his golden head : 
 60 heavenly Virtue on this envied Lord 
 Points all his graces. 
 
 [From " Caesar and Pompey," a Tragedy, 
 by G. Chapman, 1631.J 
 
 Cato's Speech at Utica to a Senator, who 
 had ex-prest fears on his account. 
 
 Away, Statilius ; how long shall thy love 
 Exceed thy knowledge of me, and the Gods, 
 Whose rights thou wrong'st for my right ? have not I 
 Their powers to guard me in a cause of theirs. 
 Their justice and integrity to guard me 
 In what I stand for? he that fears the Gods, 
 For guard of any goodness, all things fears ; 
 Earth, seas, and air ; heav'n ; darkness ; broad day- 
 light ; 
 Rumour, and silence, and his very shade : 
 And what an aspen soul has such a creature 1 
 How dangerous to his soul is such a fear I — 
 In whose cold fits, is all Heavn's justice shaken 
 To his faint thoughts ; and all the goodness there, 
 Due to all good men by the Gods' own rows ; 
 Nay, by the firmness of their endless being ; 
 All which shall fail as soon as any one 
 Good to a good man in them : {or his goodness 
 Proceeds from them, and is a beam of theirs. 
 O never more, Statilius. may this fear 
 Faint thy bold bosom, for thyself or friend. 
 More than the Gods are fearfal to defend. 
 
 His thoughts of Death. 
 
 Poor Slaves, how terrible this Death is to them ! — 
 
 'f men would sleep, they would be wrath with all 
 
 That interrupt them ; physic take, to take 
 
 The golden rest it brings ; both pay and pray 
 
 For good and soundest naps ; all friends consenting 
 
 In those invocations ; praying all 
 
 " Good rest the Gods vouchsafe you." But when 
 
 Death, 
 Sleep's natural brother, comes ; that's nothing worse. 
 But better (being more rich — and keeps the store — 
 Sleep ever fickle, wayward still, and poor) ; 
 O how men grudge, and shake, and fear, and fly 
 His stern approaches ! all their comforts, taken 
 in faith, and knowledge of the bliss and beauties 
 That watch their wakings in an endless life, 
 Orown'd in the pains and horrors of their sense 
 Sustain'd but for an hour. 
 
 His Discourse with Athenodorus on an 
 After Life. 
 
 Cafo. As Nature works in all things to an end. 
 So, in the appropriate honour of that end. 
 Ail things precedent have their natural frame ; 
 Arl therefore is there a proportion 
 Ii.*twixt the ends of those things and their primes ; 
 I'cr el;e there could not be in their creation 
 
 Always, or for the most part, that firm form 
 
 In their still like existence, that we see 
 
 In each full creature. What proportion then 
 
 Hath an immortal with a mortal substance? 
 
 And therefore the mortality, to which 
 
 A man is subject, rather is a sleep 
 
 Than bestial death ; since sleep and death are called 
 
 The twins of nature. For, if absolute death. 
 
 And bestial, seize the body of a man. 
 
 Then there is no proportion in his parts, 
 
 (His soul being free from deatli) which otherwise 
 
 Retain divine proportion. For, as sleep 
 
 No disproportion holds with human souls, 
 
 But aptly quickens the proportion 
 
 Twixt them and bodies, making bodies fitter 
 
 To give np forms to souls, which is their end : 
 
 So death, twin-born of sleep, resolving all 
 
 Man's body's heavy parts, in lighter nature 
 
 Makes a re-union with the sprightly soul ; 
 
 When in a second life their Beings given 
 
 Hold their proportions firm in highest heaven. 
 
 Athenodorus. Hold you, our bodies shall reriv* 
 resuming 
 Our souls again to heaven ? 
 
 Cato. Past doubt ; though others 
 Think heav'n a world too high for our low reaches 
 Not knowing the sacred sense of Him that sings. 
 *• Jove can let down a golden chain from heaven. 
 Which, tied to earth, shall fetch up earth and seas "— 
 And what's that golden chaia but our pure soulg 
 That, govern'd with his grace and drawn by bim. 
 Can hoist the earthy body up to him ? — 
 The sea, the air, and all the elements, 
 Comprest in it ; not while 'tis thus concrete. 
 But 'fined by death, and then giv'n heav'nly heat. « a 
 We shall, past death. 
 
 Retain those forms of knowledge, leam'd in life 
 Since if what here we learn we there shall' ose, 
 Our immonality were not life, but time : 
 And that our souls in reason are immortal. 
 Their natural and proper objects prove ; 
 Which Immortality and Knowledge are : 
 For to that object ever is referr'd 
 The nature of the soul, in which the acts 
 Of her high faculties are still employ'd ; 
 And that true object must her powers obtain. 
 To which they are in nature's aim directed; 
 Since 'twere absurd to have her set an object 
 Which possibly she never can aspire. 
 
 His last words. 
 
 now I am safe ; 
 
 Come, Caesar, quickly now, or lose your rassaL 
 Now wing thee, dear Soul, and receive her heaven. 
 The earth, the air, and seas I know, and all 
 The joys and horrors of their peace and irais j 
 And now will see the Gods' state and the stars 
 
 Greatness in Adversityi. 
 
 Vulcan from heav'n fell, yet on 's feet did light. 
 And stood no less a God than at his height. 
 
 418 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 I il^rom " Bussy D'Ambois," a Tragedy, by 
 G. Chapman, 1613.J 
 
 Invocation for Secrecy at a Love-meeting. 
 
 Tamyra. Now all the peaceful Regents of the Night, 
 Silently-gliding Exhalations, 
 
 Languishing Wiuds, and murmuring Falls of Waters, 
 Sadness of Heart, and Ominous Secureness, 
 Enchantment's dead Sleeps ; all the Friends of Rest, 
 That ever wrought upon the life of man ; 
 Extend your utmost strengths, and this charm'd hour 
 Fix like the center ; make the ■violent wheels 
 Of Time and Fortune stand ; and great Existence. 
 The Maker's Treasury, now not seem to be 
 To all but my approaching friend* and me. 
 
 At the Meeting. 
 
 Here's nought but whispering with us : like a calm 
 Before a tempest, when the silent air 
 Lays her soft ear close to the eartli, to hearken 
 For that, she fears is coming to afflict her. 
 
 Invocation fur a Spirit of Intelligence. 
 
 D'Ambois. I long to know 
 How my dear Mistress fares, and be inform'd 
 What hand she now holds on the troubled blood 
 Of her incensed Lord. Methought the Spirit 
 When he had utter'd his perplext presage, 
 Threw his chang'd countenance headlong into clouds; 
 His forehead bent, as he would hide his face : 
 He knock'd his chin against his darke:i'd breast. 
 And struck a churlish silence thro' his powers. — 
 Terror of Darkness : O thou King of Flames, 
 That with thy music-footed horse dost strike 
 The clear light out, of chrystal, on dark earth ; 
 And hurl'st mstructive fire about the world : 
 Wake, wake the drowsy and enchanted night. 
 That sleeps with dead eyes in this heavy riddle, t 
 Or thou. Great Prince of Shades, where never sun 
 Sticks his far-darted beams ; whose eyes are made 
 To see in darkness, and see ever best 
 Where, sense is blindest: open now the heart 
 Of thy abashed oracle, that, for fear 
 Of some ill it includes, would fain lie hid ; 
 And rise Thou with it in thy greater light.J 
 
 The Friar dissuades the Husband of Ta- 
 myra from revenge. 
 
 Vour wife's offence serves not, were it the worst 
 Vou can imagine, without greater proofs. 
 To sever your eternal bonds and hearts; 
 Much less to touch her with a bloody hand : 
 
 * D'Ambois : with whom she has an appointment. 
 
 + He wants to know the fate of Tamyra. whose in- 
 aHgue with him has been discovered by her Husband. 
 
 X This calling upon Light and Darkness for informa- 
 tion, but, above all, the description of the Spirit — 
 " Threw his chang'd countenance headlong into clouds" 
 — IS tremendous, to the curdling of the blood.— I know 
 ■othLog in Poetry like it. 
 
 Nor is it mttnljr, much less husbandly. 
 To expiate any frailty in your wife 
 With churlish strokes or beastly odds of itrengla.— 
 The stony birth of clouds* will touch no lauraJ. 
 Nor any sleeper. Your wife is your laurel. 
 And sweetest sleeper ; do not touch her then : 
 Be net more rude than the wild seed of vapour 
 To ber that is more gentle than it rude. 
 
 C. L 
 
 MAID MARIAN. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — A correspondent in your last Num- 
 berf rather hastily asserts, that there is no 
 other authority than Davenport's Tragedy 
 for the poisoning of Matilda by King John. 
 It oddly enough happens, that in the same 
 Number J appears an Extract from a Play 
 of Ileywood's, of an older date, in two 
 parts ; in which Play, the fact of such 
 poisoning, as well as her identity with 
 Maid Marian, are equally establishea. 
 Michael Drayton also hath a Legend, con- 
 firmatory (as far as poetical authority can 
 go) of the violent manner of her death. 
 But neither he, nor Davenport, confound 
 her with Robin's Mistress. Besides the 
 named authorities, old Fuller (I think) 
 somewhere relates, as matter of Chronicle 
 History, that old Fitzwalter (he is called 
 J^itzwater both in Heywood and in Daven- 
 port) being banished after his daughter's 
 murder, — some years subsequently— King 
 John at a Turnament in France being de- 
 lighted with the valiant bearing of a com- 
 batant in the lists, and enquiring his name, 
 was told that it was his old faithful servant, 
 the banished Fitzwalter, who desired no- 
 thing more heartily than to be reconciled 
 to his Liege, — and an affecting reconcilia- 
 tion followed. In the common collection, 
 called Robin Hood's Garland (I have not 
 seen Ritson's), no mention is made, if I 
 remember, of the nobility of Marian. Is 
 she not the daughter of plain Squire Gam- 
 well, of old Gamwell Hall ? — Sorry that I 
 cannot gratify the curiosity of your " dis- 
 embodied spirit," (who, as such, is methinks 
 sufficiently " veiled " from our notice) with 
 more authentic testimonies, I rest. 
 
 Your humble Abstracter, 
 
 C. L, 
 
 * The thunderbolt, 
 t VoL i. p. 803. 
 t Ibid. p. 759. 
 
 419 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 RIVAL ITALIAN DRAMATISTS. 
 
 The Venetian stage had long been in 
 possession of Goldoni, a dramatic poet, 
 who, by introdjcing bustle and show into 
 his pieces, and writing principally to the 
 level of the gondoliers, arrived to the first 
 degree of popularity in Venice. He had a 
 rival in Pietro Chiari, whom the best critics 
 thought even inferior to Goldoni ; but such 
 an epidemic frenzy seized the Venetians in 
 favour of these two authors, that it quickly 
 spread to almost all parts of Italy, to the 
 detriment of better authors, and the de- 
 rangement of the public taste. This dra- 
 matic mania was arrested by Carlo Gozzi, a 
 younger brother of a noble family, who 
 attacked Goldoni and Chiari, and otliers 
 soon followed him. On this occasion the 
 two bards suspended their mutual ani- 
 mosity, and joined to oppose their adversct- 
 ries. Chiari was a gvQdA prose scribbler, as 
 well as a comedy-monger, so that a warm 
 paper war was soon commenced, which 
 grew hotter and hotter rapidly. 
 
 It happened one day that Gozzi met with 
 Goldoni in a bookseller's shop. They ex- 
 changed sharp words, and in the heat of 
 altercation Goldoni told Gozzi, " that 
 thoug-h it was an easy task to find fault 
 with a play, it was very difficult to write 
 one." Gozzi acknowledged " that to find 
 fault with a play was really very easy, but 
 that it was still easier to write such plays as 
 would please so thoughtless a nation as the 
 Venetians;" adding, with a tone of con- 
 temjH, " that he had a good mind to make 
 all Venice run to see the tale of the Three 
 Oranges formed into a comedy." Goldoni, 
 with some of his partisans in the shop, 
 challenged Gozzi to do it; and the critic, 
 thus piqued, engaged to produce such a 
 comedy within a few weeks. 
 
 To this trifling and casual dispute Italy 
 owed the greatest dramatic writer it ever 
 had. Gozzi quickly wrote a comedy in five 
 acts, entitled " 1 Tre Aranci," or " The 
 Three Oranges ;" formed out of an old 
 woman's story with which the Venetian 
 children are entertained by their nurses. 
 The comedy was acted, and three beautiful 
 princesses, born of three enchanted oranges, 
 made all Venice crowd to the theatre of St. 
 Angelo. 
 
 In this play Goldoni and Chiari were 
 not spared. Gozzi introduced in it many 
 of their theatrical absurdities. The Vene- 
 tian audiences, like the rest of the world, 
 do not much relish the labour of finding 
 out the truth; but once point it out, and 
 ♦ ho.r will instantly seize it. This was 
 
 remarkable on the first night that the comevly 
 of the " Three Oranges " was acted. The 
 fickle Venetians, forgetting the loud accla- 
 mations with which they had received Gol- 
 doni's and Chiari's plays, laughed obstrepe- 
 rously at them and their comedies, and 
 bestowed frantic applause on Gozzi and 
 the " Three Oranges." 
 
 This success encouraged Gozzi to write 
 more; and in a little tim« his plays so 
 entirely changed the Venetian taste, that in 
 about two seasons Goldoni was stripped ot 
 his theatrical honours, and poor Chiai-i 
 annihilated. Goldoni quitted Italy, and 
 went to France, where Voltaire's interest 
 procured him the place of Italian master to 
 one of the princesses at Versailles ; and 
 Chiari retired to a country house in the 
 neighbourhood of Brescia. 
 
 NATURAL CURIOSITIES OF 
 DERBYSHIRE. 
 
 Extracts from the Journal of a 
 Tourist. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Buxton, May 27, 1F.27. 
 
 * * * I was so fortunate as to 
 meet at the inn (the Shakspeare) at Buxton 
 with two very agreeable companions, with 
 whom I dined. The elder was a native 01 
 the place, and seemed well acquainted with 
 ail the natural curiosities at Buxton, and in 
 the county of Derby. The name of the 
 
 other was H , of a highly respectable 
 
 firm in London, sojourning at the Wells fo' 
 the benefit of a sprained leg. He accoD^.- 
 panied me on the following morning io 
 visit an immense natural cavern, c?'.!cd 
 Pool's Hole, from a freebooter of that r.ame 
 having once made it his place of abod;J. It 
 is situated at the foot of a steep b'll, the 
 entrance low and narrow : it is 69''' feet in 
 length, penetrating into the bosc'vi of the 
 mountain, and varying in height from six 
 to fifty or sixty feet. Our guides were two 
 old women, who furnished us with lights 
 There is in it an incessani dripping o' 
 water, crystallizing as it f:i-ls, forming a 
 ereat variety of grotesque and fanciful 
 figures, more resembling inverted gothic 
 pinnacles than any thing else 1 could ima- 
 gine : it was with great difficulty that we 
 could break some fragments oflf; they are 
 termed by naturalists stalactites. A scene 
 so novel and imposing as the interior of 
 this gloomy cave presented, with its huge 
 blocks of rocks irregularly piled upon each 
 other, their shr- ,os but indistincily visibis 
 
 420 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 from the glare of the torches, was of tha* 
 kind as to leave an indelible impression on 
 my mind. It has many very large and 
 curious recesses within; one of which is 
 called Pool's chamber, another his closet, 
 and a third his shelf. The continual falling 
 of the water from the insterstices in the 
 roof upon the rocks beneath, causes holes 
 on them, which are not formed by the fric-- 
 aon of the water itself, but by its gradual 
 crystallization immediately around the spots 
 whereon it drips. The utmost extent that 
 can be reached by a human foot is called 
 Mary Queen of Scot's Pillar; from that 
 point it becomes dangerous and impassable. 
 
 After dinner we made a short excursion 
 along the banks of the river Wye, called 
 Wye-dale ; a walk, which from' the gran- 
 deur of the scenery, and its novelty, (for I 
 had never before seen any of the Peak 
 scenery,) will be long imprinted in vivid 
 colours on my recollection. In some parts 
 the river flowed smoothly along-, but in 
 others its motion was rapid, impetuous, and 
 turbulent : huge fragments of rock, dis- 
 united from the impending crags, divided 
 the stream into innumerable eddies ; the 
 water bubbled and foamed around, forming 
 miniature cataracts, and bestowing life and 
 animation to the otherwise quiet scene. 
 On either side, the locks rose to a great 
 height in every diversity of shape ; some 
 spiral, or like the shattered walls or decayed 
 bastions of ruined or demolished fortresses ; 
 others bluff, or like the towers of citadels ; 
 all covered with a variety of coarse vegeta- 
 tion, among which the stunted yew was the 
 most conspicuous ; its dark foliage hanging 
 over the projecting eminences, gave an ex- 
 pressive character to surrounding objects. 
 A few water mills, built of rough unhewn 
 limestone, presented themselves as we fol- 
 lowed the windings of the stream, having a 
 deserted and silent appearance. 
 
 It appeared to me probable, that the now 
 insignificant little stream was, in by-gone 
 distant ages, a mighty river; the great depth 
 of the valley, excavated through the rocks, 
 could scarcely have been caused but by the 
 irresistible force of water. The lesser vales 
 diverging from it in some parts, favour the 
 conjecture that they had been formerly some 
 of its tributary streams : in one of these, 
 which we had the curiosity to ascend, we 
 observed a small rill. After a slippery 
 ascent on the rough stones of which its bed 
 was formed, we reached a mineral spring, 
 issuing from a fissure in the rock, and de- 
 positing a greenish copperas-like sediment 
 at the bottom ; we found some beautiful 
 «Fecimfns of mosses and lichens. 
 
 I inquired of a passing peasant what fish 
 the Wye could boast of. " IVee (Wye) 
 fish to be sure," said he : by which I under- 
 stood him to mean, that there was in it only 
 one species of the finny race of any conse- 
 quence, and that trout. 
 
 It was late before we gained our inn; we 
 had walked upwards of six miles in that 
 deep and romantic dale. 
 
 28th. This morning I enjoyed a beau- 
 tiful ride to Tideswell, along the banks of 
 the Wye, about seven miles. The road 
 wound up the sides of lofty hills, in some 
 parts commanding views of the river tlow- 
 ing in the vale beneath ; not so high how- 
 ever, but that the murmur of its waters, 
 mellowed by the distance, might be heard 
 by the traveller. Tideswell possesses 3 
 handsome church; from the steeple arise 
 four gothic spires. 
 
 29th. Went forward to Castleton, down 
 the hills called the Wynyats, by the Spar- 
 row Pit mountain ; the ride took me over 
 some of the wild and barren hills which 
 surround Buxton on every side. The im- 
 mediate descent to Castleton is from a 
 steep mountain more than a mile in length, 
 and is only to be effected by a road formed 
 in a zigzag direction. A fine view of the 
 rich vale beneath presents itself from this 
 road, having the appearance of a vast am- 
 phitheatre, for nothing is to be seen on any 
 side but mountains ; it is of great fertility. 
 The most remarkable mountain is Mam- 
 Tor; its height is 1301 feet. One of them 
 I learnt was called the " Shivering" Moun- 
 tain ; the reason for which being, that after 
 severe frosts, or in heavy gales, large quan* 
 titles of earth separate from one side of it, 
 which is nearly perpendicular. At the foot 
 of Mam-Tor there is a lead mine, called 
 Odin ; from whence is procured the famous 
 fluor spar, of which so many articles of 
 utility and ornament are made. Castleton 
 is by no means a handsome town ; it has 
 narrow dirty streets, and a deplorably rough 
 pavement. The objects worthy of notice 
 near it are, a celebrated cavern, called 
 Peak's Hole, and a venerable ruined castle, 
 situated on the rock immediately above it. 
 It was built by William Peveril, to whom 
 the manor of Castleton was granted by 
 William the Conqueror. 
 
 On the path leading to the cavern, a 
 streamlet is followed, which issues from 
 that extraordinary wonder of nature ; the 
 approach is grand and striking ; the per- 
 pendicular cliffs above are solemnly majes- 
 tic — their height is about 250 feet. The 
 arch of the first and largest chamber in tjus 
 cavern is stupendously broad in its span. 
 
 421 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The top of the mountain along the edges L 
 rin»ed with a number of fine elms, wherein 
 theie is perched a rookery, a singular situa- 
 tion of the noisy tribe : lower down are 
 innumerable jackdaws, vvliich build in the 
 ledues of the rocks. 
 
 The span of the grand arcb is 180 feet; 
 the length of the first cave 220 feet. A 
 number of labourers in it are employed at 
 rope walks, making twine, &c From the 
 roof hang immense spiral masses of petrified 
 water, or stalactites. The entrance to the 
 interior is through a small door at the fur- 
 ther end : the visiter is there directed to 
 stop and gaze at the arch of the first 
 cavern ; this is a most striking object ; the 
 very livid colour of the light admitted, with 
 the bluish-white reflection upon the sur- 
 rounding rocks, reminded me forcibly of 
 the descriptions of the infernal regions by 
 Virgil, Milton, and other poets. Torches 
 are here put into your hands : the passage 
 is narrow and low, and you reach an im- 
 mense hollow above you in the roof, called 
 the Bell House, from its resemblance to 
 that form ; the same stream is then seen 
 which was followed on your approach ; on 
 t is a small shallop. I was directed to 
 extend myself along its bottom with the 
 guide, on account of the rock being in this 
 place but fourteen inches from the surface 
 of the water, which in depth is only four 
 feet. I was then landed in a cavern more 
 stupendous than the first; the whole of it was 
 surrounded with a number of rugged rocks 
 ■^f limestone, which seemed to have been 
 tossed and heaped together by some violent 
 convulsion of nature, or by the impetuosity 
 >f the water that swells to a great height 
 after heavy and continued rains. This is 
 called Pluto's Hall; and when a distant 
 nailery, formed by a ledge of rocks, was 
 iil'umined by the light of some dozen of 
 candles, the effect was the most imposing 
 of the kind I ever witnessed. There is a 
 continual dropping of water; and after 
 passing a ford, I reached what is called 
 " Roger Raiiis" House, from its always 
 dripping there. A little further on is a 
 place called the Devil's Wine Cellar, from 
 which is a descent of 150 feet; it becomes 
 terrific in the extreme : immense arches 
 throw their gloomy and gigantic spans 
 above ; and the abyss on one side, which 
 it is impossible for the vision to penetrate 
 to the bottom, adds to the intensity of the 
 horror. This wonderful subterraneous man- 
 sion is 2250 feet in length. 
 
 30th. At Bakewell, one of the plea- 
 santest of the small towns in England, 
 theie is an excellent note, called the Kut 
 
 land Arms, belonging to the Rutland family, 
 and under its patronage. The church jj 
 situated on a rising ground. There is a 
 neat stone bridge over the river Wye, and 
 the silvery stream winds the adjoining vale. 
 The view from the church-yard is enchant- 
 ing. The two rivers, the Wye and Der- 
 went, form a junction at some little dis- 
 tance, and beyond are wood-tufted hills 
 sloping their gentle elevations. Haddon 
 Hall, one of the finest and most peifect ot 
 the ancient baronial residences in tlie 
 kingdom, is seen embosomed in the deep 
 woods. 
 
 Bakewell is celebrated as a fi<hing sta- 
 tion. The fine estates of the Dtvonshire 
 and Rutland families join near it. 
 
 In the church-yard I copied, from the 
 tomb of one who had been rather a licen- 
 tious personage, the following curious 
 
 Epitaph. 
 
 " Know posterity, that on the 8th ot 
 April, 1737, the rambling remains of John 
 Dale were, in the 86th year of his age, laid 
 upon his two wives. 
 
 " This thing in life might raise some jealousy. 
 Here all three lie together lovingly ; 
 But from embraces here no pleasure flows. 
 Alike are here all human joys and woes. 
 Here Sarah's chiding John no longer hears. 
 And old John's rambling,, Sarah no more fecrs ; 
 A period's come to all their toilsome lives. 
 The good man's quiet — still are both his wives." 
 
 Another.' 
 
 " The vocal powers here let us mark 
 Of Philip, our late parish clerk ; 
 In church none ever heard a layman 
 With a clearer voice say Amen : 
 Who now with hallelujah's sound 
 Like him can make the roofs rebound? 
 — The choir lament his choral tones 
 The town so soon — here lie his boces." 
 
 E. J. H. 
 
 June, 1827. 
 
 BRIBERY. 
 
 Charles V. sent over 400,000 crowns, to 
 be distributed among the members of par- 
 liament, in bribes and pensions, to induce 
 them to confirm a marriage between Mary 
 and his son Philip. This was the first in- 
 stance in which public bribery was exe> 
 cised in England by a foreign poT er. 
 
 4.22 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE KETIRED HUSBANDMAN. 
 
 This is a sketch from nature — " a re- 
 pose" — an aged man enjoying the good 
 that remains to him, yet ready for his last 
 summons : his thoughts^ at this moment, 
 are upon the little girl that fondles on 
 him — one of his grandaughter-s. The 
 annals of his life are short and simple. 
 " Born to labour as the sparks fly upward," 
 he discha.'go'i the obligation of his exist- 
 ence, 3rd by the work of his hands en- 
 
 dowed himself with independence. He is 
 contented and grateful ; and filled with 
 hope and desire, that, aft'er he shall be 
 gathered to his fathers, there may be many 
 long years of happiness in store for his 
 children and their offspring. JUs days 
 have passed in innocence and peace, and 
 he prays for peace to the innocent. II's 
 final inclination is fowards the place of his 
 rest. • 
 
 423 
 
THE TABLE BOOK, 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 A DIALOGUE 
 BETWEEN VIRTUE AND DEATH, 
 
 On the Death of S:r James Pember- 
 TON, Knight, who departed this Life 
 THE 8th of September, 1613. 
 
 lie was lord mayor of London in the 
 reign of James I., and was a great bene- 
 factor to several charities. 
 
 Vertue. What Vertue cliallengefh, is but her right. 
 
 Death. What Death layes claime to who can con- 
 tradict ? 
 
 Ver. Vertne, whose power exceeds all other might. 
 
 Vea. Wher's Vertne's power when Death makes all 
 submit r 
 
 Ver. I gave him life and therefore he is mine. 
 
 Dea. That life he held no longer than I list. 
 
 Ver. 1 made him more than mortall, neere diuine ; 
 
 Dea. How hapt he could not then Death's stroke 
 resist ? 
 
 Ver. Because (by nature) all are born to dye. 
 
 Dea. Then thyne own tongue yeelds Death the vic- 
 tory. 
 
 Ver. No, Death, thou art deceiued, thy enuioos 
 stroke 
 
 Hath giuen him life immortal 'gainst thy will : 
 
 Dea. What life can be, but vanished as smoake ? 
 
 Ver. A life that all thy darts can never kill. 
 
 Dea. Haue I not locked his bodv in my graue ? 
 
 Ver. That was but dust, and that 1 pray thee keepe. 
 
 Dea. That is as much as I desire to haue. 
 
 His comely shape in my eternal sleepe. 
 
 Ver. But wher's his honorable life, renowns, and 
 fame ? 
 
 Dea. They are but breath, them I resign to thee. 
 Ver. Them I most couet. 
 
 Dea. I prefer my claim., 
 
 His body mine. 
 f'CT. • mine his eternity. 
 
 And so they ceast, Death triumphs, o'er his graue, 
 ■Virtue o'er that which death can never haue." 
 
 London, June 12, 1H27. 
 
 J£«3)f*»[ 
 
 ANCIENT DIAL. 
 
 For the Table Booh. 
 
 The dial in use among the ancient Jews 
 differed from that in use among us. Theirs 
 was a kind of stairs ; the time of the day 
 was distinguished, not by lines, but by 
 steps or degrees ; the shade of the sun every 
 hour moved forward to a new degree. On 
 the dial of Ahaz, the sun went back (mag- 
 noloth) degress or stepi, not li7ies. — hai. 
 Kxxriii. 8. P- 
 
 PETER HERVE. 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir,* — Having had the happir.«ess and 
 honour of holding correspondence with that 
 most benevolent man, Mr. Peter Herv^, 
 whose death I deeply deplore, I shall feel 
 myself relieved from a debt due to his me- 
 mory, if you will allow me, through the 
 medium of your valuable publication, to 
 express my hope that he was not, in the 
 time of need, forgotten by that society of 
 which he was the honoured founder. His 
 last letter told me he was ill and in dis- 
 tress ; and had been advised to try the an 
 of the south of France, with scarcely any 
 means of pursuing his journey but by the 
 sale of his drawings. My own inability to 
 serve him made me hesitate ; and I am 
 shocked to say, his letter was not answered. 
 I am sorry, but repentance will not come 
 too late, if this hint will have any weight 
 towards procuring for his amiable widow, 
 ,Tom that admirable institution, a genteel, 
 if not an ample independence : for certain 
 I am, that he could not have made choice 
 of any one who had not a heart generous 
 as his own, 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 F. S. Jun. 
 Stamford, June 24, 1827. 
 
 CABALISTIC ERUDITION. 
 
 Nothing can exceed the followers of 
 cabalistical mysteries, in point of fantastical 
 conceits. The learned Godwin recounts 
 some of them. " Abraham," they say. 
 " wept but little for Sarah, probably be- 
 cause she was old." They prove this by 
 producing the letter " Caph," which being 
 a remarkably .small letter, and being made 
 use of in the Hebrew word which describes 
 Abraham's tears, evinces, they affirm, that 
 his grief also was .small. 
 
 The Cabalists discovered likewise, that 
 in the two Hebrew words, signifying 
 " man " and " woman," are contained two 
 letters, which, toeelher, form one of the 
 names of " God ;" but if these letters be 
 taken away, there remain letters which 
 signify " fire.'' " Hence," argue the Ca- 
 balists, " we may find that when man and 
 wife agree together, and live in union, God 
 is with them, but when they separate them- 
 selves from God, fire attends their foot- 
 steps." Such are the whimsical dogmas oi 
 the Jewish Cabala. 
 
 424 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 OFFERINGS TO INFANTS. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 EdgeJey, near Stockport. 
 Sir, — I am anxious to notice a custom I 
 have observed in Yorkshire, relative toverv 
 youner infants, whicK I think it would be 
 desirable to keep alive. I know that it is 
 partially practised now, in that countv, in 
 the neifihbou' hood of Wakefield. Tne 
 castom I allude to is, the making an offer- 
 ing to new-born infants on the occasion of 
 their making their first visit abroad, by the 
 person who is honoured with it, of a cake 
 of bread, an egg, and a small quantity of 
 salt. Special c«re is taken that the young 
 pilgrim in life makes its first visit to tb.e 
 house of a near relative, or an esteemed 
 friend, who will in nowise omit a ceremony 
 so necessary to its future welfare. For it 
 is believed if this be not done, that in its 
 progress through life it will be exposed to 
 the miseries of want ; and by parity of 
 reason, the duo observance of it will insure 
 a conlnmal supply of those necessaries, of 
 which the offering at setting out in life pre- 
 sents so happy an omen. I know not 
 whence or where this custom originated, 
 nor how extensively it may be still prac- 
 tised ; but if its origin be utterly unknown, 
 we are, according to the usage of the 
 world in all such cases, bound the more io 
 observe and reverence it. There are many 
 ancient customs, upon which tiie hand of 
 Time has set his seal, " more honoured in 
 the breach than the observance;" but, I 
 think, you will agree with me, that this, 
 from its air of social humanity, is not of 
 that class. Perhaps you can give it further 
 elucidation. I believe it to be o.f the most 
 remote antiquity, and to have been amongst 
 the oldest nations. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 MiLO. 
 
 The only immediate illustration of the 
 preceding custom that occurs, is Hutchin- 
 son's mention of it in his History of North- 
 umberland ; in which county, also, infants, 
 when first sent abroad in the arms of the 
 nurse to visit a neighbour, are presented 
 with an egg, salt, and bread. He observes, 
 that " the e^g was a sacred emblem, and 
 seems a gift well adapted to infancy." Mr. 
 Bryant says, " An egg, containing in it the 
 elements of life, was thought no improper 
 emblem of the ark, in which were preserved 
 the rudiments .:." *lie future world: hence^ 
 in the Dionusiaca, and in other mysteries 
 
 one part of the nocturnal ceremony consist- 
 ed in the consecration of an egg. By this, 
 as we are informed by Porphyry, was sig- 
 nified the world. It seems to have been a 
 favourite symbol, and very ancient, and we 
 find it adopted among many nations. It 
 was said by the Persians of Orosmasdes, 
 that he formed mankind and enclosed the:n 
 in an egg. Cakes and salt were used in 
 religious rites by the ancients. The J'^ws 
 probably adopted their appropriation from 
 the Kgyptians : — 'And if thou bring an 
 oblation of a meat-offering baken in the 
 oven, it shall be unleavened cakes of fine 
 flour,' &c. (Levit. ii. 4.) ' With all thine 
 offerings thoushalt offer salt.'" (Ibid. p. 13.) 
 
 It is also customary in Northumberland 
 for the midwife, &c. to provide two slices, 
 one of bread and the other of cheese, which 
 are presented to the first person they meet 
 in the procession to cliurcii at the christen- 
 ing. The person who receives this homely 
 present must give the child in return " three" 
 different things, wishing it at the same time 
 health and beauty. A gentleman happen- 
 ing once to fall in the way of such a party, 
 and to leceive the above present, was at a 
 loss how to make the triple return, till he 
 bethought himself of laying upon the child 
 which was held out to him, a shilling, a 
 halfpenny, and a pinch of snnff. When 
 they meet more than one person together, 
 it is usual to single out the nearest to the 
 woman that carries the child. 
 
 Cowel says, it was a good old custom 
 for God-fathers and God-mothers, every 
 lime their God-children asked them bless- 
 ing, to give them a caLe, which was a God's- 
 kichell: it is still a proverbial saying l-.i 
 some countries, " Ask me a blessing, a.Tl i 
 will give you some plum-cake." 
 
 Among superstitions relating to children, 
 the following is related by Bingham, on 
 St. Austin : " If when two friends are talk- 
 ing together, a stoae, or a dog, or a child, 
 happens to come between thern, they tread 
 the stone to pieces as the divider of their 
 friendship; and this is tolerable in compa- 
 rison of beating an innocent child that 
 comes between them. But it is more plea- 
 sant that sometimes the children's quarrel 
 is revenged by the dogs : for many timei 
 they are so superstitious as to dare to beat 
 the dog that comes between them, who, 
 turning again upon him that smites him 
 sends him from seeking a vain remedy, to 
 seek a real physician." Brand, who cites 
 these passages, adduces the following 
 
 425 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Christening Customs. 
 
 Dr. Moresin was an eye-witness to the 
 following usages in Scotland. They take, 
 on their return from church, the newly- 
 baptized infant, and vibrate it three or four 
 times gently over a flame, saying, and re- 
 peating it thrice, " Let the flame consume 
 thee now or never." 
 
 Martin relates, that in the Western 
 Islands, the same lustration, by carrying of 
 tire, is performed round about lying-in 
 women, and round about children before 
 they are christened, as an effectual means 
 to preserve both the mother and infant fiom 
 the power of evil spirits. This practice is 
 similar to an ancient feast at Athens, kept 
 by private families, called Aniphidrornia, 
 on the fifih day after the birth of the child, 
 when it was the custom for the gossips to 
 run round the fire with the infant in their 
 arms, and then, having delivered it to the 
 nurse, they were entertained with feasting 
 and dancing. 
 
 There is a superstition that a child who 
 does not cry when sprinkled in baptism 
 will not live. 
 
 Among the ancient Lish, the mother, at 
 the birth of a man child, put the first meat 
 into her infant's mouth upon the point of 
 her husband's sword, with wishes that it 
 might die no otherwise than in war, or by 
 sword. Pennant says, that in the High- 
 lands, midwives give new-born babes a 
 >*mall spoonful of earth and whisky, as the 
 first food they take. 
 
 Giraldus Cambrensis relates, that " at 
 tiie baptizing of the infants of the wild 
 Irish, their manner was not to dip their 
 right arms into the water, that so as they 
 thought they might give a more deep and 
 incurable blow." Mr. Brand deems this a 
 proof that the whole body of the child was 
 anciently commonly immersed in the bap- 
 tismal font. 
 
 In 1795 the minister of tlie parishes of 
 South Ronaldsay and Burray, two of the 
 Orkney islands, describing the manners of 
 the inhabitants, says: "Within these last 
 seven years, the minister has been twice 
 interrupted in administering baptism to a 
 female child, before the male child, who 
 was baptized immediately after. When 
 the service was over, he was gravely told 
 ne had done very wrong ; for, as the female 
 child was first baptized, she would, on her 
 coming to the years of discretion, most cer- 
 tainly have a strong beard, and the boy 
 would have none.'' 
 
 Thf? minister of Logierait, in Perthshire, 
 escnjing the superstitious opinions and 
 
 practices in that parish, says : " When a 
 cliild was baptized privately, it was, not 
 long since, customary to put the child upon 
 a clean basket, having a cloth previously 
 spread over it, with bread and cheese put 
 into the cloth ; and thus to move the basket 
 three times successively round the iron 
 crook, which hangs over the fire, from the 
 roof of the house, for the purpose of sup- 
 porting the pots when water is boiled, or 
 victuals are prepared. This" he imagines, 
 " might be anciently intended to counter- 
 act the malignant arts which witches and 
 evil spirits were imagined to practise against 
 new-born infants." 
 
 It is a vulgar notion, that children, pre- 
 maturely wise, are not long-lived, and 
 rarely reach maturity. Shakspeare puts 
 this superstition into the mouth of Richard 
 the Third. 
 
 Bulwer mentions a tradition concerning 
 children born open-handed, that they will 
 prove of a bountiful disposition and frank- 
 handed. A character in one of DekkerV 
 plays says, " I am the most wretched fel- 
 low : sure some left-handed priest christened 
 me, I am so unlucky." 
 
 The following charms for infancy are de- 
 rived from Herrick : 
 
 " Bring the holy crust of bread. 
 Lay it underneath the head; 
 'Tis a eertain charm to keep 
 Hags away while children sleep." 
 
 " Let the superstitious wife 
 Neer the child's heart lay a knife : 
 Point be up, and haft be down, 
 (V\^hile she gossips in the towne;) 
 This, 'mongst other mystick charms. 
 Keeps the sleeping cliild from harmes." 
 
 BUNYAN'S HOLY WAR DRAxMA 
 TIS ED. 
 
 A very beautiful manuscript was once 
 put into the hands of one of Dr. Aikin's 
 correspondents by a provincial bookseller, 
 to whom it had been offered for p\.olicat!on 
 It consisted of two tragedies upon the sub- 
 ject of John Bunyan's Holy War : they were 
 the composition of a lady, who had fitted 
 together scraps from Shakspeare, Milton, 
 Young's Night Thoughts, and Erskine's 
 Gospel Sonnets, into the dramatic form, 
 with no other liberty than that of occasion- 
 ally altering a name. The Lady Constance, 
 for instance, was converted into lady Cou 
 
 426 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 science : the whole speeches and scenes 
 were thus introduced in a wholesale sort 
 of cento. The ghost in Hamlet also did 
 for a Conscience.* 
 
 GENTLEMEN OF THE PARISH. 
 
 Look up at the inscription on that vene- 
 rable church defaced with plaster; what 
 does it record ? " Beautified by Samuel 
 Smear and Daniel Daub, churchwardens." 
 And so these honest gentlemen call dis- 
 guising that fine, old, stone building, with 
 a thick coat of lime and hair, or white- 
 wash, beautifying it ! 
 
 What is the history of all this ? Why the 
 plain matter-of-fact is, that every parish 
 Jtficer thinks he has a right to make a 
 round bill on the hamlet, during his year 
 of power. An apothecary in office physics 
 Mie poor. A glazier, first in cleaning, 
 
 A.theu»una. 
 
 breaks the church-windows, and afterwaids 
 brings in a long bill for mending them. A 
 painter repairs the commandments, puts 
 new coats on Moses and Aaron, gilds the 
 organ pipes, and dresses the little cherubim 
 about the loft, as fine as vermilion, Prussian 
 blue, and Dutch gold can make them. The 
 late churchwardens chanced to be a silver- 
 smith and a woollen-draper ; the silver- 
 smith new fashioned the communion plate, 
 and the draper new clothed the pu.pit, and 
 put fresh curtains to the windows. All 
 this might be done with some shadow of 
 modesty, but to insult the good sense of 
 every beholder with their beautified ! Shame 
 on them ! 
 
 Dr. Burney tells of some parish officers, 
 that they applied to Snetzler (a celebrated 
 organ-builder) to examine their organ, and 
 to make improvements on it — "■ Gentle- 
 men," said the honest Swiss, " your organ 
 be wort von hondred pound, just now — 
 well — I will spend von hondred pound 
 upon it, and it shall then be wort fifty " 
 
 For the Table Booh. 
 THE ANGLER. 
 
 From the Gekman of Goethe. 
 
 Das Wasser rauscht', das Wasser schwoll, &c. 
 
 There was a gentle angler who was angling in the sea, 
 With heart as cool as only heart untaught of love can be ; 
 When suddenly the water rush'd, and swell'd, and up there sprung 
 A humid maid of beauty's mould — and thus to him she sung : 
 
 " Why dost thou strive so artfully to lure my brood away, 
 And leave them then to die beneath the sun's all-scorching ray ? 
 Couldst thou but tell how happy are the fish that swim below. 
 Thou wouldst with me, and taste of joy which earth can never know. 
 
 " Do not Sol and Diana both more lovely far appear 
 
 When they have dipp'd in Ocean's wave their golden, silvery hair? 
 
 And is there no attraction in this heaven-expanse of blue, 
 
 Nor in thine image mirror'd in this everlasting dew ?" 
 
 The water rush'd, the water swell'd, and touch'd his naked fee^ 
 
 And fancy whisper'd to his heart it was a love-pledge sweet ; 
 
 She sung another siren lay more 'witching than before, 
 
 Half puU'd — half plunging — down he sunk, and ne'er was heard of more. 
 
 R. W. D. 
 
 427 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 CLOSING THE EYES. 
 
 For the Table Booh. 
 
 A GIPSY'S FUNERAL. 
 
 Epping Forest. 
 
 It was considered a mark of the stronp:est 
 
 aft'ectinn bj- the ancients, that a hon, when 
 
 his father was dying, should lean over him 
 
 and receive his last j;ra.sp, 
 
 " and kis9 his spirit into happy rest. " 
 
 The Jews, Greeks, and Romans, esteem- 
 ed it a high privilege for the nearest nda- 
 tive to close the eyes ot the deceased body ; 
 as in Genesis, when Jacob's sun was settiiii:, 
 '■'Joseph shall put his hands upon thine 
 eyes." And in another place, — "The 
 memory of the father is preserved in the 
 son." Again, (contra) "I have no son to 
 keep my name in remembrance." And in 
 Homer, " Let not the glory of his eyes 
 depart, without the tender hand to move it 
 silently to peace." Ovid savs, "Ille meos 
 oculos comprimat, ille tuos. " The per- 
 forming this ceremony was so valued, thit 
 to die without friends to the due observance 
 of this affectionate and last testimony, was 
 thought an irreparable affliction. 
 
 The sudden death of a man was attri- 
 bute i to Apollo ; of a woman, to Diana. 
 If any relation were present, a vessel of 
 brass was procured, and beaten loudly in 
 the ears of the deceased to determine the 
 point. The ringing of bells by the Romans, 
 and others to tliis day is practised. The 
 [rish wake partakes also of this usage. 
 When the moon was m eclipse, she was 
 thought asleep, and bells were rung to wake 
 (ler: the eclipse having past, and the moon 
 recovered her light, faith in this noisy cus- 
 tom became strengthened. Euripides says, 
 when Hyppolitus was dying, he called on 
 his father to close his eyes, cover his facp 
 with a cloth, and put a shroud over the 
 corpse. Cassandra, desirous of proving the 
 Trojan cause better than that of the Greeks, 
 eulogizes their happy condition in dying at 
 home, where the obsequies might be per- 
 formed for them by their nearest relatives 
 Briedea tells her children she once hoped 
 they would have performed the duty for 
 her, but she must do it for them. If a 
 father, or the mother died a widow, the 
 children attended to it : if the husband 
 died, the wife performed it; wliich the 
 Greeks lamented could not be done if they 
 died at Troy. The duty devolved on the 
 sister if her brother died ; which caused 
 Orestes to exclaim, when he was to suffer 
 death so far from his home — " Alas! how 
 shall my sister shroud me now 1" 
 
 Last month I was gratified by observing: 
 the funereal attentions of the gipsy tribes 
 to Cooper, then lying in a state on a com- 
 mon, near Epping forest. The corpse lay 
 in a tent clothed with white linen ; candle.s 
 v/ere lighted over tiie body, on which forest 
 flowers and blossoms of tne season wert 
 strewn and hung in posies. Coopei's wife, 
 dressed in black, perceiving I did not wish 
 to see the face of her husband, said in per- 
 fect naivete, " Oh, sir, don't fear to look at 
 him, I never saw his countenance so plea- 
 sant in all my life." A wit might have 
 construed this sentence otherwise ; but too 
 much kindness emanated from tliis scene 
 of rustic association to admit of levity. 
 Her partner was cold, and her heart beat 
 the pulsations of widowhood. The picture 
 would have caught an artist's eye. The 
 gipsy-friends and relations sat mutely in 
 the adjoining tents; and, like Job and 
 his comforters, absorbed their grief in the 
 silence of the summer air and their breasts. 
 When Cooper was put in his coffin, the 
 same feeling of attachment pervaded the 
 scene. A train of several pairs, suitably 
 clothed, followed their friend to the grave, 
 and he was buried at the neighbouring 
 church in quiet solemnity. 
 
 In addition to this, I transcribe a notice 
 from a MS. journal, kept by a member of 
 my family, 1769, which confirms the custom 
 above alluded to. " Here was just buried 
 in the church, (Tring,) the sister of the 
 queen of the gipsies, to whom it is designed 
 by her husband, to erect a monument to 
 her memory of 20/. price. He is going t< 
 be married to the queen (sister to the de- 
 ceased.) He offered 20/. to the clergymai 
 to many him directly; but he had notbeei 
 in the town a month, so could not be mat 
 tied till that time. When this takes plao 
 an entertainment will be made, and 20/. r 
 30/. spent. Just above esquire Gore's park 
 these destmy readers have a camp, at which 
 place the woman died ; immediately after 
 which, the survivors took all her wearing 
 apparel and burnt them, including silk 
 gowns, rich laces, silver buckles, gold ear- 
 rings, trinkets, &c., — for such is their cus- 
 tom." 
 
 June, 1827. J. R. P. 
 
 LITERARY INGENUITY. 
 
 Odo tenet malum, madidam mappam tenet anna. 
 
 The above line is said, in an old book, to 
 have " cost the inventor much foolish labour, 
 for it is a perfect verse, and every word is 
 the very same both backward and forward." 
 
 428 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ST. JAMES'S PARK. 
 
 fwas June, and many a gossip wench. 
 
 Child-freighted, trod the central Mall ; 
 I gain'd a white unpeopled bench. 
 
 And gazed upon the long canal. 
 Beside me soon, in motley talk, 
 
 Boys, nursemaids sat, a varying race ; 
 At length two females cross'd the walk. 
 
 And occupied the vacant space. 
 
 In years they seem'd some forty-four. 
 
 Of dwarfish stature, vulgar mien ; 
 A bonnet of black silk each wore, 
 
 And each a gown of bombasin ; 
 And, while in loud and careless tones 
 
 They dwelt upon their own concerns. 
 Ere long 1 learn'd that Mrs. Jones 
 
 Was one, and one was Mrs. Burns. 
 
 They talk'd of little Jane and John, 
 
 And hoped they'd come before 'twas dark ; 
 Then wonder'd why with pattens ou 
 
 One might not walk across the park : 
 They call'd it far to Camden-town, 
 
 Yet hoped to reach it by and by ; 
 And thought it strange, since flour was down. 
 
 That bread should still continue high. 
 
 They said last Monday's heavy gales 
 
 Had done a monstrous deal of ill ; 
 Then tried to count the iron rails 
 
 That wound up Constitution-hill ; 
 This larum sedulous to shun, 
 
 I don'd my gloves, to march away 
 When, as I gazed upon the one, 
 
 " Good heavens 1" I cried, " tis Nancy Gray.' 
 
 Twas Nancy, whom I led along 
 
 The whiten'd and elastic floor. 
 Amid mirth's merry dancing throng. 
 
 Just two and twenty years before. 
 Though sadly alter'd, I knew her. 
 
 While she, 'twas obvious, knew me not; 
 But mildly said, "Good evening, sir," 
 
 And with her comrade left the spot. 
 
 " Is this," I cried, in grief profound, 
 
 " The fair with whom, eclipsing all, 
 I traversed Ranelagh's bright round. 
 
 Or trod the mazes of Vauxhall ? 
 And is this all that Time can do ? 
 
 Has Nature nothing else in store ; 
 Is this of lovely twenty-two. 
 
 All that remains at forty-four ? 
 
 " Could / to such a helpmate cling ? 
 
 Were such a wedded dowdy mine, 
 On yonder lamp- post would 1 swing. 
 
 Or plunge in yonder Serpentine I" 
 1 left the park with eyes askance, 
 
 But, ere I enter'd Cleveland-row, 
 Rude Reason thus threw in her lance. 
 
 Xnd dralt solf-loro a mortal t>I(nr>. 
 
 •• Time, at whose touch all mortals bws', 
 
 From either sex his prey secures. 
 His scythe, while wounding Nancy's brow, 
 
 Can scarce have smoothly swept o'er you ■»; 
 By her you plainly were not known ; 
 
 Then, while you mourn the alter'd hoe 
 Of Nancy's face, suspect your own 
 
 May be a little alter'd too." 
 
 ]Veu> Monthly Magazitte, 
 
 ON 'CHANGE. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — We know that every thing in this 
 world changes in the course of a few years; 
 but what I am about to communicate to 
 you is a change indeed. — " I've been roam- 
 ing;" and in my city rounds I find the 
 present residence and profession of the 
 undernamed parties to be as follows : 
 
 Adam is now an orange-merchant in Lower 
 Thames-street; and a counseller in 
 Old-square, Lincoln's-inn. 
 
 Eve is a stove-grate manufacturer in Lud- 
 gate-hill ; and a sheep-salesman at 
 41, WestSmithfield. 
 
 Cain is a builder at 22, Prince's-row, Pim- 
 lico; and a surgeon, 154, White- 
 chapel-road. 
 
 Abel is a dealer in china at 4, Crown- 
 street, Soho; and a glover at 153, 
 St. John-street-road. 
 
 Moses is a slopseller at 4, James-place, 
 Aldsate; and a clothes-salesman 
 in Sparrow-corner, Minories. 
 
 Aaron is a pawnbroker in Iloundsditch, 
 No. 129; and an oilman at Aid- 
 gate. 
 
 AiiRAHAM keeps a childbed-linen-ware- 
 hoase at 53, Iloundsditch ; and is a 
 special pleader in Pump-court, in 
 the Temple. 
 
 Benjamin is a fishmonger at 5, Duke'a- 
 place. 
 
 MoRDECAi keeps a clothes-shop near 
 Shoreditch church. 
 
 Absalom is a taibr at No. 9, Bridge-read, 
 Lambeth. 
 
 I'eier is a cotton-dyer in Brick-lane. 
 J ara, &tc 
 
 429 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The Jrws-HARP. 
 
 The Jews-trump, or, as it is more gene- 
 rally pronounced, the Jew-trump, seems to 
 lake its name from the nation of the Jews, 
 and is vulgarly believed to be one of their 
 instruments of music. Dr. Littleton ren- 
 ders Jews-trump by sistrum Judaicum. But 
 there is not any such musical instrument as 
 this described by the authors that treat of 
 the Jewish music. In short, this instrument 
 IS a mere boy's plaything, and incapable 
 of itself of being joined either with a voice 
 or any other instrument. The present 
 orthography seems to be a corruption of 
 the PVench, jeu-trnmp, a trump to play 
 with : and in the Belgick, or Low-Dutch, 
 from whence come many of our toys, a 
 tromp is a rattle for children. Sometimes 
 they will call it a Jeu's-harp ; and another 
 etymon given of it is Jaws-harp, because 
 the place where it is played upon is between 
 the jaws. It is an instrument used in St. 
 Kilda. (Martin, p. 73.) 
 
 Quid pro Quo. 
 
 " Give you a Rowland for an Oliver." 
 This is reckoned a proverb of late stand- 
 ing, being commonly referred to Oliver 
 Cromwell, as if he were the Oliver here 
 intended : but it is of greater antiquity 
 than the protector; for it is met wi*h in 
 Hall's Clironicle, in the reign of Edward 
 IV. In short, Rolland and Oliver were 
 two of Charlemagne's peers. (See Ames's 
 Hist, of Printing, p. 47, and Ariosto.) Ro- 
 lando and Orlando are the same name ; 
 Turpin calling him Roland, and Ariosto 
 Rolando. 
 
 Father and Son 
 
 " Happy is the son whose fatner is gone 
 to the devil," is an old saying. It is not 
 grounded on the supposition, that such a 
 father by his iniquitous dealings must have 
 accumulated wealth; but is a satirical hint 
 on the times when popery prevailed here 
 so much, that the priests and monks had 
 engrossed the three professions of law, 
 physic, and divinity ; when, therefore, by 
 the procurement either of the confessor, 
 the physician, or the lawyer, a good p^rt 
 of the father's effects were pretty sure to go 
 to the church ; and when, if nothing of 
 that kind happened, these agents were cer 
 lain to defame him, and adjudge that such 
 a man must undoubtedly be damned 
 
 Living well. 
 
 " If you would live well for a week, kit 
 d hog ; if you would live well for a month, 
 marry ; if you would live well all your life, 
 turn priest." This is an fid proverb; but 
 by turning priest is not barely meant be- I 
 coming an ecclesiastic, but it alludes to the 
 celibacy of the Romish clergy, and is as 
 much as to say, do not marry at all. 
 
 Country Dances. 
 
 The term " country dance " is a corrup- 
 tion of the French confre danse, by whiclt 
 they mean that which we call a country- 
 dance, or a dance by many persons places 
 opposite one to another : it is not fron; 
 contr^e, but contre. 
 
 The Vine. 
 
 The Romans had so much concern with 
 the vine and its fruit, that there are more 
 terms belonging to it, and its parts, it.'s 
 culture, products, and other appurtenances, 
 than to any other tree : — 
 
 Vitis, the tree ; palmes, the branch ; 
 pampinus, the leaf; racemus, a bunch ol 
 grapes ; uva, the grape ; capreolus, a ten- 
 dril; vindemia, the vintage; cinwni, wine 
 acinus, the grape-stone. 
 
 Posthumous Honour. 
 
 Joshua Barnes, the famous Greek pro- 
 fessor of Cambridge, was remarkable for a 
 very extensive memory ; but his judgment 
 was not exact : and when he died, on* 
 wrote for him this 
 
 Epitaph. 
 
 Hie jacet Joshua Barnes, 
 felicissimae memorise, 
 expectans judicium. 
 
 The King's Arms. 
 
 When Charles 11. was going home one 
 night drunk, and leaning upon the shoul- 
 ders of Sedley and Rochester, one of them 
 asked him what he imagined his subjects 
 would think if they could behold him in 
 that pickle. — " Think !" said the king, 
 " that I am my arms, supported by two 
 beasts." 
 
 430 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 KESTQJT CROSS. 
 
 Com. Kent, 13 miles from London, 3 from Bromley. — Itinerary'. 
 
 _ When T desifjned with my friend W. a 
 visit to tlie Dalwich gallery, which we did 
 not effect, we did not foresee the conse- 
 quence of diversion from our intent; and 
 having been put out of our way, we strolled 
 without considering " the end thereof 
 Hence, our peradventure at the " Crooked 
 Billet, on Penge Common ;* our loitering to 
 sketch the "Bridge on the Road to Beck- 
 enham ;"-(■ the same, for the same purpose, at 
 " the Porch of Beckenham Church-yard ;"; 
 the survey of " Beckenham Church ;"§ the 
 view of its old Font in the public-house 
 garden; II and the look at the hall of 
 " Wickharn Court," and West Wickham 
 church. If New and beautiful prospiCts 
 opened to us from the latter v.illage ; and 
 to the just enumerated six articles, and 
 
 ' Vol. \. p. 670. 
 p. 766. 
 
 t p. 702. 
 I p. 771. 
 
 t p. 715. 
 Up. 811. 
 
 their engravings, respecting that part of the 
 country, in the former volume of tne Table 
 Book, it is intended to add like abstracts o1 
 our further proceedings. In short, to be 
 respectful and orderly, as one moiety of a 
 walking committee, self-constituted and 
 appointed, I take permission to " reporf 
 progress, and ask leave to go again." 
 
 The " Crooked Billet" at Penge, and 
 mine host of the " Swan" at West Wick- 
 ham. have had visitors curious to trace the 
 pleasant route, and remark the particulars 
 previously described. While indulging the 
 sight, there is another sense that craves to 
 be satisfied ; and premising that we are now 
 penetrating further " into the bowels of the 
 land," it becomes a duty to acquaint fol- 
 lowers with head-quarters. For the pre- 
 sent, it is neither necessary nor expedien* 
 to nicely mark the road to " Keston Cross' 
 —go which way^ou will it is an agreejab 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 431 
 
 2F 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 one. A Tunbridge or Seven-Oaks coach 
 passes within a short half mile, and the 
 W'esterham coach within the same distance. 
 If a delightful two hours' lounging walk 
 from Bromley be desired, take the turning 
 from the Swan at Bromley to Beckenham 
 church ; go through the church-yard over a 
 stile, keep the meadow foot-path, cross the 
 Wickham road, and wander by hedge-row 
 elms, as your will and the countrv-folk 
 direct you, till you arrive at Hayes Com- 
 mon ; then make for the lower or left-hand 
 side of the common, and leaving the mill 
 on the right, get into the cottaged lane. 
 At a few hundred yards past the shjep- 
 wash, formed in a little dell by the Ravens- 
 bourne, at the end of the open rise, stands 
 '' Keston Cross." 
 
 Before teaching this place on my first 
 visit to it, the country people had indiscri- 
 minately called it " Keston Cross" and 
 " Keston mark ; " and lacking all intelli- 
 gible information from them respecting the 
 reason for its being so named, I puzzled 
 myself with conjectures, as to whether it 
 was the site of a cross of memorial, a 
 market cross, a preaching cross, or what 
 other kind of cross. It was somewhat of 
 disappointment to me, when, in an angle 
 of a cross-road, instead of some ancient 
 vestige, there appeared a commodious, re- 
 spectable, and comfortable-looking house 
 of accommodation for man and horse ; and, 
 swinging high in air, its sign, the red cross, 
 herald ically, a cross gules ; its form being, 
 on reference to old Randle Holme, " a cross 
 molyne, invertant;" to desciibe which, on 
 the same authority, it may be said, that 
 " this cross much resembles the molyne, or 
 pomette ; saving in this, the cut, or sawed 
 ends, so turn themselves inward that they 
 appear to be escrowles rolled up. Some term 
 It molyne, the ends rolled up "* So much 
 for the sign, which I take to be a forgotten 
 memoiial of some old boundary stone, or 
 land-mark, in the form of a cross, long 
 since removed from the spot, and perhaps 
 after it had become a " stump-cross ;" 
 which crosses were of so ancient date, that 
 the Christians, ignorantly supposing them 
 to have been dedicated to idolatrous pur- 
 poses, religiously destroyed them, and their 
 ancient names were soon forgotten : " this 
 may be the reason wliy so many broken 
 crosses were called stump-crosses. "f The 
 observation is scarcely a digression; for 
 the house and sign, commonly called 
 " Keston Cross," or " Keston mark," stand 
 
 • Academy of Armory. 
 
 t Fo^broke's Ency. of Antiquities, 
 
 on a site, which, for reasoi s that will ap- 
 peal jy and by, the antiquary deems sacred. 
 The annexed representaiion shows the 
 direction of the roads, and the star * in the 
 corner the angular situation of the ho»ise, 
 cut out of Holwood, the estate of the late 
 Mr. Pitt, which is bounded by the Farr.- 
 borough and Westerham roads, and com- 
 mands from the grounds of the enclosure the 
 finest view towards the vreald of Kent in 
 this part of the county. 
 
 Farnboro and 7 Oakes Wickham and Croydon 
 
 S 
 o 
 
 *' Keston Cross" I call " head-quarters," 
 because in this house you will find yourself 
 " at home." You may sparkle forth to many 
 remarkable spots in the vicinage, and then 
 return and take your " corporal refection,'' 
 and go in and out at will ; or you may sit 
 at your ease, and do nothing but contem- 
 plate in quiet; or, in short, you may do 
 just as you like. Of course this is said to 
 "gentle" readers; and I presume the 
 I'able Book has no otheis : certain it is, 
 that ungentle persons are unwelcome visi- 
 tors, and not likely to visit again at " Kes- 
 ton Cross." Its occupant, Mr. S. Young — 
 his name is beneath his sign — will not be 
 regarded by any one, who does himself the 
 pleasure to call at his house, as a common 
 landlord. If you see him seated beside the 
 door, you estimate him at least of that 
 order one of whom, on his travels, the 
 chamberlain at the inn at Rochester de- 
 scribes to Gadshill as worthy his particular 
 notice — " a franklin in the weald of Kent, 
 that hath three hundred marks with him in 
 gold — one that hath abundance of charge 
 too."* Y'ou take Mr. Young for a country 
 gentleman ; and, if you company with him, 
 may perhaps hear him tell, as many a 
 
 • Henry IV act u. »c. 1. 
 
 43J 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 counlrj' gentleman would — bating obsolete 
 
 phrase and versificatiou — 
 
 I lerned never ihetorike certain ; 
 
 Thing tliat I spoke it mote be bare and plain : 
 
 I slept never on the mount of Pernaso, 
 
 Ne lerned Marcus TuUius Cicero. 
 
 Colours ne know I non, withouten drede. 
 
 But swiche colours as growen in the mede, 
 
 Or elles swiche as men die with, or peint ; 
 
 Colours of rtietorike ben to me queinte ; 
 
 My spirit feleth not of swiche mater*: 
 
 But if you iust my tale shul ye here.* 
 
 In b'ief, if you " put up " at the " Red 
 Cro-s," and invite Mr. Young's society, you 
 will find him 
 
 a franklin faire nnd free, 
 
 That entertaines with comely courteous glee.t 
 
 The house itself is not one of your bold 
 looking inns, that if you enter you assure 
 yourself of paying toll at, in regard of its 
 roystering appearance, in addition to every 
 item in your bill; but one in which you 
 liave no objection to be " at charges," in 
 virtue of its cheerful, promising air. You 
 will find these more reasonable perhaps 
 than you expect, and you will not find any 
 article presented to you of an inferior 
 quality. In respect therefore of i«s self- 
 commendations and locality, the " Cross 
 at Keston is suggested as a point d'appui 
 to any who essay from town for a few 
 hours of fresh air and comfort, and with a 
 desire of leisurely observing scenery alto- 
 gether new to most London residents. 
 
 The classical ancients had inns and pub- 
 lic-houses. Nothing is a stronger proof of 
 the size and populousness of the city of 
 Herculaneum, which was destroyed by an 
 eruption of Mount Vesuvius on the 24th 
 of August, A. D. 79, than its nine hundred 
 public-hou>es. A placard or inscription, 
 discovered on the wall of a house in that 
 ruined city, was a bill for letting one of its 
 public-houses on lease; and hence, it ap- 
 pears that they had galleries at the top, 
 and balconies, or green arbours, and baths. 
 The dining-rooms were in the upper story. 
 Although it was the custom of the Romans 
 to recline at their meals, yet when they 
 refreshed themselves at these places they 
 sat. The landlord had a particular dress, 
 and landladies wore a succinct, or tucked 
 up dress, and brought the wine in vases for 
 
 the visitors to taste. They had common 
 drinking vessels as with us, and sometimes 
 the flaggons were chained to posts. In the 
 inns on the roads there were both hot and 
 cold meats. Until the time of Nero, inns 
 provided every kind of delicacy : that em- 
 peror restricted them to boiled vegetables. 
 Tiberius prohibited their selling any baker's 
 goods. 
 
 The company frequenting the ancien' 
 public-houses were usually artificers, sai- 
 lors, drunken galli, thieves, &,c. Chess 
 was played, and the abacus, or chess-board 
 was made oblong. Hence came the com- 
 mon painted post still at the doors of our 
 own public-houses, the sign of the chequer 
 or chequers.* Sir William Hamilton pre- 
 sented to the Antiquarian Society a view of 
 a street in Pompeii, another Italian city 
 destroyed by Vesuvius, which contains the 
 siifn of the chequers, from whence there 
 can be no doubt that it was a common one 
 among the Romans. 
 
 Our Saxon ancestors had public-houses 
 where they drank very hard out of vessels 
 of earthenware, as the country people do 
 still. 
 
 The Anglo Saxons had the eala-hns, ale- 
 house, u-in-hus, wine-house, and cumen-hus, 
 or inn. Inns, however, were by no means 
 common houses for travellers. In the time 
 of Edward I. lord Berkeley's farm-houses 
 were used for that purpose. Travellers 
 were accustomed to inquire for hospitable 
 persons, and even go to the king's palaces 
 for refreshment. John Rous, an old tia- 
 veller, who mentions a celebrated inn on 
 the Warwick road, was yet obliged to go 
 another way for want of accommodation.-j- 
 
 ' The Frankelem'B prol<» ue. Chaucer. 
 ■ Spenser. 
 
 Mr. Brand supposes, that the chequers, 
 at this time a common sign of a public- 
 house, was originally intended for a kind 
 of draught-board, called "tables," and that 
 it showed that there that game might be 
 played. From their colour, which was red, 
 and the similarity to a lattice, it was cor- 
 ruptly called the red lettuce, a word fre- 
 quently used by ancient writers to signify 
 an alehouse. He observes, that this de- 
 signation of an alehouse is not altogether 
 lost, though the original meaning of the 
 word is, the sign being converted into a 
 green lettuce ; of which an instance occurs 
 in Brownlow-street, Ilolborn. 
 
 * Fosbroke's Ency. of Antiqiities. 
 -t Hid. 
 
 43^ 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 In " A Fine Companion," one of Shack- 
 erly Marmion's plays, we read of " A 
 waterman's -widow ai the sign of the Red 
 Lattice in Southwark." Again, in " Arden 
 of Faversham," 1592, we have 
 
 — " his sign pulled down, and his lattice born away.' 
 
 Again, in " The Miseries of Inforc'd 
 Marriage," 1607 : 
 
 — " 'tis ti-eason to the Red Lattice, enemy to the sifrn- 
 
 post." 
 
 It were needless to multiply examples of 
 this sign beyond one in Shakspeare. Fal- 
 staifs page, speaking of Bardolph, says, 
 *' He called me even now, my lord, through 
 a red lattice, and I could see no part of his 
 face from the window." 
 
 A writer in the Gentleman's Magazine 
 for June 1793, says, " It has been related 
 to me by a very noble personage, that in 
 the reign of Philip and Mary the then earl 
 of Arundel had a grant to license public- 
 bouses, and part of the armorial bearings 
 of that noble family is a chequered board : 
 wherefore the publican, to show that he 
 had a license, put out that mark as part of 
 his sign." Oti this, Mr. Brand inquires 
 v/hy the publicans lake but a part of the 
 Arundel arms, and why this part rather 
 than any other? Another writer in the 
 Gentleman's Magazine for September 1794, 
 says, " I think it was the great earl War- 
 renne, if not, some descendant or heir near 
 him, not beyond the time of llufus, had an 
 exclusive power of granting licenses to sell 
 beer : that his agent might collect the tax 
 more readily, the door-posts were painted 
 in chequers ; the arms of Warren then, and 
 to this day." We may, however, reasonably 
 refer all these " modern instances " to an- 
 cient times ; and derive the publican's sign 
 of tlie chequers from the great authors of 
 many of our present usages, the old Ro- 
 mans. 
 
 ters they are also of the company, to 
 entertain the guests at table with pleasant 
 conceits, where they drink as much as tlie 
 men. But what is to me the most disgust- 
 ing in all this is, that when one drinks the 
 health of any person in company, the cus- 
 tom of the country does not permit you to 
 drink more than half the cup, which is 
 filled up, and presented to him or her 
 whose health you have drank. Moreover, 
 the supper being finished, they set on the 
 table half a dozen pipes and a packet of 
 tobacco for smoking, which is a genera, 
 custom, as well among women as men, who 
 think that without tobacco one cannot live 
 in England, because, say they, it dissipates 
 the evil humours of the brain." it appears 
 from a " Character of England," printed in 
 1659, " that the ladies of greatest quality 
 suffered themselves to be treated in these 
 taverns, and that they drank their crowned 
 cups roundly, danced after the fiddle, and 
 exceeded the bounds of propriety in their 
 carousals." 
 
 Mons. Jorevin, a French traveller, wlio 
 journeyed through England in the reign of 
 Charles II., stopped at the Stag inn, at 
 Worcester, in the High-street, and be de- 
 scribes the entertainment of himself and a 
 friend with whom he supped, so as to ac- 
 quaint us somewhat with the entertainments 
 in inns at that time. " During supper he 
 (his friend) sent for a band of music, con- 
 sisting of all sorts of instruments: among 
 these the harp is the most esteemed by the 
 English. According to the custom of the 
 country the landladies sup with the stran- 
 gers and passengers, and if they have dtiugh- 
 
 If a description of Scottish manners, 
 printed about fifty years ago, may be relied 
 on, it was then a fashion with females at 
 Edinburgh to frequent a sort of public- 
 house in that city. The writer says : "Jar 
 nuary 15, 1775. — A few evenings ago I 
 had the pleasure of being asked to one of 
 these entertainments by a lady. At tha> 
 time I was not acqtiainted with this scene 
 of ' high life below stairs ;' and therefore, 
 when she mentioned the word ' oyster-cel- 
 lar,' I imagined I must have mistaken the 
 place of invitation : she repeated it, how- 
 ever, and I found it was not my business to 
 make objections ; so agreed immediately. 
 I waited with great impatience till the hour 
 arrived, and when the clock struck away I 
 went, and inquired if the lady was there. 
 — ' O yes,' cried the woman, she has been 
 here an hour, or more.' The door opened, 
 and I had the pleasure of being ushered in, 
 not to one lady, as I expected, but to a 
 large and brilliant company of both sexes, 
 most of whom I had the honour of being 
 acquainted with. The large table, round 
 which they were seated, was covered with 
 dishes full of oysters and pots of porter. 
 For a long time I could not suppose that 
 this was the only entertainment we were to 
 have, and I sat waiting in expectation of a 
 repast that was never to make its appear- 
 ance. The table was cleared, and glasses 
 introduced. The ladies were now asked 
 whether they would choose brandy or ruta 
 punch? I thought this question an odd 
 one, but I was soon informed by the gen- 
 
 434 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 •leman who sat next ine, that no wine was 
 iold here, but that punch was quite ' the 
 ihing;' and a large bowl was immediately 
 introduced. The conversation hitherto had 
 aeen insipid, and at intervals : it now be- 
 came general and lively. The women, who, 
 -0 do them justice, are much more enter- 
 .aining than their neighbours in England, 
 discovered a great deal of vivacity and 
 fondness for repartee. A thousand things 
 were hazarded, and met with applause ; to 
 which the oddity of the scene gave pro- 
 priety, and which could have been produced 
 m no other place. The general ease with 
 which they conducted themselves, the inno- 
 cent freedom of their manners, and their 
 unaffected good-nature, all conspired to 
 make us forget that we were regaling in a 
 cellar, and was a convincing proof that, let 
 local customs operate as they may, a truly 
 polite woman is every where the same. 
 When the company were tired of conversa- 
 tion they began to dance reels, their fa- 
 vourite dance, which they performed with 
 great agility and perseverance. One of tlie 
 gentlemen, however, fell down in tlie most 
 ictive part of it, and lamed himself; so the 
 dance was at an end for that evening. (Jn 
 looking at their watches, the ladies now 
 bund it time to retire; the coaches were 
 iherefore called, and away they went, and 
 with them all our mirth. The oom- 
 uany were now reduced to a pa'-ty of 
 j-entlemen ; pipes and politics were intro- 
 iuced : I took my hat and wished them 
 ^■ood night. The bill for entertaining half 
 a dozen very fashionable women, amounted 
 only to two shillings apiece. If you will 
 not allow the entertainment an elegant one, 
 you must at least confess that it was 
 cheap."* 
 
 It may be amusing to wander for a 
 -noment to another place of public enter- 
 vainment, for the sake of a character of it 
 wo centuries ago, by bishop Earle. 
 
 The Tavern, 1628, 
 
 Is a degree, or (if you will) a pair of 
 stairs above an ale-house, where men are 
 orunk with more credit and apology. If 
 !he vintner's nose be at the door, it is a 
 sign sufficient, but the absence of this is 
 supplied by the ivy-bush : the rooms are 
 ill breathed like the drinkers that have been 
 washed well over night, and are smelt-to 
 fasting next morning. It is a broacher of 
 
 more news than hogsneads, and more jests 
 than news, which are sucked up here by 
 some spungy brain, and from thence squeez- 
 ed into a comedy. Men come here to make 
 merry, but indeed make a noise ; and 
 this musick above is answered with the 
 clinking below. The drawers are the 
 civilest people in it, men of good bringing 
 up ; and howsoever we esteem of them, 
 none can boast more justly of their higl 
 calling. 'Tis the best theater of natures 
 where they are truly acted, not played ; and 
 the business, as in the rest of the world, up 
 and down, to wit, from the bottom of the 
 cellar to the great chamber. A melancholy 
 man would find here matter to work upon, 
 to see heads as brittle as glasses, and often 
 broken ; men come hither to quarrel, and 
 come hither to be made friends : and if 
 Plutarch will lend me his simile, it is even 
 Telephus's sword that makes wounds and 
 cures them. It is the common consump- 
 tion of the afternoon, and the murderer or 
 maker-away of a rainy day. It is the tor- 
 rid zone that scorches the face, and tobacco 
 the gunpowder that blows it up. Much 
 harm would be done, if the charitable vint- 
 ner had not water ready for these flames. 
 A house of sin you may call it, but not a 
 nouse of darkness, for the candles are never 
 out; and it is like those countries far in 
 the north, where it is as clear at mid-night 
 as at mid-day. To give you the total reck- 
 oning of it ; it is the busy man's recreation, 
 the idle man's business, the melancholy 
 man's sanctuary, the stranger's welcome, 
 the inns-of-court man's entertainment, the 
 scholar's kind ness, and the citizen's courtesy. 
 It is the study of sparkling wits, and a cup 
 of canary their book, whence we leave 
 them. 
 
 • Letters from Edinburgh, written ai the years 177^ 
 .im 1775. 
 
 Bishop Ear.e, in his character of a " Poor 
 Fiddler," describes him as "in league with 
 the tapsters for the worshipful of the inn, 
 whom he torments next morning with his 
 art, and has their names more perfect than 
 their men." Sir John Hawkins, who cite.', 
 this in his History of Music, also abstracts 
 a curious view of the cu3toms at inns, from 
 Fyne Moryson's " Itinerary," rather later 
 in the same age : — 
 
 " As soone as a passenger comes to an 
 inne, the seruants run to him, and one takes 
 his horse and walkes him till he be cold, 
 then rubs him, and giues him meate, yet I 
 must say that they are not much to be 
 trusted in this last point, without the eye 
 of the masteror his seruant to ouersee them. 
 Another seruant giues the passenger hi* 
 
 435 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 priuate chamber, and kindles his fier, f tie 
 third p>als of his bootes, and makes them 
 cieane. Then the host or hostesse visits 
 him, and if he will eate with the host, or at 
 a common table with others, his meale will 
 eost him sixepence, or in some places but 
 foure pence, (yet this course is lesse honour- 
 able, and not vsed by gentlemen) : but if 
 he will eate in his chamber, he commands 
 what meate he will according to his appe- 
 tite, and as much as he thinkes fit for him 
 and his company, yea, the kitchen is open 
 to him, to command the meat to be dressed 
 as he best likes ; and when he sits at table, 
 the host or hostess* will accompany him, or 
 if they haue many guests, will at least visit 
 him, taking it for curtesie to be bid sit 
 downe : while he eates, if he haue company 
 especially, he shall be offred musicke, 
 which he may freely take or refuse, and if 
 he be solitary, the musitians will jjiue him' 
 the good day with musicke in the morning. 
 It is the custome, and no way disgraceful!,. 
 to set vp part of supper for his breakefast : 
 in the euening or in the morning after 
 breakefast, (for the common sort vse not to 
 dine, but ride from breakefast to supper 
 time, yet comming early to the imie for 
 better resting of their horses) he shall haue 
 a reckoning in writing, and if it seeme vn- 
 reasonable, the host will satisfie him, either 
 for the due price, or by abating part, espe- 
 cially if the seruant deceiue him any way, 
 which one of experience will soone find. I 
 will now onely adde, that a gentleman and 
 his man shall spend as much, as if he were 
 accompanied with another gentleman and 
 his man ; and if gentlemen will in such sort 
 ioyne together, to eate at one table, the ex- 
 pences will be much deminished. Lastly, 
 a man cannot more freely command at. 
 home in his owne house, than hee may doe 
 in his inne ; and at parting, if he giue some 
 few pence to the chamberlin and ostler, 
 they wish him a happy iourney." 
 
 Through a most diligent collector cf 
 archaeological authorities, we find in the 
 time of Elizabeth only eight-pence paid at 
 an inn for a physician all night; and in the 
 time of Charles II. only two-pence for a 
 man and horse at Bristol.* 
 
 Bristol has now attained to so great 
 wealth and prosperity, as to provide inns of 
 importance equal perhaps to any in the 
 
 kingdom. A friend, who sojourned there 
 at the undermentioned date, hands me 
 a printed document, which he received 
 from his landlord, Mr. John Weeks; it is 
 so great a curiosity, as bespeaking the opu- 
 lence of that ancient city, and the spirit of 
 its great innkeeper, that I cannot refrain 
 from recording it. 
 
 BUSH TAVERN. 
 Bill of Fare for Christmas, 180* 
 
 • Fosbroke. 
 
 1 Bustard 
 Red game 
 Black game 
 1 Tnrtle, 12011>. 
 
 1 Land tortoise 
 
 72 Pots turtle, diflFerent 
 
 prices 
 Vermicelli soup 
 British turtle 
 Giblet soup 
 Pease soup 
 Gravy soap 
 Soup Sant^ 
 Soap and boailld 
 Mutton broth 
 Barley broth 
 
 3 Turbots 
 
 4 Cods 
 
 2 Brills 
 2 Pipers 
 12 Dories 
 
 2 Haddocks 
 U Rock fish 
 18 Carp 
 12 Persh 
 4 Salmon 
 12 Plaice 
 17 Herrings 
 Sprats 
 122 Eels 
 Salt fish 
 7S Roach 
 98 Gudgeons 
 
 1 Dried salmon 
 Fenison, — 1 Haunch he- 
 
 vior 
 5 Haunches doe 
 5 Necks 
 10 Breasts 
 10 Shoulders 
 
 49 Hares 
 
 17 Pheasants 
 
 41 Partridges 
 
 87 Wild ducks 
 
 17 Wild geese 
 
 37 Teal 
 
 31 Widgeon 
 
 i6 Bald coots 
 
 2 Sea pkeasanta 
 
 3 Mews 
 
 11 Veal burrs 
 1 Roasting pig 
 Oysters, stew'd & coUop'a 
 Eggs 
 
 Hogs' puddings 
 Ragoo'd feet and ears 
 Scotch'd coUops 
 Veal cutlets 
 Harricoed mutton 
 Maintenon chops 
 Pork chops 
 Mutton chops 
 Rump steaks 
 Joint steaks 
 Pinbone steaks 
 Sausages 
 Hambro' sausages 
 Tripe, cow heels, am 
 knotlings 
 
 5 House lambs 
 Veal — 3 Legs Sz loins 
 
 2 Breasts & shon 
 ders 
 
 2 Heads 
 Beef— 5 Rumps 
 
 3 Sirloins 
 5 Rounds 
 
 S Pieces ofSnb 
 
 each 
 7 Pinbones 
 Ihitch & Hambro' 1 be* 
 Mutton— S Haunohej; 
 
 8 Legs 
 
 8 Necks 
 
 11 Loms 
 
 6 Saddles 
 
 6 Chines 
 
 5 Shoulders 
 Pork — 4 Legs 
 
 4 Loins 
 4 Chines 
 Sparibs 
 Half a porket 
 
 [Cold] 
 1 Boar's head 
 1 Baron beei 
 
 3 Hamif 
 
 4 Tongues 
 
 6 Chicken 
 
 436 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 4 Moor hens 
 
 2 Water drabs 
 7 Curlews 
 i Bitterns 
 81 Woodcocks 
 149 Snipes 
 
 17 Wild Turkies 
 
 18 Golden plovers 
 
 1 Swan 
 
 5 Quists 
 
 2 Land rails 
 13 Galenas 
 4 Peahens 
 
 1 Peacock 
 1 Cuckoo 
 116 Pigeons 
 l-'l Larks 
 
 1 Sea magpye 
 127 Stares 
 
 2U8 Smallbirds 
 44 Turkies 
 8 Capons 
 
 19 Ducks 
 
 10 Geese 
 
 2 Owls 
 
 61 Chickens 
 4 Ducklings 
 
 11 Rabbits 
 
 3 Pork griskins 
 
 Hoffs' teet and ears 
 7 Collars brawn 
 2 Rounds beef 
 Collared veal 
 Collared beef 
 Collared mutton 
 Collared eels 
 Collared pig's head 
 Dutch tongues 
 Bologna sausages 
 Paraguay pies 
 French pies 
 Mutton pies 
 Pigeon pies 
 Venison pasty 
 Sulks 
 
 430 Mince pies 
 13 Tarts 
 Jellies 
 Craw fish 
 Pickled salmon 
 Sturgeon 
 Pickled oysters 
 Potted partridges 
 Lobsters 
 
 52 Barrels Pyfleet & Col- 
 chester oysters 
 Milford & Tenbv oysters 
 4 Pine apples 
 
 Could our ancestors take a peep from their 
 graves at this bill of fare, we may conceire 
 what would be their astonishment at so 
 great a variety and abundance of provi- 
 sion for travellers at a sinfjle inn of our 
 times ; in earlier days, wayfarers were, in 
 many places, compelled to seek accommo- 
 dation from hospitable housekeepers, and 
 knights were lodged in barns. 
 
 A history of inns would be curious. It 
 is not out of the way to observe, that the 
 old inns of the metropolis are daily under- 
 going alterations that will soon destroy 
 their original character. " Courts with 
 bedchambers, below and around the old 
 inns, occur in the middle age, and are pro- 
 bably of Roman fashion ; for they resemble 
 the barracks at Tivoli.''* There are speci- 
 mens of this inn-architecture still remaining 
 to be observed at the Bell Savage, Ludgate- 
 hiil; the Saracen's Head, Snow-hill; the 
 George, and the Ham, in Smithfield ; the 
 Bull and Mouth; the Swan and two 
 necks ;t the Green Dragon, Bishopsgate- 
 street, and a few others ; not forgetting the 
 
 • Kosbroke. 
 
 + See the derivation of this sijjn in the Every-Day 
 Book. 
 
 Talbot inn, in the Borough, from whence 
 Chaucer's pilgrims set out to the shriu*? 
 of St. Thomas a Becket, at Canterbury ; o: 
 Avhich there is a modern painting- placed in 
 front of one of its galleries facing the street 
 entrance. Stow, in his time, calls it, under 
 the name of the "Tabard," " the most an- 
 cient" of the inns on the Surrey side of Lon- 
 don. In Southwark, he says, " bee many 
 fdire innesfor receit of travellers — among-st 
 the which, the most ancient is the Tabard, 
 so called of the signe, which as wee now 
 terme it, is of a jacket, or sleevelesse coate, 
 whole before, open on both sides, with a 
 square collar, winged at the shoulders; ? 
 stiitely garment, of old time commonly 
 worne of noblemen and others, both at 
 home and abroad in the wars ; but then (to 
 wit, in the warres,) their armes embroider- 
 ed, or otherwise depict upon them, that 
 every man by his coat of armes might bee 
 knowne from others : but now these tabards 
 are onely worne by the heralds, and bee 
 called their coats of armes in service." 
 Stowe then quotes Chaucer in commenda- 
 tion of the " Inne of the Tabard :" — 
 
 It befelle m that season, on a aay 
 In Southwerk, at the Tabard as I lay 
 Ready to wend on my pilgrimage 
 To Canterbury with devout courage ; 
 That night was come into that hostelrie 
 Well nine and twenty in a compagme 
 Of sundry folke, by aventure yfalle 
 In felawsship, and pilgrimes were they alle. 
 That toward Canterbury wolden ride. 
 The chambers and stables weren wide, &c. 
 
 Chaucer, whom it pleases to Stowe to 
 call " the most famous poet of England," 
 relates 
 
 — shortly in a clause 
 
 Th' estat, th' araie, the nomlire, and eke the cause. 
 Why that assembled was this compagnie 
 In Southwerk, at this gentil hostelrie. 
 That hight the Tabard, faste by the Bell. 
 
 In course of time the original name of 
 the sign seems to have been lost, and its 
 meaning forgotten. The " Tabard" is cor- 
 rupted or perverted into the "Talbot" inn; 
 and as already, through Siowe, I have shown 
 the meaning of the Tabard, some readers 
 perhaps may excuse me for adding, that the 
 Talbot, which is now only a term for an 
 armorial bearing, is figured in heraldry as 
 a dog, a blood-hound, or hunting hound.* 
 
 • Academy of Armory, b. li. c. 9. 
 
 437 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 WILLIAM BLAKE OSTLER AT KESTON CROSS. 
 
 After thus beating up inns and public- 
 houses generally, we will return for a mo- 
 ment to " Keston Cross.'' To this pleasant 
 house there is attached a delightful little 
 flower and fruit-garden, with paddocks, 
 poultry-yard, outhouses, and every requisite 
 for private or public use ; all well-stocked, 
 and, by the order wherein all are kept, be- 
 ?peakincr the well-ordijred pconomv o*" the 
 occupant's mind. The stabling for his own 
 and visitors' horses is under the manage- 
 ment of an ostler of long service : and 
 
 it must not be forgotten, that the rooms ir 
 the house are rr.arked by its owner's at- 
 tachment to horses and field-sports. In 
 the common parlour, opposite the door, is 
 a coloured print of the burial of a hunts- 
 man — the attendants in " full cry" over the 
 grave — with verses descriptive of the cere- 
 mony. A parlour for the accommodation 
 of private parties has an oil painting of the 
 old duke of Bolton, capitally mounted, in 
 the yard of his own mansion, going out, 
 attended by his huntsman and dogs. There 
 
 438 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 are other pictures in the satoe taste, par- 
 ticularly a portrait of one of Mr. Young's 
 horses. 
 
 Tlie ostler at " Keston Cross " is the 
 most remarkable of its obliging, humble 
 servants. The poor fellow has lost an eye, 
 and is like the " high-mettled racer " in his 
 decline — except that he is well used. While 
 looking about me I missed W., and found 
 he had deemed him a picturesque subject, 
 and that he was in the act of sketching 
 hi'n from behind the door of the stable- 
 yai'd, wliile he leaned against the stable- 
 door with his corn-sieve in his hand. I 
 know not why the portrait should not come 
 into a new edition of Bromley's Catalogue, 
 or an appendix to Granger: sure I am that 
 many far less estimable persons figure in 
 the Biographical History of England. As 
 an honest man, (and if he were not he 
 would not be in Mr. Young's service,) I 
 craved my friend W. to engrave him on a 
 wood-block ; i have no other excuse to 
 offer for presenting an impression of it, 
 than the intrinsic worth of the industrious 
 original, and the merit of the likeness; and 
 tliat apology it is hoped very few will 
 decline. 
 
 at Shakspeare s birth-place, says : — •* T*^ r 
 homeless man, who has ..o spot on this 
 wide world which he can truly call his own, 
 there is a momentary feeling of somethinc 
 like independence and terr-itorial conse- 
 quence, when, after a weary day's travel, 
 he kicks off his boots, thrusts his feet into 
 slippers, and stretches himself before an inn 
 fire. Let the world without go as it may ; 
 let kingdoms rise or fall, so long as he has 
 the wherewithal to pay his bill, he is, for 
 the time being, the very monarch of all he 
 surveys. The arm chair is his throne, the 
 poker his sceptre, and the little parlour, of 
 some twelve feet square, his undisputed 
 empire. It is a morsel of certainty, snatch- 
 ed from the midst of the uncertainties of 
 'ife ; it is a sunny moment gleaming out 
 kindly on a cloudy day ; and he who has 
 advanced some way on the pilgriniaQ:e of 
 existence, knows the importance of hus- 
 banding even morsels and moments of en- 
 joyment. ' Shall I not take mine ease in 
 mine inn?' thought I, as 1 a;ave the fire a 
 stir, lolled back in my elbow chair, and 
 cast a complacent look about the little par- 
 lour of the Red Horse, at Stratford-on- 
 Avon." 
 
 Dr. Johnson derives " ostler " from the 
 French word " hosteller," but " hosteller " 
 in French, now spelt " hotelier," sionifies 
 an innkeeper, or host, not an ostler ; to 
 express the meaning of which term the 
 French word is wholly different in spelling 
 and pronunciation. It seems to me that 
 " ostler" is derived from the word " hostel," 
 which was formerly obtained from the 
 
 Elia, to illustrate the " astonishing com- 
 posure" of some of the society of " friends," 
 tells a pleasant anecdote, which regards 
 a custom at certain inns, and is there- 
 fore almost as fairly relatable in this place, 
 as it is delightfully related in his volume of 
 " Essays :" — " I was travelling," says Klia, 
 "in a stage-coach with three male quakers, 
 buttoned up in the straitest non-conformity 
 
 French, and was in common use here to ^f jheir sect. We stopped to bait at An 
 
 signify an inn ; and the innkeeper was from 
 
 thence called the " hosteller." This was at 
 
 a period when the innkeeper or " hosteller" 
 
 would be required by his guests to take 
 
 and tend their horses, which, before the 
 
 use of carriages, and when most goods 
 
 Nfere conveyed over the country on the 
 
 dover, where a meal, partly tea apparatus, 
 partly supper, was set before us. My 
 fiiends confined themselves to the tea-table. 
 I in my way took supper. When the land- 
 lady brought in the bill, the eldest of my 
 companions discovered that she had charged 
 for both meals. This was resisted. Mine 
 
 Dacks of horses, would be a chief part of hostess was very clamorous and positive, 
 
 nis employment ; and hence, the " hostel- Some mild arguments were used on the 
 
 ler " actually became the " hostler, or p^rt of the quakers, for which the heated 
 
 ' ostler," that is, the hors€-keeper. mind of the good lady seemed by no means 
 
 a fit recipient. The guard came in with 
 his usual peremptory notice. The quakers 
 We will just glean, for two or three p„i]cd out their money, and formally ten- 
 minutes, from as many living writers who ^^red it — so much for tea — I, in humble 
 have gone pleasantly into inns, and so con- imitation, tendering mine— for the supper 
 elude. which I had taken. She would not lelax 
 
 ■ in her demand. So they all three quietly 
 
 Washington Irvine, travelling under the put up their silver, as did myself, and 
 
 name of " Geoffrey Crayon, gent." and re- marched out of the room, the eldest and 
 
 posing himself within a comfortable hostel gravest gomg first, wnli myseli closing no 
 
 439 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 the rear, who thought I could not do better 
 than follow the example of such grave and 
 warrantable personages. We got in. The 
 steps went up. The coach drove off. The 
 murmurs of mine hostess, not very indis- 
 tinctly or ambiguously pronounced, became 
 after a time inaudible — and now my con- 
 science, which the whimsical scene had for 
 a while suspended, beginning to give some 
 twitches, I waited, in the hope that some 
 •ustification would be offered by these 
 erious persons for the seeming injustice of 
 their conduct. To my great surprise, not a 
 syllable was dropped on the subject. They 
 sate as mute as at a meeting. At length 
 the eldest of them broke silence, by in- 
 quiring of his next neighbo\ir, ' Hast thee 
 heard how indigos go at the India House?' 
 and the question operated as a soporific on 
 my moral feeling as far as Exetei." 
 
 Finally, from the " Indicator" we leain, 
 that to Mr. Leigh Hunt " a tavern and 
 coffee-house is a pleasant sight, from its 
 sociality ; not to mention the illustrious 
 club memories of the times of Shakspeare 
 and the Tatlers. The rural transparencies, 
 however, which they have in their windows, 
 with all our liking of the subject, would 
 perhaps be better in any others ; for tavern 
 sociality is a town-thing, and should be 
 content with town ideas. A landscape in 
 the window makes us long to change it at 
 once for a rural inn ; to have a rosy-faced 
 damsel attending us, instead of a sharp and 
 serious waiter ; and to catch, in the inter- 
 vals of chat, the sound of a rookery instead 
 of cookery. We confess that the common- 
 est public-house in town is not such an 
 eyesore to us as it is with some. It may 
 not be very genteel, but neither is every 
 thing that is rich. There may be a little 
 too much drinking and roaring going on in 
 the middle of the week ; but what, in the 
 mean time, are pride and avarice, and all 
 the unsocial vices about? Before we object 
 to public-houses, and above all to their 
 Saturday evening recreations, we must alter 
 the systems that make them a necessary 
 comfort to the poor and laborious. Till 
 then, in spite of the vulgar pait of the 
 polite, we shall have an esteem for the 
 Devil and the Bag o' Nails; and like to 
 hear, as we go along on Saturday night, 
 the applauding knocks on the table that 
 follow the song of ' Lovely Nan," or ' Brave 
 Captain Death,' or * Tobacco is an Indian 
 Weed,' or ' Why, Soldiers, why,' or ' Sayj 
 Plato why should man be vain,' or that 
 
 judicious and unanswerable ditty, corn 
 mencing 
 
 Now what can man more desire 
 Nor sitting by a sea-coal fire ; 
 And on his knees, &c." 
 
 B^vvkk \%h^^* 
 
 No. XXV. 
 
 [From " Edward the Third," an Historical 
 Play, Author Unknown, 1597.] 
 
 The King, having relieved the Castle of 
 the heroic Countess of Salisbury, besieged 
 by the Scots, and being oitertained by her, 
 loves her, 
 
 Edward (solus.") She is grown more fairer far since 
 I came hither : 
 Her voice more silver every word than other, 
 Her wit more fluent. What a strange discourse 
 Unfolded she of David, and his Scots ! 
 Even thus, quoth she, he spake, and then spake broad 
 With epithets and accents of the Scot ; 
 But somewhat better than the Scot could speak : 
 And thus, quoth she, and answer'd then herself; 
 For who could speak like her ? but she herself 
 Breathes from the wall an angel note from heaven 
 Of sweet defiance to her barbarous foes.— 
 When she would talk of peace, methinks her tongue 
 CommaHded war to prison: when of war. 
 It waken'd Caesar from his Roman grave. 
 To hear war beautified by her discourse. 
 Wisdom is foolishness- but in her tongue ; 
 Beauty a slander, but in her fair face ; 
 There is no summer, but in her chearful loolis ; 
 Nor frosty winter, but in her disdaio. 
 I cannot blame the Scots that did besiege her. 
 For she is all the treasure of our land : 
 But call them cowards, that they ran away ; 
 Having so rich and fair a cause to stay. 
 
 The Countess repells the King's unlaw- 
 J)il suit. 
 
 Countess. Sorry I am to see my liege so sad : 
 What niay thy subject do to drive from thee 
 This gloomy consort, sullome Melancholy ? 
 
 King. Ah Lady 1 I am blunt, and cannot strew 
 The flowers of solace in a ground of shame. 
 Since I came hither. Countess, I am wrong'd. 
 
 Court. Now God forbid that any in my liouso 
 Should think my sovereign wrong ! thrice-gentle king 
 Acquaint me with your cause of discontf'nt. 
 
 King. How near then shall I be to remedr ? 
 
 440 
 
THE TABLE BOf'K. 
 
 Coun. As near, my liege, as all my woman's power. 
 Can pawn itself to buy thy remedy. 
 
 King. If thou speak'st true, then have I my redress. 
 Kngage thy power to redeem my joys. 
 And 1 am joyful. Countess ; else I die. 
 Coun. I will, my liege. 
 King. Swear, Countess, that thou wilt. 
 Coun. By heaven I will. 
 King. Then take thyself a little way aside. 
 And tell thyself, a king doth dote on thee. 
 Say that within thy power it doth lie 
 To make him happy, and that thou hast sworn 
 To give him all the joy within thy power. 
 Do this ; and fell him, when I shall be happy. 
 
 Coun. All this is done, my thrice-dread sovereign. 
 That power of love, that I have power to give. 
 Thou hast, with all devout obedience. 
 Kmploy me bow thou wilt in proof thereof. 
 
 King. Thou hear'st me say that I do dote on thee. 
 Coun. If on my beauty, take it if thou can'st ; 
 Though little, 1 do prize it ten times less : 
 If on my virtue, take it if thou can'st ; 
 For virtue's store by giving doth augment. 
 Be it on what it will, that 1 can give. 
 And thou can'st take away, inherit it. 
 
 King. It is thy beauty that I would enjoy. 
 Coun. O were it painted, I would wipe it off. 
 And dispossess myself to give it thee ; 
 But, sovereign, it is soulder'd to my life : 
 Take one, and both ; for, like an humble shadow, 
 It haunts the sunshine of my summer's life. 
 
 King, But thou may'st lend it me to sport withal, 
 Coun. As easy may my intellectual soul 
 Be lent away, and yet my body live, 
 Aa lend my body (palace to my soul) 
 Away from her, and yet retain my soul. 
 My body is her bower, her court, her abhey. 
 And she an angel pure, divine, unspotted; 
 If I should lend her house, my Lord, to thee, 
 I kill my poor soul, and my poor soul me. 
 
 King. Didst thou not swear to give me wbat I 
 
 would ? 
 Count. 1 did, my liege, so what you would, I could. 
 King. I wish no more of thee, than thou raay'st give : 
 Nor beg I do not, but I rather buy ; 
 That is thy love; and for that love of thine 
 In rich exchange, I tender to thee mine. 
 
 Coun. But that your lips were sacred, my Lord, 
 You would profane the holy name of love. 
 That 'ove, you offer me, you cannot give; 
 For CsBsar owes that tribute to his Queen. 
 That love, you beg of me, 1 cannot give ; 
 For Sara owes that duty to her Lord. 
 He, that doth clip or counterfeit your stamp. 
 Shall die, my Lord : and shall your sacred self 
 Commit high treason 'gainst the King of Heaven, 
 To stamp his image in forbidden metal, 
 Forgetting your allegiance and your oath ? 
 In violating marriage' sacred law. 
 You break a greater Honour li.an yourself. 
 To be a King, is of a younger house 
 Than 2'o be married : your progenitor. 
 Sole-reigning Adam on the uniTerse, 
 By Qod WM boDoar'd for a married Mas 
 
 But not by him anointed for a Kin^. 
 It is a penalty to break your statute.^. 
 Tho' not enacted with your Highness' hand ; 
 How much more to infringe the holy act. 
 Made by the mouth of God, seal'd with his hand 
 I know my Sovereign, in my Hu'sband'.s love; 
 Doth but to try the Wife of Salisbury, 
 Whether she will hear a wanton's talc or no: 
 Lest being guilty therein by my stay. 
 From that, not from my liege, 1 turn awaiy. 
 
 King. Whether is her beauty by her words divine 
 Or are her words sweet chaplains to her beauty ' 
 Like as the wind doth beautify a sail. 
 And as a sail becomes the unseen wind, 
 So do her words her beauties, beauty words. 
 
 Coun. He hath sworn me by the name of God 
 To break a vow made in the name of God. 
 What if I swear by this right hand of mine 
 To cut this right hand off? the better way 
 Were to profane the idol, than confound it. 
 
 Flattery. 
 
 O thou World, great nurse of ffattery. 
 
 Why dost thou tip men's tongues with golden words 
 And poise their deeds with weight ot heavy lead. 
 That fair performance cannot follow promise ? 
 O that a man might hold the heart's close book 
 And choke the lavish tongue, when it doth utter 
 The breath of falsehood, not cbaracter'd there 1 
 
 Sin, worst in High Place. 
 
 An honourable grave is more estee ned, 
 
 Than the polluted closet of a king ; 
 
 The greater man, the greater is the thing. 
 
 Be it good or bad, that he shall undertake. 
 
 An unreputed mote, flying in the sun. 
 
 Presents a greater substance than it is; 
 
 The freshest summer's day doth soonest taint 
 
 The loathed carrion, that it seems to kiss ; 
 
 Deep are the blows made with a mighty axe ; 
 
 That sin does ten times airgravate itself. 
 
 That is committed in a holy place ; 
 
 An evil deed done by authority 
 
 Is sin, and subornation ; deck an ape 
 
 In tissue, and the beauty of the robe 
 
 Adds but the greater scorn unto the l>east ; 
 
 The poison shews worst in a golden cup ; 
 
 Dark night seems darker by the lighi'ning flash ; 
 
 Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds . 
 
 And every Glory, that inclines to Sin, 
 
 The shame is treble by the opposite. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 441 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 SONNET TO MISS KELI f, 
 
 On her EXCELLtVT PERFORMANCE OF 
 
 Blindness, in the revived C)pera 
 OF Arihur and Emmeline. 
 
 Rare artist, who with half thy tools, or none, 
 Canst execute with ease thy curious art. 
 And press thy powerful'st meanings on the heart 
 Unaided by the eye, expression's throne! 
 While each blind sense, intelligential grown 
 Beyond its sphere, performs the effect of sight, 
 Those orbs alone, wanting- their proper niiglit, 
 All motionless and silent seem to moan 
 The unseemly negligence of nature's hand. 
 That left them so forlorn. What praise is thine, 
 O mistress of the" passions ! — artist fine ! — 
 Who dost our souls against our sense command ; 
 Plucking the horror from a sightless face, 
 Leu\\xii fi; lilank defornsitv a grace 
 
 C. Lamb. 
 
 VOLUNTEER REMINISCENCES. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sham-Fights and Invasion. 
 
 Dear Sir, — Some agreeable recollections 
 induce me to pen a iew circumstances for 
 the Tabic Book, which may kindle associa- 
 tions in the many who were formerly en- 
 gaged in representing the " raw recruit," 
 and who are now playing the '' old soldier" 
 •n the conflict of years. I do not travel 
 out of the road to take the " Eleven city 
 regiments" into my battalion, nor do I call 
 for the aid of the " Gray's-inn sharpshoot- 
 ers," (as lawyers are,) and other gents of 
 the " sword and sash," who then emulated 
 their brethren in " scarlet and blue." — 
 Erecting my canteen at Moorgate, I hint 
 to other quilld rivers to extend their forces 
 when and where their memories serve. 
 Inkshed, not bloodshed, is my only danger 
 — my greatest failing is a propensity (I fear) 
 (.0 digress and enlarge, till I may not bting 
 the numbers of my muster-roll within pro- 
 per discipline. Being on my guard, how- 
 ever, I take the succeeding specimens from 
 a spot filled with chapels of several persua- 
 sions, the " London Institution," and well- 
 built houses, with a pleasant relief of ver- 
 dure in the centre for nursery maids and 
 lompiiig children. 
 
 Moorfields, alas ! has no fields ! \\T)ere 
 the " Betn'lem hospital" raised its magnifi- 
 cent but gloomy front, with old Cibber's 
 statues of " Raving and Melancholy Mad- 
 ness" siding the centre entrance, no vestiges 
 remain, except the church and parts of 
 London Wall, leading from Broker-row to 
 the Albion chapel, commonly called the 
 Plum-cake. Who that knew the crossing 
 from Finsbury-square to Broad-street re- 
 members not the open-barred window at 
 which " Mad Molly" daily appeared, sing- 
 ing, and talking inconsistencies of love, 
 confinement, and starvation? Who that 
 stood before the massive building heard not 
 the tones of agony, and felt not deep pity 
 for the poor reasonless creatures ? 
 
 In Moorfields, when Buonaparte 
 
 threatened this country with invasion, the 
 beat of drum and the shrillings of the fife 
 brought corps of gentlemen volunteers into 
 rank and file, to show how much a " nation 
 of shopkeepers " could do. Ladies in clus- 
 ters assembled here to witness the feats of 
 their soldier-like heroes — sanctioning with 
 their presence, and applauding with theii 
 smiles, the defenders of their domiciles. 
 
 The " Bank gentlemen," distinguished 
 by their long gaiters, and therefore called 
 black-legs, went farther off' and exercised 
 before bank-hours, in the Tenter-ground 
 beyond the Vinegar-yard. 
 
 The East India Company's three regi- 
 ments (the best soldiers next to the foot- 
 guards) drilled in a field which lay in the 
 way on the one side to the Rosemary 
 Branch, (noted for a water-party or fives' 
 match,) and the White Lead Mills, whose 
 windsails are removed by the steam Quix- 
 otes of the day. On the other side, skirted 
 the once pleasant path, leading from the 
 Shepherd and Shepherdess across the mea- 
 dow either to Queen's Head-lane, the Bri- 
 tannia, or the Almshouses, near the Barley 
 Mow, Islington. The East India field is 
 now divided into gardens and snug ar- 
 bours, let to the admirers of flowers and 
 retreats. 
 
 Lackington's " Temple of Fame " was a 
 temple of knowledge. This splendid place 
 and its winding shelves of books caught 
 the passing eye with astonishment at the 
 success and skill of the once humble own- 
 er of a bookstall in Chiswell-street. Here 
 Finsbury's " child of lore and catalogue- 
 maker" wrote a " book," abounding with 
 quotations from authors, and refuted his 
 own words in after-life by publishing hi? 
 " Confessions." Lackington was, how- 
 ever, a man of deep judgment in his busi- 
 ness, and no everv-dav observer of the 
 
 442 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 manners and variations of h.s contempora- 
 ries. 
 
 Then, the " Artillery Company" attracted 
 weli-dressed people on Wednesday even- 
 ings, and from Finsbury-side to Bunhill- 
 row there was a promenade of fashionables 
 from Duke's-place and Bevis Marks, Jisten- 
 mg to a band of music and the roar of 
 cannon till dusk. 
 
 Moorfrelds gathered more regiments than 
 any other spot excepting the Park, in which 
 reviews and sham-tights concentrated the 
 corporate forces on field-days. Wimbledon 
 Common became also an occasional scene 
 of busy parade and preparation ; baggage 
 long drawn out, multitudes ot friends, 
 sweethearts and wives, and nondescripts. 
 In the roads were collected the living beings 
 of half of the inetiopolis. It seemed astir 
 in earnest of great achievements. Many a 
 white handkerchief dried the parting tear. 
 There were the adieu and the farewell ; 
 salutes given behind the counter, or snatch- 
 ed in the passage, affected the sensibilities 
 like last meetings. Sir W. Curtis and other 
 colonels reminded the " gentlemen " they 
 had " the honoui' " to command, that they 
 were in " good quarters." Sermons were 
 preached in and out of the establishment to 
 " soldiers." Representations were given 
 at the theatres to " soldiers." The shop- 
 windows presented tokens of courage and 
 love to " soldiers." Not a concert was 
 held, not a " free and easy " passed, with- 
 out songs and melodies to " soldiers." It 
 was a fine time for publicans and poets. 
 Abraham Newland's promises kept aimy- 
 clothiers, gun-makers, Hounslow powder- 
 mills, and Mr. Pitt's affairs in action. No 
 man might creditably present himself if he 
 were void of the ton of military distinc- 
 tion ; and Charles Dibdin and Grimaldi — 
 " wicked wags !'' — satirized the fashion of 
 " playing at soldiers." 
 
 In process of time, Maidstone, Colches- 
 ter, and Rochester were select places for 
 trying the shopkeeping volunteers : they 
 Were on duty for weeks, and returned with 
 the honours of the barracks. Things taking 
 a more peaceful aspect, or rather the alarm 
 of invasion having subsided, the regimen- 
 tals were put by, and scarcely a relic is 
 now seen to remind the rising generation 
 of the deeds of their fathers. 
 
 I could travel further, and tell more of 
 these and similar doings, but I refrain, lest 
 I tire your patience and your readers' cour- 
 tesy. 
 
 Dear sir, 
 
 Truly yours, 
 June, 1827. A City Volunteer, 
 
 Bisfoberitg 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 
 No. I. 
 
 It has been ascertained by the researches 
 of a curious investigator,* that many cele- 
 brated philosophers of recent times have, 
 for the most part, taken what they advance 
 from the works of the ancients. These 
 modern acquisitions are numerous and im- 
 portant ; and as it is presumed that many 
 may be instructed, and more be surprised 
 by their enumeration, a succinct account of 
 them is proposed. 
 
 It appears as unjust to praise and admire 
 nothing but what savours of antiquity, as 
 to despise whatever comes from thence, 
 and to approve of nothing but what is 
 recent. The moderns certainly have much 
 Uierit, and have laboured not a little in the 
 advancement of science; but the ancients 
 paved the way, wherein at present is made 
 so rapid a progress : and we may in that 
 respect join Quintilian, who declared, seven- 
 teen hundred years ago, " that antiquity 
 had so instructed us by its example, and 
 the doctrines of us great masters, that we 
 could not have been born in a more happy 
 age, than that which had been so illumi- 
 nated by their care." While it would be 
 ingratitude to deny such masters the enco- 
 miums due to them, envy alone would 
 refuse the moderns the praise they so 
 amply deserve. Justice ought to be ren- 
 dered to both. In comparing the merits of 
 the moderns and ancients, a distinction 
 ought to be made between the arts and 
 sciences, which require long experience 
 and practice to bring' them to perfection, 
 and those which depend solely on talent 
 and genius. Without doubt the former, in 
 so long a series of ages, have been extended 
 more and more; and, with the assistance 
 of printing and other discoveries, have been 
 brought to a very high degree of per- 
 fection by the moderns. Our astronomers 
 understand much better the nature of the 
 stars, and the ^^hole planetary system, than 
 Ilipparchus, Ptolemy, and others of the 
 ancients; but it may be doubted, whether 
 they had gone so far, unaided by telescopes. 
 The moderns have nearly perfected the art 
 of navigation, and discovered new worlds ; 
 
 • The Rev. L. Dutens, iri his " Inquiry irto the On 
 gin of the Discoveries attributed to the Moderiii." 
 
 443 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 yet withotit the compass, America had pro- 
 bably remained unknown. Likewise, by 
 long observation, and experiments often 
 repeated, we have brought botany, anatomy, 
 and chirurgery, to their present excellence. 
 Many secrets of nature, which one mre was 
 insufficient to penetrate, have been laid 
 open in a succession of many. Philosophy 
 has assumed a new air; and the trifling 
 and vain cavils of the schools, have at 
 length been put to flight by the reiterated 
 efforts of Ramus, Bacon, Gass«ndi, Des- 
 cartes, Newton, Gravesand, Leibnitz, and 
 Wolf. While, therefore, willingly con- 
 ceding to the moderns every advantage 
 they are fairly entitled to, the share which 
 the ancients had in beating out for us the 
 pathways to knowledge is an interesting 
 subject of inquiry. 
 
 For two thousand years the ancient phi- 
 losophers were so fully in possession of the 
 general esteem, that they often led men 
 blindfohd. They were listened to as ora- 
 cles, and their very obscurities regarded as 
 too sacred to be pried into by common 
 eyes. An ipse dixit of Pythagoras, Aris- 
 totle, or any other ancient sage, was enough 
 to decide the most difficult case : the 
 learned bowed in a body, and expressed 
 their satisfaction, while they surrendered 
 their judgment. These habits of submission 
 were ill adapted to advance knowledge. A 
 few noble spirits, who, in recompense of 
 their labours, have been honoured with the 
 glorious title of restorers of learning, quickly 
 felt the hardship of the bondage, and threw 
 off the yoke of Aristotle. But instead of 
 following the example of those great men, 
 whose incessant studies, and profound re- 
 searches, had so enriched the sciences, some 
 of their successors were content to make 
 them the basis of their own slight works ; 
 and a victory, which might have tended to 
 the perfecting of the human mind, dwindled 
 into a petty triumph. Bruno, Cardan, 
 Bacon, Galileo, Descartes, Newton, and 
 Leibnitz, the heroes of the literary com- 
 monwealth, had too much merit, not to own 
 that of the ancients. They did them justice, 
 and avowed themselves their disciples; but 
 the half-learned and feeble, whose little 
 stock and strength were insufficient to raise 
 to themselves a name, rail at those from 
 whom they stole the riches with which they 
 are bedecked, and ungratefully conceal their 
 obligations to their benefactors, 
 
 The method made use of by the moderns, 
 in the new philosophy, recommends itself 
 bv its own excellence ; for the spirit of 
 analysis and geometry that pervades their 
 
 manner of treating subjects, has contributed 
 so much to the advancement of science, 
 that it were to be wished they had never 
 swerved from it. It is not, however, to be 
 denied, that the noblest parts of that system 
 of philosophy, received with so much ap- 
 plause in the three last centuries, were 
 known and inculcated by Pythagoras, Plato, 
 Aristotle, and Plutarch. Of these great 
 men, it may be believed that they well knew 
 how to demonstrate what they communi- 
 cated ; although the arguments, upon 
 which some portions of their demonstra- 
 tions were founded, have not come down 
 to us. Yet, if in those works which have 
 escaped destruction from the fanaticism of 
 ignorance, and the injuries of time, we 
 meet with numberless instances of penetra- 
 tion and exact reasoning in their manner 
 of relating their discoveries, it is reasonable 
 to presume that they exerted the same care 
 and logical accuracy in support of these 
 truths, which are but barely mentioned in 
 the writings preserved to us. Among the 
 titles of their lost books are many respect- 
 ing subjects mentioned only in general in 
 their other writings. We may conclude, 
 therefore, that we should have met with 
 the proofs we now want, had they not 
 thought it unnecessary to repeat them, after 
 having published them in so many other 
 works, to which they often refer, and of 
 which the titles are handed down to us by 
 Diogenes Laertius, Suidas, and other an- 
 cients, with exactness sufficient to give us 
 an idea of the greatness of our loss. From 
 numerous examples of this kind, which 
 might be quoted, one may be selected re- 
 specting Democritus. That great man was 
 the author of two books, from the titles of 
 which it evidently appears, that he was 
 one of the principal inventors of the ele- 
 mentary doctrine which treats of those 
 lines and solids that are termed irrational, 
 and of the contact of circles and spheres. 
 
 It is remarkable, that the illustrious 
 ancients, by the mere force of their own 
 natural talents, attained to all those acqui- 
 sitions of knowledge which our exp^n- 
 ments, aided by instruments thrown in our 
 way by chance, serve only to confirm, 
 Wuhout the assistance of a telescope De- 
 mocritus knew and taught, that the milky 
 way was an assemblage of innumerable 
 stars that escape our sight, and whose united 
 splendour produces in the heavens the 
 whiteness, which we denominate by that 
 name ; and he ascribed the spots in the 
 moon to the exceeding height of its moun- 
 tains and depth of its vallies. True it is, 
 that the moderns have gone farther, and 
 
 444 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 found means to measure the icight of those 
 same mountains • yet Democritus's re- 
 searches weie those of a great genius; 
 whereas the operations of the moderns are 
 merely organical and mechanic. Besides 
 which, we have this advantage, — that we 
 work upon their canvass. 
 
 Finally, it may be repeated, that there is 
 scarcely any discovery ascribed to the mo- 
 derns, but wkat was not only known to the 
 ancients, bat supported by them with the 
 most solid arguments. The demonstration 
 of this position will at least have this good 
 effect : it will abate our prejudices against 
 the ancients, occasioned by a blind admira- 
 tion of some moderns, who had never shone 
 at all but for the light they borrowed of 
 their masters. Their opinions fairly stated 
 from their own works, and often in their 
 words, must render the decision easy ; and 
 the result may restore to the early philoso- 
 phers some part at least of their disputed 
 glory. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 THE GOSSIP AND STARE. 
 
 A creature of so frightful mien. 
 
 As to be hated needs but to be seen. 
 
 It is feminine ; a lower animal of the 
 tribe Inquisituria ; and with all othere of 
 its species indescribably restless. It is 
 commctnly found with the bosom slatternly 
 arrayed, leaning with folded arms out of a 
 " two-pair front," looking cunningly and 
 maliciously over the side of a garden-pot — 
 like a stalling through the water-hole of its 
 cage over the waterpot — with its head 
 always on the bob, like that of the Chinese 
 figure in grocers' shops. Its features are 
 lean and sharp as the bows of a Folkstone 
 cutter, or the face of a Port Royal pig; its 
 nose, like a racoon's, is continually on the 
 twist; the ears are ever pricking up for 
 vague rumours and calumnious reports, and 
 the eyes roll from side to side, like those of 
 the image in the wooden clock at Kalten- 
 bach's in the Borough ; the tongue is snake- 
 like, is perpetually in motion — pretty yet 
 pert — and venomous. Its habit is bilious, 
 its temper splenetic. It is a sure extractor 
 of all secrets, a thorough heart-wormer, a 
 living diving-bell, a walking corkscrew. It 
 generally " appears as well as its neigh- 
 bours," but it is fastidious, and loves to be 
 different. Upon its legs, which are of the 
 sparrow order, it looks a merry, light- 
 hearted, artless, and good-natured little 
 
 thing ; but it is the green-bag-bearfcr OJ 
 the parish, and its food is scandal. Hear 
 it talk on a first meeting with a regular 
 listener! Its voice is at first soft as the 
 low piping of the nightingale, but gradually 
 becomes like the loud hissing of an adder, 
 and ends hoarse, and ominous of evil as 
 that of the raven. It is an untiring spreader 
 of idle and false reports, to the injury ol 
 many a good character. It is only innox- 
 ious to reasonable beings, for they never 
 listen to it, or when obliged to do so, are 
 no more amused by its sayings than by the 
 singing of a tea-kettle; but these being 
 few in number, compared with the lovers 
 of small talk, to whom its company is 
 always acceptable, it is a dangerous animal, 
 
 mother of deceit and lifs. 
 
 Look at it sitting in its habitation ! — every 
 sound from the street draws it to the light- 
 hole* — every thing from a bonnet to a pat- 
 ten furnishes it with matter for gossip — 
 every opening of a neighbour's door brings 
 its long neck into the street. Every mis- 
 fortune that assails others is to it a pleasure 
 — every death a new life to itself — and 
 the failings of the departed are eternal 
 themes for its envenomed slander. It is at 
 the heels of every thing that stirs, and the 
 sooner it is trodden upon the better. Bu' 
 people tolerate and like it, because it is 
 " so amusing," and " so clever ;" and yet 
 each of its listeners is traduced in turn. 
 There is no dealing with it, but by giving 
 it rope enough ; it will then hang itself, 
 which, by the by, will be such an end as 
 the creature merits. 
 
 S. R. J. 
 
 NAVAL MANNERS. 
 
 When the old duke of Ycnk (brother to 
 George III.) went on board lord Howe's 
 ship, as a midshipman, the different cap- 
 tains in the fleet attended, to pay him their 
 respects, on the quarter-deck. He seemed 
 not to know what it was to be subordinate, 
 nor to feel the necessity of moderation in 
 the display of superiority resulting from 
 his high rank, and he received the officers 
 with some hauteur. This a sailor on the 
 forecastle observed ; and after expressing 
 astonishment at the duke's keeping his hat 
 on, he told one of his messmates, that " the 
 thing was not in its sphere ;" adding, " it 
 is no wonder he does not know manners, 
 as he was never at sea before." 
 
 • Window. 
 
 445 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 1 
 
 LEGAL RECREATION. 
 
 It is alleged in a memoir of the Life ol 
 Lord Eldon, that, when plain John Scotl, 
 his zeal for knowledge of the law was so 
 great, that he abandoned the pursuit of 
 almost every other species of information, 
 and never sacrificed a moment from hia 
 legal studies, beyond what was absolutely 
 necessary to his health. His brother Wil- 
 liam, (afterwards lord Stowell,) with a view 
 of engaging him to meet Dr. Johnson and 
 other men of distinguished literary talent, 
 would sometimes say, " Where do you dine 
 to-day ?" To this question John's uniform 
 answer was, " I dine on Coke to-day." 
 William would then demur, with a " Nay, 
 but come to my chambers — you'll see the 
 doctor;" whereupon John argued, concern- 
 ing the doctor, " He can't draw a bill ;" 
 and so the friendly suit concluded. 
 
 It is further affirmed, on the best autho- 
 rity, that it was an amusement in the early 
 legal life of John Scott, to turn pieces of 
 poetry into the form of legal instruments ; 
 and that he actually converted the ballad 
 of " Chevy Chace" into the shape and style 
 of a bill in chancery. 
 
 A professional gentleman, who, during 
 his pupilage, was recommended by a dis- 
 tinguished barrister to commit the follow- 
 ing verses to memory, duly availed himself 
 of that advantage, and obligingly commu- 
 nicates them 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 CANONS OF DESCENT. 
 
 By an Apprentice of the Law. 
 
 Canon I. 
 Estates go to tlie issue (item) 
 Of him last seized in infinitum ; 
 Like cow-tails, downward, straight they tend, 
 fiat never, lineally, ascend : 
 
 Canon II. 
 Thin gives that preference to males. 
 At which a lady jnstly rails. 
 
 Canon III. 
 Of two males, in the same degree. 
 The eldest, only, heir shall be : 
 With females we this order break. 
 And let them all together take. 
 
 Canon IV. 
 When one his worldly strife hath ended, 
 Thoie who are lineally descended 
 
 Fmm him, as to his claims and ricoR*. 
 Shall stand, precisely, in his breecncs. 
 
 <^anon V. 
 When lineal descendants fail, 
 Collaterals the land may nail; 
 So that they be (and that a bore is) 
 De sanguine progenitores. 
 
 Canon VI. 
 The heir collateral, d'ye see. 
 Next kinsman of whole blood must be • 
 
 Canon VII. 
 And, of collaterals, the male 
 Stocks, are preferr'd to the female; 
 Unless, the land come from a woman, 
 And then her heirs shall yield to no man. 
 
 FRENCH JUDICL4L AUTHORITY. 
 
 In the " Thuana" we read of a whimsical, 
 passionate, old judge, who was sent into 
 Gascony with power to examine into the 
 abuses which had crept into the administra- 
 tion of justice in that part of France. Ar. 
 riving late at Port St. iMary, he asked " how 
 near he was to the city of Agen ?'' He was 
 answered, " two leagues." He then de- 
 cided to proceed that evening, although he 
 was informed that the leagues were "long, 
 and the roads very bad. In consequence 
 of his obstinacy the judge was bemired, 
 benighted, and almost shaken to pieces. 
 He reached Agen, however, by midniglit, 
 with tired horses and harassed spirits, and 
 went to bed in an ill humour. The next 
 morn he summoned the court of justice to 
 meet, and after having opened his commis- 
 sion in due form, his first decree was, 
 " That for the future the distance from 
 Agen to Port St. Mary should be reckoned 
 six leagues." This decree he ordered to be 
 registered in the records of the province, 
 before he would proceed to any other busi- 
 ness. 
 
 A LONG MINUET. 
 
 Hogarth, in his "Analysis of Beauty," 
 mentions the circumstance of a dancing- 
 master's observing, that though the "mi- 
 nuet" had been the study of liis whole life, 
 he could only say with" Socrates, that he 
 •' knew nothing." Hogarth added of him- 
 self, that he was happy in being a painter, 
 because some bounds might he set to the 
 study of his art. 
 
 446 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE BISHOP'S WELL, BROMLEY, KENT. 
 
 There is a way from Eromley market- 
 place across meadow jrrounds to the 
 palace of the Bishop of Rochester. This 
 edifice, about a quarter of a mile from the 
 town, is a plain, homely mansion, erected 
 in 1783 by bishop Thomas, on the site of 
 the ancient palace built there by bihop 
 Gildert Glanville, lord chief justice of Eng- 
 land, after he succeeded to the see in 1185, 
 
 instead of a still more ancient palace 
 founded by the prelate Gundalph, an emi- 
 nent architect, bishop of Rochester in the 
 reign of William the Conqueror. At a few 
 hundred yards eastward of the palace is the 
 " Bishop's Well ; " which, while I minutely 
 examined if, Mr. Williams sketched ; and 
 he has since engraved it, as the reader sees. 
 The water of the " Bishop's Well " is a 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 Ul 
 
 2Q 
 
Ttta Table book. 
 
 chalybeate, honoured by local reputation 
 with surprising properties; but, in reality, 
 it is of the same nature as the mineral water 
 of Tunbridge Wells. It rises so slowly, as 
 CO yield scarcely a gallon in a quarter of an 
 tiour, and is retained in a small well about 
 sixteen inches in diameter. To the stone 
 work of this little well a wooden cover is 
 attached by a chain. When the fluid attains 
 3 certain height, its surplus trickles through 
 an orifice at the side to increase the water 
 .of a moat, or small lake, which borders tiie 
 grounds of the palace, and is overhung on 
 each side with the branches of luxuriant 
 slirubs and trees. Above the well there is 
 a roof of thatch, supported by six pillars, 
 in the manner of a rustic temple, heighten- 
 ing the picturesque appearance of the 
 ■cene, so as to justify its representation by 
 'he pencil. On visiting it, with Mr. W., 
 this pleasant seclusion, consecrated by for- 
 mer episcopal care, and the lond recollec- 
 tions of ancient adjacent residents, was 
 passing to ruin : we disturbed some boys 
 in their work of pulhng reeds from the 
 thatched roof. A recent vacancy of the see 
 seemed to have extended to the superin- 
 tendence of the well ; the seeds of neglect 
 had germinated, and were springing up. I 
 have revisited the spot, and seen 
 
 ithewild-briar. 
 
 The thorn, and the th&tle, grown broader and hipher. 
 
 The " Bishop's Well " is said to have 
 oeen confounded with a spring of more 
 ancient note, called St. Blase's Well. Of 
 this latter well topographers* say, " It an- 
 ciently had an oratory annexed to it, dedi- 
 cated to St. Blasius, which was much fre- 
 quented at Whitsuntide, because Lucas, 
 who was legate for Sixtus the Fourth, here 
 in England, granted an indulgent remission 
 of forty days ; enjoined penance to all 
 those who should visit this chapel, and offer 
 up their orizons there in the three holidays 
 of Pentecost. This oratory falling to ruin 
 at the Reformation, the well too became 
 disused, and the site of both in pro- 
 cess of time was forgotten, and con- 
 tinued so till the well was discovered again 
 in the vear 1754, by means of a yellow 
 ocnrey sediment remaining in the tract of 
 ;i small current leading from the spring to 
 the corner of the moat, with the waters of 
 which it used to mix. In digging round 
 the well there were found the remains of 
 [tie old steps leading down to it, made of 
 oaK plank, which appeared to have lain 
 miei ground many years. The water of 
 
 this spring is chalybeate, and rises at tlig 
 foot of a declivity, at a small distance east' 
 ward from the bishop's palace. The soi. 
 through which it passes is gravel, and i. 
 issues immediately from a bed of pur 
 white sand. The course of the spring 
 seems to. be about north-north-east and 
 south-south-west from its aperture; its 
 opening is towards the latter ; and as 
 Shooter's Hill bears about north-north-east 
 from its aperture, it probably comes from 
 thence. The water being thus found to be 
 a good chalybeate, was, by the bishop's 
 orders, immediately secured from the inter- 
 mixture of other waters, and enclosed." 
 
 Wilson, a recent writer, affirms, that " the 
 old well, dedicated to St. Blase, is about 
 two hundred yards north-west of the mi- 
 neral s])ring, in a field near the road, with 
 eight oaks in a cluster, on an elevated spot 
 of ground adjoining." This, however, 
 seems wholly conjectural, and wholly nuga- 
 tory ; for, if " the old steps made of oak- 
 plank, which appeared to have lain under 
 ground many years," led to the " Bishop's 
 Well," it may reasonably be presumed that 
 they were the " old steps " to St. Blase's 
 Well, and that the water of the ancient 
 oratory now flows within the humble edifice 
 represented by the engraving. 
 
 MISS KELLY. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Dear Sir, — Somebody has fairly play'd a 
 hoa.v on you (I suspect that pleasant rogue 
 M — jr — n*) in sending you the Sonnet in my 
 name, inserted in your last Number. True 
 it is, that I must own to the Verses being 
 mine, but not written on the occasion there 
 pretended, for I have not yet had the plea* 
 sure of seeing the Lady in the part of Em- 
 meline; and I have understood, that tiie 
 force of her acting in it is rather in the 
 expression of new-born sight, than of the 
 previous want of it. — The lines were 
 really written upon her performance in the 
 " Blind Boy," and appeared in the Morning 
 Chronicle some years back. I suppose, our 
 facetious friend thought that they would 
 serve again, like an old coat new turned. 
 
 Yours (and his nevertheless) 
 
 C. Lamb. 
 
 PI ilipoti and Hasted 
 
 It was.— -E;j. 
 
 448 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 iSarnrfe ^lags* 
 
 No. XXVI. 
 
 irorn "Doctor Dodypol," a Comedy, 
 Author unknown, 1600.] 
 
 Earl Lassenburgh, as a Painter, painting 
 his Mistress al grotesco. 
 
 Lass. Welcome bright Morn, that with thy golden 
 rays 
 Reveal'st the radiant colours of the world ; 
 Look here, and see if thou can'st find dispers'd 
 The glorious parts of fair Lucilia ! 
 fake them, and join them in the heavenly spheres ; 
 And fix them there as an eternal light. 
 For lovers to adore and wonder at. 
 Luc. You paint your flattering words, Lord Lassen- 
 burgh, 
 jlaking a curious pencil of your tongae ; 
 And that fair artificial hand of yours 
 Were fitter to have painted Heaven's fine story. 
 Than here to work on antics, and on me : 
 Thus for my sake you of a noble Earl 
 Are glad to be a mercenary Painter. 
 
 Lass. A Painter, fair Lucilia : why, the world 
 With all her beauty was by paintino made. 
 Look on the heavens, colour'd with golden stars. 
 The firmamental part of it all blue. 
 Look on the air, where with an hundred changes 
 The watery rainbow doth embrace the earth. 
 Look on the summer fields, adorn'd with flowers. 
 How much is Nature's painting honour'd there. 
 Look in the mines, and on the eastern shore. 
 Where all our metals and dear gems are drawn ; 
 Though fair themselves, made better by their foils. 
 Look on that little world, the Two-fold Man, 
 Whose fairer parcel is the weaker still ; 
 And see what azure veins in stream-like form 
 Divide the rosy beauty of the skin. 
 1 speak not of the sundry shapes of beasts ; 
 The several colours of the elements, 
 Whose mixture shapes the world's variety. 
 In making all things by their colours known. 
 And, to conclude — Nature herself divine 
 tn all things she has made is a mere Painter. 
 
 Luc. Now by this kiss, the admirer of thy skill. 
 Thou art well worthy th' honour thou hast given 
 With thy so sweet words to thy eye-ravishing Art ; 
 Of which my beauties can deserve no part. 
 Lass. From these base antics, where my hand hath 
 'spersed 
 Thy several parts, if I, uniting all. 
 Had figured there the true Lucilia. 
 Then might thou justly wonder at my art ; 
 And devout people would from far repair. 
 Like pilgrims, with iheir duteous sacrifice, 
 Adorning thee as Regent of their loves. 
 Here m the center of this Marigold 
 Like a bright diamond I enchased thine eye. 
 Here nndernealh this litHe rosy bush 
 Thy crimson cheeks peer forth, more fair thaa '.t. 
 Hsre Cupid hanging down bis wings doth sitt 
 
 Comparing cherries to thy rosy lips. 
 Here is thy brow, thy hair, thy neck, thy nani. 
 Of purpose in all several shrouds dispersed i 
 Lest ravish'd I should dote on mine own work. 
 Or envy-burning eyes should malice it. 
 
 A Cameo describea. 
 
 see this Agate, that contains 
 
 The image of the Goddess and her Sor. 
 Whom ancients held the Sovereigns of Love. 
 See naturally wrought out of the stone. 
 Besides the perfect shape of every limb. 
 Besides the wondrous life of her bright hair, 
 A. waving mantle of celestial blue. 
 Embroidering itself with flaming stars ; 
 Most excellent ! and see besides, — 
 How Cupid's wings do spring out of toe stone 
 As if they needed not the help of Art. 
 
 Earl Lassenburgh, for some distasti: 
 Jlees Lucilia, who follows him. 
 
 Lass. Wilt thou not cease then to pursue me still ? 
 Should I entreat thee to attend me thus. 
 Then thou would'st pant and rest ; then your soft ietit 
 Would be repining at these niggard stones: 
 Now I forbid thee, thou pursuest like wind ; 
 Ne tedious space of time, nor storm can tire thee. 
 But I will seek out some high slippery close. 
 Where every step shall reach the gate of death. 
 That fear may make thee cease to follow me. 
 
 Luc. There will I bodiless be, when you are there ; 
 For love despiseth death, and scorneth fear. 
 
 Lass. I'll wander where some desperate river par*» 
 The solid continent, and swim from thee. 
 
 Luc. And there I'll follow, though I drown for thea. 
 Lass. O weary of the way, and of my life. 
 Where shall I rest my sorrow'd, tired limbs ? 
 
 I,uc. Rest in my bosom, rest you here, my Lord 
 A place securer you can no way find — 
 
 Lass. Nor more unfit for my onpleased mmd. 
 A heavy slumber calls me to the earth ; 
 Here will I sleep, if sleep will harbour here. 
 Luc. Unhealthful is the melancholy earth ; 
 O let my Lora rest on Lucilia's lap. 
 rU help to shield you from the searching air. 
 And keep the cold damps from your gentle blood. 
 
 Lass. Pray thee away; for, whilst thou art so near. 
 No sleep will seize on my suspicious eyes. 
 
 Luc. Sleep then ; and I am pleased far off to sit. 
 Like to a poor and forlorn centinel. 
 Watching the unthankful sleep, that severs me 
 From my due part of rest, dear Love, with thee. 
 
 An Enchanter, who is enamoured of 
 Lucilia, charms the Earl to a doad s.eep, 
 and Lucilia to a forgetfulness of her pas.' 
 iove. 
 
 Enchantt /■ (J^o Ljssenhurghl) Lie there: and lose 
 the memory of her, 
 Who likewise hath forgot the love of thee 
 By my enchantments : — come sitdcwu, fa'r Nympn, 
 And taste the ttweetness of these beav'cly oates. 
 
 449 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 Wiiilst from the hollow crannies of this rock 
 Music shall sound to recreate my Love. 
 tut tell me, had you ever Lever yet' 
 
 Lncilia. I had a Lover, 1 think ; but who it wag, 
 )r where, or how long since, aye me I 1 know not : 
 /et beat my timerous thoughts on such a thing. 
 I feel a passionate heat, yet find no flame ; 
 Think what 1 know not, nor know what I think. 
 
 JEnch. Hast thou forgot me then ? I am thy Love,— 
 A^hom sweetly thou wert wont to entertain 
 A^ith looks, with vows of love, with amorous kisses. 
 Look'st thou so strange ? dost thou not know me yet ? 
 
 Luc. Sui-e 1 should know you. 
 
 JSnc/i. Why, Love, doubt you that ? 
 Twas I that led you* thro' the painted meads, 
 Vhere the light fairies danced upon the flowers, 
 ^tanging on every leaf an orient pearl, 
 Vhich, struck together with the silken wind 
 ' ){ their loose mantles, made a silver chime. 
 Twas I that, winding itiy shrill busle horn. 
 Made a gilt palace break out of the hill, 
 FlU'd suddenly with troops of knights and dames. 
 Who danced and revel'd ; whilst we sweetly slept 
 Upon a bed of roses, wrapt all in gold. 
 Dost thou not know me row? 
 
 Luc. Yes, now 1 know thee. 
 
 Ench. Come then, confirm this knowledge with a 
 kiss. 
 
 Luc. Nay, stay ; you are not he : how strangle is 
 this 1 
 
 Ench. Thou art grown passing suange, my Love, 
 lohirr. that made tliee so long since his Bride. 
 
 Luc. O was it you? come then. stay awhile. 
 I know not where 1 am, nor what I am ; 
 Nor you, nor these 1 know, nor any thing. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 %iit ni an m^imx. 
 
 HUGH AUDLEY. 
 
 There are memoirs of this remarkable 
 man in a rare quarto tract, entitled "The 
 Way to be Rich, according to the practice of 
 the great Audley, who began with two 
 hundred pounds in the year 1603, and died 
 worth four hiudred thousand." He died 
 on the 15th of November, 1662, the year 
 wherein the tract "ras printed. 
 
 Hugh Audley was a lawyer, and a great 
 practical philosopher, who concentrated his 
 rigorous faculties in the science of the rela- 
 tive value of money. He flourished through 
 the reigns of James I., Charles I., and held 
 a lucrative office in the " court of wards," 
 till that singular court was abolish^ -i at the 
 lime of the restoration. In his own times 
 he was called " The great Audley," an epi 
 thet so often abused, and here applied to 
 
 * In charmed V1S1J08. 
 
 the creation of enormous wealth. Bit 
 there are minds of great capacity, concealed 
 by the nature of their pursuits ; and the 
 wealth of Audley may be considered as the 
 cloudy medium through which a bright 
 genius shone, of which, had it been thrown 
 into a nobler sphere of action, the " great- 
 ness" would have been less ambiguous. 
 
 Audley, as mentioned in the title of his 
 memoir, began with two hundred pounds^ 
 and lived to view his mortgages, his sta- 
 tutes, and his judgments so numerous, that 
 it was observed, his papers would hav«> 
 made a good map of England. A con- 
 temporary dramatist, who copied from life, 
 has opened the chamber of such an usurer, 
 — perhaps of our Audley — 
 
 " Here lay 
 
 A manor bound fast in a skin of parchment. 
 The wax continuing hard, the acres melling, 
 Here a sure deed of gift for a market-town. 
 If not redeem'd this day, which is not in 
 The unthrift's uower ; there being scarce ore shire 
 In Wales or England, where my monies are not 
 Lent out at usury, the certdin liook 
 To draw in mo-re. — 
 
 Massinrfcr' s Cily Madam. 
 
 This genius of thirty per cent, first had 
 proved the decided vigour of his mind, by 
 his enthusiastic devotion to his law-studies 
 deprived of the leisure for study through 
 his busy day, he stole the hours from his 
 late nights and his early mornings ; and 
 without the means to procure a law-library,. 
 he invented a method to possess one with- 
 out the cost ; as fast as he learned, he 
 taught ; and by publishing some useful 
 tracts on temporary occasions, he was ena- 
 bled to purchase a library. He appears 
 never to have read a book without iis fur- 
 nishing him with some new practical de- 
 sign, and he probably studied too much for 
 his own particular advantage. Such devoted 
 studies was the way to become a lord- 
 chancellor; but the science of the law was 
 here subordinate to that of a money-trader. 
 
 When yet but a clerk to the clerk in the 
 Counter, frequent opportunities occurred 
 which Audley knew how to improve. He 
 became a money-trader as he had become 
 a law-writer, and the fears and follies ot 
 mankind were to furnish him with a trad- 
 ing-capital. The fertility of his genius ap- 
 peared in expedients and in quick con- 
 trivances. He was sure to be the friend of 
 all men falling out. He took a deep con- 
 cern in the affairs of his master's clients, 
 and often much more than they were aware 
 of. No man so ready at procuring bail or 
 compounding debts This was a consider- 
 
 450 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 aV.le traffic then, as now. They hired 
 themselves out for bail, swore what was 
 required, and contrived to give false ad- 
 dresses. It seems they dressed themselves 
 out for the occasion : a great seal-rino- 
 flamed on the finger, which, however, was 
 pure copper gilt, and they often assumed 
 the name of some person of good credit. 
 Savings, and small presents for gratuitous 
 opinions, often afterwards discovered to be 
 very fallacious ones, enabled him to pur- 
 chase annuities of easy landholders, with 
 their treble amount secured on their estates. 
 The improvident owners, or the careless 
 heirs, were soon entangled in the usurer's 
 nets ; and, after the receipt of a few years, 
 the annuity, by some latent quibble, or 
 some irregularity in the payments, usually 
 ended in Audley's obtaining the treble for- 
 feiture. He could at all times out-knave a 
 knave. One of these incidents has been 
 preserved. A draper, of no honest reputa- 
 tion, being arrested by a merchant for a 
 debt of 200;. Auriley bought the debt at 
 40/., for which the draper immediately 
 offered him 50/. But Audley would not 
 consent, unless the draper indulged a sud- 
 den whim of his own : this was a formal 
 contract, that the draper should pay within 
 twenty years, upon twenty certain days, a 
 penny doubled. A knave, in haste to sign, 
 is no calculator; and, as the contemporary 
 dramatist describes one of the arts of 
 those citizens, one part of whose business 
 was 
 
 " To swear and break — they all grow rich by break- 
 ing—" 
 
 the draper eagerly compounded. He after- 
 wards " grew rich. " Audley, silently 
 watching his victim, within two years, 
 claims his doubled pennies, every month 
 during twenty months. The pennies had 
 now grown up to pounds. The knave per- 
 ceived the trick, and preferred paying the 
 forfeiture of his bond for 500l., rather than 
 to receive the visitation of all the little gene- 
 ration of compound interest in the last de- 
 scendant of 2000/., which would have closed 
 with the draper's shop. The inventive 
 genius of Audley might have illustrated 
 that popu'ar tract of his own times, Peach- 
 am 's " Worth of a Penny ; " a gentleman 
 ■^'ho, having scarcely one left, consoled 
 himself by detailing the numerous com- 
 forts of life it might procure in the days of 
 Charles H. 
 
 Such petty enterprises at length assumed 
 a deeper cast of interest He formed tem- 
 porary partnerships with the stewards of 
 country gentlemen. They underlet estates 
 
 which they had to manage ; and, antici- 
 pating the owner's necessities, the estates 
 in due time became cheap purchases fo 
 Audley and the stewards. He usually 
 contrived to make the vood pay for the 
 land, which he called " making the feathers 
 pay for the goose." He had, however, 
 such a tenderness of conscience for his 
 victim, that, having plucked the live fea- 
 thers before he sent the unfledged goose on 
 the common, he would bestow a gratuitous 
 lecture in his ov\n science — teaching the 
 art of making them grow again, by showing' 
 how to raise the remaining rents. Audley 
 thus made the tenant furnish at once the 
 means to satisfy his own rapacity, and his 
 employer's necessities. His avarice was 
 not working by a blind, but on an enlight- 
 ened principle ; for he was only enabling 
 the landlord to obtain what the tenant, with 
 due industry, could afford to give. Adam 
 Smith might have delivered himself in the 
 language of old Audley, so just was his 
 standard of the value of rents, " Under an 
 easy landlord," said Audley, "a tenant 
 seldom thrives ; contenting himself to make 
 the just measure of his rents, and not la- 
 bouring- for any surplusage of estate. Under 
 a hard one, the tenant revenges himself 
 upon the land, and runs away with the 
 rent. I would raise my rents to the present 
 price of all commodities: for if we should 
 let our lands, as other men have done before 
 us, now other wares daily go on in price, 
 we should fall backward in our estates." 
 These axioms of political economy were 
 discoveries in his day. 
 
 Audley knew mankind practically, and 
 struck into their humours with the versa- 
 tility of genius ; oracularly deep with the 
 grave, he only stung the lighter mind. 
 When a lord, borrowing money, complain- 
 ed to Audley of his exactions, his lordship 
 exclaimed, " What, do you not intend to 
 use a conscience ?" " Yes, I intend here- 
 after to use it. We monied people must 
 balance accounts : if you do not pay me, 
 you cheat me ; but, if you do, then I cheat 
 your lordship." Audley's monied con- 
 science balanced the risk of his lordship's 
 honour, against the probability of his own 
 rapacious profits. When he resided in the 
 Temple among those "pullets without fea- 
 thers,'' as an old writer describes the brood, 
 the good man would pule out paternal 
 homilies on improvident youth, grieving 
 that they, under pretence of" learning the 
 law, only learnt to be lawless ;" and " never 
 knew by their own studies the process of an 
 execution, till it was served on themselves." 
 Nor could he fail in his prophecy ; for at 
 
 451 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 the moment that the stoic was enduring 
 their ridicule, his agents were supplying 
 them with the certain means of verifying 
 it; for, as it is quaintly said, he had his 
 decoying as well as his decaying gentlemen. 
 
 Audley was a philosophical usurer: he 
 never pressed hard for his debts ; like the 
 iowler, he never shook his nets lest he 
 might startle, satisfied to have them, with- 
 out appearing to hold them. With great 
 fondness he compared his "bonds to in- 
 fiints, which battle best by sleeping." To 
 battle is to be nourished, a term still re- 
 tained at the university of Oxford. His 
 familiar companions were all subordinate 
 actors in the great piece he was perform- 
 ing; he too had his part in the scene. 
 When not taken by surprise, on his table 
 usually lay opened a great Bible, with 
 bishop Andrews's folio sermons, which 
 often gave him an opportunity of railing at 
 the covetousness of the clergy ! declaring 
 their religion was " a mere preach ;" and 
 that " the time would never be well till we 
 had queen Elizabeth's Protestants again in 
 fashion." He was aware of all the evils 
 arising out of a population beyond the 
 means of subsistence. He dreaded an in- 
 undation of men, and considered marriage, 
 with a modern political economist, as very 
 dangerous; bitterly censuring the clergy, 
 whose children, he said, never thrived, and 
 whose widows were left destitute. An 
 apostolical life, according to Audley, re- 
 quired only books, meat, and drink, to be 
 had for fifty pounds a year! Celibacy, 
 voluntary poverty, and all the mortifica- 
 tions of a primitive Christian, were the vir- 
 tues practised by this puritan among his 
 money bags. 
 
 Yet Audley 's was that worldly wisdom 
 which derives all its strength from the 
 weaknesses of mankind. Every thing was 
 to be obtained by stratagem, and it was 
 nis maxim, that to grasp our object the 
 faster, we must go a little round about it. 
 His life is said to have been one of intri- 
 cacies and mysteries, using indirect means 
 in all things ; but if he walked in a laby- 
 rinth, it was to bewilder other? ; for the 
 clue was still in his own hand ; all he 
 sought was that his designs should not be 
 iliscovered by his actions. His word, we 
 are told, was his bond ; his hour was punc- 
 hial ; and his opinions were compressed 
 and weighty : but if he was true to his 
 bond-word, it was only a part of the system 
 to give facility to the carrying on of his 
 trace, for he was not strict to his honour ; 
 the pride of victory, as well as the passion 
 foT aca-nsition, combinpd in the character 
 
 of Audley, as in more tremendous con- 
 querors. His partners dreaded the effects 
 of his law-library, and usually relinquished 
 a claim rather than stand a suit against 9 
 latent quibble. When one menaced him 
 by showing some money-bags, which he 
 had resolved to empty in law against him, 
 Audley, then in office in the court of wards, 
 with a sarcastic grin, asked, " Whether the 
 bags had any bottom ?" " Ay !" replied 
 the exulting possessor, striking them. " In 
 that case I care not," retorted the cynical 
 officer of the court of wards ; " for in this 
 court I have a constant spring; and I can- 
 not spend in other courts more than I gain 
 in this." He had at once the meanness 
 which would evade the law, and the spirit 
 which could resist it. 
 
 The genius of Audley had cre^t out ol 
 the purlieus of Guildhall, and entered the 
 Temple ; and having often sauntered at 
 " Powles"down tlie great promenade which 
 was reserved for " Duke Humphrey and 
 his guests," he woiilri turn into that part 
 called " The Usurer's Alley," to talk with 
 " Thirty in the hundred,'' and at length was 
 enabled to purchase his office at that re- 
 markable institution, the court of wards. 
 The entire fortunes of those whom we now 
 call wards in chancery were in the hands, 
 and often submitted to the arts or the tyranny 
 of the officers of this court. 
 
 When Audley was asked the value of 
 this new office, he replied, that " It might 
 be worth some thousands of pounds to him 
 who after his death would instantly go to 
 heaven ; twice as much to him who would 
 go to purgatory ; and nobody knows what 
 to him who would adventure to go to hell." 
 Such was the pious casuistry of a witty 
 usurer. Whether he undertook this last 
 adventure, for his four hundred thousand 
 pounds, how can a sceptical biographer de- 
 cide ! Audley seems ever to have been 
 weak, when temptation was strong. 
 
 Some saving qualities, however, were 
 mixed with the vicious ones he liked bes1 
 Another passion divided dominion with the 
 sovereign one : Audley's strongest impres- 
 sions of character were cast in the old law. 
 library of his youth, and the pride of legal 
 reputation was not inferior in strength to 
 the rage for money. If in the " court of 
 wards" he pounced on incumbrances which 
 lay on estates, and prowled about to dis- 
 cover the craving wants of their owners, it 
 appears that he also received liberal fees 
 from the relatives of young heirs, to pro 
 tect them from the rapacity of some great 
 persons, but who could not certainly exceed 
 Audley in sul.tilty. He was an adroJ'^V"» 
 
 ■452 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 lawyer, for he was not satisfied with hear- 
 iug, hut examining iiis clients ; which he 
 called " pinching the cause where he per- 
 ceived it was foundered." He made two 
 observations on clients and lawyers, which 
 have not lost their poignancy. " Many 
 clients, in telling their case, rather plead 
 than relate it, so that the advocate heareth 
 not the true state of it, till opened by the 
 adverse party. Some lawyers seem to keep 
 an assurance-office in their chambers, and 
 will warrant any cause brought unto thern, 
 knowing that if they fail, they lose nothing 
 but what was lost long since, their credit." 
 
 The career of Audley's ambition closed 
 with the extinction of the" court of wards," 
 by which he incurred the loss of above 
 100,000/ On that occasion he observed, 
 that " his ordinary losses were as the shav- 
 ings of his beard, which only grew the fast^ir 
 by them ; but the loss of this place was 
 like the cutting off of a member, which was 
 irrecoverable." The hoary usurer pined at 
 the decline of his genius, discoursed on the 
 vanity of the world, and hinted at retreat. 
 A facetious friend told him a story of an 
 old rat, who having acquainted the young 
 rats that he would at length retire to his 
 hole, desiring none to come near him : their 
 curiosity, after some days, led them to 
 venture to look into the hole; and theie 
 they discovered the old rat sitting in the 
 midst of a rich parmesan cheese. It is 
 probable that the loss of the last 100,000/. 
 disturbed his digestion, for he did not long 
 survive his court of wards. 
 
 Such was this man, converting wisdom 
 into cunning, invention into trickery, and 
 wit into cynicism. Engaged in no honour- 
 able cause, he however showed a mind re- 
 solved, making plain the crooked and in- 
 volved path he trod. Sustine et ubstine, to 
 bear and to forbear, was the great principle 
 of Epictetus, and our monied stoic bore all 
 the contempt and hatred of the living smil- 
 ingly, while he forbore all the consolations 
 of our common nature to obtain his end. 
 He died in unblest celibacy. — And thus he 
 received the curses of the living for his 
 rapine, while the stranger who grasped the 
 million he had raked together, owed him 
 no gratitude at his death. — D'Israeli. 
 
 AVARICE. 
 
 There are two sorts of avarice. One 
 consists in a solicitude to acquire wealth for 
 Ihe sake of those advantages which wealth 
 oestows, and the dread of poverty and its 
 Attendant evils ; the other, in an anxiety 
 fcr wealth cj .ts own account oniy, and 
 
 which sacrifices to the attainment of if 
 every advantage that wealth can give. Thfl 
 first is the exaggeration of a quality, whicii 
 when not carried to excess is praiseworthy , 
 and is called economy. The other, when 
 indulged in the extreme, produces the effect 
 cf a species of prodigality. Where is the 
 great difference between the man whti 
 leduces himself to the want of the conr.mor, 
 necessaries of life, by completing a collec- 
 tion of books, pictures, or medals, and the 
 man who brings himself in effect to the 
 same situation, for the sole end of leaving 
 a precise sum of money to his executors ? 
 What signifies whether I starve myself and 
 my {amily, because I will possess a copper 
 farthing of Otho, or will not part with a 
 goiden guinea of king- George ? 
 
 But if ^here is more folly in one, the 
 other is rrcre likely to be productive oi 
 vice. A man who considers wealth as the 
 object cf his passion, will hardly refrain 
 from acts of dishonesty when strongly tempt- 
 ed ; a.nd yet some of these jackdaw hoarders 
 !>-'•-- men of in^'iolable integrity. 
 
 T'-ere -ire remarkable instances of im- 
 p'-ovident expenditure by misers on parti- 
 ct,.."ar o vjasions. The money-loving Elwes, 
 ot his iirst e'.e'-'tion for Berkshire, besides 
 opening houses, giving ribbons, and in- 
 curring every expense common on those 
 occasions, dispersed guineas an 1 half- 
 guineas among the populace, with a pro- 
 fusion as useless as unprecedented. 
 
 Perhaps there is no character so seldom 
 to be met with, as that of a man who is 
 strictly reasonable in the value he sets on 
 property — who can be liberal without pro^ 
 fusion, and economical without avarice. 
 
 ECONOMY. 
 
 A rich and parsimonious person, re- 
 markable for having by his will preferred 
 public charities to his relations, was fond ol 
 going to the theatre, and taking his great 
 coat with him. But where should he leave 
 this useful appendage during the perform- 
 ance ? The box-keepers would expect at 
 least sixpence ; and, should he leave it at a 
 coffee-house, he must spend threepence to 
 obtain house-room for it. His invention 
 supplied him with a method cheaper and 
 equally secure. He pledged his garment 
 every evening that he attended the play, at 
 a pawnbrokers, near the door, for a shilling. 
 This sum he carried back at the close ol 
 the play, added one penny to it for interest, 
 and received his great coat again safe and 
 sound, as it had literally been laid up ii) 
 lavender 
 
 453 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 MRS. GILPIN EIDING TO EDMONTON. 
 
 Then Mrs. Gilpin sweetly said 
 
 Unto her children three, 
 " I'll clamber o'or this style so high, 
 
 And you climb after me." 
 
 But having climb'd unto the top, 
 
 She could no further go, 
 But sate, to every passer by 
 
 A spectacle and show. 
 
 "Who said, " Your spouse and you this day 
 
 Both show your horseman ship, 
 And if you stay till he comes back. 
 
 Your horse will need no whip. 
 
 The s-ketch, here engraved, (probably the late Mrs. Unwin. It is to be regretted 
 
 from the poet's friend Romney,) was found that no more was found of this little Epi- 
 
 with the above three stanzas in the hand- sode, as it evidently was intended to be, to 
 
 writing of Cowper, among the papers of the " Diverting History of Johnny Gilpin." 
 
 454 
 
THE TABLE BOOE!. 
 
 L 15 to oe supposed that Mrs. Gilpin, in 
 he interval between dinner and tea, finding 
 'le time to hang upon her hands, during 
 ler husband's involuntary excursion, ram- 
 'led out with the children into the fields at 
 he back of the Bell, (as what could be 
 nore natural ?) and at one of those high 
 lukward styles, for which Edmonton is so 
 :)roverbially famed, the embarrassment re- 
 iresented, so mortifying to a substantial 
 City Madam, might have happened ; a 
 predicament, which leaves her in a state, 
 which is the very Antipodes to that of her 
 
 00 loco-motive husband ; in fact she rides 
 
 1 restive horse. — Now 1 talk of Edmonton 
 ■ityles, I must speak a little about those of 
 Enfield, its next neiglibour, which are so 
 ingeniously contrived— every rising bar to 
 the top becoming more protuberant than 
 the one under it — that it is impossible for 
 any Christian climber to get over, without 
 bruising his (or her) shins as many times 
 as there are bars. These inhospitable invi- 
 tations to a flayed skin, are planted so 
 thickly too, and are so troublesomely im- 
 portunate at every little paddock here, that 
 this, with more propriety than Thebes of 
 old, might be entitled Hecatompolis : ths 
 Town of the Hundred Gates, or styles. 
 
 A Sojourner at Enfield. 
 
 July 16,1827. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 SAWSTON CROSS. 
 
 In the summer of the year 1815, I ful- 
 filled my long standing promise of spending 
 a day with an old schoolfellow at Sawston, 
 a pleasant little village, delightfully situated 
 in a fertile valley about seven miles south 
 of Cambridge, the north of which is en- 
 compassed by the Gogmagog hills, which 
 appear Apennines in miniature; the south, 
 east, and west, are beautifully diversified 
 with trees and foliag-e, truly picturesque 
 and romantic. After partaking of the good 
 things at the hospitable board of my friend, 
 we set out for a ramble among the quiet 
 rural scenery, and suddenly found our- 
 selves in '.he midst of a group of people, 
 near the road leading to the church. They 
 were holding a conversation on a grass- 
 plot ; from the centre of which rose a cross, 
 enclosed in a small covered building, like 
 a-a amphitheatre, that added not a little to 
 the romantic appearance of the village; 
 towards the bottom of the southern slope 
 
 (A the grass-plot, propped with uncommon 
 care, and guarded by a holy zeal from the 
 ravages of time, stood an ancient sycamore- 
 tree ; and on the east side, to the terror of 
 evil-doers, stood the stocks. Alas! un- 
 sparing Ignorance has, since then, destroyed 
 this fine tree ; " the place that knew it 
 knows it no more," and the stocks are 
 fallen never to rise again. 
 
 My friend, taking me aside, informed mt 
 the persons assembled were residents o/ 
 the place, and that the meeting was con- 
 vened to sell the cross. " This cross," 
 continued my friend, " is the ornament of 
 the village. Jt escaped the phrenetic rage 
 of the puritans in the civil wars, and is ot 
 such antiquity, that when it was built is 
 not to be traced with certainty in the re- 
 coids of history. It may be supposed, 
 however, to have been erected by the 
 Knights Templars, as the living belonged 
 to them ; for, I believe, it was usual for 
 them to erect crosses on their property. 
 Upon the abolition of the Templars, the 
 living came into the hands of the Knights 
 Hospitallers of St. John, afterwards called 
 the Knights of Rhodes, and lastly, of 
 Malta. So early as the thirteenth century 
 public officers sat on this cross to adminis- 
 ter justice ; at other times, the bishop's 
 house, near the Campion-field, was used 
 for that purpose : this house is now in 
 ruins, but the cross," continued my friend, 
 " we possessed as an inheritance from our 
 forefathers, and at this moment the cupidity 
 and folly of the covetous and ignorant are 
 conspiring to destroy the venerable relic." 
 
 Wishing to preserve a memoranda of the 
 old cross, I took a hasty sketch of it, (too 
 hastily perhaps to be sufficiently accurate 
 for an engraving,) and having reached my 
 home, recorded the adventures of the day 
 in my pocket-book, from whence the above 
 extract is taken. Passing through the vil- 
 lage in the following autumn, I found that 
 the inhabitants had sacrilegiously levelled 
 the cross and sold the remnants. 
 
 The Jews of old, as we've been told — 
 And Scriptures pure disclose — 
 
 With harden'd hearts drew lot> tor parts 
 Of our Salvator's clothes. 
 
 The modern Jews — the Sawstonite.'; — 
 As h'lrden'd as the Israelites — 
 
 In Ignorance still more gioss — 
 Thinking they could no longer thrive 
 By Christian means, did means contrive — 
 
 Drew lots, and sold the cross I 
 
 Cambridge. 
 
 T.N. 
 
 455 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 
 
 No. 11. 
 
 The Method and Logic of Descartes 
 AND Locke jerived from tue Aa- 
 
 C) ENTS. 
 
 Within the last two centuries some no- 
 tions were advanced in logic and metaphy- 
 sics, which were taken to be new; and 
 Descartes, Leibnitz, Mallebranche, and 
 Locke, were legarded as innovators, al- 
 thougli nothing be put forth in their works, 
 but what is clearlj laid down ii;, thoso of the 
 ancients. 
 
 Descartes sets forth, a^ a first principle, 
 that whoever searches for truth, ought onre 
 in his lifetime at least t- doubt of every 
 thing. He then lays down the four follow^ 
 ing rules, wherein consis>.s the whole cf his 
 logic. — 1. Never to admit any thinaf as true, 
 but what we evidently discern to be so; 
 that is, we should carefully avoid rashness 
 and prejudice, and assent to nothing, till it 
 present itself so clearly to the mind, that 
 there be no occasion to hesitate about it. — 
 2. To reduce every difficulty into as many 
 separate parts, as may be necessary to come 
 at its solution. — 3. So to arrange our 
 thoughts, that we may gradually arise from 
 <he more simple and obvious, to the more 
 complex and remote, adhering to the order 
 wherein they naturally precede one ano- 
 tlier. — 4. To take so extensive a view of 
 our subject, and be so exact in the enume- 
 ration of its parts, that nothing may escape 
 our observation. 
 
 The first of these principles of doubt 
 and circumspection, so boasted of in Des- 
 cartes, is clearly laid down by Aristotle, 
 and forcibly recommended by the very 
 arguments that Descartes assumes. " Who- 
 ever seeks after instruction," says Aristotle, 
 " ought first of all to learn to doubt ; for 
 that simplicity of mind, which accompanies 
 hesitation, contribut€s to the discovery of 
 iruth:" and, "whoever searches for truth, 
 without beginning his investigation by 
 doubting of every thing, is like one who 
 wanders he knows not whither, and having 
 no fixed scope, cannot determine where he 
 is ; whilst, on the contrary, he who hath 
 learned to doubt, so as to inquire, will 
 find, in the end, the place where he ought 
 to rest." So, also, speaking of the method 
 
 to be observed in our investigations, Aristo- 
 tle bids us begin always with what is most 
 evident and best known ; and carefully 
 trace to its first elements and principles 
 whatever is obscure, by properly severing 
 and defining tliem. 
 
 Descartes imagined he had been the first 
 d ipcoverer of one of the most proper engines 
 lor sapping and demolishing the great bul- 
 wark of scepticism, when he reared even 
 upon doubt itself a basis for truth; for he 
 looked upon himself as the original advancer 
 of the Enthymem,* "I doubt (or think) 
 therefore I am." To Descartes has been 
 ass'gned the whole honour of this argument, 
 though in reality it is to be found in St 
 Augustine. " I do not see," says that great 
 ■nan, " what mighty force there is in the 
 scepticism of the academics. For my part, 
 I. look upon it as a very just observation of 
 ;/icirs, that we may deceive ourselves. But 
 "f I deceive myself, may I not thence con- 
 'lude that I am? For he who has no exist- 
 -■ice, cannot deceive himself; wherefore, 
 by that very circumstance, that I deceive 
 myself, I find that I am." 
 
 Locke, in his " Essay on the Human 
 Understanding," merely advances the fruits 
 of an exact attention to the principles of 
 Aristotle, who taught that all our ideas 
 originally spring from the senses, insomuch 
 that a blind man can never conceive the 
 idea of colours, nor a deaf man of sounds ; 
 and who makes the senses to convey truth, 
 so far as the imagination can discern it ; 
 and the understanding, so far as truth re- 
 gards the conduct of life and morals. It 
 was Aristotle who laid the foundation of 
 that principle, so celebrated among the 
 Peripatetics, that " there is nothing in the 
 understanding but what came into it by 
 the senses." This principle diffuses itself 
 through his works in a thousand places, 
 and Locke was singularly indebted for the 
 very foundation of his system to the Stoics. 
 The basis of his work is, that our sensations 
 are the materials whicli reflection makes 
 use of to come at mental notions; and that 
 our sensations are simple ideas. It is true, 
 that he has thrown great light upon cur 
 manner of acquiring and associating ideas; 
 but the Stoics reasoned in the very same 
 manner; and if all that they advanced 
 on this subject, in those works of which we 
 have nothing now remaining but the titles, 
 had reached our times, we had not needed 
 
 • Entkymem: an argument consisting onlj of an an- 
 tecedent and consequential proposition ; a syllogism, 
 where the major proposition is suppressed, and only 
 the minor and consequence produced in words. 
 
 Johmon, 
 
 456 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 the labours nf a Locke. There is a most re- 
 markable passage to this point in Plutarch. 
 Ele says, " The foundation of the doctrine of 
 Zeno and his school, as to logic, was, that 
 all our ideas come from sensation. The 
 mind of man at his birth, say they, is like 
 tv'hite paper, adapted to receive whatever 
 jnay be written on it. The first impressions 
 that it receives come to it from the senses: 
 if the objects are at a distance, memory 
 retains those types of them ; and the repe- 
 tition of these impressions constitutes ex- 
 perience. Ideas or motions are of two kinds, 
 natural and artificial. The natural have 
 their source in sens'stion, or are derived 
 from the senses; whence they also gave 
 ■them the name of anticipations : the artifi- 
 cial are produced by reflection, in beings 
 endowed with reason." This passage, and 
 others in Origen, Sextus Empiricus, Dio- 
 genes Laertius, and St. Augustine, may 
 serve to trace the true origin of the princi- 
 ple, " That there is nothing in the under- 
 standing, but what entered into it by the 
 senses." It may be observed, that this 
 axiom, so clearly expressed by the ancient 
 Stoics and Epicureans, and by Locke among 
 tiie moderns, has beenerroneously attributed 
 by several learned men, especially Gas- 
 sendi and Harvey, to Aristotle. 
 
 MECHANICAL POWER. 
 
 Mr. Robert Owen calculates that liwo 
 hundred arms, with machii'^s, now manu- 
 facture as much cotton as twenty millions 
 of arms were able to manu;aclure without 
 machines forty years ago; and that the 
 cotton now manufactured in the course of 
 one year, in Great Britain, would require, 
 without machines, sixteen millions of work- 
 men with simple wheels. He calculates 
 further, that the quantity of manufactures 
 of all sorts produced by British workmen 
 with the aid of machines is so great, that it 
 would require, without the assistance of 
 machinery, the labour of four hundred mil- 
 hons of workmen. 
 
 In the wool manufacture, machines pos- 
 sess au eminent advantage over common 
 wheels. Tlie yarn on thirty or thirty-six 
 spindles i^ all equally twisted and dre,wn to 
 the same degree of finenesr. The most 
 dexterous spinners cannot twisi so et^aally 
 ■4nd so gently twenty slips of yarn fron> 
 wool of the same quality, as a machine can 
 do twenty thousand. 
 
 A^ '^ne of the cotton mills ir Manches- 
 
 ter yarn ^as been spun so fine, as to ieqtiir»> 
 330 hanks to weigh one pound pvoirdu- 
 pois. The perimeter of the corariicn reel 
 being one yard and a half, 80 threads oi 
 revolutions would measure 120 yards; and 
 one hank seven times as much, or 84 C 
 yards, which multiplied by 350, gives 
 294, .'.>00 yards, or 167 miles and a frac- 
 tion. 
 
 A steam-engine of the ordinary pressure 
 and construction, with a cylinder of thirty 
 inches in diameier, will perform tl> ^.ork oJ 
 forty horses ; and, as it may be m.tde to act 
 without inter-^ission, while horse? will not 
 work more thrfn eight hours in tin" day, it 
 will do the work of one hundred and twenty 
 horses ; and as the work of a horse is equa. 
 to that of five men, it will perform as much 
 as six hundred men can ; while its whole 
 expense is only equal to about half the 
 number of horses for which it is substi- 
 tuted. 
 
 The only purpose to which steam-engines 
 were first applied was the raising of water 
 from coal-pits, mines, &c. ; but they are 
 now used for many different purposes In 
 which great power is required. Mr. Bolton 
 applied the steam-engine to his apparatus 
 for coining; and, by the help of four boyr. 
 only, it was capable of striking thirty thou 
 sand pieces of money in an hour ; the 
 machine itself was made to keep an accu- 
 rate account of the number struck off. 
 
 MANUFACTURING CELERITY. 
 
 ill 1811 a gentleman made a bet of cue 
 thousand guineas, that he would have ^ 
 coat made in the course of a single da^' 
 from the first process of shearing the sheep 
 till its co'Tipletion by the tailor. The wager 
 was decided at Newbury, on the 2.')th of 
 June in that >tar, by Mr. John Coxeter, o^ 
 GrP^-ZihMo. Mills, near that town. At five 
 o'clock *hat morning, sir John Throckmoi 
 ton, ba. .. presented two Southdown weddei 
 sheep to Mr. Coxeter, and the sheep were 
 shorn, the waDl spun, the yarn spoole"^ 
 warped, loomed, and wove; and the oloii 
 burred, milled, rowed, dried, sheared, and 
 pressed, and put into the hands of the 
 tailors by four o'clock that afternoon : an'' 
 at twenty minutes past six the coat, ent' -d^ 
 finished, was presented by Mr. Coxete' .c 
 sir John Throckmorton, who appeared witl. 
 it before upwards of frve thousand iipec*-^ 
 tcrs, who rent the air with acrfarr^ti'^ns at 
 this remarkaWc! in.'t.i'Lce nf despatch. 
 
 457 
 
THE TABLE JBOOK. 
 
 For the Table Book, 
 BALLAD 
 
 scogested on reading the novel of 
 " Castle Baynard." 
 
 " And must thou go, and must thou go. 
 
 So very, very soon ? 
 There is not time to say farewell 
 
 Before the morrow's noon." 
 
 * O let me kiss away those tears 
 
 That dim thine eyes of blue, 
 The kina;'s behest must be obeyed. 
 And I must sigh, adieu." 
 
 •* Yet stay ! oh stay ! my Eustac;i, stay I 
 
 A little, little while; 
 I fear me that in Gallia's court 
 
 Thou'lt woo another's smile." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Matilda, say not so. 
 
 Thy knight will aye be true. 
 True to his own betrothed maid, 
 
 So now, sweet love, adieu." 
 
 " Yet tarry — canst thou tarry not 
 
 One other, other day? 
 Then guard this pledge of plighted faith 
 
 When thou art far away." 
 
 " This precious gift, this flaxen lock. 
 
 How fondly shall I view. 
 And cherish next my heart — but now, 
 
 One last, last kiss, adieu." 
 
 July 3, 1827. 
 
 HELL BRIDGE. 
 
 There is a narrow pass between the 
 inounlains in the neighbonrhood of Ben- 
 dearg, in the Highlands of Scotland, which, 
 at a little distance, has the appearance of 
 an immense artificial bridge thrown over a 
 tr'^mendous chasm : but on nearer approach 
 it is seen to be a wall of nature's own ma- 
 sonry, formed of vast and rugged bodies of 
 solid rock, piled on each other as if in 
 giant sport of architecture. Its sides are 
 in some places covered with trees of a con- 
 siderable size; and the passenger who has 
 a head steady enough to look down, may 
 see the eyrie of birds of prey beneath his 
 feet. The path across is so narrow, that it 
 cannot admit of persons passing, and in- 
 deed none but natives attempt the danger- 
 ous route, though it saves a circuit of three 
 miles ; yet it sometimes happens that two 
 travellers meet, owing to the curve formed 
 by the pass preventing a view over it from 
 
 either side, and, in that case, one persoc 
 lies down while the other creeps over Si? 
 body. One day, ahighlander walking along 
 the pass, when he had gained the highest 
 part of the arch, observed another coming 
 leisurely up, and being himself one of the 
 patrician order, called to him to lie down ; 
 the person addressed disregarded the com 
 mand, and the highlanders met on the sum 
 mit. They were Cairn and Bendearg, of 
 two families in enmity to each other. " 1 
 was first at the top," said Bendearg, " and 
 called out first; he down, that I may pass 
 over in peace.'' " When the Grant pros- 
 trates himself before the M'Pherson," an- 
 swered the other, " it must be with a sword 
 through his body." " Turn back then," 
 said Bendearg, " and repass as you came." 
 *•' Go back yourself, if you like it," replied 
 Grant ; " I will not be the first of my name 
 to turn before the M'Phersons." They then 
 threw their bonnets over the precipice, and 
 advanced with a slow and cautious pace 
 closer to each other — both were unarmed 
 Preparing for a desperate struggle, they 
 planted their feet firmly on the ground, 
 compressed their lips, knit their brows, 
 and fixing fierce and watchful eyes on each 
 other, stood prepared for an onset. They 
 both grappled at the same moment ; but, 
 being of equal strength, were unable to 
 shift each other's position, and stood fixed 
 on the rock with suppressed brealh, and 
 muscles strained to the " top of their bent," 
 like statues carved out of the solid stone. 
 At length M'Pherson, suddenly removing 
 his right foot so as to give him greater pur- 
 chase, stooped his body, and bent his 
 enemy down with him by main strength, 
 till they both leaned over the precipice, 
 looking into the terrible abyss. The con- 
 test was doubtful, for Grant had placed his 
 foot firmly on an elevation at the brink, 
 and had equal command of his enemy, but 
 at this moment M'Pherson sunk slowly and 
 firmly on his knee, and, while Grant sud- 
 denly started back, stooping to take the 
 supposed advantage, whirled him over his 
 head into the gulf. M'Pherson himself fell 
 backwards, his body partly hanging ovet 
 the rock, a fragment gave way beneath 
 him, and he sunk further, till, catching with 
 a desperate effort at the solid stone above, 
 he regained his footing. There was a pause 
 of death-like stillness, and the bold heart 
 of M'Pher-son felt sick and faint. At 
 length, as if compelled by some mysterious 
 feeling, he looked down over the prec';pice. 
 Grant had caught with a death-like grire 
 by the rugged point of a rock — his enemy 
 was almost within his reach. His face was 
 
 458 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 turned upward, and there was in it horror 
 and despair — but lie uttered no word or 
 cry. The next moment he loosed his hold, 
 his brain.5 v;ere dashed out before the eyes 
 of his hereditary foe : the mangled body 
 disappeared among the trees, and his last 
 heavy and hollow sound arose from the 
 bottom. M'Pherson returned home an 
 altered man. He purchased a commission 
 in the army, and fell fighting in the wars of 
 the Peninsula. The Gaelic name of the 
 place where this tragedy was acted signifies 
 " Hell Bridge." 
 
 AT BUIMINGHAM. 
 
 The whole British empire may be justly 
 considered as one grand alliance, unitiid 
 for public and private interest; and this vast 
 body of people is subdivided into an infi- 
 nity of smaller fraternities, for individual 
 benefit. 
 
 Perhaps there are hundreds of these 
 societies in Birmingham, under the name of 
 " clubs ;" some of them boast the antiquity 
 of a century, and by prudent direction have 
 acquired a capital, at accumulating interest. 
 Thousands of the inhabitants are connected ; 
 nay, to be otherwise is rather unfashion- 
 able, and some are people of sentiment and 
 property. 
 
 Among a variety of purposes intended 
 by these laudable institutions, the princi- 
 pal one is that of supporting the sicl<. 
 Each society is governed by a code of laws 
 of its own making, which have at least the 
 honour of resembling those of the legisla- 
 ture ; for words without sense are found in 
 both, and we sometimes stumble upon con- 
 trad id ion. 
 
 The poor-rates, enormous as they appear, 
 are softened by these brotherly aids ; they 
 tend also to keep the mind at rest, for a 
 man will enjoy the day of health, with 
 double relish, when he considers he has a 
 treasure laid up for that of sickness. If a 
 member only of a poor family be sick, the 
 head still remains to procure necessaries ; 
 t)ut if that head be disordered, the whole 
 source of supply is dried up. 
 
 The general custom is to meet at a public 
 house every fortnight, spend a tiifle, and 
 each contribute sixpence, or any stated 
 sum, to the common stock. The landlord 
 is always treasurer, or father, and is assist- 
 ed by two stewards, annually or rr.onthly 
 chosen. 
 
 As honour and low life are not always 
 
 found together, we sometimes see a mat:, 
 who is idle, wish the society may suppose 
 him sick, that he may rob them with more 
 security ; or, if a member hang long " upon 
 the box," his brethren seek a pretence to 
 expel him. On the other hand, we fre- 
 quently observe a man silently retreat from 
 the club, if another falls upon the box, and 
 fondly suppose himself no longer a mem- 
 ber; or if the box be loaded with sickness, 
 the whole club has been known to dissolve, 
 that the members might rid themselves of 
 the burden. The Court of Requests finds 
 an easy remedy for these evils, at a trifling 
 expense. 
 
 The charity of the club is often extended 
 beyond the grave, and terminates with a 
 present to the widow. 
 
 Philosophers tell us, " There is no jo-ood 
 without its kindred evil." This amiable 
 body of men, marshalled to relieve disease, 
 has one small alloy, and perhaps but one. 
 As liquor and labour are inseparable, the 
 imprudent member is apt to forget to quit 
 the club-room when he has spent his neces- 
 sary two-pence, but contmues there, to the 
 injury of his family. 
 
 One of these institutions is the " Rent 
 Club,'' where, from the weekly sums depo- 
 sited by the members, a sop is regularly 
 served up twice a year, to prevent the 
 giowlings of a landlord. 
 
 In the '■'■ BreecJies Club"' every member 
 ballots for a pair, value a guinea, pruiiiised 
 of more value by the maker. This club 
 dissolves when all the members are served. 
 
 The intentions of the " Book Club " are 
 well known to catch the productions of the 
 press as they rise. 
 
 The " fFatch Club" has generally a 
 watchmaker for its president, is composed 
 of young men, and is always temporary. 
 
 if a tailor be short of employment, he 
 has only to consult a landlord over a bot- 
 tle, and by their joint powers, they give 
 birth to a " Clothes Club," where every 
 member is supplied with a suit to his taste, 
 of a stipulated price. These are chiefly 
 composed of bachelors, who wish to sliine 
 in the eyes of the fair. 
 
 A bricklayer stands at the head of the 
 " Building Club,'' where every member 
 perhaps subscribes two guineas per month, 
 and each house, value about one hundred 
 pounds, is balloted for as soon as erected. 
 As a house is a weighty concern, every 
 mem.ber is obliged to produce two bonds- 
 men for the performance of covenants. 
 
 1 will venture to pronounce another, the 
 "Capital Club ;" for when the contribution 
 
 4j9 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 dino-'jnt to fifty pounds, the members bsillot 
 for this capital, to bring into business . here 
 also securities are necessary. It is easy to 
 conceive the two last clubs are extremely 
 beneficial to building and to commerce. 
 
 The last I shall enumerate is the " Clock 
 Club " When the weekly deposits of the 
 members amount to about tour pounds, they 
 cast lots who shall befirst served with a clock 
 of that value, and continue the same method 
 till the whole club is supplied ; after which, 
 the clock-maker and landlord cast about 
 for another set, who are chiefly young 
 housekeepers. Hence the beginner orna- 
 ments his premises with furniture, the 
 artist finds employment with profit, and the 
 publican empties his barrel.* 
 
 HYPOCHONDRIA. 
 
 A person at Taunton often kept at home 
 for several weeks, under an idea of danger 
 in going abroad. Sometimes he imagined 
 that he was a cat, and seated himself on his 
 hind quarters ; at other times lie would 
 fancy himself a tea-pot, and stand with one 
 arm a-kimbo like the handle, and the other 
 stretched out like the spout. At last he 
 conceived himself to have died, and would 
 not move or be moved till the coffin came. 
 His wife, in serious alarm, sent for a sur- 
 geon, who addressed liim with the usual 
 salutation, " How do you do this morning ?" 
 
 " Do !" replied he in a low voice, " a 
 pretty question to a dead man !" 
 
 " Dead, sir ! what do you mean ?" 
 
 " Yes, I died last Wednesday ; the coffin 
 will be here presently, and I shall be buried 
 to-morrow." 
 
 The surgeon, a man of sense and skill, im- 
 ined lately felt the patient's pulse, and shaking 
 his head, said, " I find it is indeed too true ; 
 you are certainly defunct; the blood is in a 
 state of stagnation, putrefaction is about to 
 take place, and the sooner you are buried 
 the better." 
 
 The coffin arrived, he was carefully placed 
 in it, and carried towards the church. The 
 surgeon had previously given instructions 
 to several neighbours how to proceed. The 
 procession had scarcely moved a dozen 
 yards, when a person stopped to inquire 
 who they were carrying to the grave .' 
 " Mr. , our late worthy overseer." 
 
 " What ! is the old rogue gone at last ? 
 a good release, for a greater villain never 
 lived." 
 
 The imaginary deceased no sooner heard 
 this attack on his character, than he jumped 
 
 up, and in a threatening posture said, " Yov. 
 lying scoundrel, if I was not dead I'd make 
 you sutler for what you say ; but as it is., I 
 am forced to submit." He then quietly laid 
 down again; but ere they had proceeded 
 half way to church, another party stopped 
 tne procession with the same inquiry, and 
 added invective and abuse. This was more 
 than the supposed corpse could bear; and 
 jumping from the coffin, was in the act of 
 following his defamers, when the whole 
 party burst into an immoderate tit uf laugh- 
 ter, the public exposure awakened him to a 
 sense of his folly, and he fought against the 
 weakness, and, in the end, conquered it. 
 
 * Hdtton'a History of BiruiiLgbam. 
 
 ANCIENT AND MODERN. 
 
 The prisons of the classical ancients 
 consisted of " souterains," or, sometimes, 
 of only simple vestibules, where the pri- 
 soners saw their friends, &c. : it was in 
 this latter kind of confinement that Socrates 
 was placed. Their " latomiae" and " lapi- 
 dicince" were caves or vast quarries, guard- 
 ed at the entrance: in the " latomise " 
 prisoners could move about ; but in the 
 " lapidicinse " they were chained and fet- 
 tered. The famous " latomize" at Syracuse 
 made a capital prison. The prisoners 
 bribed the lictor or executioner to introduce 
 food, and allow them to visit friends, &c. 
 Some prisoners had merely chains upon the 
 legs, others were set fast in stocks. There 
 were also free prisons ; as committal to the 
 house of a magistrate, or custody of the 
 accused in his own house.* Felix, at 
 Cesarea, commanded a centurion to keep 
 Paul, and to let him have liberty, and that 
 he should forbid none of his acquaintance 
 to minister or come to him. At Rome, 
 Paul was suffered to dwell by himself with 
 a soldier that kept him ; and while in that 
 custody the chief of the Jews came and 
 heard him expound. He spoke to them of 
 being " bound with this chain.'' He dwelt 
 two whole years in his own hired hou«e 
 preaching and teaciiing with all confidence, 
 no man forbidding him.f 
 
 In the middle age there were prisons 
 provided with collars, handcuffs, and other 
 fetters, without doors or windows, and de- 
 scended into only by ladders. Othar prisons 
 were made like a cage, with portcullised 
 doors, as now; and there was a kind of 
 prison, called " pediculus," because in il 
 
 • Fosbroke'sEncy. of Anfiq:iities. 
 t Acts xxTiii. 16, i:0, 23, 30, 31. 
 
 4u0 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 tne teet were bound with chains, and pri- 
 sons were made dark on purpose. 
 
 Anglo-Saxon prisons were annexed to 
 palaces, with a work-place in them ; the 
 prisoners were chained and had guards. In 
 castles there were dungeons, consisting of 
 four dark apartments, three below, and one 
 above, up a long staircase, all well secured; 
 in the uppermost, a ring to which criminals 
 were chained. Prisons were sometimes 
 guarded by dogs, and prisoners bound in 
 chains, brought in carts, and discharged 
 upon a new reign.* 
 
 AN ENGLISH PRISON A. D. 1827. 
 
 In the Table Book, which notes the man- 
 ners and customs, and sketches the features 
 of ancient and modern times, whenever 
 they are conveniently presented, it seems 
 appropriate to notice a petition printed by 
 order of the House of Commons, on the 
 12th of February, 1827, respecting 
 
 HORSHAM GAOL, SUSSEX. 
 
 The petition alluded to is from debtors 
 .n the above prison, and the Votes of llie 
 House state the following particulars, as 
 set forth in the petition : — 
 
 The said {'■aol is ill constructed, confined, 
 and inconvenient, having only twenty cells 
 on the debtors' side, half of which are ap- 
 propriated to the debtors, and the other 
 half chiefly to smugglers and others for 
 notorious offences against the revenue laws, 
 and to deserters from the army. 
 
 The said cells for debtors are constructed 
 of the same dimensions, and in the same 
 manner, as the cells for the felons, having 
 no glazed sash-windows, but merely iron- 
 gratings, with the addition at night of an 
 ill-constructed wooden shutter, having a 
 small square hole in the same of about six 
 inches diameter; in some instances glazed 
 and in others not, and by no means calcu- 
 lated to keep out the rain or cold during the 
 inclement season. 
 
 The cells are small, being only twelve 
 feet by eight feet, and having no fire-place 
 or other means of being warmed. 
 
 The said cells are merely brick arches 
 lime-whitened, with rough stone pavement, 
 and so exceedingly danjp at times that the 
 water condenses on the walls, and runs 
 down the sides thereof, and on to the floor, 
 and from thence into the common passage, 
 which is so narrow, that when any of the 
 doo^s of the cells are open there is not 
 
 Fosbroke 
 
 room for one person safely to walk, par- 
 ticularly as the passage is dark. 
 
 When the weather is wet, or otherwise 
 inconvenient, the shatters of the cells must 
 necessarily be put up to exclude the same, 
 thereby rendering the cells so dark that the 
 piisoneis cannot conveniently see either to 
 read or write; and, therefore, when the 
 prisoners wish to retire to read or write 
 they cannot do so, and aie compelled to sit 
 in the common kitchen, which is small, and 
 consequently crowded, and is the only plt'.ce 
 for the cookmg for all the prisoners and at 
 the same time to accommodate them for a 
 sleeping waid and other purposes. 
 
 The fire-place is small and inconvenient, 
 and very scantily supplied with fuel, and 
 when the prison is crowded, as it has lately 
 been, it is totally impossible for all the 
 prisoners to have access to the fire, for the 
 required purposes of cooking or otherwise 
 particularly when most required, as in wet 
 and inclement weather. 
 
 It sometimes happens that thirteen or 
 more prisoners are obliged to sleep in 
 the said kitchen, and three in each bed in 
 many of the cells. 
 
 To each cell is affixed an iron-grating 
 door, and also a door made of timber; and 
 the debtors are .ocked up within their re- 
 spective cells at nine o'clock in the evening, 
 having no access to them till seven o'clock 
 the next morning, so that any one being 
 taken ill in the night might lay and perish 
 before his situation could be discovertd or 
 made known, or any assistance rendered. 
 
 The prisoners are unlocked at seven 
 o'clock in the morning, and are allowed to 
 go into the yard of the prison till eight, 
 when they are called in by means of a 
 whistle until nine o'clock, and allowed tc 
 remain in the yard again until twelve 
 o'clock at noon, again locked into the 
 wards till one o'clock, and again in the 
 same manner at five o'clock in the after- 
 noon for the night. 
 
 Respectable females are confined in the 
 same v>ard with the smugglers and others, 
 and no female is appointed or employed to 
 attend on them in any case. 
 
 The state of the prison is in general 
 filthy. 
 
 There is no sink or water-course, nor any 
 water laid on to either of the wards, iioi 
 any means of obtaining water after five 
 o'clock in the evening. 
 
 If any part or the whole of the prison is 
 at any time cleaned, it is done by some of 
 the debtors. 
 
 There is no proper place for the reception 
 of the dirty water or tilth from the wards. 
 
 461 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 but the same is int^iscriminately thrown out 
 at the iron-grating doors at the end of the 
 passage to each ward, thereby occasioning 
 a great stench highly disagreeable and un- 
 wholesome to the prisoners. 
 
 The prisoners are not allowed to see 
 their respective friends or solicitors within 
 the walls of the prison, but are compelled 
 to come into a room in the gaoler's house, 
 and there meet their friends or solicitors, 
 subject to the continual interruption or 
 presence of the gaoler, his wife, or others, 
 to the great annoyance of the prisoners and 
 their friends, and on the sabbath-day even 
 this privilege is not allowed. 
 
 No debtor is allowed to have any trunk, 
 portmanteau, dressing-case, or even a 
 clothes-bag, with lock and key, within the 
 prison, so that the prisoners are obliged, 
 whensoever they require any change of 
 clothing, to obtain leave to come into the 
 room in the gaoler's house before mention- 
 ed, and there take them from their port- 
 manteau, or otherwise; no respectable 
 prisoner can therefore have any article of 
 convenience or value with him, without 
 being obliged either to carry it about his 
 person, or leave it exposed in his cell, or in 
 an ill-constructed small cupboard, where 
 he is also obliged to keep his provisions, 
 &c. ; and so great is the injustice in the 
 prison, that smugglers not only receive 
 fourpence-halfpenny per day, but are also 
 allowed a quart of strona; beer or ale each 
 man, while the debtors are not permitted 
 to have strong beer or ale even by paying 
 for it. 
 
 When a debtor is rem.oved by a writ of 
 *^abeas corpus to London, a distance of 
 thirty-six miles, and for which one shilling 
 per mile is allowed by law to the gaoler, 
 tlie sum of two pounds five shillings has 
 been demanded and taken by the gaoler. 
 
 A marked inattention to the complaints 
 or remonstrances repeatedly made by vari- 
 ous prisoners, together with the general 
 bad state of the prison, and the excessive 
 and unnecessary harshness of the regula- 
 tions, rendered it imperative on the petition- 
 ers to attempt to lay their grievances before 
 the house, in the fervent hope that the 
 house would be pleased to cause inquiry to 
 be made into the truth of the several alle- 
 gations contained in the petition, which 
 the petitioners pledge themselves to prove, 
 if permitted, by affidavit or otherwise, as 
 the house should direct. 
 
 The petitioners humbly prayed, that a 
 speedy remedy might be applied to their 
 complaints as to the house in its wisdom 
 should seem meet. 
 
 ODE 
 
 To A Sparrow alighting befobt, TI15 
 Judges' Chambers in Serjeant's Inn, 
 Fleet-street. 
 
 Written in half an hour, while attending 
 a Summons. 
 
 Art thon solicitor for all thy Iribe, 
 
 That thus I now behold thee ? — one that comes 
 Down amid bail-above, an under-scribe, 
 
 To sue for crumbs ? — 
 Away I 'tis vain to ogle round the square, — 
 I fear thou hast no head — 
 To think to get thy bread 
 
 Where lawyers are 1 
 
 Say — hast thou puU'd some sparrow o'er the coals 
 
 And flitted here a summons to indite ? 
 I only hope no curs'd judicial kite 
 
 Has struck thee ofif the rolls I 
 I scarce should deem thee of the law — and yet 
 
 Thine eye is keen and quick enough — and still 
 Thou bear'st thyself with perk and tiny fret : — 
 
 But then how desperately short thy bill! 
 How quickly might'st thou be of that be-.eft? 
 A sixth " tax'd off" — how little would be left 
 
 Art thou on summons come, or order bent? 
 
 Tell me — for I am sick at heart to know ! 
 Say, — in the sky is there " distress for rent," 
 
 That thou hast flitted to the courts below? 
 If thou wouldst haul some sparrow o'er the coals. 
 
 And wouldst his spirit hamper and perplex— 
 Go to John Body — he's available — 
 
 Sign— swear — and get a bill of Middlesex 
 Returnable (mind,- bailable 1) 
 On Wednesday after th' morrow of All Souls. 
 
 Or dost thou come a sufferer ? I see — 
 
 I see thee " cast thy 6ai7-ful eyes around;" 
 Oh, call James White, and he will set thee free. 
 He and John Baines will speedily be bound, — 
 In double the sura 
 That thcu wilt come 
 And meet the plaintiff Bird on legal ground 
 But stand, oh, stand aside, — for look. 
 
 Judge Best, on do fantastic toe, 
 Through dingy arch,— bv dirty nook,— 
 Across the yard inio his' room aoth go ■— 
 And wisely there aoth read 
 Summons for time to plead. — 
 And frame 
 Order for same. 
 
 Thou twittering, legal, foolish, feather'd thing, 
 
 A tiny boy, with salt for latitat. 
 Is sneaking, bailiff-like, to touch thy wing; — 
 
 Canst thou not see the trick he would be at ? 
 Away 1 away ! and let him not prevail. 
 
 I do rejoice thou'rt off! and yet 1 groan 
 
 To read in that boy's silly fate my own • 
 / am at fault! 
 
 For from my attic though I brought my salt, 
 I've fail'd to put a little on thy tale I 
 
 462 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ANCIE:\T LiOOR OF BEOMLEY CHUECTL 
 
 On our visit to Bromley church, as soon 
 £S the modern outer gates of the porch were 
 unlocked, we were struck by the venerable 
 appearance of the old inner oak door ; aud, 
 instead of taking a view of the church, of 
 whieh there are several prints, Mr Williams 
 made a drawing of the decayed portal, from 
 whence he executed the present engraving. 
 On the hinge-side of the engraving, there 
 is a representation of the outer edge of the 
 door. 
 
 This door formerly hung on the western 
 stone jamb ; but, for warmth, and greater 
 convenience, the churchwardens, under 
 whose management the eiiifice was last 
 repaired, put up a pair of folding-doors 
 covered with crimson cloth; yet, with a 
 respectful regard, worthy of imitation in 
 other places, thev preserved this vestige of 
 antiquity, and were even careful to display 
 its time worn front. For this purpose the 
 door has been attached to the eastern jamb, 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 4(i^ 
 
 2 H 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 "o that if it were shut its ornamented side 
 would be hidden ; instead whereof, it is 
 kept open by a slight fastening against tlie 
 eastern forna, or settle, within the porch. 
 
 It may be remembered by readers of the 
 Avery Day Book,* that, on St. Mark's eve, 
 )ur ancestors " watched the church-porch,'" 
 as they do to the present day in some parts 
 af Yorkshire and the north of England, from 
 eleven o'clock at night till one in the morn- 
 ing. This done thrice, on the third year 
 they were supposed to have seen the ghosts 
 of those who were to die the next year pass 
 by into the church. When any one sickens 
 that is thought to have been seen in this 
 manner, it is presently whispered about 
 that he will not recover, for that such or 
 sucli an one, who watched on St. Mark's 
 eve, says so. This idle superstition is in 
 such foice, that if the patients themselves 
 hear of it, they almost despair of recovery : 
 many are said to have actually died Ijy 
 their imagmary fears. The like irrational 
 belief and fond practice prevail on St. 
 John's eve. "I am sure," says a writer in 
 the " Connoisseur," " that my own sister 
 Hetty, who died just before Christmas, 
 stood in the church-porch last Midsummer 
 eve, to see all that were to die that year in 
 our parish ; and she saw her own appari- 
 tion." It is told of a company of these 
 " watchers," that one of them fell into a 
 sound sleep, so that he could not be waked, 
 and while in this state his ghost or spirit 
 was seen by the rest of his companions 
 knocking at the church-door. 
 
 In relation to this church-watching on 
 St. Mark's and St. John's eve, there is a 
 narrative in the " Athenian Oracle," pub- 
 lished by John Dunton : — " Nine others 
 besides myself went into a church-porch, 
 with an expectation of seeing those who 
 should die that year; but about eleven 
 o'clock I was so afraid that I left them, and 
 all the nine did positively affirm to me, that 
 about an hour after, the church-doors flying 
 open, the minister, (who it seems was very 
 much troubled that night in his sleep,) with 
 such as should die that year, did appear in 
 order: which persons they named to me, 
 and they appeared then all very healthful; 
 but six of them died in six weeks after, in 
 the very same order that they appeared. "f 
 
 Before mention of the " church-porch," 
 
 • See the Every Day Bouk, on St. John s eve, Sec. 
 t Brand. 
 
 it might have been more ordeily to hav 
 noticed the " church-?/«rrf-po.-ch." There 
 is one at Bromley, though more modern 
 than the fine " lich-gate" at Beckenham 
 already engraved and described.* Sir John 
 Sinclair records of sorp.e parishioners in the 
 county of Argyll, that " though by no 
 means superstitious, (an observation which 
 m the sequel seems very odd,) they still 
 retain some opinions handed down by theii 
 ancestors, perhaps from the time of the 
 Druids. It is believed by them, that the 
 spirit of the last person that was buried 
 watches round the church-yard till anothei 
 is buried, to whom he delivers his charge." 
 further on, in the same work,t is related., 
 that " in one division of this county, ■where 
 it was believed that the ghost of the person 
 last buried kept ihe gate of xhe church-yard 
 till relieved by the next victim of death, 
 a singular scene occurred, when twobuiial;- 
 were to take place in one church-yard on 
 the same day. Both parties staggered for- 
 ward as fast as possible to consign their 
 respective friend in the first place to the 
 dust : if they met at the gate, the dead 
 were thrown down till the living decided, 
 by blows, whose ghost should be condemn- 
 ed to porter it." 
 
 Bromley church-door is a vestige; for on 
 examination it will be found not perfect. 
 It is seven feet four inches in height, and 
 in width four feet eight inches: the width 
 of the door-way, between the stone jambs, 
 is two inches more; the widtli of the dooi 
 itself, therefore, has been reduced these two 
 inches ; and hence the centre of tlie orna- 
 ments in relief is not in tlie centre of the 
 door in its present state. It is a good spe- 
 cimen of the fast-decayin", and often pre- 
 maturely removed, fine doors of our old 
 churches. The lock, probably of like age 
 with tlie door, and also of wood, is a mas- 
 sive effectual contrivance, two feet six 
 inches long, seven inches and a half deep, 
 and five inches thick; with a bolt an inch 
 in height, and an inch and a half in thick- 
 ness, that shoots out two inches on the appli- 
 cation of the rude heavy key , which as to form 
 and size is exactly depictured in the follow- 
 ing page. It seemed good to introduce the 
 engraving, both in respect to the antiquity 
 of the original, and to the information it 
 conveys of the devices of our ancestors 
 for locking-up. 
 
 • In vol. i. \>. 715- 
 
 t Statistioal Account of Scotland. 
 
 4(34 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ANCIENT KEY OF BKOMLEY CHURCH. 
 
 Keys varied in their form according to 
 the age wherein they were made, and the 
 purposes for which they were used. An- 
 ciently, the figure of the key of the west 
 door of the church was put in the register. 
 This was mostly done on tfie delivery of 
 the church keys to the " ostiarii," who were 
 otficers, created with much ceremony, to 
 whom the keys were intrusted : the bishops 
 themselves delivered the kexjs, and the dea- 
 cons the doors of the respective churches.* 
 
 While W, drew the door of Bromley 
 church I had ample opportunity to make 
 measurements and look about ; and I par- 
 ticularly noticed a capital large umbrella of 
 old construction, which I brought out and 
 set up in the church-yard : with its wooden 
 handle, fixed into a movable shaft, shod 
 with an iron point at the bottom, and struck 
 mto the ground, it stood seven feet high ; 
 the awningis of a green oiled-canvass, such 
 as common umbrellas were made of forty 
 years ago, and is stretched on ribs of cane. 
 It opens to a diameter of five feet, and 
 forms a decent and capacious covering for 
 the minister while engaged in the burial- 
 service at the grave. It is in every respect 
 a more fitting exhibition than the watch- 
 box sort of vehicle devised for the same 
 
 • Foiibroke's Encj. of Antiquities. 
 
 purpose, and in some church-yards trundled 
 from grave to grave, wherein the minister 
 and clerk stand, like the ordinary of New- 
 gate and a dying malefactor at the new 
 drop in the Uld Bailey. An unseemly 
 thing of this description is used at St. 
 George's in the Borough. 
 
 Th" church of Bromley, an ancient 
 spaci'Ous edifice with a square tower, has 
 been much modernised, yet to the credit of 
 the inhabitants it retains its old Norman 
 font. It is remarkable, that it is uncertain 
 to what saint it was dedicated : some as- 
 cribe it to St. Peter and St. Paul; others 
 to St. Blaise; but it is certain that Browne 
 Willis, with all his industry and erudite re- 
 search, was unable to determine the point. 
 This I affirm from a MS. memorandum 
 before me in his hand-writing. It abounds 
 with monuments, though none are of very 
 old standing. There was formerly a tomb 
 to Waier de Henche, " persone de Brom- 
 leohe, 1360."* Among the mural ta- 
 blets are the names of Elizabeth, wife to 
 " the great moralist " Dr. Johnson ; Dr. 
 IJawkesworth, a resident in Bromley, po- 
 pular by his " Adventurer;" and Dr. 
 Zachary Pearce. The latter was success- 
 ively rector of St. Bartholomew's by tha 
 
 • Weeyer 
 
 4:Qb 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 tloyal Exchange, vicar of St. Martin's in 
 the Fields, dean ot Winchester, bishop of 
 Bangor, dean of Westminster, and bishop 
 of Rocliester. His principal literary la- 
 bours were editorial — " Longinus de Subli- 
 mitate," " Cicero de Officiis," and " Cicero 
 de Oratore." He wrote in the " Specta- 
 tor," No. 57'2, upon " Quacks," and No. 
 633 upon " Eloquence;" and No. 121 in 
 the " Guardian,'' signed " Ned Mum." 
 The chief of this prelate's other works were 
 sermons. There is a cenotaph to liim in 
 Westminster Abbey ; a distinction he was 
 entitled to by his learning and virtues. 
 
 Dr. Zachary Peavce is remarkable for 
 having desired to resign hiS deanery and 
 bishopric. In 1763, being then seventy- 
 three years old, he told his majesty in his 
 closet that he found the business of his 
 stations too much for him ; that he was 
 afraid it would grow more so as he ad- 
 vanced in years, and desired to retire, that 
 he might spend more time in his devotions 
 and studies. Afterwards, one of the law 
 lords doubted the practicability of resign- 
 ing a bishopric, but on further considera- 
 tion the difficulty disappeared. The king 
 then gave his consent, and the bishop kissed 
 hands upon it; but lord Bath requesting 
 the bishopric and deanery of the king for 
 Dr. Newton, then bishop of Bristol, the 
 ministry thought that no church, dignities 
 should pass from the crown but through 
 their hands, and opposed the resignation, 
 as the shortest way of keeping the bishopric 
 from being disposed of otherwise than they 
 liked. On this occasion the law lord, earl 
 Mansfield, who had been doubtful, and 
 who soon after had seen clear, doubted 
 igain, and Dr. Pearce was told by the king 
 he must think no more about resigning the 
 bishopric. In 1768 he resigned the deanery 
 if Westminster, and wrote 
 
 THE WISH 
 
 From all Decanal cares at last set free, 
 
 (O could that freedom still more perfect he) 
 
 My sun's rofridian hour, long past and gone ; 
 
 Oiw. night, unlit foi work, comes hast'ningon 
 
 In life's late ev'ning, thro' a length of day, 
 
 I find me gently tending to decay • 
 
 How shall I then my faiod exit make? 
 
 How best secure my great eternal stake ? 
 
 This my prime wish, to see thy glorious face, 
 
 crracious God, in some more happy place ; 
 
 Till then to spend my short remains nt time 
 
 Jn thoughts, which raise the soul to ^ruths sublime; 
 
 To live with innocence, witti peace and love. 
 
 As do those saints who dwell in bliss above . 
 
 P.v nrayers, tne wings which faith to reason lends, 
 
 O iMiW my <;onl to Heav'n's high throne ascends: 
 
 While here on earth, thus on my bended Knee, 
 Power divine, I supplicate to thee ; 
 May I meet Death, when his approach is made. 
 Not fond of life, nor of his dart atraid ; 
 Feel that my gain, which I esteem'd a loss : 
 Heav'n is the gold refin'd, earth but the dross. 
 
 Bishop Pearce lived and laboured till 
 June 29, 1774, when he died in the eighty- 
 fourth year of his age. 
 
 There is a neat monument by Nollekens 
 over the north gallery of the church, with. 
 a remarkable inscription : — " Sacred to the 
 memory of Thomas Chase, Esq. formerly 
 of this parish, born in the city of Lisbon 
 the 1st of November, 1729; and buried 
 under the ruins of the same house where 
 he first saw the light in the ever-memorable 
 and terrible earthquake which befell thjt 
 city the 1st of November, 1755 : when 
 after a most wonderful escape, he by de- 
 grees recovered from a very deplorable 
 condition, and lived till the 20th of Nov 
 1788, aged 59 years." 
 
 On the outside of the church a monu- 
 mental stone, fixed in the wall, records a 
 memorable and affecting instance of grati 
 tude in noble terras : — 
 
 Near this Place lies the Body of 
 
 KLIZABETH MOXK, 
 
 Who departed this Life 
 
 On the 27th Day of August, 1753, 
 
 Aged 101 : 
 
 She was the Widow of John Monk, late of this 
 
 Parish, Blacksmith, 
 
 Her second Husband, 
 
 To whom she had been a wife near fifty Years, 
 
 By whom she had mi Children ; 
 
 And of the Issue of the first Marriage none lived 
 
 to the second ; 
 
 But VIRTUE 
 
 Would not suffer her to be Childless : 
 
 An Infiint, to whom, and to whose Father and 
 
 Mother she had been Nurse 
 
 (Such is the Uncertainty of temporal Prosperity) 
 
 Became dependent upon Strangers 
 
 for the Necessaries of Life i 
 
 To him she aiforded the Protection of a Mother. 
 
 This parental Charity 
 
 Was returned with filial Affection ; 
 
 And she was supported, in the Feebleness of Age, 
 
 by him whom she had cherished in 
 
 the Helplessness of Infancy 
 
 LET IT BE REMEMBERED, 
 
 That there is no Station in which Industrj' will 
 
 not obtain Power to be liberal, 
 
 Nor any Character on which Liberality will not 
 
 confe- Honor 
 
 466 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Slie had been long prepared, by a simple and 
 
 unaffected Piety, 
 
 For that awful moment, which, however delayed. 
 
 Is universally sure. 
 
 How few are allowed an equal Time of-Probation ! 
 
 How many, by their Lives, 
 
 appear to presume upon more ! 
 
 To preserve the memory of this person ; and yet 
 ■nore, to perpetuate the lesson of her life, this stone 
 wdi erected by voluntary contribution. 
 
 An intelligent inhabitant of Bromley, in 
 the year 1747, mentions a discovery, wUh 
 some accompanyin[^ remarks, appropriate 
 to the present notice : — 
 
 " In the year 1733, the present clerk of 
 the parish church of Bromley in Kent, by 
 his digging a grave in that church-yard, 
 close to the east end of tlie chancel wall, 
 dug up a funeral crown, or garland, 
 v\l)ich is most artificially wrought in filla- 
 gree work with gold and silver wire, in 
 resemblance of myrtle, (with which plant 
 the fuiiebrial garlands of the ancients were 
 composed,*) whose leaves are fastened to 
 hoops of larger wiie of iron, now somethingj 
 corroded with rust, but both the gold and 
 silver remain to this time very little differ- 
 ent from their original splendour. It was 
 also lined with cloth of silver, a piece of 
 which, together with part of this curious 
 sarland, I keep as a choice relic of anti- 
 quity. 
 
 " Besides these crowns, (which were 
 buried with deceased virgins,) the ancients 
 had also their depository garlands, the use of 
 which was continued even till of late years 
 (and perhaps are still retained in many 
 parts of this nation, for my own knowledge 
 of these matters extends not above twenty 
 or thirty miles round London,) which gar- 
 lands, at the funerals of the deceased, were 
 carried solemnly before the corpse by two 
 maids, and afterwards hung up in some 
 conspicuous place within the church, in 
 memorial of the departed person, and were 
 'at least all that I have seen) made after 
 the following manner, viz. the lower rim or 
 circlet was a broad hoop of wood, where- 
 unto was fixed, at the sides thereof, part of 
 two other hoops crossing each other at the 
 top, at right angles, which formed the upper 
 part, being about one-third longer than the 
 width ; these hoops were wholly covered 
 with artificial flowers of paper, dyed horn, 
 or sil-k, and more or less beauteous, accord- 
 ing to the skill or ingenuity of the per- 
 former. In the vacancy of the inside, from 
 
 * Sir Thomas Brown's I^iec. Tracts, p. S9. 
 
 the top, hung white paper, cut in form ol 
 gloves, -whereon was wrote the deceased's 
 name, a;je, &c. together with long slips oi 
 various coloured paper or ribbons. These 
 were many times intermixed with gilded or 
 painted empty shells of blown eggs, as 
 f.irther ornaments ; or, it may be, as em- 
 blems of the bubbles or bitterness of this 
 life; whilst other garlands had only a soli- 
 tary hour-glass hanging therein, as a more 
 significant symbol of mortality. 
 
 " About forty years ago these garlands 
 grew much out of repute, and were thought 
 by many as very unbecoming decorations 
 for so sacred a place as the church ; and at 
 the reparation or new beautifying several 
 churches where I have been concerned, I 
 was obliged, by order of the minister and 
 churchwardens, to take the garlands down, 
 and the inhabitants were strictly forbidden 
 to hang up any more for the future. Yet 
 notwithstanding, several people, unwilling 
 to forsake their ancient and delightful cus- 
 tom, continued still the making of them, 
 and they were carried at the funerals, as 
 before, to the grave, and put therein upon 
 the coffin over the face of the dead ; this I 
 have seen done in many places.''* 
 
 No. xxvn. 
 
 [From the " Gentleman of Venice," a 
 Tragi-Comedy by James Shirley, 1655.] 
 
 (Giovanni, of noble extraction, but 
 brought lip a Gardener, and ignorant oj 
 any greater birth, loves Bellaura, a Prin- 
 cess ; and is beloved again. 
 
 Bellaura. Giovanni. 
 
 Bell. How now, Giovanni ; 
 '^''hat, with a sword ! You were not used to appear 
 Thus arm'd. Your weapon is a spade, I taVe it. 
 
 Gio. It did become my Ht' profession. Madam ; 
 But I am changed — 
 
 Bell. Not to a soldier ? 
 
 Oio. It is a title. Madam, will much grace me ; 
 And with tke best oUection of my thoughts 
 I have ambition to the wars. 
 
 Bell. You have ? 
 
 Gio. O 'tis a brave profession and rewards 
 All loss we meet, with double weight in glory ; 
 A calling, Princes still are proud to own ; 
 And some do willingly forget their crowns, 
 To be commanded. 'Tis the spring of all 
 We here entitle fame to ; Emperors, 
 
 * Gentleman's Maeazinti. 
 
 467 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 And all degrees of honours, owing all 
 
 Their names to this employment ; in her vast 
 
 And circular embraces holding Kings, 
 
 And making them ; and yet so kind as not 
 
 To exclude such private things as I, who may 
 
 Learn and commence in her great arts. — My life 
 
 Hath been too useless to my self and country ; 
 
 'Tis time I should employ it, to deserve 
 
 A name within their registry, that bring 
 
 The wealth, the harvest, home of well-bought honour. 
 
 Bell. Yet I can see 
 Through all Ibis revolution, Giovanni, 
 ris something else has wrought this violent change. 
 Pray let me be of counsel with your thoughts. 
 And know the serious motive ; come, be clear, 
 f am no enemy, and can assist 
 Where I allow the cause. 
 
 Oio. You may be angry. 
 Madam, and chide it as a saucy pride 
 In me to name or look at honour ; nor 
 Can I but know what small addition 
 Is my unskilful arm to aid a country. 
 
 Boll. I may therefore justly suspect there is 
 Something of other force, that moves you to 
 The wars. Enlarge my knowledge \vith the secret. 
 
 Gio. At this command I open my heart. Madam, 
 I must confess there is another cause, 
 Which I dare not in my obedience 
 Obscure, since you will call it forth ; and vet 
 I know you will laugh at me — 
 
 Bell. It would ill 
 Become my breeding, Giovanni — 
 
 Gio. Then, 
 Know, Madam, I am in love. 
 
 Bell. In love with whom ? 
 
 Gio. With one I dare not name, she is so much 
 .Vbove my birth and fortunes. 
 
 Bell. 1 commend 
 Your flight. But does she know it ? 
 
 Gio. I durst never 
 Appear with so much boldness to discover 
 My heart's so great ambition ; it is here still 
 A strange and busy guest. 
 
 Bell. And you think absence 
 May cure this wound — 
 
 Gio. Or death — 
 
 Bell. I may presume 
 You think she's fair — 
 
 Gio, 1 dare as soon question your beauty, Madam, 
 The only ornament and star of Venice, 
 Pardon the bold comparison ; yet there is 
 Something in you, resembles my great Mistress. 
 She blushes — (aside). 
 
 Such yery beams disperseth her bright eye. 
 Powerful to restore decrepit nature ; 
 But when she frowns, and changes from her sweet 
 Aspect, (as in my fears 1 see you now. 
 Offended at my boldness), she does blast 
 Poor Giovanni thus, and thus I wither 
 At heart, and wish myself a thing lost in 
 My own forgotten dust. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 JAMES THOMSON. 
 
 A volume, entitled the " English Gentle- 
 man's Library Manual," contains the fol- 
 lowing remarkable anecdotes respecting the 
 author of " The Seasons." 
 
 Memoranda communicated by James 
 Robertson, Esq. of Richmond, in 
 Surrey, late Surgeon to the House- 
 hold AT Kew, October 17, 1791, to 
 Thomas Parke, Esq. the Poet, and by 
 him to the Earl of Buchan. 
 
 Parke. Have you any objection, sir, to 
 my taking down memorandums to a con- 
 versation ? 
 
 Robertson. Not in the least, I will pro- 
 cure you pen, ink, and paper immediately 
 
 I understand, sir, you knew Thomson 
 long ? 
 
 I became acquainted with him in the 
 year 1726, when he published his poem of 
 Winter. He lived opposite to me, in Lan- 
 caster-court, in the Strand. I went to the 
 East Indies soon after, which caused a 
 chasm in our acquaintance ; but, on my 
 return, our intimacy was strengthened, and 
 continued to the hour of his death. I do 
 not know any man, living or dead, I ever 
 esteemed more highly, and he was attached 
 to me. I had once a complaint of a con- 
 sumptive nature, which confined me much 
 at home, and he was so good as to come 
 often from Kew-lane to sit with me. 
 
 Did you know Amanda? 
 
 Know her? Yes, sir, I married her sister. 
 Amanda was a Miss Young, daughter to 
 captain Gilbert Young, of the Gulyhill fa- 
 mily, in Dumfriesshire, and was married 
 afterwards to admiral Campbell. She was 
 a fine sensible woman, and poor Thomson 
 was desperately in love with her. Mr. 
 Gilbert Young, her nephew, left my house 
 this very morning. Thomson, indeed, was 
 never wealthy enough to marry. 
 
 Mr. Collins, the brewer, has told me, 
 that he was so heedless in his money con- 
 cerns, that in paying him a bill for beer, he 
 gave him two bank notes rolled together 
 instead of one. Collins did not perceive 
 the mistake till he got home, and when he 
 returned the note Thomson appeared per- 
 fectly indifferent about the matter, and 
 said he had enough to go on without it ! 
 Mr. Robertson smiled at this anecdote, and 
 said it was like him. 
 
 He was not, I believe, one of the weep- 
 ing philosophers. He was no Heraclitus? 
 
 No, he was not, indeed. I remember his 
 being stopped once between London and 
 Richmond, and robbed of his watch, ao^ 
 
 468 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 when I expressed my regret for his loss, 
 " Pshaw, damn it," said he, " I am glad 
 they took it from me, 'twas never good for 
 any thing." 
 
 Was he national in his affections ? 
 
 He had no prejudices whatever ; he was 
 ihe most liberal of men in all his senti- 
 ments. 
 
 I have been told that he used to associate 
 with parson Cromer, and some other con- 
 fivials, at the Old Orange Tree, in Kew- 
 Jape? 
 
 Relaxation of any kind was to him fre- 
 quently desirable, and he could conform to 
 any company. He was benevolent and 
 social, both in his writings and in his life ; 
 as his friend, Dr. Armstrong, said on ano- 
 ther occasion, he practised what he preach- 
 ed. Lord L.'s character of him as an 
 author was perfectly just, that in his last 
 moments he had no cause to wish any thing 
 blotted he had ever written. 
 
 I hear he kept very late hours? 
 
 No, sir, very early ; he was always up at 
 sunrise, but then he had never been in 
 bed. ■ 
 
 Did you ever correspond with him ? 
 
 Very seldom. We were so much to- 
 gether there was little opportunity or occa- 
 sion for it. 
 
 You do not happen to hare any reliques 
 of his hand-writing? 
 
 I don't think I have ; but when I get my 
 breath a little better I will look among my 
 papers to try if I can find any. 
 
 The kind old gentleman was warmed 
 with the subject, and even set forward to 
 his escritoire in the pursuit, but returned 
 only with a letter from the late Dr. Arm- 
 strong, which he flattered himself contained 
 something relative to Thomson. In this he 
 was mistaken. It was a rhapsody of thanks 
 in return for being presented with a large 
 bottle of spirits ; but it was well worth an 
 airing. This, said Mr. R., will show you 
 the intimate terms I was upon with Johnny 
 Armstrong, who wrote that beautiful poem, 
 the " Art of Preserving the Health." He 
 was a very ingenious and excellent man. 
 
 Did you know Dr. Patrick Murdoch, 
 who wrote Thomson's Life? 
 
 Ay, very well, and esteemed him. Pat- 
 tie, as I always called him, had a good 
 heart. 
 
 Pope, as I have heard, used often to visit 
 Thomson ? 
 
 Yes, frequently. Pope has sometimes 
 said, Thomson, I'll walk to the end of your 
 garden, and then set off to the bottom of 
 Kew-foot-lane and back. Pope, sir, courted 
 Thomson, and Thomson was always ad- 
 
 mitted to Pope whether he had company or 
 not ; but Pope had a jealousy of every 
 eminent writer; he was a viper that gnaw- 
 ed the file. 
 
 Was Pope a great talker ? 
 
 Pope, when he liked his company, was 
 a very agreeable man. He was fond of 
 adulation, and when he had any dislike 
 was a most bitter satirist. 
 
 Thomson, I think, was very intimate 
 with David Mallet, the editor of BoUng- 
 broke ? 
 
 Sir, that person's name was properly 
 " Mailoch ;" but I used to call him " Mo- 
 loch" in our festive moments, and Thomson 
 enjoyed the jest. Sir, he had not Thom- 
 son's heart ; he was not sound at the core ; 
 he made a cat's-paw of Thomson, and I 
 did not like the man on that account. 
 
 Thomson had two cousins or nephews, 
 who were gardeners, did they live with 
 him ? 
 
 No, they did not live with him, they lived 
 upon him. He was sp generous a man, that 
 if he had but two eggs he would have given 
 them both away. 
 
 Were you acquainted with Mr. Gray, 
 who lived at Richmond Hill? 
 
 Yes, I knew a John Grav, who was a 
 victualler. He purchased Thomson's col- 
 lection of prmts and drawings after his 
 decease, but I believe purely out of osten- 
 tation. 
 
 You must have had great influence over 
 him, sir, from several circumstances you 
 have mentioned, but wish to be suppressed 2 
 
 Without ostentation or vanity, sir, I really 
 very often have wondered how I came to 
 have so much, and the rest of his friends 
 wondered too; for I do say it most sincerely, 
 that I never could find ' out what made 
 Thomson and many of these geniuses so 
 partial to me as they appeared. 
 
 Then, sir, I suspect you are the only one 
 who could not make the discovery ? 
 
 Sir, I was not fishing for a compliment, 
 I do assure you. 
 
 If you had, sir, I should not have snatch- 
 ed so eagerly at your bait. 
 
 1 suppose you attended Thomson in 3 
 medical as well as in a social capacity ? 
 
 Yes, Armstrong and myself were with 
 him till his last moments. I was in the 
 room with him when he died. A putrid 
 fever carried him off in ^ess than a week. 
 He seemed to me to be desirous not to 
 live, and I had reason to think that ray 
 sister-in-law was the occasion of this. He 
 could not bear the thoughts of her beiug 
 married to another. 
 
 Pray did you i ttend his fuueral f 
 
 465 
 
THE TyM^LE BOOK. 
 
 Indeed I did, and a real funeral it \v3<; 
 to me, as Qnin said wtien iie spoke the pro- 
 logue to " Conolanus" — " 1 was in truth 
 no actor there." 
 
 Did you hear Quin speak that prologue, 
 sir ? 
 
 Yes, I could not have been absent. 
 
 Were you the only intimate friend who 
 paid the lust tribute of respect to Thoinson's 
 ■emains ? 
 
 No, sir, Quin attended, and Mallet, and 
 another friend, whose name I do not recol- 
 lect. He was interred in the north-west 
 corner of ilichmoiid church, just where the 
 christening pew now stands. 1 pointed out 
 the place to the sexton's widow, that she 
 might show It to slrau'jers. 
 
 Did you know Andrew Millar, the book- 
 seller .' 
 
 I knew him well. He took a box near 
 Thomson's, in Kew-lane, to keep in v.'ith 
 him as an author who might be profitable 
 to him. Andrew was a good-natured man, 
 and not an unpleasant companion, but he 
 was a litth; contracted in mind by his busi- 
 ness, and had the dross of a bookseller about 
 him 
 
 Did you know Paterson ? 
 
 Yes. Paterson had been clerk to a 
 counting-house in the city, went for some 
 time abroad, and on his return was ama- 
 nuensis to Thomson, was his deputy as 
 surveyor-general to the Leeward Islands, 
 and succeeded him in that office, but he did 
 not live long to enjoy it, I believe not more 
 than two years. 
 
 Collins, the poet, and Hammond, author 
 of the " Love Elegies," visited Thomson ? 
 
 Yes. Ah ! poor Collins, he had much 
 
 genius, but half mad. Hammond was a 
 
 gentleman, and a very pleasant man. Yet 
 
 j Thomson, I remember, one day called him 
 
 [ c burnished butterfly. Quin, the comedian, 
 
 was a sincere friend of Thomson; he was 
 
 I naturally a most humane and friendly man, 
 
 ' and only put on the brute when he thought 
 
 it was expected from him by those who gave 
 
 him credit for the character. 
 
 Was the anecdote of Quin and Thomson 
 true? 
 
 Yes, I believe it was. 
 
 Boswell surmised that Thomson was a 
 much coarser man than is commonly al- 
 lowed ? 
 
 Sir, Thomson was neither a petit-maitre 
 nor a boor ; he had simplicity without rude- 
 ness, and a cultivated manner without being 
 courtly. He had a great aversion to letter- 
 writing, and did not attempt much of prose 
 composition of any kind. His time for 
 composition was generally at the dead of 
 
 night, and was much in his summer-house, 
 which, together with every niemoiiai o* 
 his residence, is carefully preserved by iin 
 honourable Mrs. Boscawen. 
 
 Did you know, sii, of any other attach- 
 ments of Thomson's, except that to Ids 
 Amanda ? 
 
 No, I believe he was more truly attached 
 to my little wife and her sister than to any 
 one else, next to Amanda. Mr. H., of 
 Hangor, said he was once asked to dinner 
 by Thomson, but could not attend. One 
 of his friends, who was there, told him that 
 there was a general stipulation agreed on 
 by the whole company, that there should 
 be no hard drinking. Thomson acquiesced, 
 only requiring that each man should drink 
 his bottle. The terms were accepted un- 
 conditionally, and when the cloth was re- 
 moved, a three-quart bottle was set before 
 each (if his guests. Thomson had much of 
 this kind of agreeable humour. Mr. Aik- 
 man, the painter, and Dr. De la Cour, a 
 physician and ingenious writer, were inti- 
 mate and beloved friends of Thomson. 
 Mr. Aikman was a gentleman of competent 
 estate, and v\as always friendly to Thorn 
 son. 
 
 Sir, I cordially thank you for this kind- 
 ness, in suffering yourself to be teased with 
 interrogations; and when lord Buchan's 
 tablet on the grave of the poet shall be im- 
 posed in Richmond church, I shall hope to 
 see you tripping across the green to take a 
 peep at it. 
 
 Sir, if I can crawl across for such a grati- 
 fication, I shall certainly do it. 
 
 We then twice shook hands and parted. 
 Intelligent old gentleman ! Little was I 
 aware that his lengthened eve of life was 
 so very near its close ! He was taken seri- 
 ously ill a few hours after I left him, Mon- 
 day, October 24, and on the Friday follow- 
 ing he died, and was buried on Saturday, 
 the 4th of November, by the south side o» 
 Richmond church. 
 
 Mors ultima linea rerum est. 
 
 (Signed) T. P. 
 
 QUIPOES. 
 
 The Peruvians had a method of express, 
 ing their meaning by narrow knotted ri- 
 bands of various colours, which they called 
 " Quipoes :" a certain number of knots Oi 
 one colour, divided by so many of another 
 expressed particular meanings ; and served 
 these simple and innocent people in place 
 of the art of writing. P 
 
 47J 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 SPANISH MYSTERIES, 
 
 Of all the dramatic works of Lope de 
 Vega, the Lives of the Saints are in every 
 respect the most irregular. Allegorical 
 /■haracters, buffoons, saints, peasants, stu- 
 dents, kings, God, the infant Jesus, the 
 ievil, and the most heterogeneous beings 
 hat the ^A'il(lest imagination could biing 
 logether, are introduced, Music seeuis 
 ilways to have been an indispensable ac- 
 cessary. Lope de Veea's spiritual comedy, 
 entitled the Life of Saint Nicolas de Tolen- 
 tmo,* commences with a conversation 
 maintained by a pa^ty of students, who 
 make a display of their wit and scholastic 
 learning. Among them is the future saint, 
 whose piety shines with the brighter lustre 
 wlien contrasted with the disorderly gaiety 
 of those by whom he is surrounded. The 
 devil disguised by a mask joins the paity. 
 A skeleion appears in the air; the sky 
 opens, and the Alrniai'hty is discovered sit- 
 ting in judgment, attended by Justice and 
 iVlercy, who alternately influence his deci- 
 sions. Next succeeds a love intrigue be- 
 tween a lady named Rosalia, and a gentle- 
 man named Feniso. The future saint then 
 reenters attired in canonicals, and delivers 
 a sermon in redondillas. The parents of 
 the saint congratulate themselves on pos- 
 sessing such a son ; and this scene forms 
 the conclusion of the first act. At the 
 opening of the second a party of soldiers 
 are discovered ; the saint enters accomj)a- 
 riied by seveial monks, and offers up a 
 prnyer in the form of a sonnet. Brother 
 Peregrino relates the romantic history of 
 his conversion. Subtle theological quid<lities 
 ensue, and numerous anecdotes of the lives 
 of the saints are related. St. Nicolas prays 
 again through the medium of a sonnet. He 
 tlien rises in the air, either by the power of 
 faith, or the help of the theatrical machi- 
 nery ; and the Holy Virgin and St. Augus- 
 tin descend from heaven to meet him. The 
 sonnet by which St. Nicolas performs this 
 miracle is the most beautiful in this sacred 
 farce. In the third act ttie scene is trans- 
 ferred to Rome, where two cardinals exhibit 
 the holy sere-cloth to the people by torch- 
 light. Music performed on clarinets adds 
 to the solemnity of this ceremony, during 
 which pious discourses are debvered. St. 
 Nicolas is next discovered embroidering the 
 habit of his order; and the pious observa- 
 tions which he makes, while engaged in 
 jthis occupation, are accompanied by the 
 chanting of invisible angels. The music 
 
 • .St. Nicolas de Tolentino 's a saint of iDodem 
 
 attracts the devil, who endeavours to tempi 
 St. Nicolas. The next scene exhibits souls 
 in the torments of purgatory. The devil 
 again appears attended by a retinue ol 
 lions, serpents, and other hideous animals; 
 but in a scene, which is intended for bur- 
 lesque, {graciosamente,) a monk armed with 
 a great broom drives off the devil and his 
 suite. At the conclusion of the piece the 
 saint, whose beatification is now complete, 
 descends from heaven in a garment be- 
 spangled with stars. As soon as he touches 
 the earth, the souls of his father and mothei 
 are released from purgatory, and rise 
 through a rock ; the saint then returns 
 hand-m-hand with his parents to heaven, 
 music playing as they ascend.* 
 
 PORTUGUESE MYSTERIES. 
 
 One of the spiritual dramas of Gil Vi- 
 cente, performed at Lisbon, commences 
 With shepherds, who discourse and enter a 
 chapel, which is decorated with all the 
 apparatus necessary for the celebration of 
 the festival of Christmas. The she[)herds 
 cannot sufficiently express their rustic ad- 
 miration of the pomp exhibited in the 
 chapel. Faith {La Fe) enters as an alle- 
 gorical character. She speaks Portuoiiese, 
 and after announcing herself to the shep- 
 herds as True Faith, she explains to them the 
 nature of faith, and enters into an historical 
 relation of the mysteries of the incarnation. 
 This is the whole subject of the piece. 
 
 Another of these dramas, wherein tlie 
 poet's fancy has taken a wider range, ]ne- 
 sents scenes of a more varied nature. Mer- 
 cury enters as an allegorical character, and 
 as the representative of the planet which 
 bears his name. He explains the theory of 
 the planetary system and the zodiac, and 
 cites astronomical facts from Regiomonta- 
 niis, in a long series of stanzas in the old 
 national style. A seraph then appears, 
 who is sent down from heaven by God, in 
 compliance with the prayers of Time. The 
 seraph, in the quality of a heiald, proclaims 
 a large yearly fair in honour of the lioly 
 Virgin, and invites customers to it. A devil 
 next makes his appearance with a little 
 stall which he carries before him. He gets 
 into a dispute with Time and the seraph, 
 and asserts, that among men such as they 
 are, he shall be si-ire to find purchasers for 
 his wares. He therefore leaves to every 
 customer his free choice. Mercury then 
 summons eternal Rome as the lepresenta. 
 
 • Bouterwek. 
 
 471 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 tive of the church. She appears, and offers 
 for sale Peace of Mind, as the most precious 
 of her merchandise. The devil remon- 
 strates, and Rome retires. Two Portu- 
 g-uese peasants now appear in the market : 
 one is very anxious to sell his wife, and 
 observes, that if he cannot sell her, he will 
 give her away for nolhintj, as she is a wicked 
 spendthrift. Amidst this kind of conversa- 
 tion a party of peasant women enter, one 
 of whom, with considerable comic warmth, 
 vents bitter complaints against her hus- 
 band. She tells, with a humorous simplicity, 
 that her ungrateful husband has robbed her 
 garden of its fruits before they were ripe ; 
 that he never does any thing, but leads a 
 sottish life, eating and drinking all day, &c. 
 The man who has already been inveighing- 
 against his wife immediately recognises 
 her, and says, — "That is my slippery help- 
 mate.'' During this succession of comic 
 scenes the action does notadvance. The devil 
 at last opens his little stall and displays his 
 stock of goods to the female peasants; but 
 one of them, who is the most pious of the 
 party, seems to suspect that all is not quite 
 right with regard to the merchandise, and 
 she exclaims — " Jesus ! Jesus ! true God 
 and man !" The devil immediately takes 
 to flight, and does not reappear; but the 
 seraph again comes forward and mingles 
 with the rustic groups. The throng con- 
 tinues to increase; other countrywomen 
 with baskets on their heads arrive ; and 
 the market is stored with vegetables, poul- 
 try, and other articles of rural produce. 
 The seraph offers Virtues for sale ; but they 
 find no purchasers. The peasant girls ob- 
 serve, that in their village money is more 
 sought after than virtue, when a young man 
 wants a wife. One of the party, however, 
 says, that she wished to come to the market 
 because it happened to fall on the festival 
 of the mother of God ; and because the 
 Virgin does not sell her gifts of grace, but 
 distributes them gratis. This observation 
 crowns the theological morality of the piece, 
 which terminates with a hymn of praise, in 
 the popular style, lu honour of the Holy 
 Virgin.* 
 
 POACHING. 
 
 A poor itinerant player, caught perform- 
 ing the part of a poacher, and being taken 
 before the magistrates assembled at a quar- 
 ter sessions for examination, one of them 
 
 * Boutarwek. 
 
 a.sked him what right he had to kill a hare? 
 when he replied in the following ludicrous 
 parody on Brutus's speech to the Romans, 
 in defence of the death of Csesar: — 
 
 " Britons, hungry-men, and epicures ! 
 hear me for my cause ; and be silent — that 
 you may hear ; believe me for mine honour, 
 and have respect to mine honour, that you 
 may believe: censure me in your wisdom ; 
 and awake your senses that you may the 
 better judge. If there be any in this as- 
 sembly, any dear friend of this hare, to him 
 I say, that a player's love for hare is no 
 less than his. If, then, that friend demand 
 why a player rose against a hare, this is 
 my answer, — not that I loved hare less, but 
 that I loved eating more. Had you rather 
 this hare were living, and I had died starv- 
 ing — than that this hare were dead, that 1 
 might live a jolly fellow ? As this hare was 
 pretty, I weep for him; as he was nimble, 
 I rejoice at it; as he was plump, I honour 
 him; but, as he was eatable, I slew him. 
 There are tears, for his beauty ; joy, for his 
 condition ; honour, for his speed ; and 
 death, for his toolhsomeness. Who is here 
 so cruel, would see a starved man? If any, 
 speak, for him have I offended. Who is 
 here so silly, that would not take a tit bit? 
 If any, speak, for him have I offended. 
 Who is here so sleek, that does not love his 
 belly? If any, speak, for him have I of- 
 fended." 
 
 " You have offended justice, sirrah," 
 cried one of the magistrates, out of all 
 patience at this long and strange harangue. 
 
 " Then," cried the culprit, guessing at 
 the hungry feelings of the bench, " since 
 justice is dissatisfied, it must needs have 
 something to devour — Heaven forbid I 
 should keep any gentleman from his dinner 
 — so, if you please, I'll wish your worships 
 a good day, and a good appetite." 
 
 HAPPY UNION. 
 
 yum used to say, that of all the bans 
 of marriage he ever heard, none gave him 
 such pleasure as the union of delicate Ann 
 Chovy with good John Dory. This senti- 
 ment was worthy of such a disciple ot 
 Apicius. 
 
 s. s. s. 
 
 472 
 
THE TABLE BOOK:. 
 
 Sim Wit\x). 
 
 LEITH HILL, NEAR DORKING. 
 
 Sxiracted from a letter from Mr. Denmis 
 to Mr. Ser.'eant, near seventy years 
 
 In a late journey which I took into the 
 wild of Sussex, I passed over a hill, which 
 showed me more transporting sights than 
 ever I had seen before, either in England 
 or Italy. The prospects which in Italy 
 pleased me most were the Valdarno from 
 the Apennines of Rome, and the Mediter- 
 ranean from the mountain of Viterbo; of 
 Rome at forty, and the Mediterranean at 
 fifty miles distant from it; and that of 
 the famous Campagna of Rome from Tivoli 
 and Frescati, to the very foot of the moun- 
 tain Viterbo, without any thing to intercept 
 your sight. 
 
 But from an bill which I passed in my 
 late journey into Sussex, I had a prospect 
 more extensive than any of these, and 
 which surpassed them at once in rural 
 charms, in pomp, and magnificence. The 
 hill which I speak of is called Leith-hill, 
 and is about five miles southward from 
 Dorking, about six miles from Box-hill, and 
 near twelve from Epsom. It juts itself out 
 about two miles beyond that range of hills, 
 which terminate the north downs to the 
 south. After conquering the hill itself the 
 sight is enchantingly beautiful. Beneath 
 lie open to our view all the wilds of 
 Surrey and Sussex, and a great part of that 
 of Kent, admirably diTersified in every part 
 of them with woods, and fields of corn and 
 pasture, and everywhere adorned with 
 stately rows of trees. This beautiful vale 
 is thirty miles in breadth, and sixty in 
 length, terminating on the south by the 
 majestic range of hills and the sea. About 
 noon on a serene day you may, at thirty 
 miles distance, see the waters of the sea 
 through a chasm of the mountains. And 
 chat which, above all, makes it a noble and 
 wonderful prospect is, that at the same time 
 you behold this noble sight, by a little turn 
 of your head towards the north, you look 
 full over Box-hill, and see the country be- 
 yond it, between that and London, and St. 
 Paul's, at twenty-five miles distance, with 
 Hiehgate and Hampstead beyond it all. It 
 may perhaps appear incredible to some, 
 Ihat a place which affords so great and so 
 surprising a prospect should have remained 
 so long in obscurity, and that it is unknown 
 to the very visitors of Epsom and Box-hill. 
 But, alas 1 we live in a country more fertile 
 
 of great things, than of men to admire 
 them. 
 
 Whoever talked of CooperVhill, till sir 
 John Denham made it illustrious? — How 
 long did Milton remain in obscurity, while 
 twenty paltry authors, little and vile com- 
 pared to him, were talked of and admired '-. 
 But in England, nineteen in twenty like b_, 
 other people's opinions, and not by thei' 
 own. 
 
 PARSIMONY. 
 
 Augustine Pentheny, Esq. who died on 
 the 23d of November, 1810, in the eighty- 
 third year of his age, at an obscure lodging 
 in Leeson-street, Dublin, was a miser of 
 the most perfect drawing that nature ever 
 gave to the world. He was born in the 
 village of Longwood, county of Meath, 
 and became a journeyman-cooper. Very 
 early in life he was encouraged to make a 
 voyage to the West Indies, to follow liis 
 trade, under the patronage of his maternal 
 uncle, another adventurer of the name of 
 Gaynor, better known among his neigh- 
 bours by the name of " Peter Big Brogues," 
 from the enormous shoes he was mounted 
 in on the day he set out on his travels. 
 Peter acquired an immense fortune, and 
 lived to see his only child married to sir G. 
 Colebrook, chairman to the East India 
 Company, and a banker in London, to 
 whom Peter gave with his daughter two 
 hundred thousand pounds. His nephew, 
 Anthony, acquired the enormous sum of 
 three hundred thousand pounds in the 
 islands of Antigua and Santa Cruz. 
 
 Anthony Petheny saw mankind only 
 through one medium — money. His vital 
 powers were so diverted from generous or 
 social objects by the prevailing passion of 
 gold, that he could discover no trait in any 
 character, however venerable or respecta- 
 ble, that was not seconded by riches; in 
 fact, any one that was not rich he considered 
 as an inferior animal, neither worthy of 
 notice, nor safe to be admitted into society. 
 This feeling he extended to female society, 
 and, if possible, with a greater degree of 
 disgust. A woman he considered only as 
 an incumbrance on a man of property, and 
 therefore he could never be prevailed upon 
 to admit one into his confidence. Wedlock 
 he utterly and uniformly rejected. His 
 wife was the public funds, and his children 
 dividends; and no parent or husband evei 
 paid more deference or care to the objects 
 of his affection. He was never known to 
 diminish his immense hoard, by rewarding 
 
 473 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 A generous action ; or to alleviate distress, or 
 accidental misfortune, by the appl cation of 
 a snigle shilling. It could scarcely be ex- 
 pected that a man would give gifts or be- 
 stow gratuities, who was a niggard of com- 
 forts to himself. The evening before he 
 iied, some busy friend sent a respectable 
 physician to him. The old miser evinced 
 no dislike, until he recollected the doctor 
 might expect a fee; this alarmed him, and 
 immediately raising himself in the bed, he 
 addressed his " medical fiiend " in the fol- 
 lowing words : " Doctor, I am a strong 
 man, and know my disorder, and could 
 cure myself, but as iVlr. Nangle has sent 
 you to my assistance, I shall not exchange 
 you for any otlier person, if we can come 
 to an understanding; in fact, I wish to 
 know what you will charge for your attend- 
 ance until 1 am recovered." The doctor 
 answered " eight guineas." " Ah ! sir," 
 said the old man, " if you knew my disor- 
 der you would not be exorbitant ; but to 
 put an end to this discussion, I will give 
 you six guineas and a half." The doctor 
 assented, and the patient held out his arm 
 with the fee, to have his pulse considered, 
 and laid himself down again. 
 
 Old Fentlieny's relations were numerous, 
 but, in his opinion, wholly unqualified, by 
 v»ant of experience in the management of 
 money, to nurse his wealth, and therefore 
 he bequeathed the entire of it tn a rich fa- 
 mily in the West Indies, with the gfenerous 
 exception of four pounds annually to a 
 faithful servant, who had lived with him 
 twenty-four years. In his will he expresses 
 great kindness for " poor John," and says 
 he bequeaths the four pounds for his kind 
 services, that his latter days mitiht be spent 
 in comfortable independence ! lie appoint- 
 ed VVallerNangle, Esq. and major O'Farrell, 
 his executors, and the right hon. David La 
 Touche and lord Fingal, trustees. Like 
 Thellusson, he would not allow his fortune 
 to pass to his heirs immediately, as he 
 directed that the entire should be funded 
 for fourteen years, and then, " in its im- 
 proved state," be at the disposal of the 
 heirs he had chosen 
 
 Bi^tohttit^ 
 
 ON A LADY, 
 
 A Great Cakdplayer, wuo married a 
 Gardener. 
 
 Trumps erer ruled the charming maid, 
 Snre all the world must pardon her, 
 
 Tha Destinies t-urn'd tip a spade — 
 She married John the gard^ier. 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 
 No. III. 
 
 The Innate Ideas of Descartes and 
 Leibnitz, derived from Plato, Hera- 
 CLiTus, Pythagoras, and the Chal- 
 deans—the System of Mallebranche 
 from the same Source, and St. Au- 
 gustine. 
 
 The innate perception of first truths, 
 maintained by Descartes and Leibnitz. 
 which raised such warm and subtle dis- 
 putes among metaphysicians, is a doctrine 
 derived from Plato. That great philoso- 
 pher, who acquired the surname of divine, 
 by having written best on the subject ot 
 Deity, entertained a very peculiar senti- 
 ment respecting the origin of the soul. He 
 calls it " an emanatiun of the divine es- 
 sence, from whom it imbibed all its ideas ; 
 but that having sinned, it was degraded 
 from its fiist estate, and condemned to a 
 union with boay, wherein it is confined as 
 in a prison ; that its forgetfuiness of its 
 former ideas was the necessary conse- 
 quence of this penalty." He adds, that 
 " the benefit of philosophy consists in re- 
 pairing this loss, by gradually leading back 
 the soul to its tirst conceptions, accustom- 
 ing it by degrees to recognise its own ideas, 
 and by a full recollection of them to com- 
 prehend its own essence, and the true 
 nature of things." From that Platonic 
 principle of the soul's " divme emanation," 
 it naturally followed, that, having formerly 
 had within itself the knowledge of every 
 thing, it still retained the faculty of recall- 
 ing to mind its immortal origin and prime- 
 val ideas. Descartes and Leibnitz reasoned 
 in the very same manner, in admitting 
 eternal and first truths to be imprinted on 
 the soul : — they substitute indeed the crea- 
 tion and preexistence of souls, in place of 
 the " divine emanation " of them taught by 
 Plato ; but they defend their system by the 
 same sort of arguments. 
 
 Mallebranche entered the lists in defence 
 of Descartes's principles, and took upon 
 him to support an opinion respecting the 
 nature of ideas, which caused universal 
 astonishment by its apparent singularity 
 and was treated as almost extravagant ; al- 
 though he advanced nothing but what might 
 be defended by the authority of the finest 
 geniuses of antiquity. After having defined 
 
 474 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ideas to be "the immediate, or nearest 
 objects of the mind when it perceives any 
 ihing. " Mallebranche demonstrates the 
 reality of their existence, by displaying 
 their qualities, which never can belong to 
 nothing, that have no properties. He 
 then distinguishes between sentiments and 
 ideas ; considers the live different ways, 
 whereby the mind comes at the view of ex- 
 ternal objects ; shows the fallacy of four of 
 them, and establishes the preeminence of 
 the tifth, as being that alone which is con- 
 formable to reason, by saying, that it is 
 absolutely necessary God should have in 
 himself the ideas of all essences, otherwise 
 he never could have given them existence. 
 He undertakes to prove, that God, by his 
 presence, is nearly united to our souls; in- 
 si much, that he may be called the place of 
 s[)irits, as space is of bodies ; and thence 
 lie concludes, that the soul may discern in 
 God whatever is representative of created 
 things, if it be the will of God to communi- 
 cate himself in that manner to it. lie re- 
 marks, that God, or the universal intelli- 
 gence, contains in himself those ideas which 
 illuminate us ; and that his works having 
 been formed on the model of his ideas, we 
 cannot better employ ourselves than in 
 contemplating them, in order to discover the 
 nature and properties of created things. 
 
 JV'Jallebranche was tieated as a visionary 
 for having advanced these sentiments, al- 
 though he accompanied them with the most 
 solid and judicitius proofs that metaphysics 
 could afiurd ; but he was never charged 
 with plagiarism, though his system and 
 manner of proof exist literally in ancient 
 authors. After reciting passages from the 
 " Oracnla Chaldseorum," which he reveres 
 as a divine oracle, he says, "The gods here 
 declare where the existence of ideas is to 
 be found, even in God himself, who is their 
 only source ; they being the model accord- 
 ing to which the world was formed, and the 
 spring from which every thing arose. 
 (Others, by applying immediately to the 
 divine ideas themselves, are enabled to dis- 
 cover sublime truths; but as for our part, 
 we are content to be satisfied with what 
 the gods themselves have declared in 
 favour of Plato, in assigning the name of 
 ideas to causes purely intellectual; and 
 affirming, that they are the archetypes of 
 the world, and the thoughts of the supreme 
 father; that, in effect, they reside in the 
 paternal intellect, and emanate from him 
 to concur in the formation of the world." 
 
 Pythagoras and his disciples understood 
 almost the same thing by tljeir numbers, 
 th»i Plato did by his ideas. The Pythago- 
 
 rists expressed themselves with regard to 
 numbers in the same terms as Plato uses, 
 calling them " ra ovtm; ovtcc, real existences, 
 the only things truly endowed with essence, 
 eternally invariable." They give them also 
 the appellation of incorporeal entiLies, by 
 means of which all other beings participate 
 of existence. 
 
 Heraclitus adopted those first principles 
 of the Pythagoreans, and expounded them 
 in a very clear and systematic manner. 
 " Nature,'' says he, " being in a perpetual 
 flow, there must belong to it some perma- 
 nent entities, on the knowledge of which 
 all science is founded, and which may serve 
 as the rule of our judgment in fleeting and 
 sensible objects," 
 
 Democritus also taught, that the images 
 of objects are emanations of the Deity, and 
 are themselves divine; and that our very 
 mental ideas are so too. Whether the 
 doctrine be true or erroneous is not here a 
 subject of inquity : the present purpose 
 being merely to show the analogy between 
 the principles of Mallebranche and those of 
 the ancients. 
 
 Plato, who, of all the ancient philoso- 
 phers, deserxedly ranks the highest, for 
 the clearness and accuracy wherewith he 
 hath explained and laid open this system, 
 gives the appellation of " ideas " to those 
 eternal intellectual substances, which were, 
 with regard to God, the exemplary forms 
 or types of all that he created ; and are, 
 with regard to men, the object of all science, 
 and of their contemplation when they 
 would attain to the knowledge of sensible 
 things. " The world," according to Plato, 
 " always existed in God's ideas ; and when 
 at length he determined to produce it into 
 being, such as it is at present, he created it 
 accoiding to those eternal models, forming 
 the sensible into the likeness of the intel- 
 lectual world " i^dmitting, with Heracli- 
 tus, the perpetual fluctuation of all sensible 
 things, Plato perceived that there could be 
 no foundation for science, unless there were 
 things real and permanent to build it upon, 
 which might be the fixed object of know- 
 ledge, to which the mind might have re- 
 course, whenever it wanted to info-rm itself 
 of sensible things. We clearly see that this 
 was Plato's apprehension of things ; and 
 we need only look at the passages quoted 
 from him to be convinced, that vhatevei 
 Mallebranche said on the subject, he d* 
 rived from Plato. 
 
 Mallebranclre would not have been 
 railed against as impious, had his antagiv 
 nists known to whom he was indebted fo' 
 his opinions and leasonings ; and that St. 
 
 475 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Augustine himself had said, " Ideas are 
 eternal and immutable ; the exemplars, or 
 archetypes of all created things; and, in 
 short, exist in God." In this respect he 
 differs somewhat from Plato, who separated 
 them fiom the divine essence: but we may 
 easily discern a perfect conformity between 
 the father of the church and the modern 
 philosopher. 
 
 Leibnitz was in some measure of the 
 opinion of father Mallebranche ; and it was 
 natural that he should be, for he derived 
 his principles from the same ancient 
 sources. His "monads" were "entities 
 truly existing; simple substances; the 
 eternal images of universal nature." 
 
 In this inquiry, concerning the discoveries 
 and thoughts of the ancients attributed to 
 the moderns, it has appeared advisable that 
 their views of the mind, or intellectual 
 system, should precede their consideration 
 of sensible qualities, and the system of the 
 universe. To persons unaccustomed to 
 such investigations, the succeeding papers 
 will be more interesting. 
 
 noble fortune in acts of benevolence, fel 
 
 into poverty in his old age, and was refused 
 admittance into an hospital which, in his 
 belter days, he had himself paid for build- 
 ing. 
 
 In Spain, the great Cervantes died ol 
 hunger; and Camoens, equally ceiebrated 
 in Portugal, ended his days in an hospital. 
 
 In France, Vaugelas was surnamed "the 
 Owl," from having been obliged to keep 
 within all day, and only venturing out by 
 night, through fear of his creditors. In 
 liis last will, he bequeathed every thing 
 towards the discharge of his debts, and de- 
 sired his body to be sold, to that end. 
 
 Cassander was one of the greatest ge- 
 niuses of his time, but barely able to pro- 
 cure his livelihood. 
 
 In England, the last days of Spenser, 
 Otway, Butler, and Dryderi are our national 
 reproach. 
 
 s. s. s. 
 
 ON CHANGE. 
 
 No. IL 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 DISTRESSES OF MEN OF GENIUS. Noah is now a tailor. No. 63, Pall-mall. 
 
 Pope Urban VIII. erected an hospital 
 for the benefit of decayed authors, and 
 called it " The Retreat of the Incurables," 
 intimating that it was equally impossible 
 to reclaim the patients from poverty or 
 poetry. 
 
 Homer is the first poet and beggar of 
 note among the ancients : he was blind, 
 sung his ballads about the streets, and his 
 mouth was oftener filled with verses than 
 with bread. 
 
 Plautus, the comic poet, was better off ; 
 for he had two trades : he was a poet for 
 his diversion, and helped to turn a mill in 
 order to gain a living. 
 
 Terence was a slave, and Boethius died 
 in a jail. 
 
 Among the Italians, Paulo Burghese, 
 almost as good a poet as Tasso, knew four- 
 teen different trades, and yet died because 
 he could get no employment in either of 
 them. 
 
 Tasso was often obliged to borrow a 
 crown from a friend, to pay for a month's 
 subsistence. He has left us a pretty sonnet 
 to his cat, in which he begs the light of her 
 eyes to write by, being too poor to buy a 
 candle. 
 
 Bentivoglio, whose comedies will last 
 with the Italian language, dissiipated a 
 
 Ham, a watchmaker. No. 47, Skinner-street, 
 Snow-hill. 
 
 Isaac, a fishmonger, No. 8, CuUnm-street. 
 
 Jacob, an umbrella and parasol maker, No. 
 42, Burlington Arcade. 
 
 Israel is a surgeon in Keppell-street, Rus- 
 sel-square. 
 
 Joseph is a pencil manufacturer. No 7, 
 Oxford-street. 
 
 Joshua, a grocer. No. 1 55, Regent-street. 
 
 Simon, a ship broker, No. 123, Fenchurch- 
 street. 
 
 Joel, an auctioneer, No. 44, Clifton-street, 
 Finsbury. 
 
 Paul, a manufacturer of mineral waters, 
 No. 5, Bow-street, Covent-garden. 
 
 Matthkw, a brush maker, No. 106, Upper 
 Thames-street. 
 
 Mark, a malt factor, No. 74, MarA-lane. 
 
 Luke, a boot maker. No. 142, Cheapside, 
 and 
 
 John, a solicitor. No. 6, Palsgrave-place, 
 Temple-bar. 
 
 July, 1827 Sam Sam's Sok. 
 
 476 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE GRETNA GREEN PARSONS. 
 
 The first person that twined the bands 
 of Hymen this way is supposed to liave 
 been a man named Scott, who resided at 
 the Rigg, a few miles from the village of 
 Gretna, about 1750 or 1760. He was ac- 
 counted a shrewd, crafty fellow, and little 
 wore is known of him. 
 
 George Gordon, an old soldier, started 
 up as his successor. He always appeared 
 on marriage occasions in an antiquated full 
 military costume, wearing a large cocked 
 hat, red coat, jack boots, and a ponderous 
 sword dangling at his side. If at any time 
 he was interrogated " by what authority he 
 joined persons in wedlock?" he boldly an- 
 swered, " 1 have a special license from 
 government, for which I pay fifty pounds 
 per annum." He was never closely ex- 
 amined on the subject, and a delusion pre 
 vailed during his life, that a privilege of the 
 kind really existed. 
 
 Several persons afterwards attempted to 
 establish themselves in the same line, but 
 none were so successful as Joseph Paisley, 
 who secured by far the greatest run of 
 business, in defiance of every opposition. 
 It was this person who obtained the appel- 
 lation of the " Old blacksmith," probably 
 on account of the mythological conceit of 
 Vulcan being employed in rivetting the 
 hymeneal chams. Paisley was first a smug- 
 gler, then a tobacconist, but never, at any 
 time, a blacksmith He commenced his 
 mock pontifical career about 1789. For 
 many years he was careful not to be pub- 
 licly seen on such occasions, but stole 
 through by-paths to the house where he 
 was called to officiate, and he there gave a 
 certificate miserably written, and the ortho- 
 graphy almost unintelligible, with a feigned 
 signature. An important trial arose out of 
 one of his marriages; and on being sum- 
 moned to London in consequence, to un- 
 dergo an examination, he was so much 
 alarmed that he was induced to consult a 
 ,:^entleman of the Scotch bar on the occa- 
 tion. His legal adviser stated as his opi- 
 non, that using a feigned name was de- 
 cidedly a misdemeanour, and recommended 
 the mock parson to efiect, if possible, the 
 destruction of the original certificate, and 
 substitute another in which he should ap- 
 pear by his own name, and merely as a 
 witness to the parties' declaration that they 
 were married persons Afterwards, he in- 
 variably adopted the plan of merely sub- 
 scribing his own name as a witness in 
 future ; and this has been the usual course 
 of his successors. From that period he 
 
 made no secret of his profession, but openly 
 walked the street when called upon te 
 officiate, dressed in his canonicals, with the 
 dignity of a bishop I He was long an ob- 
 'ect of curiosity to travellers. He was tall, 
 and had been well proportioned, but at his 
 death he was literally an overgrown mass 
 of fat, weighing tv^enty-five stone. He 
 was grossly ignorant, ai;d insufferably coarse 
 in his manners, and possessed a constitu- 
 tion almost proof against the ravages of 
 spirituous liquors ; for thouah an habitual 
 drinker, he was rarely ever seen drunk : for 
 the last forty years of his life he daily dis- 
 cussed a Scotch pint, equal to two English 
 quarts, of brandy. On one occasion, a 
 bottle companion, named " Ned the turn- 
 er," sat down with him on a Monday 
 morning to an anker of strong cogniac, and 
 before the evening of the succeeding- Satur- 
 day they kicked the empty cask out at the 
 door; neither of them were at any of the 
 time drunk, nor had they had the assistance 
 of any one in drinking. 
 
 After the decease of Paisley, the field 
 lay more open for competition in the 
 trade, and the diflferent candidates resorted 
 to difl'erent means to acquire the best shaie. 
 Ultimately the post-boys were taken into 
 partnership, who had the power of driving 
 to whichever house they pleased : each 
 mock-parson had his stated rendezvous; 
 and so strong did this description of oppo- 
 sition run, that at last the post-boys ob- 
 tained one entire half of the fees, and the 
 business altogether got worse. The rates 
 were lowered to a trifle, and the occupation 
 may now be said, in common with others, 
 to have shared the eff'ects of bad times and 
 starvation prices. 
 
 There are two principal practitioners at 
 present, one of whom was originally a 
 chaise-driver; the other, David Laing, an 
 old soldier, who figured as a witness on the 
 trial of the Wakefields. At home they 
 exhibit no parade of office; they may be 
 seen in shabby clothes at the kitchen fire- 
 sides of the pot-houses of the village, the 
 companions of the sots of the country, and 
 disrespected by every class. 
 
 A BLACK DREAM. 
 
 A number of years bygone, a black man, 
 named Peter Cooper, happened to marry one 
 of the fair towns-women of Greenock, who 
 did not use him with that tenderness tna» 
 
 477 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 he conceived himself entitled to. Having 
 tried all other arts to retrieve her lost affec- 
 tions in vain, Peter at last resolved to work 
 upon her fears of punishment in anotlier 
 world for her conduct in this. Pretendintc, 
 therefore, to awake one morning extrava- 
 gantly alarmed, his helpmate was full of 
 anxiety to knov/ what was the matter; and 
 having sufliciently, as he thought, whetted 
 her curiosity, by mysteriously hinting that 
 " he could a tale unfold," at length Peter 
 proceeded as follows : — " II — 11 ob a dream 
 ;ast niifht. I dream I go to Hebbe-n and 
 rap at de doa, and a gent'man com to de 
 doa wid black coat and powda hair. Whoa 
 dere? — Peeta Coopa. — Whoa Peeta Coopa? 
 Am not know you. — Not knowa Peeta 
 Coopa! iiOok de book, sa. — He take de 
 3ook, and he look de book, and he could'na 
 find Peeta Coopa. — Den I say, Oh! lad, 
 oh ! look again, finda Peeta Coopa in a 
 corna. — He take de book, an he look de 
 book, an at last he finda Peeta Coopa in 
 lilly, lilly (little) corna. — ' Peeta Coopa, — 
 cook ob de Royal Charlotte ob Greenock.' 
 Walk in, sa. — Den I walk in, and dere was 
 every ting — all kind of vittal — coUyfiower 
 too — an I eat, an I drink, an I dant, an I 
 ting, an I neva be done ; segar too, by 
 Gum. — Den I say. Oh ! lad, oh ! look for 
 Peeta Coopa wife. He take de book, an 
 he look all oba de book, many, many, many 
 a time, corna an all; an he couldna finda 
 Peeta Coopa wife. Den I say. Oh ! lad, 
 oh ! look de black book ; he take de black 
 book, an he look de black book, and he 
 finda Peeia Cooopa wife fust page, — ' Peeia- 
 Coopa-wife, buckra-woman, bad-to-her-hus- 
 band.' "* 
 
 A MUCH-INJURED MAN. 
 
 George Talkington, once a celebrated 
 horse-dealer at Uttoxeter, who died on the 
 8th of April, 18'2G, at Cheadle, Cheshire, 
 in his eighty-third year, met with more 
 accidents than probably ever befell any 
 other human being. Up to the year 1793 
 they were as follows: — Right shoulder 
 fjoken ; skull fractured, and trepanned ; 
 eft arm broken in two places; three ribs 
 on the left side broken ; a cut on the fore- 
 head ; lancet case, flue case, and knife 
 forced into the thigh ; three ribs broken on 
 
 the right side; and the right shoulder, 
 elbow, and wrist dislocated ; back seriously 
 injured ; cap of the right knee kicked off; 
 left ancle dislocated; cut for a fistula; 
 right ancle dislocated and hip knocked 
 down ; seven ribs broken on the right and 
 left sides ; kicked in the face, and the left 
 eye nearly knocked out; the back again 
 seriously injured; two ribs and breast-bone 
 broken ; got down and kicked by a horse, 
 until he had five holes in Ins left leg ; the 
 sinew just below the right knee cut tlirough, 
 and two holes in that Leg, also two shock- 
 ing cuts above the knee ; taken apparently 
 dead seven times out of different rivers. 
 
 Smce 1793, (when a reference to these 
 accidents was given to Mr. Madely, sur- 
 geon, of Uttoxeter,) right shoulder dislo- 
 cated and collar-bone broken ; seven ribs 
 broken ; breast-bone laid open, and right 
 shoulder dislocated ; lef. shoulder disloca- 
 ted, and left arm broken; two ribs broken; 
 and right thigh much bruised near the 
 pope's eye. In 1819, then in his seventy- 
 sixth year, a lacerated wound in the calf of 
 the leg, which extended to the foot, mortifi- 
 cation of the wound took place, which ex- 
 posed all the flexor tendons of the foot, also 
 the capsular ligaments of the ancle joint ; 
 became delirious, and so continued upwards 
 of three weeks : his wonderful recoveiy 
 from this accident was attributed chiefly to 
 the circumstance of a friend having sup- 
 plied him with a quantity of old Madeira, 
 a glass of which he took every two hours 
 for eight weeks, and afieiwards occasion- 
 ally. Since then, in 1823, in his eightieth 
 year he had a mortification of the seci nd 
 toe of the riglit foot, with exfoliation of the 
 bone, from which he recovered, and at last 
 died from gradually declining old atje. He 
 was the father of eighteen children, by one 
 wife, in fifteen years, all of whom he sur- 
 vived, and married again at the age of 
 seventy-four.* 
 
 GRAMMATICAL CONSTRUCTION. 
 
 A farmer's son, just returned from a 
 boarding school, was asked " if he knew 
 grammar ?" — " Oh yes, father !" said the 
 pupil, " I know her very well; — Graimnet 
 sits in the chair fast asleep." 
 
 es, July 7t 1827, rrotn GreKnock Aar.rtiser. 
 
 • Oxford and University Herald, Airril 29, IkiSS. 
 Communicated by J. J. A. F. 
 
 478 
 
np 
 
 THE TABLE BOOlL 
 
 A SKETCH. 
 
 Man loves knowledge, and the beams of Truth 
 More welcome touch his understanding's eye. 
 Than aU the blandishments of sound his ear, 
 Than all of taste his tongue. Akenside 
 
 A LOVER OF .^RT TO HIS SON. 
 My deak Alfred, 
 
 Could you see my heart you would know 
 my anxious feelings for your progress in 
 
 study. If I could express myself in words 
 of fire I would burn in lessons upon your 
 mind, that would inflame it to ardent de- 
 sire, and thorough conviction, of attaining 
 success. 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 479 
 
 21 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Our talented friend, viho permits you 
 the use of his collection of models and 
 casts, and does you the honour to instruct 
 you by his judgment, assures me thai your 
 outlines evince an excellent conception of 
 form. To be able to make a true outline 
 of a natural form, is to achieve the first 
 great step in drawing. 
 
 You remember my dissatisfaction to- 
 wards some engravings of hands and feet 
 that were given you by the person who 
 would have continued to instruct you, if I 
 had not been dissatisfied. The hands in 
 these prints were beautifully finished, but 
 their form was incorrect ; the feet were not 
 representations of any thing in nature ; and 
 yet these deformities were placed before 
 you to begin with. If I had not taught 
 you from your infancy the value and use 
 of sincerity, and the foUy and mischief 
 of falsehood, you might have been at this 
 time a liar, and become a depraved and 
 vicious character; instea<i of being, as you 
 are, an upright and honest youth, and be- 
 coming, as I hope you will, a virtuous and 
 honourable man. Had you continued the 
 copying of engraved lies of the limbs, your 
 drawings would have been misrepresenta- 
 tions of the human figure. You will dis- 
 cover my meaning if you consider an old 
 precept, " Never begin any thing without 
 considering the end thereof." 
 
 Your 'sMectiomiie iather. 
 
 No. XXVIII. 
 
 [From th« " Devil's Law Case," a Tragi- 
 comedy, by John Webster, 16'23.] 
 
 Clergy-comfort. 
 
 I must talk to you, like a Divine, of patience. — 
 
 I have heard some talk of it very much, and many 
 Times to their auditors' impatience ; but I pray. 
 What practice do they make on't in their lives ? 
 They are too f"ll of choler with living honest, — 
 And some of them not only impatient 
 Of their own slightest injuries, but stark mad 
 .4.1 one another's preferment. 
 
 Sepulture. 
 
 Two Bellmen, a Capuchin ; Romelio, and 
 bthers. 
 
 Cap. For pity's sake, you that have tears to shed, 
 Sijfh a soft requiem, and let fall a bead. 
 
 For two unfortunate NoDles.* whose saa fate 
 Leaves them both dead and excommuDicate. 
 No churchman's pray'r to comfort their last groaa* 
 No sacred seed of earth to hide th'iir bones ; 
 But as their fury wrought them out of breath. 
 The Canon speaks fJiem guilty of their own death. 
 
 Rom. Denied Christian burial I I pray, what doet 
 that? 
 Or the dead lazy maroh in the faneral ? 
 Or the flattery in the epitaph ? — which show* 
 More sluttish far than all the spiders webs, 
 Shall ever grow upon it : what do these 
 Add to our well-being after death ? 
 
 Cap. Not a scruple. 
 
 Rom. Very well then — 
 I have a certain meditation, 
 (If I can think of,^ somewhat to this purpose ;— 
 I'll say it to you, while my mother there 
 Numbers her beads. — 
 
 " You that dwell near these graves and vaults. 
 Which oft do hide physiciaas' faults, 
 Note what a small room does suffice ; 
 
 To express men's goods: their vanities 
 Would fill more "volume in small hand. 
 Than all the evidence of Church Land. 
 Funerals hide men in civil wearing. 
 And are to the Drapers a good hearing; 
 Make th' Heralds laugh in their black raymeat 
 And all die Worthies, die with payment 
 To th' Altar offerings : tho' their fame. 
 And all the charity of their name, 
 'Tween heav'n and this, yield no more light 
 Than rotten trees, which shine in th' night. 
 
 look the last Act be best in th' Play, 
 And then rest gentle bones ! yet pray. 
 That when by the Precise you're view'd, 
 A supersedeas be not s)i«d ; 
 To remove you to a place more airy. 
 That in your stead they may keep chary 
 Stockfish, or seacoal ; for the abuses 
 Of sacrilege have tum'd graves to vilder Qses. i 
 How then can any monument say. 
 
 Here rest these bones to the Last Day; 
 When Time, swift both of foot and feather. 
 May bear them the Sexton knows not whither?— 
 What care I then, tho' my last sleep 
 Be in the desart, or in the deep ; 
 No lamp, nor taper, day and night. 
 To give my charnel chargeable light ? 
 
 1 have there like quantity of ground ; 
 And at the last day I shall be found."* 
 
 Immature Death. 
 Contarino's dead. 
 O that he should die so soon I 
 Why, I pray, tell me : 
 Is not the shortest fever best ? and are not 
 Bad plays the worse for their length ? 
 
 * Slain in a duel. 
 
 t Webster was parish-clerk at St. Andrew's, Hol- 
 born. The anxious rec\irrence to church-matters ; 
 sacrilege; tombstones; with the frequent introduction 
 of dirges; in this, and his other tragedies, may b» 
 traced to his professional syinpnthieg. 
 
 460 
 
fl 
 
 THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 GuiUy preferment. 
 
 ^ have a plot, shall breed. 
 
 Out of the death of these two noblemen ; 
 
 Xh' advancement of our house— 
 
 Oh take heed 
 A grave is a rotten foundatiot. 
 
 Mischieji 
 
 ■ are like the visits of Franciscan friars. 
 
 They never come to prey upon us single. 
 
 Last Love strongest. 
 
 — as we love our youngest children best. 
 So the last fruit of our affection, 
 Wherever we bestow it, is most strong, 
 -Viost violent, most irresistible ; 
 Since 'tis indeed our latest harvest home, 
 .Last merryment 'fore winter ; and we Widows, 
 i.s men report of our beet picture-makers, 
 ■V^e love the Piece we are in hand with better, 
 Xhan all the excellent work we have done before 
 
 Mother's anger. 
 
 Leonora. Ha, my Son ! 
 "11 be a fury to him ; like an Amazon lady, 
 'd cut off this right pap that gave him suck. 
 To shoot him dead. I'll no more tender bim, 
 Xhan had a wolf stol'n to my teat in th' night, 
 ^ad robb'd me of my milk. 
 
 Distraction from guilt. 
 
 Leonora {sola'). Ha, ha I What say you ? 
 ii do talk to somewhat methinks ; it may be. 
 My Evil Genius. — Do not the bells ring ? 
 ,l've a strange noise in my head. Oh, fly in 
 Come, age, and wither me into I he malice 
 Of those that have been happy ; let me have 
 One property for more than the devil of hell ; 
 Let me envy the pleasure of youth heartily ; 
 Let me in this life fear no kind of ill. 
 That have no good to hope for. Let me sink. 
 Where neither man nor meaiory may iind me. (falU 
 
 to the ground). 
 Confessor {entering). You are well employ'd, I 
 
 hope ; the best pillow in th' world 
 For this your contemplation is the earth 
 And the best object, Heaven. 
 Leonora. 1 am whispering 
 To a dead friend 
 
 Obstacles. 
 
 .jet those, that would oppose this union, 
 brow ne'er so subtle, and entangle themselves 
 D their own work, like spiders ; while we two 
 Baste to our noble wishes ; and presume, 
 I'he nindraoce of it will breed more delight, — 
 AM black copartaments shews gold more bri^bt. 
 
 Falling out. 
 
 To draw the Picture of Unkindness truly 
 Is, to express two that have dearly loved 
 And fal'n at variance. 
 
 [From the " Bride," a Comedy, by Thomas 
 Nabbs, 1640.J 
 
 Antiquities. 
 
 Morten, a Collector. His friend. 
 
 Friend. You are learned in Antiquities? 
 Horten. A little. Sir. 
 I should affect them more, were not tradition 
 One of the best assurances to show 
 They are the thidgs we think them. What mor-t 
 
 proofs. 
 Except perhaps a little circumstance. 
 Have we for this or that to be a piece 
 Of Delphos' ruins ? or the marble statues. 
 Made Athens glorious when she was supposed 
 To flave more images of men than men? 
 A weather-beaten stone, with an inscription 
 That is not legible but thro' an optic. 
 Tells us its age ; that in some Sibyl's cave 
 Three thousand years ago it was an altar, 
 Tis satisfaction to our curiosity. 
 But ought not to necessitate belief. — 
 For Antiquity, 
 
 I do not store up any under Grecian ; 
 Your Roman antiques are but modern toys 
 Compared to them. Besides they are so counterfeit 
 With mouldings, tis scarce possible to tind 
 Any but copies. 
 
 Friend. Yet you are confident 
 Of yours, that are of more doubt. 
 
 Hurten. Others from their easiness 
 May credit what they please. My trial's sucn 
 Of any thing 1 doubt, all the impostors, 
 That ever made Antiquity ridiculous. 
 Cannot deceive me. if 1 light upon 
 Ought that's above my skill, I have recourse 
 To those, whose judgment at the second view 
 (If not the first) will tell me what Philosopher's 
 That eye-less; nose-less, mouth-less Statue is. 
 And who the workman was ; tho' since his death 
 Thousands of years have been revolved. 
 
 Accidents to frustrate Purprwe 
 
 How VMious are the events that may depend 
 
 Upon one action, yet the end proposed 
 
 Not follow the intention 1 accidents 
 
 Will interpose themselves ; like those rash men. 
 
 That thrust into a throng, occasioned 
 
 By some tumultuous difference, where perliap* 
 
 Their busy curiosity begets 
 
 New ijuaiieU with new i^sues.^ 
 
 C.L. 
 
 481 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 NATURAL CURIOSITIES OF DERBY- 
 SHIRE. 
 
 Further Extracts from the Journal 
 OF A Tourist.* 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 June\,\Q27. 
 
 Visited Chatsworth, the princely resi- 
 dence of the duke of Devonshire, three 
 miles to the north-east of Bakewell. As 
 soon as the summit of the neighbouring 
 hill is attained, the house and park lie im- 
 mediately in front in a beautiful valley, 
 watered by the Derwent. An addition is 
 making to the main building, which is 
 large, but not very handsome in its archi- 
 tectural design ; on approaching it, I 
 passed over an elegant stone bridge, close 
 to which is an island whereon a fictitious 
 fortress is built. The views on all sides 
 are strikingly fine, and of great variety ; 
 hills and dales, mountains and woods, 
 water and verdant pasture lands. It re- 
 quires " a poet's lip, or a painter's eye," to 
 adequately depict the beauties of this en- 
 chanting place. Perhaps no estate in the 
 kingdom furnishes choicer objects for the 
 pencil. I do not think, however, that the 
 grounds in the immediate vicinity of the 
 mansion are so well disposed, or the scenery 
 30 rich, nor does the interior offer such 
 magnificent works of art, as at Blenheim. 
 There is much sculpture, of various degrees 
 of merit, distributed about the apartments ; 
 but the collection is in its infancy, and a 
 splendid gallery is in progress for its recep- 
 tion. The finest production of the chisel 
 is Canova's statue of Napoleon's mother ; 
 its natural grace and ease, with the fine 
 Sowings of the drapery, and the grave 
 placidity of the countenance, are solemnly 
 majestic — she looks the mother of Napo- 
 leon. Among the other great attractions 
 nere, are a bust of Petrarch's Laura, ano- 
 I ther of his present majesty, by Chantrey ; 
 and a portrait of his majesty by sir Thomas 
 Lawrence. 
 
 The next day I continued my route to- 
 wards Matlock Bath — as beautiful a ride 
 as I ever took. The road follows the Wye 
 for six miles in a vale, past the aged towers 
 of Haddon Hall, and the scenery presents 
 every interesting feature that can be coveted 
 by the most enthusiastic lover of nature; — 
 rugged and beetling crags, gently sloping 
 hills, extensive woods, rich meadows and 
 fertile vallies, form the composition of 
 
 • See p. 12. 
 
 the views. Handsome villas, farm-houses 
 
 and neat cottages — living pictures ot 
 scarcely minor interest — embelli&h and 
 diversify the natural beauties of the delight 
 ful scene. 
 
 At the end of the six miles, the road 
 turns over a bridge across the Wye, leading 
 through the dale (Matlock) to the Bath. 
 Tne river here rolls daikly along, its pro- 
 gress swifter and its depth greater ; the 
 same rocky barrier that encloses all the 
 dales in this county uplifting its huge masses 
 of rocks on either side. The margin of the 
 river is thickly studded with large trees, 
 close copse-woods clothe the slopes at the 
 bottom, and ascend part of the cliffs' sides 
 — wild shrubs branch from the clefts above 
 whence innumerable jackdaws whirl their 
 flights, and make incessant monotonous 
 noise. About a mile before reaching,Matlock 
 Bath is a mountain called the High-Tor 
 its bare and jagged head rising far above 
 the adjoining rocks. I was informed that il 
 contains a fine natural grotto, but the rive. 
 ■was too deep to wade, and 1 missed the 
 sight. 
 
 i)n rounding a point, the shining white 
 buildings of the Bath appear along the foo! 
 and some distance up the side of a steep 
 lofty hill, called the " Heights of Abraham.' 
 The greater part of the village is sitwated in 
 the Valley, but a second may be said to be 
 beneath it, through which the river flows : 
 its banks are thickly planted with groves of 
 trees, and winding paths have been made 
 throughout these delightful haunts, for the 
 pleasure of the visitors. The cliffs rise 
 opposite majestically perpendicular, and as 
 finely picturesque as any I saw in Deiby- 
 shire. The " Heights of Abraham " are at 
 least a quarter of a mile above the highest 
 of the houses. A zigzag road through a 
 shrubbery leads to the celebrated natuial 
 cavern near the summit — an immense re- 
 cess, as grand as Peak's Hole, but far more 
 beautiful; for its sides are formed of a 
 variety of spars of surprising brilliancy. 
 To mineralogists it is the most interesting 
 resort in England ; and here collectors, pro- 
 secuting their discoveries, think themselves 
 happy, although deprived of the light of 
 heaven for whole days together. The whole 
 of this immense mountain is one sparkling 
 mass of various spars and ores. 
 
 Ascending this steep road on horseback, 
 I found the views, through the shrubs, oi 
 the village and valley beneath, the river, 
 and the surrounding mountains, incon- 
 ceivably grand. High-Tor was on the 
 left, and Wild-Cat-Tor on the right— be- 
 vond which the Wye, gleamine i" the sun'i' 
 
 482 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 rays, wound sinuously along the verdant 
 vale, till it was so diminished by the dis- 
 tance as to seem like a bent wire of shining 
 -silver, and was lost to sight by the inter- 
 fention of a far-off mountain. 
 
 Of all places this seems to present the 
 j;reatest inducements to the temporary 
 'isitant ; and to anglers it is the ne plus 
 dtra of piscatorial recreation. 
 
 After a day's enjoyment of this charm- 
 ing spot, I went forward, but the threat- 
 ening appearance of the weather induced 
 me to sojourn at a small public-house 
 m one of the smaller dales. Heavy clouds 
 trose, and the rain obscured the distant 
 'lills ; running along their summits, having 
 the appearance of thick fog. The weather 
 i.'learing, I walked out, and surveyed the 
 curious old limestone built "hostel," with 
 the sign of " A Trout," scarcely decipher- 
 able from age. Some anglers, whom the 
 'leavy shower had driven for shelter under 
 fhe cliffs, again appeared, and threw their 
 irtificial temptations on the surface of a 
 stream flowing from the mountain at the 
 hack of the little inn. Its water turned 
 singularly constructed machinery for crush- 
 ing the lead ore, washed down from a 
 neighbouring large mine. Immense frag- 
 ments of rock, by falling betwixt two iron 
 wheels, with teeth fitted closely together, 
 are pounded to atoms. A number of men, 
 women, and children, were busy shovelling 
 it into sieves set in motion by the machine, 
 and it separated itself by its own weight 
 from the stone or spar that contained it. 
 
 Determined by my curiosity to descend 
 nto the mine, I procured a miner to accom- 
 pany me ; and following the stream for a 
 short distance, reached a small hut near 
 the entrance, where I clothed myself com- 
 pletely in miner's apparel, consisting of a 
 stout woollen cap, under a large, slouched, 
 coarse beaver hat, thick trowsers, and a 
 fustian jacket, with "clods," or miner's 
 shoes. At the mouth of the mine we seated 
 ourselves opposite to each other in a narrow 
 Alining cart, shaped from the bottom like 
 a wedge, attached to a train of others of 
 similar make, used for conveying the ore 
 from the interior. Having been first fur- 
 nished with a light each, we proceeded, 
 drawn by two horses, at a rapid pace, along 
 a very narrow passage or level, cut through 
 the limestone rock, keeping our arms with- 
 in the sledge, to prevent their being jammed 
 against the sides, which in many places 
 struck the cars very forcibly. In this man- 
 ner, with frequent alarming jolts, we ar- 
 rived at a shaft, or descent, into the mine. 
 We got out of our vehicles and descended 
 
 by means of ladders, of five fathoms in 
 length, having landing places at the bottom 
 of each. The vein of the lead ore was 
 two hundred fathoms deep. We therefore 
 descended forty ladders, till we found our- 
 selves at the commencement of another 
 passage similar to the first. All the Tvay 
 down there was a tremendous and deafen- 
 ing noise of the rushing of water through 
 pipes close to the ear, caused by the action 
 of a large steam-engine. The ladders and 
 sides of the rock were covered with a dark 
 slimy mud. We walked the whole length, 
 several hundred yards, along the second 
 level, knee deep in water, till we reached 
 the spot, or vein, that the workmen were 
 engaged on. They were labouring in a 
 very deep pit ; their lights discovered them 
 to us at the bottom. Into this chasm I was 
 lowered by a wheel, with a rope round my 
 body ; and having broken off a piece of 
 lead ore with a pickaxe, I was withdrawn 
 by the same means. Another set of labour- 
 ers were procuring ore by the process of 
 blasting the rock with gunpowder — I fired 
 one of the fusees, and retiring to a distant 
 shelter, awaited the explosion in anxious 
 alarm ; its reverberating shock was awfully 
 grand and loud. My ascent was dreadfully 
 fatiguing from the confined atmosphere ; 
 and I was not a little rejoiced when I could 
 inhale the refreshing air, and hail the 
 cheering light of day. 
 
 E. J. H. 
 
 ^ususit* 
 
 THE FRUIT MARKETS OF LONDON 
 AND PARIS IN THIS MONTH. 
 
 A gentleman, one of a deputation for 
 inquiring into the state of foreign horticul- 
 ture, visited the Paris fruit and vegetable 
 market in the month of August, 1821, and 
 having seen Covent Garden market nearly 
 a fortnight earlier, under peculiar circum- 
 stances, was enabled to form an estimate of 
 their comparative excellencies. 
 
 The coronation of George IV. on the 
 1 9th of July had caused a glut of fruit in 
 the London market, such as had never been 
 remembered, and large quantities of the 
 fruit, which had not met with the expected 
 demand, remained on hand. 
 
 In regard to Pine-apples, Mr. Isaac An- 
 drews of Lambeth alone cut sixty ripe fruit 
 on the occasion, and many hundreds, re- 
 markable for size and flavour, came from 
 
 483 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 distant parts ot the country. One from 
 lord Cawdor's weighed 10 lbs.; and, after 
 being exhibited at a meeting of the London 
 Horticultural Society, was sent to the Royal 
 
 Banquet. Pine-apples are not to be got at 
 Paris. When they are wanted at grand 
 entertainments, they are generally procured 
 from Covent Garden market by means of 
 the government messengers who are con- 
 stantly passing between the two capitals. 
 From our possessing coals, and from our 
 gardeners being well versed in the modes 
 of raising fruit under glass, it is probable 
 ihat we shall always mamtain a superiority 
 
 11 the production of this delicious article 
 for the dessert. 
 
 The quantity of ripe Grapes exhibited 
 for sale in Covent Garden market from the 
 middle to the end of July, in the year 
 alluded to, would, if told, surpass the be- 
 lief of Parisian cultivators ; more especi- 
 ally when it is added, that the kinds were 
 chiefly the Black Hamburgh, the white 
 muscat of Alexandria, and the Frontignacs. 
 Andrews also took the lead in the giape 
 department ; insomuch that while very 
 good Black Hamburgh grapes, from differ- 
 ent parts of the country, were selling, 
 during the crowded state of the capital, at 
 4s. per lb., his bunches currently obtained 
 6s. Qd. per lb. Their excellence consisted 
 chiefly in the berries having been well 
 thinned and thoroughly ripened. On the 
 ■29th of July great quantities of grapes, 
 remarkable for size and excellence, still re- 
 mained in the market, and were selling at 
 3s. and 3s. &d. a pound. At Paris ripe 
 grapes are not to be procured, at this sea- 
 son of the year, for any sum. On the 14th 
 of August, prince Leopold, then on his way 
 to Italy, dined with the English ambassa- 
 dor, when a splendid dessert was desirable ; 
 but ripe grapes couM not be found at Paris. 
 A price equal to 12s. sterling per lb. was 
 paid for some unripe bunches, merely to 
 make a show, for they were wholly unfit for 
 table use. On the 21 st of the same month 
 the duke of Wellington being expected to 
 arrive to dinner, another search for ripe 
 grapes was instituted throughout Paris, but 
 in vain. In short, the English market is 
 well supplied with fine grapes from the 
 middle of June till the middle of Novem- 
 ber ; but, from being raised under glass, 
 they are necessarily high priced ; while the 
 Paris market offers a copious supply of the 
 table Chasselas, from the middle of Sep 
 tember to the middle of March, at very 
 cheap rates, — from 12 to 20 sous, or &d. to 
 8d. per pound ; the coarse vineyard grapes 
 being only Id. a pound. 
 
 The Bigarreaa or graffion Cherry was 
 still very abundant in Covent Garden mar- 
 ket, and also the black or Dutch guigne : 
 at Paris, however, even the late cher- 
 ries had almost ceased to appear in the 
 market. 
 
 In the London market the only good' 
 Pear was the large English Jargonelle (c; 
 epargne.) The Windsor pear was on the 
 stalls, but not ripe. The Green chisel, 
 (h&tiveau,) and the skinless, (poire sans 
 peau,) were almost the only others I could 
 see. The Paris market excelled, being 
 well suppMed with fine summer pears. The- 
 Ognolet or summer arehduke, was pretty 
 common : it is named ognolet, from grow- 
 ing in clusters on the tree like bunches 
 of onions. The large Blanquet, and the 
 long-stalked blanquet, (the latter a very 
 small fruit,) were also common. The 
 Epargne, or Grosse cuisse Madame, was 
 plentiful. A fruit resembling it, called 
 Poire des deux letes, was likewise abun- 
 dant : it was large, sweet, and juicy,, quite 
 ripe, but without much flavour. The 
 Epine-rose, (Caillot or Cayeout,) a very 
 flat pear ; the Musk-orange, which is of a 
 yellow colour only; the Red orange, which 
 has the true orange hue ; and the Robine, 
 or Royal d'^te, were all plen.iful. The 
 small early Rousselet was exceedingly 
 common and cheap, being produced abun- 
 dantly on old standards in all country- 
 places. Towards the end of August, the 
 Cassolette, a small pear of good flavour, 
 and the Rousselet de Rheims, made their 
 appearance ; and the Poire d'Angleterre (a 
 beurre) began to be called through the 
 streets in every quarter of the city. 
 
 Apples were more plentiful at London 
 than at Paris. The Dutch Codlin and the 
 Carlisle Codlin were abundant; and the 
 Jenneting, the Summer Pearmain, and the 
 Havvthorndean, were not wanting. At 
 Paris very few apples appeared. The Sum- 
 mer Calville, a small conical dark-red fruit, 
 and the Pigeon net, were the only kinds I 
 remember to have seen. 
 
 Plnms were more plentiful and in greater 
 variety at the Marche des Innocens than at 
 Covent Garden. At Paris, the Reine 
 Claude, of excellent quality and quite ripe, 
 was sold at the rate of two sous, or one 
 penny, a dozen ; while the same plum 
 (green-gage) cost a penny each in London, 
 though in an unripe state. The next in 
 excellence at Paris was the Prune royale, 
 of good size, and covered with the richest 
 bloom. The Jaune-hative, the drap d'or, 
 the Mirabelle, the Musk-damson or Malta 
 plum, wer« common ; likewise the Preeoc* 
 
 484 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ie Tours, remarkable for its peculiar dark 
 hue; and a deep violet-coloured plum, 
 called Prune noire de Montreuil. The Blue 
 Perdrigon was just coming in. At Covent 
 Garden the Primordian, or jaune-hative,^ 
 and the morocco or early damask, were the 
 only ripp plums to be seen. 
 
 Apricots were much more plentiful at 
 the Innocens than at Covent Garden. The 
 common apricot, the Portugal and the 
 Angoumois, which much resemble each 
 other, were frequent ; these were small, of 
 brisk flavour. The Abricot-p^che, how- 
 ever, not only excelled the others in size, 
 but in quality, holding that superiority 
 among the Parisian apricots which the 
 Moorpark does among the English ; and it 
 appeared in considerable abundance. At 
 London only the Roman and Moorpark 
 were to be found, and the latter was not 
 yet ripe. 
 
 In Peaches the French market most de- 
 cidedly surpassed the English. The quan- 
 tity of this fruit presented for sale toward 
 the middle of August appeared surprisingly 
 great. It was chiefly from Montreuil, and 
 in general in the most perfect state. Al- 
 though ripe, scarcely a single fruit had 
 suffered the slightest injury from the attacks 
 of insects. This fact afibrds satisfactory 
 proof that the plastered walls, being smooth 
 and easily cleaned, are unfavourable to the 
 breeding and lodging of such insects as 
 often infest our rougher fruit-walls. The 
 fine state of the fruit also shows the un- 
 common care v.'hich must be bestowed by 
 the industrious inhabitants of Montreuil to 
 prevent its receiving bruises in the g-ather- 
 ing or carriage. The principal kinds in 
 the market were the small Mignonne ; the 
 large Mignonne, with some of the excellent 
 subvariety called Belle Bauce ; the yellow 
 Alberge; the Bellegarde or Gallande; the 
 Malta or Italian peach; the red Madeleine 
 or De Courson; and the Early Purple. 
 
 Melons appeared in great profusion at 
 Paris. In the Marche des Innocens and 
 Marche St. Honore the kinds were rather 
 select, chiefly different varieties of Cante- 
 Joup. These were not sold at so cheap a 
 rate as might have been expected ; ripe 
 and well-flavoured canteloups costing 2, 3, 
 or 4 francs each. But in almost every 
 street the marchands de melons presented 
 themselves ; some occupying stalls, some 
 moving about with brouettes or long wheel- 
 barrows, and others with hampers on their 
 Dacks, supported on crochets. In general 
 those sold in the streets were much cheaper, 
 (perhaps not more than half the price ot 
 the others.) b«it of coarse quality, such as 
 
 would scarcely be thought fit for use in 
 England. The fruit is frequently long 
 kept ; and in the heats of August the odour 
 exhaled from the melon-stalls was sickening, 
 and offensive. The kinds were chiefly the 
 following : the Maraicher, a large netted 
 melon, so called from being cultivated in 
 the marais or sale-gardens ; the Melon de 
 Honfleur, of great size, often weighing from- 
 20 to 30 lbs.; and the Coulombier, a coarse 
 fruit, raised chiefly at the village of that 
 name. These were almost the only sorts 
 of melon sold in Paris, till our countryman 
 Blaikie, about forty-five years ago, intro- 
 duced the Rock Canteloup and Early Ro- 
 mana. It may be noticed, that melons of 
 all kinds, even the best canteloups, are here 
 raised in the open ground, with the aid of 
 hand-glasses only, to protect the young 
 plants in the early part of the season. In 
 Govent Garden market a great many small 
 melons, chiefly of the green-fleshed and 
 white-fleshed varieties, appeared ; but they 
 were uniformly high-priced, though not 
 proportionally dearer than the Parisian 
 canteloups, consid^-'ing that they had all 
 been raised on hot-beds under glass-frames. 
 
 Mulberries were much more plentiful a*' 
 Paris than at London. 
 
 Ac Paris, fresh or recent Figs were, at 
 this time, very common and very cheap ; it 
 was indeed the height of the fig-season, 
 and they daily arrived in great quantities 
 from Argenteuil. The round white fig 
 seems to be the only kind cultivated ; at 
 least it was the only kind that came to 
 market. No fresh figs can be expected in 
 Covent Garden till the end of August, and 
 then only small parcels. To make amends 
 the London market was supplied with fine 
 Gooseberries in profusion, while not one of 
 good quality was to be seen at Paris. The 
 same thing- may be said of Raspberries and 
 Currants, which are in a great measure 
 neglected in France, or used only by con- 
 fectioners. The Parisians have never seen 
 these fruits in perfection ;. and it is therefore 
 no wonder that, in the midst of a profuse 
 supply of peaches, reine claudes, figs, and 
 pears, they should be overlooked. There 
 exists a strong prejudice against the goose- 
 berry, which prevents the Parisians from 
 giving the improved kinds a fair trial : they 
 have no idea that it is possible that goose- 
 berries should form an excellent article o! 
 the dessert ; they think of them only as lit 
 for making tarts, or sauce for mackerel!* 
 
 • Mr. Pat. NeiU, Sec. Cai. Hort. Soe. im HortJcnltu- 
 ral Tour. 
 
 485 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Belonging to Sir Charles Lockuart, 
 OF Lee and Carnworth, Lanarkshii!e. 
 
 This curious piece of antiquity is a stone 
 of a dark red colour and triangular shape, 
 in size about half an inch each side, set in 
 a piece of silver coin ; which, though much 
 defaced, by some letters still remaining, is 
 supposed to be a shilling of Edward I., the 
 cross being very plain, as it is on his shil- 
 lings. It is affirmed, by tradition, to have 
 been in the Lee family since the year 1 320 
 odd ; that is, a little after the death of king 
 Robert Bruce, who having ordered his heart 
 to be carried to the Holy Land for burial, 
 one of the noble family of Douglass was 
 sent with it, and is said to have got the 
 crowned heart in his arms from that cir- 
 cumstance. On the other hand, it is alleged 
 that the person who carried the heart was 
 Simon Locard, of Lee, who about that time 
 borrowed a large sum of money from sir 
 William de Lendsay, prior of Air, for which 
 he granted a bond of annuity of ten pounds 
 of silver, during the life of the said sir Wil- 
 liam de Lendsay, out of his lands of Lee 
 and Cartland. The original bond, dated 
 1323, and witnessed by the principal nobi- 
 lity of the country, is among the family 
 papers. The sum, which was a great one 
 in those days, is thought to have been bor- 
 rowed for that expedition ; and, on the au- 
 thority of the story, of his being the person 
 who carried the royal heart, it is affirmed, 
 that he chang-ed his name to "Lockheart;" 
 or, as it is sometimes spelled, " Lockhart," 
 and obtained a heart within a lock for part 
 of his arms, with the motto, " corda serata 
 pando." 
 
 It is said that this Simon Lockhart having 
 taken a Saracen prince, or chief, prisoner, his 
 wife came to ransom him ; and, on counting 
 out the money or jewels, the stone in question 
 fell out of her purse, and she hastily snatch- 
 ed it up, which Simon Lockhart observmg, 
 'nsuteu on having it, or retaining his pri- 
 
 soner, Upon this the Saracen lady gave it 
 him, and told him of its many virtues, 
 namely, that it cured all diseases in cattle, 
 and the bite of a mad dog both in man and 
 beast. 
 
 To effect these wonders the stone is 
 (ur-ped in water, which is given to diseased 
 cotle to drink, and to a person who has been 
 bitten ; and the wound, or part infected, is 
 washed with the water. There are nc 
 words used in the dipping of the stone, nor 
 any money taken by the servants without 
 incurring the owner's displeasure. People 
 come from all parts of Scotland, and even 
 from Yorkshire, to get the water in which 
 the stone is dipped, to give their cattle, 
 especially when ill of the murrain and 
 black-leg. 
 
 Many years ago, a complaint was made 
 to the ecclesiastical courts against the laird 
 of Lee, then sir James Lockhart, for using 
 witchcraft : a copy of their act is hereto 
 annexed. There is no date ; but from the 
 orthography, and James being the name of 
 the laird of Lee, it must at least have been 
 in the seventeenth century. 
 
 Copy of an Act of the Synod and 
 Assembly. 
 " j4pud Glasgow, the 25 Octobr. 
 " Synod. Sess. 2. 
 
 " Qnhilk dye, amongest the referries of 
 the brethren of the ministrie of Lanerk, it 
 was propondit to the Synode, that Gawen 
 Hammiltonne of Raplocke had preferit 
 an complaint before them against Sir 
 James Lockart of Lie, anent the super- 
 stitious vsing- of an stene set in selver foi 
 the curing of diseased cattell, qlk, the said 
 Gawen affirmit, coud not be lawfully vsed, 
 and that they had differit to give ony deci- 
 sionne therein, till the advice of the Assem- 
 blie might be had concerning the same. 
 The Assemblie having inquirit of the maner 
 of vsing thereof, and particularlie vnder- 
 stoode, by examinationne of the said Laird 
 of Lie, and otherwise, that the custome is 
 onlie to cast the stene in sume water, and 
 give the diseasit caitil thereof to drink, and 
 qt the sam is dene wtout vsing onie words, 
 such as charmers and sorcerers vse in their 
 unlawfull practisess ; and considering that 
 in nature they are mony thinges seen to 
 work strange effects, qi"of no humane witl 
 can give a reason, it having pleasit God to 
 give vnto stones and herbes special virtue:! 
 for the healing of mony infirmities in man 
 and beast, — advises the brethren to surcease 
 thir proces, as q'lin they perceive no ground 
 of offence ; and admonishes the said Laird 
 of Lie ia the vsing of the said stone, to t?h 
 
 486 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 need that it be vsit heirafter wt the least 
 scandal that possiblie maye bie. 
 
 " Extract out of the books of the Assem- 
 olie helden at Glasgow, and subscribed be 
 !hair clerk, at thair comand. 
 
 " M. RoBEUT Young, 
 Clerk to the Axsemblie at Glasgow." 
 
 When the plague was last at Newcastle, 
 ■he inhabitants are said to have sent for the 
 Lee Penny, and given a bond for a large 
 ■ium in tru^t for the loan ; and that they 
 thought it did so much good, that they 
 offered to pay the money, and keep the 
 Lee Penny, but the owner would not part 
 with it. A copy of this bonu is alleeed to 
 iiave been among the family papers, but 
 supposed to have been spoiled, with many 
 more, by rain getting into e charter-room, 
 luring a long minority, and no family re- 
 iding at Lee. 
 
 A remarka le cure is alleged to have been 
 jerformed about a century ago, on a lady 
 aird, of Sauchtonhall, near Edinburgh, 
 " who, having been bit by a mad dog, was 
 come the length of a hydrophobia; upon 
 which, having sent to beg the Lee Penny 
 might be sent to her house, she used it for 
 some weeks, drinking and bathing in the 
 water it was dipped in, and was quite re- 
 covered."* 
 
 Good reasons are assigned for rejecting 
 the story of Locard having been the bearer 
 of the heart of Robert Bruce ; and there 
 are some ludicrous instances of wonderful 
 cures performed in the north of England on 
 credulous people, by virtue of water wherein 
 the Lee Penny was reputed to have been 
 dipped, and yet neither the water nor the 
 Lee Penny had crossed the Tweed. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 THE DEVIL'S PUNCH-BOWL.f 
 
 You, — Mr. Editor, — Have journeyed 
 from London to Portsmouth, and must 
 recollect Hindhead — you will, therefore, 
 sympathize with me : — the luxury of riding 
 round the rim of the Devil's Punch-Bcwl 
 is over ! Some few years back the road, 
 on one side, was totally undefended against 
 casualties of any description — overturning 
 the coach into the bowl (some three or four 
 
 • Gentleman's Magazine, Dec. 1787, from whence 
 these particulars, and the engraving of the Lee Penny, 
 ire derived. Further accouats of it from correspond 
 etiU will be acceptable. 
 
 ♦ A deep valley in Surrey, so called from its circular 
 form. It is about forty-one miies from Loudoo. 
 
 hundred yards deep) — the bolting of s 
 horse — or any other delightful mishap 
 •which could hurl you to the bottom — all is 
 over ! They — (the improvers of roads, but 
 destroyers of an awful yet pleasing picture,^ 
 — have cut a new road about fifty or sixty 
 fen below the former, and raised a bank, 
 four feet high, round the edge, so that ar. 
 accident is almost impossible, and no such 
 chance as a roll to the bottom will again 
 occur ! The new road is somewhat shorter 
 than the old — the ejfect completely spoiled 
 — the stone to perpetuate the murder of the 
 sailor unheeded* — the gibbet unseen — ano 
 nothing left to balance the loss of these 
 pleasing memorials, but less labour to the 
 horses, and a few minutes of time saved in 
 the distance ! Eighteen years since, the 
 usual stoppage, and " Now, gentlemen, ii 
 you'll have the goodness to alight, and 
 walk up, you'll oblige," took place. A\ 
 the present time you are galloped round, 
 and have scarcely time to admire the much- 
 spoken-of spot. 
 
 The last time I passed the place, on the 
 Independent, when conversing on the sub- 
 ject, our coachee, Robert (or Bob, as he 
 delights to be called) Nicholas, related an 
 anecdote of an occurrence to himself, and 
 which tells much of the fear in which pass- 
 ing the Devil's Punch-Bowl was once held. 
 You shall have it, as nearly as I can recol- 
 lect it: — 
 
 An elderly lady, with two or three 
 younger ones, and servants, engaged the 
 coach to London, but with a special agree- 
 ment, that the paity should ivalk round the 
 said bowl, — " As we understand, it is next 
 to a miracle to go along that horrid place 
 in safety." On the journey, each change of 
 horses was accompanied by an inquiry, 
 how far was the dreaded place? a satisfac- 
 tory answer was, of course, generally given. 
 When, at length, the coach arrived at the 
 stone-memorial, one-third round the place, 
 the coachman alighted, and pretended to 
 be making some trifling alterations to the 
 harness: his lady-passen^ei, looking com- 
 placently into the vast dell beneath her, 
 inquired its name. " Higgin-bottom, 
 ma'am." — " What a delightful but singular 
 lookino- spot !'' was the rejoinder. The 
 coach then drove on. On its arrival at the 
 next stage, Road-lane, the anxious inquiry, 
 "How far off, sir?'' was again repeated. 
 " W^e're passed, ma'am." — " Passed it ! — 
 in safety ! — bless me! — where was J ?" — 
 " Where I stopped, and you asked tht 
 
 * The old stone was destroyed at the alteration o" 
 the road ; but a new one has very recently beiv^ 
 erected oa the new road. 
 
 487 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 'lame ol that deep dell— that was the 
 Devil's Punch-Bowl — liiggin-bottom 's the 
 right name." The delighted passenger re- 
 warded the coachman for his innocent de- 
 ception, and promised always, on that road, 
 to travel under his guardianship. 
 
 — ' 1 have spoken of a stone erected 
 
 on the Bowl, and if, in this " airy nothing," 
 t do not occupy too much space that, un- 
 doubtedly, could be better filled, a brief 
 recollection of the fact may close this notice 
 of the Devil's Punch-Bowl : — 
 
 An unfortunate sailor, with a trifle in his 
 pocket, on the way to Portsmouth, fell in, 
 at Esher, with three others, then strangers, 
 and, with characteristic generosity, treated 
 them on their mutual way. The party were 
 seen at the Red Lion, Road-lane, together, 
 which they left, and journeyed forward. 
 On Hindhead they murdered their com- 
 panion — stripped the body, and rolled it 
 down the Devil's Punch-Bowl. Two men, 
 who had observed the party at the Red 
 Lion, and who were returning home, not 
 iong after, on arriving at the spot, observed 
 something which appeared like a dead 
 sheep ; one descended, and was shocked 
 to find a murdered man, and recognised 
 the sailor: conjecturing who were his de- 
 stroyers, they followed in haste. On ar- 
 riving at Sheet, the villains were overtaken, 
 when in the ?'^t of disposing of their vic- 
 tim's apparel. They were apprehended, 
 and shortly afterwards hung and gibbeted 
 near the spot. When at the place of exe- 
 cution one of them observed, he only wished 
 to commit one murder more, and that 
 should be on Faulkner, the constable, who 
 apprehended him I — The following is (or 
 was) the inscription on the stone; and 
 many a kind " Poor fellow !" has been 
 breathed as the melancholy tale has ended. 
 This Stone 
 Was erected in detestation of a barbarous 
 
 MURDEH, 
 
 Committed near this Spot 
 
 On an 
 
 Unknown Sailor, 
 
 By Edward Lonogan, Michael ^asey, and 
 
 James Marshall, 
 
 September 24, 1786. 
 
 I Gen. ix. 6. 
 
 " Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his 
 btood be shed." 
 
 R. N. P. 
 
 P. S — Since writing as above, a mutfla- 
 tion of the Sailor's stone is niot!<>pd in a 
 Portsmouth paper by the following adver- 
 tisfciJient : — 
 
 Ten Guineas Reward. 
 
 Whereas some evil-disposed person or 
 persons did, in the night of Tuesday, the 
 17th instant, maliciously break, deface, 
 and injure the stone lately put up at 
 Hindhead, by the Trustees of t-he Lower 
 District of the Sheetbridge Turnpike Road, 
 to perpetuate the memory of a murder 
 committed there, in the place of one re- 
 moved by John Hawkins, Esq. 
 
 Whoever will give information of the 
 offender or offenders shall on his, her, or 
 their conviction receive a Reward of Ten 
 Guineas, which will be paid by Mr. James 
 Howard, the Surveyor of the said Road. 
 
 IFitley, 26th July, 1827. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 " You, Mr. Editor," says my pleasan 
 correspondent R. N. P., "you, Mr. Editor, 
 have journeyed from London to Ports- 
 mouth, and must recollect Hindhead — the 
 luxury of riding round the rin: of the 
 Devil's Punch-Bowl — the stone to perpetu- 
 ate the memory of the sailor — the gibbet, 
 &c." Ah me ! I travel little beyond books 
 and imagination ; my personal journeys 
 are only gyraiion-like portions of a circle, 
 scarcely of larger circumference than that 
 allowed to a tethered dumb animal. If 
 now and then, in either of the four seasons, 
 I exceed this boundary, it is only for a few 
 miles into one of the four counties — to a 
 woodland height, a green dell, or beside a 
 still flowing water — to enjoy the features of 
 nature in loneliness and quiet — the sight of 
 " every green thing" in a glorious noontide, 
 the twilight, and the coming and going o< 
 the stars : — on a sunless day, the vapours of 
 the sky dissolving into thin air, iho flitting 
 and sailing of the clouds, the ingatherings 
 of night, and the thick darkness. 
 
 No', Mr. R. N. P., no sir, I am very little 
 of a traveller, I have not seen any of the 
 things you pleasure me by telling of in 
 your vividly written letter. I know no 
 gibbet of the muiderer of a sailor, except 
 one of the " men in chains " below Green- 
 wich — whom I saw last Whitsuntide two- 
 years through the pensioners' telescopes 
 from the Observatory* — was a slayer of his 
 messmate ; nor though I have heard and 
 read of the Devil's Punch- Bowl, have I 
 been much nearer its " rim " than the 
 gibbet of Jerry Abershaw at Wimbledon 
 Common. 
 
 Abershaw was the last of the great high- 
 waymen who, when people carried money 
 
 Told of in the Evnry-Day boon- 
 
 488' 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 dbout them, robbed every night, and some- 
 times in the open day, on Bagshot, Wim- 
 Dledon, Finchley, and other commons, and 
 high roads, in the neighbourhood of Lon- 
 don. Some of these highwaymen of the 
 " old school" lived in the wretched purlieus 
 of SafFron-hill, and would mount and " take 
 the road '' in the afternoon from the end of 
 Field-lane, at Holborn-bridge, as openly as 
 travellers setting out from an inn. On the 
 order in council, in 1797, which prohibited 
 the Bank from paying in specie, gold 
 went out, and bank-notes came in ; and as 
 these were easily concealed, and when 
 stolen were difficult to pass, the business of 
 " the highway " fell ofjf, and highwaymen 
 gradually became extinct. Jerry Abershaw 
 was the most noted, because he was the 
 most desperate, and most feared of these 
 marauders. He was a reckless desperado 
 who, pistol in hand, would literally have 
 " your money, or your life ;" and perhaps 
 both. He was as famous in his day as 
 Sixteen-string-Jaek, or tl)e Flying Highway- 
 man. He shot several persons ; his trial 
 excited as much interest as Thurtell's ; and 
 the concourse of people at his execution 
 was innumerable. It was in the height of 
 summer; and the following Sunday being 
 fine, London seemed a deserted city ; for 
 hundreds of thousands went to see Aber- 
 shaw hanging m chains. His fame will 
 outlast his gibbet, which I suppose has 
 been down years ago. The papers tell us, 
 that the duke of Clarence, as Lord High 
 Admiral, ordered down the pirates' gibbets 
 from the river-side. These were the last 
 " men in chains " in the vicinage of the 
 metropolis. 
 
 • 
 
 July, 1827. 
 
 JERRY ABERSHAW 
 
 AND 
 
 THE MEN IN CHAINS. 
 
 Townsend, the Bow-street officer's inter- 
 esting examination before the police com- 
 mittee of the House of Commons in June, 
 1816, contains some curious particulars 
 respecting Abershaw, the pirates, " the dan- 
 gers of the road" and " hanging matters," 
 toward the close of the last century. 
 
 Q. The activity of the officers of Bow- 
 street has infinitely increased of late years? 
 
 A. No doubt about it ; and there is one 
 
 thing which appears to me most extraordi- 
 nary, when I remember, in very likely a 
 week, there should be from ten to- fifteen 
 highway robberies. We have not had a 
 man committed for a highway robbery 
 lately ; I speak of persons on horseback. 
 Formerly there were two, three, or four 
 highwaymen, some on Ho^nslow Heath, 
 some on Wimbledon Common, some on 
 Finchley Common, some on the l^omford 
 Iload. I have actually come to Bow-street 
 in the morning, and while I have been 
 leaning over the desk, had three or four 
 people come in and say, ' I was robbed by 
 two highwaymen in such a place ;' ' I was 
 robbed by a single highwayman in such a 
 place.' People travel now safely, by means 
 of the horse-patrol' that sir Richard Ford 
 planned. Where are there highway rob- 
 beries now ? As I was observing to the 
 chancellor, as I was up at his house on the 
 Corn Bill : he said, 'Townsend, I knew 
 you very well so many years ago.' I said, 
 ' Yes, my lord ; I remember your coming 
 first to the bar, first in your plain gown, 
 and then as king's counsel, and now chan- 
 cellor. Now your lordship sits as chan- 
 cellor, and directs the executions on the 
 recorder's report ; but where are the high- 
 way robberies now ?' and his lordship said, 
 ' Yes, I am astonished.' There are no 
 footpad robberies or road robberies now 
 but merely jostling you in the streets. They 
 used to be ready to pop at a man as soon 
 as he let down his glass. 
 
 Q. You remember the case of Abershaic? 
 
 A. Yes; I had him tucked up where he 
 was ; it was through me. I never left a 
 court of justice without having discharged 
 ray own feeling as much in favour of the 
 unhappy criminal as I did on the part of 
 the prosecution ; and I once applied to 
 Mr. Justice BuUer to save two men out of 
 three who were convicted ; and on my ap- 
 plication we argued a good deal about it. 
 I said, ' My lord, I have no motive but my 
 duty; the jury have pronounced them 
 guilty. I have heard your lordship pro- 
 nounce sentence of death, and I have now 
 informed you of the different dispositions 
 of the three men. If you choose to execuii? 
 them all I have nothing to say about it ; 
 but was I you, in the room of being the 
 officer, and you were to tell me what 
 Townsend has told you, I should think 
 it would be a justification of you to re- 
 spite those two unhappy men, and hang 
 that one who has been convicted three 
 times before.' The other men never had 
 been convicted before, and the other had 
 been three times convicted; and he ves^ 
 
 489 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 properly did. And how are juoges or jiis- 
 iices to know how many times a man has 
 been corvicted but by the information of 
 the officer in whose duty and department 
 (t is to keep a register of old offenders. 
 The magistrate sits up there, he knows no- 
 thing of it till the party is brought before 
 him; he cannot. 
 
 Q. Do you think any advantages arise 
 from a man being put on a gibbet after his 
 execution? 
 
 A. Yes, I was always of that opinion ; 
 and I recommended sir William Scott to 
 hang the two men that are hanging down 
 the river. I will state my reason. We 
 will take for granted, that those men were 
 hanged as this morning, for the murder of 
 those revenue officers — they are by law dis- 
 sected ; the sentence is, that afterwards, the 
 body is to go to the surgeons for dissection ; 
 there is an end of it — it dies. But look at 
 this : there are a couple of men now hang- 
 ing near the Thames, where all the sailors 
 must come up ; and one says to the other, 
 * Pray what are those two poor fellows there 
 for V — ' Why,' says another, ' 1 will go and 
 ask.' They ask. ' Why, those two men 
 are hung and gibbeted for murdering his 
 majesty's revenue officers.' And so the 
 thing is kept alive. If it was not for this, 
 people would die, and nobody would know 
 auy thing of it. In Abershaw's case I said 
 to the sheriff, ' The only difficulty in hang- 
 ing this fellow, upon this place, is its being 
 so near lord Spencer's house.' But we went 
 down, and pointed out a particular place ; 
 he was hung at the particular pitch of the 
 hill where he used to do the work. If there 
 was a person ever went to see that man 
 hanging, I am sure there was a hundred 
 thousand. I received information that they 
 meant to cut him down. I said to sir 
 Kichard Ford, ' I will counteract this; in 
 order to have it done right, I will go and 
 <it up all night, and have eight or ten 
 officers at a distance, for I shall nail these 
 fellows ;' for I talked cant language to him. 
 However, we had the officers there, but 
 nobody ever came, or else, being so close 
 to Kent-street, they would have come down 
 and sawed the gibbet, and taken it all 
 away, for Kent-street was a very desperate 
 place, though it is not so now. Lord chief 
 justice Eyre once went the Home Circuit ; 
 he began at Hertford, and finished at 
 Kingston. Crimes were so desperate, that 
 in his charge to the grand jury at Hertford, 
 he finished — ' Now, gentlemen of the jury, 
 you have heard my opinion as to the enor- 
 mity of the offences committed ; be careful 
 wlat bills you find, for whatever bills you 
 
 find, if the parties are convicted before me, 
 if they are convicted for capital offences, I 
 have made up my mind, as I go through 
 the circuit, to execute every one.' He did 
 so — he never saved man or woman — and a 
 singular circumstance occurred, that stands 
 upon record fresh in my mind. There were 
 seven people convicted for a robbery in 
 Kent-street; for calling in a pedlar, and 
 after robbing the man, he jumped out of 
 window. There were four men and three 
 women concerned; they were all convicted, 
 and all hanged in Kent-street, opposite the 
 door; and, I think, on Kennington Common 
 eight more, making fifteen: — all that were 
 convicted were hung. 
 
 Q. Do you think, from your long obser 
 vation, that the morals and manners of the 
 lower people in the metropolis are better or 
 worse than formerly ? 
 
 A. I am decidedly of opinion, that, with 
 respect to the present time, and the early 
 part of my time, such as 1781, 2, 3, 4, 5, 
 6, and 7, where there is one person con- 
 victed now — I may say, I am positively 
 convinced — there were five then. We never 
 had an execution wherein we did not grace 
 that unfortunate gibbet (at the Old Bailey) 
 with ten, twelve, to thirteen, sixteen, and 
 twenty ; and forty I once saw, at twice ; I 
 have them all down at home. I remember 
 in 1783, when sergeant Adair was recorder, 
 there were forty hung at two executions. 
 The unfortunate people themselves laugh at 
 it now; they call it ' a bagatelle.' I was 
 conversing with an old offender some years 
 ago, who has now quite changed his life ; 
 and he said, ' Why, sir, where there is one 
 hung now, there were five when I was 
 young;' and I said, ' Yes, you are right in 
 your calculation, and you are very lucky 
 that you were spared so long, and have 
 lived to be a better man.' I agree with 
 George Barrington — whom I brought from 
 Newcastle — and however gre-at lord chiei 
 baron Eyre's speech was to him, after he 
 had answered him, it came to this climax: 
 ' Now,' says he, ' Townsend, you heard 
 what the chief baron said to me; a fine 
 flowery speech, was it not ?' ' Yes :' ' But 
 he did not answer the question I put to him.' 
 Now how could he? After all that the 
 chief baron said to him after he was ac- 
 quitted — giving him advice — this word was 
 every thing : says he, ' My lord, I have 
 paid great attention to what you have been 
 stating to me, after my acquittal : I return 
 my sincere thanks to the jury for their 
 goodness : but your lordship says, you 
 lament very much that a man of my abili- 
 ties should not turn my abilities to a bet>«i 
 
 490 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 use. Now, my lord, I have only this reply 
 to make : I am ready to go into any service, 
 to work for my labour, if your lordship will 
 but find me a master.' Why, what was the 
 reply to that ? ' Gaoler, take the prisoner 
 away.' Why who would employ him? 
 It is really farcical. I have heard magi- 
 strates say, ' Young man, really I am 
 very sorry for you; you are much to be 
 pitied ; you should turn your talents to a 
 better account ; and you should really leave 
 off" this bad course of life.' Yes, that is 
 better said than done ; for where is there any 
 body to take these wretches ? They have said 
 to me ; ' Sir, we do not thieve from disposi- 
 lion ; but we thieve because we cannot get 
 employment : our character is damned, and 
 nobody will have us :' and so it is ; there 
 s no question about it. 
 
 REMARKABLE EPITAPHS. 
 At Penryn. 
 
 Cere lies William Smith : and what is somewhat 
 
 rarish, 
 le was born, bred, and hang'd in this here parish. 
 
 At Staverton. 
 
 Here lieth the body of Betty Bowden, 
 Who would live longer but she couden ; 
 Sorrow and grief made her decay, 
 Till her bad leg carr'd her away. 
 
 At Loch Rausa. 
 
 Here lies Donald and his wife, 
 Janet Mac Fee : 
 Aged 40 hee. 
 And 30 shee. 
 
 On Mr. Bywater. 
 
 Here he the remains of his relative's pride, 
 Bywater he lived, and by water he died ; 
 Though by water he fell, yet by water he'll rise. 
 By water baptismal attaining the skies. 
 
 On a Miser. 
 
 Here lies one who for med'cine would not give 
 A little gold, and so his life he lost ; 
 
 I fancy now he'd wish again to live. 
 Could he bnt guess how much his fnn'ral cost. 
 
 s. s. s. 
 
 KING HENRY XL 
 
 Described by Giraldus Cambrensis, 
 
 Who accompanied him (as he afterwards 
 did King John) into Ireland, A. D. 1172. 
 
 Henry II., king of England, was of a 
 \ery good colour, but somewhat red ; his 
 head great and round, his eyes were fiery, 
 red, and grim, and his face very high 
 coloured ; his voice or speech was shaking, 
 quivering, or trembling; his neck short, 
 his breast broad and big; strong armed ; 
 his body was gross, and his belly somewhat 
 big, winch came to him rather by nature 
 than by any gross feeding or surfeiting ; 
 for his diet was very temperate, and to say 
 the truth, thought to be more spare than 
 comely, or for the state of a prince; and 
 yet to abate his grossness, and to remedy 
 this fault of nature, he did, as it were, 
 punish his body with continual exercise, 
 and keep a continual war with himself. 
 For in the times of his wars, which were 
 for the most part continual to him, he had 
 little or no rest at all ; and in times of 
 peace he would not grant unto himself any 
 peace at all, nor take any rest : for then 
 did he give himself wholly unto hunting ; 
 and to follow the same, he would v^ry 
 early every morning be on horseback, and 
 then go into the woods, sometimes into the 
 forests, and sometimes into the hills and 
 fields, and so would he spend the whole 
 day until night. In the evening when he 
 came home, he would never, or very sel- 
 dom, sit either before or after supper; for 
 though he were never so weary, yet still 
 would he be walking and goincf. And, 
 forasmiuch as it is very profitable for every 
 man in his lifetime that he do not take too 
 much of any one thinij;', for medicine itself, 
 which is appointed for man's help and 
 remedy, is not absolutely perfect and good 
 to be always used, even so it befell and hap- 
 pened to this prince; for, partly by his 
 excessive travels, and partly by divers 
 bruises in his body, his legs and feet were 
 swollen and sore. And, though he had no 
 disease at all, yet age itself was a breaking 
 sufficient unto him. He was of a reason- 
 able stature, which happened to none ol 
 his sons ; for his two eldest sons were 
 somewhat higher, and his two youngei 
 were somewhat lower and less than he was. 
 If he were in a good mood, and not angry, 
 then would he be very pleasant and elo- 
 quent : he was also (which was a thing very 
 rare in those days) very well learned : he 
 was also very aff"able, gentle, and court- 
 eous ; and besides, so pitiful, that when ht 
 
 4yi 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Kid overcome his enemy, yet ivourd he be 
 overcome with pity towards him. In war 
 16 was most valiant, and in peace he was 
 IS provident and circumspect. And in the 
 wars, mistrusting and doubting of the end 
 and event thereof, he would (as Terence 
 writeth) try all the ways and means he 
 could devise, rather than wage the battle, 
 [f he lost any of his men in the tight, he 
 would marvellously lament his death, and 
 seem to pity him more being dead, than he 
 did regard or account of him being alive; 
 moie bewailing the dead, than favouring 
 the living. 
 
 In times of distress no man was more 
 courteous ; and when all things were safe, 
 no man more cruel. Against the stubborn 
 mii unruly, no man more sharp, yet to the 
 •lumble no man more gentle; hard to- 
 wards his own men and household, but 
 liberal to strangers ; bountiful abroad, but 
 sparing at home ; whom he once hated, he 
 would never or very hardly love; and 
 whom he once loved, he would not lightly 
 be out with him, or forsake him. He had 
 ^reat pleasure and delight in hawking and 
 hunting :— would to God he had been as 
 well bent and disposed unto good devo- 
 tion !* 
 
 It was said, that after the displeasure 
 ^■rown between the king and his sons, by 
 'he means and through the enticing of the 
 queen their mother, he never was account- 
 ed to keep his word and promise, but, 
 without any regard or care, was a common 
 breaker thereof. And true it is, that, of a 
 certain natural disposition, he was light 
 and inconstant of his word ; and if the 
 matter were brought to a narrow strait or 
 pinch, he would not stick rather to cover 
 his word, than to deny his deed. And for 
 this cause, in all his doings, he was very 
 provident and circumspect, and a very 
 upright and severe minister of justice, al- 
 though he did therein grieve and make his 
 friends to smart. His answers, for the 
 most part, were perverse and froward. 
 And, albeit, for profit and lucre all things 
 are set to sale, and do bring great gains, as 
 well to the clergy as the liity, yet they are 
 no better to a man's heirs and executors, 
 than were the riches of Gehasi, whose 
 greedy doinw-s turned himself to utter ruin 
 and destruction. 
 
 lie was a great peace-maker, and careful 
 keeper thereof himself; a liberal alms- 
 giver, and a special benefactor to the Holy 
 Land ; he loved humility, abhorred pride, 
 
 • fiiraldiis here illudes to his quarrel with Thomas 
 a Becket. 
 
 and much oppressed his nobility. Th* 
 hungry he letreshed, the rich he regarded 
 not. The humble he would exalt, but the 
 mighty he disdained. He usurped much 
 upon the holy church ; and of a certain 
 kind of zeal, but not according to know, 
 ledge, he did intermingle and conjoin pro 
 fane with holy things ; for why ? He would 
 be all in all himself. He was the child ot 
 the holy mother church, and by her ad- 
 vanced to the sceptre of his kingdom ; and 
 yet he either dissembled or utterly forgot 
 the same ; for he was slack always in com- 
 ing to the church unto the divine service, 
 and at the time thereof he would be busied 
 and occupied rather with councils and in 
 conference about the affairs of his common- 
 wealth, than in devotion and prayer. The 
 livelihoods belonging to any spiritual pro- 
 motion, he would, in time of their vacation, 
 confiscate to his own treasury, and assume 
 that to himself which was due unto Christ. 
 When any new troubles or wars did grow. 
 or come upon him, then would he lavish 
 and pour out all that ever he had in store 
 or treasury, and liberally bestow that upon 
 a soldier, which ought to have been given 
 unto the priest. He had a very prudent 
 and forecasting wit, and thereby foreseeing 
 what things might or were like to ensue, 
 he would accordingly order or dispose 
 either for the performance or for the pre- 
 vention thereof; notwithstanding which, 
 many times the event happened to the con- 
 trary, and he was disappointed of his ex- 
 pectation : and commonly there happened 
 no ill unto him, but he would foretell there- 
 of to his friends and familiars. 
 
 He was a marvellous natural father to 
 his children, and loved them tenderly in 
 their childhood and young years; but thej 
 being grown to some age and ripeness, he 
 was as a father-in-law, and could scarcely 
 brook any of them. And, notwithstanding 
 they were very handsome, comely, and 
 noble gentlemen, yet, whether it were that 
 he would not have them prosper too fast, 
 or whether they had evil deserved of him, 
 he hated them ; and it was full much 
 against his will that they should be his 
 successors, or heirs to any part of his in- 
 heritance. And such is the prosperity of 
 man, that as it cannot be perpetual, no 
 more can it be perfect and assured ; for 
 why? — such was the secret malice of for- 
 tune against this king, that where he should 
 have received much comfort, there had he 
 most sorrow; where quietness and safety 
 — there unquietness and peril ; where peace 
 — there enmity ; where courtesy — there in- 
 gratitude; where rest — there trouble. Aw) 
 
 492 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 whether this happened by the means of 
 their marriages, or for the punishment of 
 the father's sins, certain it is, there was no 
 good agreement, neither between the father 
 and the sons, nor yet among the sons them- 
 selves. 
 
 But at length, when all his enemies and 
 the disturbers of the common peace were 
 suppressed, and his brethren, his sons, and 
 all others his adversaries, as well at home 
 as abroad, were reconciled ; then all things 
 happened and befell unto him (though it 
 were long first) after and according to his 
 own will and mind. And would to God 
 he had likewise reconciled himself unto 
 God, and by amendment of his life, had in 
 the end also procured his favour and 
 mercy ! Besides this, which I had almost 
 forgotten, he was of such a memory, that 
 if he had seen and known a man, he would 
 aot forget him : neither yet whatsoever he 
 had heard, would he be unmindful thereof. 
 And hereof was it, that he had so ready a 
 memory of histories which he had read, 
 and a knowledge and a manner of experi- 
 ence in all things. To conclude, if he had 
 been chosen of God, and been obsequious 
 and careful to live in his fear and after his 
 laws, he had excelled all the princes of the 
 world ; for in the gifts of nature, no one 
 man was to be compared unto him.* 
 
 AMSTERDAM — WITHOUT WATER. 
 
 An amusing and lively account of this 
 ■capital, its public institutions, society, 
 painters, &c. may be found in a small 
 volume, entitled " Voyage par la Hol- 
 lande," published by a French visitant in 
 1806. This is probably the most recent 
 sketch of Amsterdam. With the exception 
 of the conversion of the stadt-house into a 
 king's palace, and the establishment of cer- 
 tain societies, its general aspect and cha- 
 racter have undergone little change for a 
 century past ; insomuch that " Le Guide 
 d'Amsterdam," published by Paul Blad in 
 1720, may be regarded as forming a correct 
 and useful pocket-companion at the pre- 
 sent day. The descriptions given of the 
 Dutch towns by Mr. Ray in 1663, Dr. 
 Brown in 1668, Mr. Misson in 1687, and 
 
 Dr. Northleigh in 1702, are applica-jle ir 
 almost every particular to the same towns 
 at the present day ; so comparatively sta- 
 tionary has Holland been, or so averse arf 
 the people to changes. 
 
 That fuel should be scarce and dear ir. 
 Amsterdam, the capital of a country desti- 
 tute of coal-mines, and growing very little 
 wood, might be expected ; but, surrounded 
 and intersected by canals as the city is, it 
 is surprising that another of the necessaries 
 of life, pure water, should be a still scarcer 
 commodity : yet such is the case. There 
 is no water fit for culinary purposes in 
 Amsterdam but what is brought by boats 
 from the Vecht, a distance of fifteen miles ; 
 and limpid water is brought from Utrecht, 
 more than twice that distance, and sold in 
 the streets by gallon measures, for table 
 use, and for making of tea and cofi'ee.* 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 REASON, 
 If not Rhyme. 
 
 Dame Prudence whispers marry not 
 'Till you have pence enough to pay 
 
 For chattels, and to keep a cot, 
 And leave a mite for quarter-day. 
 
 Beside chair, table, and a bed. 
 
 Those need, vvfho cannot live on aii. 
 
 Two plates, a basket for the bread. 
 
 And knives and forks at least two pair. 
 
 When winter rattles in the sky 
 Drear is the bed that wants a rug. 
 
 And hapless he whose purse is dry 
 When sickness calls for pill and draif. 
 
 So, Bess, we'll e'en put off the day 
 
 For parson C to tie us fast— 
 
 Who knows but luck, so long away. 
 
 May come and bide with us at last ? 
 
 Hope shall be ours the tedious while ; 
 
 We'll mingle hearts, our lips shall join 
 I'll only claim thy sweetest smile. 
 
 Only thy softest tress be mine. 
 
 VeRIT£. 
 
 * Extracted (from lord Mountmorris's History of 
 ilie Irish Parliament, vol. i. page 33, et infra) by 
 • The Veiled Spirit." 
 
 493 
 
 • Horticultural Toitr,. 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 SONG, 
 
 iMrXATED FROM THE GeRMAW OF HoLTY. 
 
 Wer wollte sich mit Grillen plagen, &e. 
 
 Who — who would think of sorrowing 
 In hours of youth and bloomins; spring. 
 When bright cerulean skies are o'er us. 
 And sun-lit paths before us — 
 Who — who would suffer shade to steal 
 
 Over the foreliead's vernal light. 
 
 Whilst young Hope in her heav'n-ward flight 
 Oft turns her face round to reveal 
 
 Her bright eye to the w.iptur'd sight — 
 Whilst Joy, with many smiles and becks. 
 Bids MS pnrsae the road ke takes. 
 
 Still, as erst, the fountain plays. 
 
 The arbour's green and cool, 
 And the fair queen of night doth gaze 
 
 On earth, as chastely beautiful 
 As when she op'd her wond'ring eyes 
 First— on the flowers of Paradise. 
 
 Still doth, as erst, the grape-juice brighten 
 The heart in fortune's wayward hour — 
 
 And still do kindred liearts delight in 
 Affection's kiss in evening-bower. 
 
 Still Philomela's passionate strain 
 
 Bids long-fled feelings come again. 
 
 The world, to me, is wond'rous fair — 
 So fair, that sliould I cease to hold 
 
 Communion with its scenes so dear, 
 I'd think my days were nearly told. 
 
 R. W. D. 
 
 SWEETHEART SEEING. 
 
 St. Mark's Eve. — In Chancery, Ah- 
 qust 2, 1827. In a cause, " Barker v. Ray," 
 a deponent swore, that a woman, named 
 Ann Johnson, and also called ''Nanny 
 Nunks," went to the deponent, and said to 
 her, "I'll tell you what I did to know if I 
 :ould have Mr. Barker. On St. Mark's 
 night I ran round a haystack nine times, 
 with a ring in my hand, calling out, * Here's 
 the sheath, but where's the knife?' and, 
 when I was running round the ninth time, 
 I thought I saw Mr. Barker coming heme ; 
 but he did not come home that night, but 
 was brought from the Blue Bell, at Bever- 
 ley, the next day." 
 
 THINGS WORTH REMEMBERING. 
 
 Controversy. 
 
 A man who is fond of disputing, will, 
 in time, have few friends to dispute with. 
 
 Truth is clothed in -white. But a lie 
 Gomes forth with all the colours of the 
 rainbow. 
 
 Adversity, a good Teacher. 
 
 Those bear disappointments the best, 
 who have been the most used to them. 
 
 Example 
 
 When a misfortune happens to a friena 
 look forward and endeavour to prevent ibe 
 same thing from happening to yourself. 
 
 Standard of Value. 
 
 The worth of every thing is determined 
 by the demand for it. In tlie deserts of 
 Arabia, a pitcher of cold water is of more 
 value than a mountain of gold. 
 
 Luck and Labour. 
 
 A guinea found in the street, will not do 
 a poor man so much good as half a guinea 
 earned by industry. 
 
 Earning the best getting. 
 
 Give a man work, and be will find 
 money. 
 
 Early Hours. 
 
 Since the introduction of candles, luxury 
 has increased. Our forefathers rose with 
 the lark, and went to bed with the sun. 
 
 Indications of the State-pulse. 
 
 A jolly farmer returning home in his 
 own waggon, after delivering a load of 
 corn, is a more certain sign of nationa' 
 prosperity, than a nobleman riding in his 
 chariot to the opera or the playhouse. 
 
 Ovekwise and otherwise. 
 
 A man of bright parts has generally more 
 indiscretions to answer for than a block- 
 head: 
 
 494 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ■ some monitomnseen,. 
 
 CaEs for the song,— tiie call shall be obey d; 
 For 'tis that silent monitor, I ween. 
 
 Which led my youth, to many a green-wood shade'; 
 
 Show'd me the spring, in thousand blooms array'd. 
 And bade me look towards Heaven's immensity. 
 
 This is a power that schoolmen never made. 
 That comes all unsolicited and free. 
 To fire the youthful bard— lo I this is Poesy I 
 
 The Song of the Patriot. 
 
 BOBERT MILLHOUSE 
 
 The talented author of the poem scarcely known to f^^^^' J'^d not at aU 
 
 from whence the motto is extracted is to fortvne. His unostentatious iitUe 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 495 
 
 2K 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 volume, entitled " The Song of the Patriot, 
 Sonnets, and Songs," was thrown accident- 
 ally in my way ; and its perusal occasions 
 nie to acquaint the readers of the Table 
 Book with its uncommon merit. I do not 
 know any thing concerning the poet 
 beyond what I have derived trom printed 
 particulars, which I now endeavour to dif- 
 fuse. That he is highly esteemed by a 
 discriminating brother bard in his native 
 county, is apparent by the following beau- 
 tiful address to him in the Nottingham 
 Mercury : — 
 
 Stanzas. 
 
 My thoughts ar« of a solitary place, 
 
 Where twilight dwells, where gnnbeams rarely fall; 
 And there a wild-rose hangs in pensive grace, 
 Reflected in a fountain clear and small ; 
 Above them rise dark shadowy trees and tall. 
 Whilst round tJiem grow rank night-shades in the 
 gloom, 
 Which seem with noxious influence to pall 
 Ths fountain's light, and taint the flower's perfume ; 
 As fainly they would mar what they might not o\:V 
 bloom. 
 
 These, mind me, Millhouse 1 of thy spirit's ligh... 
 
 That twilight makes in life so dark as thine ! 
 And though I do not fear the rose may blight, 
 
 Or that the fountain's flow may soon decline ; 
 
 Hope, is there none, the boughs which frown malign. 
 High over-head, should let in heaven's sweet face ; 
 
 Yet shall not these their life unknown resign, 
 For nature's votaries, wandering in each place. 
 Shall find th«ir secret shade, and marvel at their 
 grace. 
 
 It appears from a small volume, pub- 
 lished in 1823, entitled " Blossoms — by 
 Robert Millhouse — being a Selection of 
 Sonnets from his various Manuscripts,'' 
 that the Rev. Luke Booker, LL.D. vicar 
 of Dudley, deemed its author " a man 
 whose genius and character seemed to merit 
 the patronage of his country, while his 
 pressing wants, in an equal degree, claimed 
 its compassion." The doctor " presumed 
 to advocate his case and his cause " before 
 the " Literary Fund," and a donation 
 honourable to the society afforded the poet 
 temporary relief. This, says Millhouse, 
 was " at a time when darkness surrounded 
 me on every side." In a letter to Dr. 
 Booker, lamenting the failure of a subscrip- 
 tion to indemnify him for publishing his 
 poems, when sickness had reduced a wife 
 and infant child to the borders of the grave, 
 he says, " I am now labouring under in- 
 disposition both of body and mind ; which, 
 witb the united evils of poverty and a bad 
 tradj, have brought on me a species of 
 
 melancholy that requires the utmost exer 
 tions of my philosophy to encounter.^ 
 About this period he wrote the following :— 
 
 To A Leafless Hawthokn. 
 
 Hail, ru«tic tree I for, though November's wind 
 
 Has thrown thy verdant mantle to the ground: 
 Yet Nature, to thy vocal inmates kind, 
 
 With berries red thy matron-boughs has crown'd 
 'I'hee do I envy : for, bright April show'rs 
 
 Will bid again thy fresh green leaves expand; 
 And May, light floating in a cloud of flow'rs, 
 
 Will cause thee to re-bloom with magic hand. 
 But, on my spring, when genial dew-drops fell, 
 
 Soon did life's north-wind curdle them with trost; 
 And, when my summer-blossom op'd its bell, 
 
 In blight and mildew was its beauty lost. 
 
 Before adducing other specimens o< 
 his talents, it seems proper to give som*^ 
 account of the poet ; aiid it can scarcely 
 be better related than in the following 
 
 Memoir of Robert Millhouse, by hi)- 
 ELDER Brother, John Millhouse. 
 
 Robert Millhouse was born a.. Netting 
 ham the 14th of October, 1788, and wa- 
 the second often children. The poverty o' 
 his parents compelled them to put him tc 
 work at the age of six years, and when tei: 
 he was sent to work in a stocking-loom. 
 He had been constantly sent to a Sunda) 
 school, (the one which was under the parti- 
 cular patronage of tJiat truly philanthropit 
 ornament of human nature, the late Mr 
 Francis Wakefield,) till about the last-men- 
 tioned age, when a requisition having been 
 sent by the rector of St. Peter's parish, Dr. 
 Staunton, to the master of the school, for 
 six of his boys to become singers at the 
 church, Robert was one that was selected; 
 and thus terminated his education, which 
 merely consisted of reading, and the first 
 rudiments of writing. 
 
 When sixteen years old he first evinced 
 an inclination for the study of poetry, which 
 originated in the following manner. — Being 
 one day at the house of an acquaintance, 
 he observed on the chimney-piece two 
 small statues of Shakspeare and Milton, 
 which attracting his curiosity, he read on a 
 tablet in front of the former, that celebrated 
 inscription — 
 
 " The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces. 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself. 
 Yea, all which 't inherit, shall dissolve ; 
 And like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
 Leave not a wreck behind I" 
 
 Its beauty and solemnity excited in hii 
 mind the highest degree of admiration 
 
 496 
 
TRE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 At the ''rst opportunity he related the oc- 
 currence to me with apparent astonish- 
 ment, and concluded by saying, *' Is it not 
 Scripture ?" In reply, I told him it was a 
 passage from Shakspeare's play of the 
 '' Tempest," a copy of which I had in my 
 possession, and that he had better read it. 
 For, although he had from his infancy been 
 accustomed to survey with delight the 
 beautiful scenery which surrounds Not- 
 tingham, had heard with rapture the sing- 
 ing of birds, and been charmed with the 
 varied beauties of the changing seasons ; 
 ■md though his feelings were not unfre- 
 quently awakened by hearing read pathetic 
 narratives, or accounts of the actions and 
 sufferings of great and virtuous men, yet he 
 ■was totally ignorant that such things were 
 in any wise connected with poetry. 
 
 He now began to read with eagerness 
 such books as I had previously collected, 
 the principal of which were some of the 
 plays of Shakspeare, Paradise Lost, Pope's 
 Essay on Man, the select poems of Gray, 
 Collins, Goldsmith, Prior, and Parnell, two 
 volumes of the Tatler, and Goldsmith's 
 Essays, all of the cheapest editions. But, 
 ere long, by uniting our exertions, we were 
 enabled to purchase Suttaby's miniature 
 edition of Pope's Homer, Dryden's Virgil, 
 Hawkesworth's translation of Telemachus, 
 Mickle's version of the Lusiad, Thomson's 
 Seasons, Beattie's Minstrel, &c. These 
 were considered as being a most valuable 
 acquisition ; and the more so, because we 
 had feared we should never be able to 
 obtain a sight of some of them, through 
 their being too voluminous and expensive. 
 
 In 1810 he became a soldier in the Not- 
 tinghamshire militia, joined the regiment 
 at Plymouth, and shortly afterwards made 
 an attempt at composition. 
 
 It will readily be expected that now, 
 being separated, we should begin to cor- 
 respond with each other ; and one day, on 
 opening a letter •which I had just received 
 from him, I was agreeably surprised at the 
 sight of his first poetical attempt, the 
 " Stanzas addressed to a Swallow ;" which 
 was soon after followed by the small piece 
 written " On finding a Nest of Robins." 
 Shortly after this the regiment embarked at 
 Plymouth, and proceeded to Dublin ; from 
 which place, in the spring of 1812, I re- 
 ceived in succession seveial other efibrts of 
 his muse. 
 
 Being now desirous of knowing for cer- 
 tain whether any thing he had hitherto pro- 
 duced was worthy to appear in print, he 
 requested me to transmit some of them to 
 the editor of the Nottingham P>.eview, with 
 
 a desire that, if they met with his appro 
 bation, he would insert them in his paper; 
 with which request that gentleman very 
 promptly complied. Having now a greater 
 confidence in himself, he attempted some- 
 thing of a larger kind, and produced, in the 
 summer of 1812, the poem of " Nottingham 
 Park." 
 
 In 1814 the regiment was disembodied, 
 when he again returned to the stocking- 
 loom, and for several years entirely nea;- 
 lected composition. In 1817 he was placed 
 on the staff of his old regiment, now the 
 Royal Sherwood foresters ; and in the 
 following year became a married man. The 
 oares of providing for a family now increased 
 his necessities : he began seriously to reflect 
 on his future prospects in life; and per- 
 ceiving he had no other chance of betterina: 
 his condition than by a publication, and 
 not having sufficient already written to 
 form a volume, he resolved to attempt 
 something of greater magnitude and im- 
 portance than he had hitheito done ; and 
 n I'ebruary, 1819, began the poem of 
 " Vicissitude." The reader will easily con- 
 ceive that such a theme required some 
 knowledge of natural and moral philoso- 
 phy, of history, and of the vital principles 
 of religion. How far he has succeeded in 
 this poem is not for me to say ; but certain 
 it is, as may be expected from the narrow- 
 ness of his education, and his confined 
 access to books, his knowledge is very 
 superficial : however, with unceasing ex- 
 ertions, sometimes composinsf while at 
 work under the pressure of poverty and ill- 
 health, and at other times, when released 
 from his daily labour, encroaching upon 
 the hours which ought to have been allotted 
 to sleep, by the end of October, 1820, the 
 work was brought to a conclusion. 
 
 To his brother's narrative should be 
 added, that Robert Millhouse's " Vicissi- 
 tude," and other poems, struggled into tlie 
 world with great difficulty, and were suc- 
 ceeded by the volume of" Blossoms." The 
 impression of both v.'as small, their sale 
 slow, and their price low ; and nearly as, 
 soon as each work was disposed of, the 
 produce was exhausted by the wants of the 
 author and his family. 
 
 Fresh and urgent necessities have re- 
 quired fresh exertions, and the result is 
 " The Song of the Patriot, Sonnets, and 
 Songs," a four-shilling volume, "printed 
 for "the Author and sold by R. Hunter, 
 St. Paul's Church-yard, and J. Dunn, Not- 
 tingham." The book appeared in the 
 
 497 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 autumn of last year, after poor Millhouse 
 had suffered much privation from the bad 
 state of the times. It was published with 
 a slender list of subscribers — only seventy- 
 seven ! — and, though intended to improve 
 hi.s situation, has scarcely defrayed the bills 
 Df the stationer and printer, • 
 
 The author of " The Song of the Pa- 
 triot " anticipated the blight of his efforts. 
 In the commencement of that poem, he 
 says : — 
 
 'Tis difficult for little men 
 
 To raise their feeble pigmy heads so h'.ijh, 
 As to attract the glance of passing ken 
 
 VVhere giant shoulders intercept the sky ; 
 
 And ah ! 'tis difficult for such as I, 
 To wake fat strains where mighty minstrels sing. 
 
 Perhaps, even this, shall but be born and die ; 
 Not fated to enjoy a second spring, 
 Bv'tlike some hawk-struck bird, expire on new-fledg'd 
 wing. 
 
 In this poem there are stanzas expressed 
 with all a poet's fire, and all a patriot's 
 heartfelt devotion to his country. 
 
 liand of my fathers ! may thy rocky coast 
 Long be the bulwark of thy free-born race ; 
 
 Long may thy patriots have just cause to boast 
 That mighty Albion is their native place , 
 Still be thy sons unequall'd in the chaso 
 
 Of glory,, be it science, arts, or a/ms , 
 
 And first o'erweening conquerors to disgrace , 
 
 Yet happier far, when Peace in all her charias. 
 
 Drives out from every land the din of war's alarms. 
 
 Potent art thou in poesy — Vet there still 
 
 Is one thing which the bard hath seldom scann'd ; 
 
 That national, exalting local thrill. 
 Which makes our home a consecrated land : 
 'Tis not enough to stretch the Muses' wand 
 
 O'er states, where thy best blood has purchas'd fame ; 
 Nor that thy fertile genius should expand 
 
 To cast o'er foreign themes the witching flame : 
 
 This haih thy lyre perform'd, and won a glorious 
 name. 
 
 Be every hill and dale, where childhood wanders, 
 And every grove and nook, the lover knows, 
 
 Aad every stream, and runlet that meanders. 
 And every plain that covers freedom's foes 
 The dwelling-place of Song, — and where repose 
 
 The great immortal worthies of our isle 
 Be hallow'd ground. — and when the pilgrim goes 
 
 Tc hail the sacred dust, and muse awhile, 
 
 Be heard the free-born strain to blanch the tyrant's 
 smile, 
 
 Tlie patriotism of that people, traces of 
 whose victories are observable in many of 
 our customs, has been well discriminated. 
 " In the most virtuous times of the Roman 
 republic their country was the idol, at whos e 
 shrine her greatest patriots were at all time3 
 
 prepared to offer whole hecatombs of h& 
 man victims: the interests of other nations 
 were no further regarded, than as they could 
 be rendered subservient to the gratification 
 of her ambition ; and mankind at large 
 were considered as possessing no rights, 
 but such as might with the utmost pro- 
 pi iety be merged in that devouring vortex. 
 With all their talents and their grandeur, 
 they were unprincipled oppressors, leagued 
 in a determined conspiracy against the 
 liberty and independence of mankind."'* 
 Every English patriot disclaims, on behalf 
 of his country, the exclusive selfishness of 
 Roman policy ; and Millhouse is a patriot 
 in the true sense of the word. His " Song 
 of the Patriot" is a series of energetic- 
 stanzas, that would illustrate the remark. 
 At the hazard of exceeding prescribed 
 limits, two more are added to the specimens- 
 already quoted. 
 
 A beacon, lighted on a giant hill; 
 
 A sea-girt watch-tower to each neighboaring state;. 
 A barrier, to control the despot's will ; 
 
 An instrument of all-directing fate 
 
 Is Britain ; for whate'er in man is great. 
 Full to that greatness have her sons attain'd ; 
 
 Dreadful in war to hurl the battle's weight; 
 Supreme in arts. In commerce «nrestrain'd ; 
 Peerless in magic song, to hold the soul encham'd. 
 
 In wealth and power stupendous is our isle I 
 Obtain'd by Labour's persevering hand : 
 
 And heaven-born Liberty extends her smilo 
 To the remotest corners of our land : 
 The meanest subject feels her potent wand,; 
 
 Peasant and peer are by one law controU'd ; 
 And this it Is, tliat keeps us great and grand : 
 
 This is the impulse makes our warriors bold. 
 
 And knits more close the bond our fathers seal'd of old 
 
 The prevailing feature in Robert Mill- 
 house's effusions is of a domestic nature.. 
 He loves his country, and deems his birth- 
 place and the hearth of his family its bright- 
 est spots. One of his sonnets combines- 
 these feelings : — 
 
 Home. 
 
 Scenes of my birth, and careless childhood hours 
 
 Ye smiling hills, and spacious fertile vales ! 
 Where oft I wander'd, plucking vernal flowers. 
 
 And reveird in the odour-breathing gales; 
 Should fickle Fate, with talismanic waud. 
 
 Bear me afar where either India glows. 
 Or fix my dwelling on the Polar lind. 
 
 Where Nature wears her cver-during snows. 
 Still shall your charms my fondest themes adorn 
 
 When placid evening paints the western sky, 
 
 • Robtrt HalL 
 
 498 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 And when Hyperion wakes the blushing Morn, 
 To rear his gorgeous sapphire throne on high, 
 for, to the guileless heart, where'er we roam. 
 No scenes delight us like our much-lov'd Home. 
 
 A man so humble, with such acquire- 
 ments as have been here exemplified', and 
 so unfortunate as to have derived little from 
 their exercise but pain and disappointment, 
 may be imagined to have penned the fol- 
 lowing address in distress and despond- 
 ency ; — 
 
 To Genius. 
 
 O bom of heaven, thou Child of magic Song I 
 What pangs, what cutting hardships wait on thee. 
 When thou art doom'd to cramping Poverty ; 
 
 The pois'nous shafts from Defamation's tongue, — 
 
 The jeers and taun tings of the blockhead throng, 
 Who joy to see thy hold exertions fail; 
 While Hunger, pinching); as December's gale. 
 
 Brings moody dark Despondency along. 
 And, should'st thou strive Fame's lofty mount to 
 scale. 
 
 The steps of its ascent are cut in sand ; 
 
 And half-way up, — a snake-scourge in her hand. 
 Lurks pallid Envy, ready to assail : 
 
 And last, if thou the top, expiring, gain. 
 
 When Fame applauds, thou hearest not the strain. 
 
 In this sheet there is not room to further 
 make known, or plead at greater length, 
 the claims of Robert Millhouse to notice 
 and protection. 1 should blush for any 
 reader of poetical taste, with four shillings 
 to spare, who, after perusing the preceding 
 extracts, would hesitate to purchase the 
 poet's last little volume. I should more 
 than blush for the more wealthy, who are 
 reputed patrons of talent, if ihey decline to 
 seek out and effectually succour him. I 
 am, and am likely to remain, wholly unac- 
 quainted with him: my only wish is to 
 induce attention to a talented and estima- 
 ble individual, who is obscure and neg- 
 lected, because he is unobtrusive ana 
 modest, 
 
 August 8, 1827. * 
 
 AN INFERNAL PALINDROME. 
 
 {Palindrome. A word or sentence which is the same 
 read backward as forwards : as, madam ; or this 
 sentence Subi dura a rudibus. JuhnsoTu] 
 
 Whence did Geoffry Crayon derive " The 
 Poor Devil Author," the title to one of his 
 " Tales of a Traveller," but from a legendary 
 story, according to which the devil is ac- 
 quainted with versification, although his 
 Un^g are constructed in a very remarkable 
 manner ; for they can be read forward and 
 
 backward, and preserve the same sense. 
 There is a specimen of this " literary in- 
 genuity " in the present volume of the 
 Table Book, (col. 28.) The « Lives of the 
 Saints" afford another, viz : — 
 
 St. Martin (of whom there is an account 
 in the Every-Day Book, vol. i. p. 1469) 
 having given up the profession of a soldier, 
 and being elected bishop of Tours, when 
 prelates neither kept carriages, horses, nor 
 servants, had occasion to go to Rome, in 
 order to consult his holiness upon some 
 important ecclesiastical matter. As he was 
 walking gently along the road, he met the 
 devil, who politely accosted him, and ven- 
 tured to observe how fatiguing and in- 
 decorous it was for him to perfoim so lono- 
 a journey on foot, like the commonest of 
 cockle-shell-chaperoned pilgrims. The saint 
 knew well the drift of Old Nick's address, 
 and commanded him immediately to be- 
 come a beast of burthen, or jumentum ; 
 which the devil did in a twinkling, by 
 assuming the shape of a mule. The samt 
 jumped upon the fiend's back, who, at first, 
 trotted cheerfully along, but soon slackened 
 his pace. The bishop, of course, had neither 
 whip nor spurs, but was possessed of a 
 much more powerful stimulus, for, says the 
 legend, he made the sign of the cross, and 
 the smarting devil instantly galloped away. 
 Soon, however, and naturally enough, the 
 father of sin returned to sloth and obsti- 
 nacy, and Martin hurried him again with 
 repeated signs of the cross, tiirtwitchet^ 
 and stung to the quick by those crossings 
 so hateful to him, the vexed and tired re- 
 probate uttered the following distich in a 
 rage :— 
 
 Signa te, Signa: temere me tangis et angis : 
 Roma tibi subito motibus ibit amor. 
 
 That is — " Cross, cross thyself — thou 
 plaguest and vexest me without necessity; 
 for, owing to my exertions, Rome, the ob- 
 ject of thy wishes, will soon be near." The 
 singularity of this distich consists, as 
 huited above, in its being palindromical j 
 or it reads backwards as well as in the 
 common way — Jiigis, the last word of the 
 first line, makes signa — et makes te — and 
 so on to the beginning. Amor, the last of 
 the last line, read backwards, makes Roma 
 — ibit makes tibi — and so forth. 
 
 These lines have been quoted imper- 
 fectly and separately in " Encyclopedies " 
 and other books, under the words " Palin- 
 dromical verses ;" but the reader will not 
 easily meet with the legendary tale, which 
 gives them historical consistence and mean- 
 ing. 
 
 499 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 #arn'clt f Ia|)sf* 
 
 No. XXIX. 
 
 rFrom the " Gentleman Usher," a Comedy, 
 by G. Chapman, 1606.] 
 
 Vincentio, a Prince (to gain Mm over to 
 his interest in a love-affair) gulls Bassiolo, 
 a formal Gentleman Usher to a Great Lord, 
 with commendations of his wise house-or- 
 dering at a great Entertainment. 
 
 Vine. — liesides, good Sir, your Show did shew so 
 
 well — 
 Bass. Did it indeed, my Lord? 
 
 Vine. O Sir, believe it, 
 •Twas the best fashion'd and well-order'd thing. 
 That ever eye beheld : and therewithal. 
 The fit attendance by the servants used. 
 The gentle guise in serving every guest. 
 In other entertainments; every thing 
 About your house so sortfully disposed, 
 That ev'n as in a turn-spit (call'd a Jack} 
 One vice* assists another; the great wheels. 
 Turning but softly, make the less to whirr 
 About their business ; every different part 
 Concurring to one commendable end : 
 So, and in such conformance, with rare grace 
 Were all things order'd in your good Lord's house. 
 
 Bass. The most fit Simile that ever was. 
 
 Vine. But shall I tell you plainly my conceit. 
 Touching the man that (I think) caused this order? 
 
 Bass. Aye, good my Lord. 
 
 Vine. You note my Simile ? 
 
 Bass. Drawn from the turn-spit 
 
 Vine. I see, you have me. 
 Even as in that quaint engine you have seen 
 A little man in shreds stand at the winder. 
 And seems to put in act all things abo him, 
 ^lifting and pulling with a mighty stir, — 
 Yet adds no force to it, nor nothing does : 
 So, though your Lord be a brave gentleman. 
 And seems to do this business, he does nothing. 
 Some man about him was the festival robe 
 That made him shew so glorious and divine. 
 
 Bass. I cannot tell, my Lord ; but I should know 
 If any such there were. 
 
 Vine. Should know, quoth you ? 
 I warrant, you know well. Well, some there be. 
 Shall have the fortune to have such rare men 
 (Like brave Beasts to their arms) support their state; 
 When others, of as high a worth and breed. 
 Are made the wasteful food of them they feed. — 
 What state bath your Lord made you for your service ? 
 
 The same Bassiolo described. 
 
 Ittrd't Daughter. — his place is greet ; for he is not 
 only 
 
 My fathers Usher, bat the world's beside, 
 Because he goes before tt all in folly. 
 
 [From the " Bastard," a Tragedy, Auth(» 
 Unknown, 1632.] 
 
 Lover's Frown. 
 
 Roderiguez. Thy uncle, Love, holds still a jealoai 
 eye 
 On all my actions ; and I am advised, 
 That his suspicious ears 
 
 Are still behind the hangings ; that the servants 
 Have from him in command to watch who visits. 
 'Tis safest, in my judgment, in his presence 
 That thou forbear to cast a smile upon me , 
 And that, like old December, I should look 
 With an unpleasant ana contracted brow. 
 
 Varina. What, can'st thou change thy heart, ny 
 dear, that heart 
 Of flesh thou gav'st me, into adamant, 
 Or rigid marble ? can'st thou frown on me ? 
 
 Rod. You do mistake me, sweet, I mean not so 
 To change my heart; I'll change my countenance. 
 But keep my heart as loyal as before. 
 
 Var. In truth I cannot credit it, that thou 
 Can'st cast a frown on me ; I prithee, try. 
 
 Rod. Then thus : 
 (Ac tries, and cannot ; they smile on each other.') 
 
 Var. I prithee, sweet, betake thyself to school ; 
 This lesson thou must learn ; in faith thou art out. 
 
 Rod. Well, I must learn, and practice it, or we 
 Shall blast our budding hopes. 
 
 Var. Come, try again. 
 
 Red. But if I try, and prove a good proficient ; 
 If I do act my part discretely, you 
 Must take it as a play, not as a truth ; 
 Think it a formal, not a real frown. 
 
 Var. I shall 
 
 Rod. Then thus : i'faith, mimon, I'll look to thee. 
 (iAe swoons.) 
 
 Rod. Why, how now, sweet ! — I did mistrust thy 
 weakness : 
 Now I have learn'd my part, you are to seek. 
 
 Var. '/aith, 'twas my weakness ; when I did per 
 ceive 
 A cloud of rage condensed on thy brow. 
 My heart began to meit. 
 
 • Tnr». 
 
 [From " Love Tricks," a Comedy, by 
 James Shirley.] 
 
 Passionate Courtship. 
 
 InfoTtvmio. I must have other answer, for I iovf 
 you. 
 
 Se.lina. Mustl but I don't see any necessity tt«t 
 I mast love yon. I do confess you are 
 A proper mfto. 
 
 500 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Inf. do not mock, Selina ; let not exi^ellence, 
 ''Vhich you are full of, make you proud and scorrifiil. 
 [ am a Gectlentian ; though my outward part 
 Cannot attract affection, yet some have told me, 
 Mature hath made me what she nee'l not shame, 
 /et look into my heart ; there you shall see 
 Vhat you cannot despise, for there you are 
 ■Vith all your graces waiting on you ; there 
 ■ove hath made you a throne to sit, and rule 
 J'er Infortunio ; all my thoughts obeying, 
 ind honouring you as queen. Pass by my outside, 
 Vly breast I dare conipare with any man. 
 Sel. But who can see this breast you boast of so ? 
 Inf. O 'tis an easy work; for though it be 
 iVot to be pierced by the dull eye, whose beam 
 [s spent on outward shapes, there is a way 
 To make a search into its hidden'st passage. 
 [ know you would not love, to please your sense. 
 A. tree, that bears a ragged unleav'd top 
 lu depth of winter, may when summer comes 
 Speak by his fruit he is not dead but youthful. 
 Though once he shew'd no sap : my heart's a plant 
 Kept down by colder thoughts and doubtful fears. 
 Your frowns like winter storms make it seem dead; 
 But yet it is not so ; make it but yours. 
 And you shall see it spring, and shoot forth leaves 
 Worthy your eye, and the oppressed sap 
 Ascend to every part to make it green. 
 And pay your love with fruit when harvest comes. 
 
 Sel. Then you confess your love is cold as ) et. 
 And winter's in your heart. 
 
 Inf. Mistake me not, Selina, for I say 
 My heart is cold, not love. 
 Sel. And yet your love is from your heart, I'll war- 
 rant. 
 Inf. O you are nimble tomistake. 
 My heart is cold in your displeasures only, 
 And yet my love is fervent ; for your eye, 
 Casting out beams, maintains the flame it burns in-. 
 Again, sweet Love, 
 
 My heart is not mine own, 'tis yours, you have it ; 
 And while it naked lies, not deign'd your bosom 
 To keep it warm, how can it be but cold. 
 In danger to be frozen ? blame not it, 
 You only are in fault it hath no heat. 
 
 Sel. Well, Sir ; I know you have rhetoric, but I 
 Can without art give you a final answer. 
 
 Inf. O stay, and think awhile ; I cannot relish 
 You should say final: sweet, deliberate ; 
 It doth concern all the estate I have ; 
 I mean not dunghill treasure, but my life 
 Doth stand or fall to it; if your answer be 
 That you can love me, be as swift as light'ning • 
 But if you mean to kill me, and reject 
 My so long love-devotions, which I've paid 
 As to an altar, stay a little longer. 
 And let me count the riches I shall lose 
 By one poor airy word ; first give me back 
 That part of Infortunio that is lost 
 Within your love ; play not the tyrant with me. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 RIDICULE. 
 
 In many cases ridicule might be used iff 
 the place of severe chastisement, and some- 
 times with a more lasting effect, especially 
 among young people. One scheme of this 
 kind was tried with great success by the 
 elder Dr. Newcome, who governed a school 
 at Hackney about forty years ago. When 
 a pupil mistook in the pronunciation of a 
 Latin word, he used to make the faulty lad 
 repeat after him, before the whole school, 
 ' Nos Gfermani, non curamus, quantitatem, 
 syllabarum." The penalty of uttering, in 
 false quantity, this absurd assertion, sup- 
 posed to be made by a German, importing 
 that " His countrymen minded not how 
 they pronounced Latin,"^ was more dreaded' 
 by the boys than the ferula or the rod. 
 
 RIDICULOUS SITUATIONS. 
 Literary Nurserymen. 
 
 Melancthon studied the gravest points 
 of theology, while he held his book in one 
 hand, and in the other the edge of a cradle,- 
 which he incessantly rocked. 
 
 " M. Esprit,'' a celebrated author and 
 scholar, " has been caught by me," says 
 M. Marville, " reading Plato with great 
 attention, considering the interruption 
 which he met, from the necessity of fre- 
 quently sounding his little child's whistle " 
 
 A Prjncess a-pick-a-pack. 
 
 The great constable of France, Anne de 
 Montmorency, a man whose valour and 
 military skill was only exceeded by his 
 pride, his cruelty, and his bigotry, was 
 ordered by Francis I, to carry on his shoul- 
 ders, or any way that he could contrive it, 
 his niece, the princess of Navarre, to the 
 altar, where she was, against her will, to be 
 married to the due de Cleves. Brantome 
 observes, that this was a hard task, as the 
 little lady was so loaded with jewels, and 
 rich brocade of gold and silver, that she 
 could scarcely walk. The whole court were 
 amazed at the king's command ; the queen 
 of Navarre was pleased, as she wished her 
 daughter to be humbled, on account of her 
 having imbibed Lutheran principles; but 
 the constable was much hurt, at being ex 
 posed to the ridicule of the whole world 
 and said, " It is henceforward over with 
 me ; my favour at court is passed away :" 
 accordingly, he was dismissed as ioon as 
 .he wedding ■^?as over 
 
 mi 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE QUINTAIN, 
 
 Running at the "Quintain," an old sport 
 tormeiiy common in England, unexpectedly 
 occurs, and is sufficiently described, in the 
 following report of a recent fashionable en- 
 lertainment : — 
 
 Court Circulak. 
 
 Viscount and viscountess Gage gave a 
 grand f^te on Friday, (August 3, 1827,) at 
 their seat at Firle-plate, Sussex, to about a 
 hundred and sixty of the nobility and gen- 
 try, at which the ancient game of quintain 
 was revived. The sports commenced by 
 gentlemen riding with light spiked staves 
 at rings and apples, suspended by a string, 
 after which they changed their weapons to 
 stout poles, and attacked the two quintains, 
 which consisted of logs of wood fashioned 
 to resemble the head and body of a man, 
 and set upright upon a high bench, on 
 which they were kept by a chain passing 
 through the platform, and having a weight 
 suspended to it, so that if the log was not 
 struck full and forcibly the figure resumed 
 its seat. One was also divided in the mid- 
 dle, and the upper part being fixed on a 
 pivot turned, if not struck in tiie centre, 
 and requited its assailant by a blow with a 
 staff, to which was suspended a small bag 
 of flour. 
 
 The purses for unhorsing this quintain 
 were won by John Slater and Thomas Tre- 
 c*ck, Esqrs. The other figure which did 
 not turn, opposed a lance towards the as- 
 sailant's face, and the rider was to avoid 
 the iance, and unhorse the quintain at the 
 game time. The purses were won by Shef- 
 field Neave, Esq. and ihe hon. John Pel- 
 ham. 
 
 A third pair of piirses were offered for 
 unhorsing the quintain, by striking on a 
 coloured bell, which hooped round the 
 waist of the figure, thereby raising the 
 weight, which was considerable, by a much 
 shorter lever than when struck higher up. 
 This was a feat requiring great strength oi 
 arm and firmness of seat, and though not 
 fairly won according to the rules of the 
 game, the purses were ultimately assigned 
 to the very spirited exertions of Messrs. 
 Cayley and Gardener. 
 
 Viscountess Gage distributed the prizes 
 to the conquerors. 
 
 About six o'clock the numerous party 
 sat down to a cold collation of upwards of 
 three hundred dishes, consisting of every 
 delicacy the season could possibly afford, 
 including the choicest collection of fruits, 
 and wines of the finest quality : after which 
 many recontinued the game of quintain ; 
 others diverted themselves at rifling the 
 target. The ladies amused themselves at 
 archery. In the evening the assemblage of 
 nobility and gentry retired to the grand 
 hall, were fashionable quadrilles concluded 
 the amusements of the day.* 
 
 Combating the quintain is presumed to 
 have preceded jousts and tournaments. It 
 was originally nothing more than the trank 
 of a tree, or a post, set up for the practice of 
 tyros in chivalry. Afterwards a staff or 
 spear was fixed in the earth, and a shield 
 being hung upon it was the mark to strike 
 at : the dexterity of the performer consisted 
 
 • Times, AQgNist 7i 1827 
 
 502 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 •a smiting the shield so as to break the 
 'igatures, and throw it to the ground. In 
 process of time this diversion was improved, 
 ^ind instead of the staff and the shield, the 
 •esemblance of a human figure carved in 
 wood was introduced. To render its ap- 
 ;)earance formidable it was generally made 
 n the likeness of an armed Turk or Sara- 
 en, with a shield on his left arm, and 
 nandishing a club or sabre with his right. 
 The quintain was placed upon a pivot, so 
 IS to move round with facility. In running 
 it this figure the horseman directed his 
 lance to strike the forehead, between the 
 ■yes or on the nose ; for if he struck wide 
 )f those parts, especially upon the shield, 
 'he quintain turned about with much velo- 
 Mty, and unless he was exceedingly careful 
 ^ave him a severe blow upon the back with 
 the wooden sabre; when this occurred it 
 was deemed disgraceful to the performer, 
 ■md excited the laughter and ridicule of the 
 spectators. 
 
 The quintain is more particularly de- 
 scribed by the late Mr. Strutt in his account 
 of " The Sports and Pastimes of the People 
 of England," a large quarto volume, with 
 plates, which, from its increasing scarcity 
 and price, is scarcely attainable by the 
 general reader. The above representation 
 of the armed quintain is one of a series of 
 illustrations for a new and correct edition 
 of Mr. Strutt's "Sports," which is now 
 preparing for the press under the superin- 
 tendence of the editor of the Table Book. 
 It will be accurately printed in octavo. Eacli 
 of the engravings will be fac-simile, and of 
 the same size as the engravings in the 
 quarto volume. The price of the new edi- 
 tion will not exceed one-sixth of the cost of 
 the original, and it will be published in 
 shilling parts. 
 
 DAVID LOVE. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Died, on Tuesday afternoon, June 12th, 
 U;27, David Love; of whom there is a 
 portrait, with a memoir, in the Every-Day 
 Book, vol. ii. p. 2'2'5, with a further notice 
 at p. 1575. He had nearly attained his 
 seventy-seventh year; and, till within a 
 few weeks of his death, pursued his avoca- 
 tion of " walking stationer " in Nottingham. 
 It was unnecessary for hira to take out an 
 hpwker's iicense, as the coram i.dities iu 
 
 which he dealt were entirely of hh own 
 manufacture. 
 
 According to the memoirs of David 
 Love's life, (a curious specimen of " auto- 
 biography,") which he published in twenty- 
 four penny numbors, in 1824, and which 
 he sold veiy numerously, he was born near 
 Edinburgh in the year 1750 ; at three years 
 of age he was abandoned by his father, and 
 his mother shortly afterwards became blind; 
 he led her about, and was an " unlucky 
 urchm ;" when older grown he worked in 
 a coal-pit, but broke his arm, and was dis- 
 charged, and commenced hawking tracts 
 and small books. At twenty-five he was 
 worth upwards of three pounds. Then, 
 tliinking of settling in the world, he wooed, 
 won, and married a young woman : a small 
 shop was established, which succeeded at 
 first; but finding his fortune wasting, he 
 paid his first court to the Muses, by com- 
 posing two songs, of which the titles only 
 are now extant : — " The Pride and Vanity 
 of Young Women, with Advice to Young 
 Men, that they may take care who they 
 marry;" and "The Pride and Vanity ol 
 Young men, with Advice to the Maids, to 
 beware of being ensnared by their Flatteries 
 and enticing Words." These versifyings he 
 printed, and first started at a distant fair. 
 Their sale exceeded his expectations; he 
 discontinued his shop, paid Ids debts, and 
 soon after (during the American war) en- 
 listed into the duke of Buccleugh's regiment 
 of South Fencibles. His wife quickly pre- 
 sented him with a son, which being " the 
 first man child born in the regiment," the 
 duke accepted as his name-son. After ex- 
 periencing the vicissitudes of a soldier's 
 life, and getting out of the " black hole" 
 two or three times by his verses, he was 
 discharged, in consequence of a weakness 
 in his arm. He then had his soldier'^s poems 
 printed, resumed his old trade of walkme 
 stationer, turned his face to the south, and 
 was the more successful the farther he went 
 from home. After travelling for some 
 years he settled at Gosport, commenced 
 bookseller with his old stock of old books, 
 and printed a fourpenny volume of original 
 poems. He then lived for three years io 
 London, and composed many poema 
 Bristol was his next place of residence, and 
 there he performed several remarkable cures 
 out of an old receipt-book, but was to ^ 
 conscientious to turn quack doctor. Here 
 he saw his father, who died shortly after 
 " a repenting sinner," aged ninety-three. 
 Still travelling, he reached Newbury, iti 
 Berkshire, where he tells us he was " con- 
 verted," and he dates liis " new birth " on 
 
 503 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ihe 17th of April, 1796. Many papjes of 
 iiis work are occupied by his religious ex- 
 perience, and various texts of scripture, 
 whence he derived consolation. 
 
 In 1804 David Love buried his wife, 
 (aged fifty-one,) after a long illness, at Rug- 
 by, in Warwickshire. He journeyed to 
 Leicester, and thence to Nottingham, where 
 ■he from that time continued to reside, ex- 
 cept at intervals, and where he married 
 again. In eighteen months his second wife 
 ilied suddenly, also at Rugby. The follow, 
 mg is the commencement of a long elegy 
 9.1 the subject : — 
 
 " In this vain world my tronhles still abound, 
 My two wives lie in Rugby burial ground ; 
 Both of one name, aed both of them one age. 
 And in one house both were called off the stage." 
 
 These lines refer to a singular coincidence 
 "especting his wives ; both their maiden 
 aames were Mary Thompson, and both 
 were aged fifty-one at their death. In 
 4 810, May 21, he married his third and 
 surviving wife at St. Mary's church, Not- 
 tingham ; and, excepting a journey to Edin- 
 burgh, and another to London, they lived 
 in various parts of the town till his decease, 
 David's forte lay principally in religious 
 acrostics and hymns, for which he had a 
 good demand among the pious inhabitants. 
 The following is inserted as being- a short 
 one : — 
 
 To Ann Short, 
 
 If^ho said, " lam short of every thing." 
 
 A m short, O Lord, of praisioif thee, 
 A'othin^ I can do right ; 
 iVeedy and naked, poor I be, 
 S hort. Lord, I am of sight : 
 How short I am of love and grace 
 Of every thing I'm short : 
 R enew me, then I'll follow peace 
 Through good and bad report. 
 
 In person David was below the middle 
 itature ; his features were not unhandsome 
 for an old man ; his walk was exceedingly 
 slow, deliberately placing one foot before 
 the other, in order perhaps to give his cus- 
 tomers time to hear wha' he had got; his 
 voice was clear, and stroi gly marked with 
 the Scotch accent. He p issessed a readi- 
 ness of wit and repartee which is often 
 united with aspiring tale its in lower life. 
 A tribute to Love's me.nory, written on 
 the day of his burial, d .ay not be unac- 
 ceplabie 
 
 Elegy, written in St Mary's Church 
 YARD, Nottingham. 
 
 The sexton tolls the knell of David Love, 
 The funeral train treads slowly thro' the street, 
 
 Old General,* wand in hand, with crape above. 
 Conducts the pageant with demeanour meet. 
 
 Now stops the mournful train beside the grave. 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds ; 
 
 Save when the clerk repeats his twanging stave, 
 And on the coffin fall the pattering moulds ; 
 
 Save that from yonder grass-surrounded stone. 
 The whining schoolboy loudly does complain 
 
 Of such, as crowding round his mossy throne. 
 Invade his tottering transitory reign. 
 
 Beneath those rugged stones, that corner's shade. 
 And trodden grass in rough mis-shapen heap, 
 
 (Unless by Friday's art away convey'd.t) 
 In order due, what various bodies sleep. 
 
 The call of " coals," the cry of sooty sweep. 
 The twist machine j loud lumbering over head ; 
 
 The jacks' shrill whirring, § oft disturbing sleep — 
 No more shall louse them from their well-flock'd bee' 
 
 For them no more the Indi-an weed shall burn, 
 Or bustling landlord fill his beverage rare ; 
 
 No shopmates hall their comrade's wish'd return, 
 Applaud his song, and in his chorus share. 
 
 Perhaps in this hard-beaten spot is laid 
 Some head once vers'd in the mechanic powers. 
 
 Hands that the bat at cricket oft have sway'd. 
 Or won the cup for gooseberries and flowers. 
 
 Slow through the streets on totteiing footsteps borne. 
 Muttering his humble ditties he would rove. 
 
 Singing " Goose Fair," I or " Tread Mill " where foi 
 lorn 
 Consign'd by Lincoln 'squires trod David Love. 
 
 • Old General. See Every-Day Book, vol. ii. coj 
 1570, for a memoir of this worthy. 
 
 t Old Friday. The nickname of the ex-deput) 
 sexton of St. Mary's parish, who was more than sus 
 pected of participating in resurrectioning. In Feb. 
 1827, a discovery was made of some bodies about to be 
 removed to London; an examination ensued, when ii 
 was found that, for manymontlis. the dissecting rooms 
 of the metropolis were supplied wholesale fiom thf 
 various grounds of the parish ; and for manv Hays no 
 thing WHS heard of but the opening of graves, which 
 were discovered to be empty. 
 
 % Machines for making lace. 
 
 § Pan of a stocking-frame, which makes a great 
 noise in working. 
 
 I Goose fair. A great holiday fair at Nottingham, 
 so called probably from its occurrence immediately 
 after Michaelmas day, (viz. on October 2, 3, 4,) and 
 the great quantity of seese slaughtered and eaten. 
 One of David's best songs is on this subject, but it is 
 entirely local. Popular tradition, however, has as- 
 signed a far different origin to its name : a farmer who 
 io\- some reason or other (whettier grief for the loss ol 
 his wife, or her intidelity, or from mere curiosity-, oi 
 dread of the fair sex, or some other reason equally ur 
 reasonable, according to various accounts) had broughi 
 up his three sons i»i total seclusion, durmjr which thev 
 
 504' 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 One week I miss'd Lim from the martcet-place. 
 Along the streets where he was wout to be ; 
 
 Strange voices came, but his I could not trace. 
 Before the 'Change, nor by Sheep-lane was he. 
 
 And now with honour due, in sad array 
 
 Slow through the church-yard paths we've seen him 
 borne ; 
 Approach and liear (if thou wilt hear) the lay 
 
 In which the bard's departed worth we mourn. 
 
 Epitaph. 
 
 Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 
 A minstrel old in Nottingham well known, 
 
 [n Caledonia was his humble birth. 
 But England makes his aged bones her own. 
 
 liong were his verses, and his life was long. 
 Wide, as a recompense, his fame was spread ; 
 
 Ke sold for halfpence (all he had) a song. 
 He earn'd by them ('twas all he wlsh'd^ his bread. 
 
 No farther I his merits can disclose. 
 His widow dwells where David late abode; 
 
 Go, buy his life, wrote by himself, which shows 
 His service to his country, and his God. 
 
 Nott'mgham, 
 
 June ]-4, 1827. 
 
 THINGS WORTH REMEMBERING. 
 
 Be Honest. 
 
 If you only endeavour to be honest, you 
 are struggling with yourself, 
 
 A Definition. 
 
 Truth is the conformity of expression to 
 thought. 
 
 Take Care. 
 
 Equivocation is a mean expedient to 
 avoid the declaration of truth, without ver- 
 bally telling a lie. 
 
 Keep an Account. 
 
 Our debts and our sins are always great- 
 er than we think of. 
 
 never saw woman. On their arriving at man's estate, 
 he brought them to the October fair, promising to 
 buy each of them whatever he thought best. They 
 fazed about them, asking the names of whatever they 
 saw, when beholding some women walking, dressed in 
 white, they demanded what they were; the farmer, 
 somewhat alarmed at the eagerness "f the question, 
 replied, " Pho, those silly things are geese." When, 
 without waiting an instant, all three exclaimed, '• Oh 
 father, buy me a goose." 
 
 There's no srcH thing as III Luck. 
 
 It is true that some misfortunes are iii' 
 evitable; but, in general, they proceed 
 from our own want of judgment and fore- 
 sight. 
 
 Our Enjoyments are conditional. 
 
 If we had it in our power to gratify 
 every wish, we should soon feel the effects 
 of a surfeit. 
 
 Our real Wants are few. 
 
 The stomach tires of every thing but 
 bread and water. 
 
 Moderate your Desires. 
 
 Take away your expensive follies, and 
 you will have little occasion to complain of 
 hard times. 
 
 Many a Little makes a Mickle 
 
 When a shopkeeper has company, he 
 may have two candles ; but when alone, 
 one candle will be sufficient for common 
 purposes. The saving will nearly find his 
 wife in shoes. 
 
 As the Twig is bent, the Tree inclines. 
 
 If you give your children an improper 
 education, their future misfortunes will lie 
 at your door. 
 
 There are true and false Facts. 
 
 History should be read with caution. It 
 often presents us with false and delusive 
 pictures; and, by the gay colouring of the 
 artist, excites our admiration of characters 
 really odious. 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 
 
 No. IV. 
 
 Of Sensible Qualities. 
 
 The most eminent philosophers of anti- 
 quity, Democritus, Socrates, Aristippus tht 
 chief of the Cyrenai'c sect, Pl;to, Epicurus, 
 and Lucretius, affirmed, that cold and heat, 
 odours and colours, were no other than 
 sensations excited in our minds, by the dif- 
 ferent operations of the bodies surrounding 
 us, and acting on our stinses ; even AristotU 
 
 li 
 
 505 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 himself was of opinion, that " sensible 
 qualities exist in the mind." Yet when 
 Descartes, and after him Mallebranche, 
 taught the very same truths, they were 
 Ascribed to these moderns, owing to the 
 outcry they made, as if the opposite error, 
 which they attacked in the schoolmen, had 
 been that of all ages ; and nobody deigned 
 to search whether, in reality, it was so or 
 not. Were we to bring into review ail that 
 the ancients have taught on this subject, we 
 should be surprised at the clearness with 
 which they have explained themselves, and 
 at a loss to account how opinions came to 
 he taken for new which had been illus- 
 trated in their writings with such force and 
 precision. 
 
 Democritus was the first who disarray- 
 ed body of its sensible qualities. He 
 affirmed, that " the first elements of things 
 naving in them natui'ally neither whiteness 
 nor blackness, sweetness nor bitterness, 
 heat nor cold, nor any other quality, it 
 thence follows, that colour, for example, 
 exists only in our imagination or percep- 
 tion of it; as also, that bitterness and 
 sweetness, which exist only in being per- 
 ceived, are the consequences of the diifer- 
 int manner in which we ourselves are 
 affected by the bodies surrounding us, there 
 Seing nothing in its own nature yellow or 
 ^vhite, or red, sweet or bitter." He indi- 
 cates what kind of atoms produce such and 
 such sensations: round atoms, for example, 
 "ihe taste of sweetness ; pointed and crook- 
 ed, that of tartness ; bodies composed of 
 angular and coarse parts, introducing them- 
 selves with difficulty into the pores, cause 
 the disagreeable sensations of bitterness 
 find acidity, &c. The Newtonians imitate 
 this reasoning everywhere, in explaming 
 ihe different natures of bodies. 
 
 extus Empiricus, explaining the doc- 
 trine of Democritus, says, " that sensible 
 qualities, according to that philosopher, 
 have nothing of reality bat in the opinion 
 of those who are differently affected by 
 ihem, according to the different dispositions 
 of their organs; and that from this differ- 
 ence of disposition arise the perceptions of 
 sweet and bitter, heat and cold ; and also, 
 that we do not deceive ourselves in affirm- 
 ing that we feel such impressions, but in 
 concluding that exteriorobjects m\isthave in 
 them something analogous to our feelings." 
 
 Protagoras, the disciple of Democritus, 
 carried farther than ever Democritus did 
 tht consequences of his system; for ad- 
 mitting with his master the perpetual mu- 
 tability of matter which occasioned a con- 
 etant change in things, he thence concluded, 
 
 that whatever we see, apprehend, or touch, 
 is just as they appear ; and that the only 
 tiue rule or criterion of things, was in the 
 perception men had of them. From Pro- 
 tagoras, bishop Berkeley seems to have 
 derived his idea, '■ that there is nothing in 
 external objects but what the sensible qua- 
 lities existing in our minds induce us to 
 imagine, and of course that they have no 
 other manner of existence; there being no 
 other substratum for them, than the minds 
 by which they are perceived, not as modes 
 or qualities belonging to themselves, but as 
 objects of perception to whatever is perci- 
 pient." 
 
 We should think we were listening to 
 the two modern philosophers, De>cartes 
 and Mallebranche, when we hear Aristip- 
 pus, the disciple of Socrates, exhorting- men 
 " to be upon their guard with respect to 
 the reports of sense, because it does not 
 always yield just information; for we do 
 not perceive exterior objects as they are in 
 themselves, but only as they affect us. We 
 know not of what colour or smell they may 
 be, these being only affections in ourselves. 
 It is not thf objects themselves that we are 
 enabled to comprehend, but are confined 
 to judge of them only by the impressions 
 they make upon us; and the wrong judg- 
 ments we form of them in this respect is 
 the cause of all our errors. Hence, when 
 we perceive a tower which appears round, 
 or an oar which seems crooked in the 
 water, we may say that our senses intmiate 
 so and so, but ought not to affirm that the 
 distant tower is really round, or the oar in 
 the water crooked : it is enough, in such a 
 case, to say with Aristippus and the Cyre- 
 naic sect, that we receive the impression of 
 roundness from the tower, and of crooked- 
 ness from the oar; but it is neither neces- 
 sary nor properly in our power to affirm, 
 that the tower is really round, or the oat 
 broken ; for a square tower may appear 
 round at a distance, and a straight stick 
 always seems crooked in the water." * 
 
 Everybody talks of whiteness and sweet- 
 ness, but they have no common faculty to 
 which they can with certainty refer impres- 
 sions of this kind. Every one judges by 
 his own apprehensions, and nobody can 
 affirm that tlie sensation which he feels 
 when he sees a white object, is the same 
 with what his neighbour experiences in re- 
 gard to the same object. He who has large 
 eyes will see objects in a different magni- 
 
 • Peter Huet, the celebrated bishop of Avrauches 
 in his " Essay on the Weakness of the Human Under 
 standing," argues to the same effect, acd almost in th« 
 same words. Kd. 
 
 506 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 tude from him whose eyes are little, and he 
 who hath blue eyes, discern them under 
 different colours from him who hath grey; 
 whence it comes, that we give common 
 names to thnigs, of which, however, we 
 judge very variously. 
 
 Epicurus, admitting the principles of 
 Democritus, thence deduces " that colour, 
 cold, heat, and other sensible qualities are 
 not inherent in the atoms, but the result of 
 their assemblage ; and that the difference 
 between them flows from the diversity of 
 their size, figure, and arrangement; inso- 
 much, that any number of atoms in one 
 disposition creates one sort of sensation ; 
 and in another, another: but their own 
 primary nature remains always the same." 
 
 The moderns have treated this matter 
 with much penetration and sagacity, yet 
 they have scarcely advanced any thing but 
 what had been said before by the ancient 
 philosophers just quoted, and by others 
 who might be cited to the same effect. 
 
 Fur the Table Book. 
 
 MR. EPHRAIM WAGSTAFF, 
 
 HIS WIFE AND PIPE. 
 
 About the middle of Shoemaker-row, 
 near to Broadway, Blackfriars, there re- 
 sided for many years a substantial haid- 
 wareman, named Ephraim Wagstaff, He 
 was short in stature, tolerably well favoured 
 in countenance, and singularly neat and 
 clean in his attire. Everybody in the 
 neighbourhood looked upon him as a 
 " warm " old man ; and when he died, the 
 property he left behind him did not bely 
 the preconceived opinion. It was all per- 
 sonal, amounted to about nineteen thou- 
 sand pounds; and, as he was childless, 
 it went to distant relations, with the excep- 
 tion of a few hundred pounds bequeathed 
 to public charities. 
 
 The family of Ephraim Wagstaff, both 
 on the male and female sides, was respect- 
 able, though not opulent. His maternal 
 grandfather, he used to say, formed part of 
 the executive government in the reign of 
 George I., whom he served as petty con- 
 stable in one of the manufacturing dis- 
 tricts during a long period. The love of 
 office seems not to have been hereditary in 
 the family ; or perhaps the opportunities 
 of gratifying it did not continue; for, with 
 that siniifle exception, none of his ancestors 
 oould boast of official honours. The origin 
 of the name is doubtful. On a first view, 
 it seems evidently the conjunction of two 
 names brought together by marriage or for- 
 
 tune. In the " Tatler " we read about ♦he 
 
 staff in a variety of combinations, undei 
 one of which the popular author of that 
 work chose to designate himself, and there- 
 by conferred immortality on the name of 
 Bickerstaff Our friend Ephraim was no 
 great wit, but he loved a joke, particularly 
 if he made it himself; and he used to say, 
 whenever he heard any one endeavouring 
 to account for his name, that he believed 
 it originated in the marriage of a Miss 
 Staff to some Wag who lived near her ; 
 and who, willing to show his gallantry, 
 and ai the same time his knowledaje of 
 French customs, adopted tlie fashion of 
 that sprightly people, by adding her family 
 name to his own. The conjecture is at 
 least probable, and so we must leave it. 
 
 At the age of fifty-two it pleased heaven 
 to deprive Mr. Wagstaff' of his beloved 
 spouse Barbara. The bereavement foimed 
 an era in his history. Mrs. Wagstaff was 
 an active, strong woman, about ten years 
 older than himself, and one sure to be 
 missed in any circle wherein she had once 
 moved. She was indeed no cipher. Her 
 person was tall and bony, her face, in 
 hue, something between brown and red, 
 had the appearance of having been scorch- 
 ed. Altogether her qualities were truly 
 commanding. She loved her own way 
 exceedingly ; was continually on the alert to 
 have it; and, in truth, generally succeeded. 
 Yet such was her love of justice, that she 
 has been heard to aver repeatedly, that she 
 never (she spoke the word 7iever empha- 
 tically) opposed her husband, but when he 
 was decidedly in the wrong. Of these 
 occasions, it must also be mentioned, she 
 generously took upon herself the trouble 
 and responsibility of being the sole judge. 
 There was one point, however, on which it 
 would seem that Mr. Wagstaff had con- 
 trived to please himself exclusively; aU 
 though, how he had managed to resist so ef- 
 fectually the remonstrances and opposition 
 which, from the structure of his wife's 
 mind he must necessarily have been doom 
 ed to encounter, must ever remain a secret 
 The fact was this: Ephraim, had a peculiarly 
 strong attachment to a pipe ; his affection 
 for his amiable partner scarcely exceeding 
 that which he entertained for that lively 
 emblem of so many sage contrivances and 
 florid speeches, ending like it — in smoke 
 In the times of his former wives (for twice 
 before had he been yoked in matrimony) 
 he had indulged himself with it unmolest- 
 ed. Not so with Mrs. Wagstaff the third. 
 Pipes and smoking she held in unmitigated 
 abhorrence : but having, by whatever 
 
 5U7 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 .rieans. been obliged to submit to their in- 
 troduction, she wisely avoided all direct 
 attempts to abate what she called among 
 her friends " the nuisance ;" and, like a 
 skilful general, who has failed of securing 
 victory, she had recourse to such stratagems 
 as might render it as little productive as 
 possible to the enemy, Ephraim, aware 
 how matters stood, neglected no precaution 
 to guard against his wife's manoeuvres — 
 meeting, of course, with various success. 
 Many a time did her ingenuity contrive an 
 accident, by which his pipe and peace of 
 mind were at once demolished; and, al- 
 though there never could be any difficulty 
 in replacing the former by simply sending 
 out for that purpose, yet he has confessed, 
 that when he contemplated the possibility 
 of offering too stiong an excitement to the 
 shnll tones of his beloved's voice, (the only 
 pipe she willingly tolerated,) he waved 
 that proceeding, and submitted to the sacri- 
 fice as much the lesser evil. At length 
 iMrs. Wagstaff was taken ill, an inflamma- 
 tion on her lungs was found to be her 
 malady, and that crisis appeared to be fast 
 approaching, when 
 
 The doctor leaves the house witii sorrow. 
 
 Despairing of his fee to-morrow. 
 The foreboding soon proved correct; and, 
 every thing considered, perhaps it ought 
 not to excite much surprise, that when 
 Ephraim heard from the physician that 
 there was little or no chance of her recovery, 
 he betrayed no symptoms of excessive 
 emotion, but mumbling something unin- 
 telligibly, in which the doctor thought he 
 caught the sound of the words " Ciiristian 
 duty of resignation," he quietly filled an 
 additional pipe that evening. The next 
 day Mrs. Wagstaff expired, and in due 
 time her interment took place in the church- 
 yard of St. Ann, Blaokfriars, every thing 
 connected therewith being conducted with 
 the decorum becoming so melancholy an 
 event, and which might be expected from a 
 man of Mr. Wagstaff's gravity and ex- 
 perience. The funeral was a walking one 
 from the near vicinity to the ground ; and 
 but for an untimely slanting shower of rain, 
 no particular inconvenience would have 
 been felt by those who were assembled on 
 that occasion ; that casualty, however, 
 caused them to be thoroughly drenched ; 
 and, in reference to their appearance, it 
 was feelingly observed by some of the by- 
 standers, that they had seldom seen so 
 many tears on the faces of mourners. — 
 
 To be continued — (perhaps.) 
 
 Nemo. 
 
 AN ULTRA-MARINER. 
 
 According to father Feyjoo, in the month 
 of June, 1674, some young men were walk- 
 ing by the sea-side in Bilboa, and one of 
 them, named Francis de la Vega, of about 
 fifteen years of age, suddenly leaned into 
 the sea, and disappeared presently. Hi? 
 companions, after waiting some time, and 
 he not returning, made the event public, 
 and sent an account of it to De la Vega's 
 mother, at Lierganfes, a small town in the 
 archbishopric of Burgos. At first she dis- 
 credited his death, but his absence occa- 
 sioned her fond doubts to vanish, and she 
 mourned his untimely loss. 
 
 About five years afterwards some fisher- 
 men, in the environs of Cadiz, perceivec 
 the figure of a man sometimes swimming 
 and sometimes plunging under the water. 
 On the next day they saw the same, and 
 mentioned it as a very singular circum- 
 stance to several people. They threw their 
 nets, and baiting the swimmer with some 
 pieces of bread, they at length caught the 
 object of their attention, which to their 
 astonishment they found to be a weli-formed 
 man. They put several questions to him 
 in various languages, but he answered none. 
 They then took him to the convent of St. 
 Francis, where he was exorcised, thinkiriu 
 he might be possessed by some evil spirit 
 The exorcism was as useless as the ques- 
 tions. At length, after some days, he pro- 
 nounced the word Liergan^s. It happened 
 that a person belonging to that town wa> 
 present when he uttered the name, as wa> 
 al«o the secretary of the Inquisition, who 
 wrote to his correspondent at Lierganfes. 
 relating the particulars, and instituting in- 
 quiries relative to this very extraordinai} 
 man ; and he received an account of thi 
 young man who had disappeared in t\u 
 manner before related. 
 
 On this information, it was determined 
 that the marine man should be sent t( 
 Liergan^s; and a Franciscan friar, who wa;- 
 obliged to go there on other business, un 
 dertook to conduct him the following year 
 When they came within a quarter of <. 
 league of the town, the friar ordered thf 
 young man to go before and show him the 
 way. He made no answer, but led tht- 
 friar to the widow De la Vega's house 
 She recollected him instantly, and embrac- 
 ing him, cried out, " This is my son, that I 
 lost at Bilboa!" Two of his brothers who 
 were present also knew him immediately, 
 and embraced him with equal tenderness. 
 He, however, did not evince tne least sen- 
 
 }08 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 sibility, or ihe smallest degree of surprise. 
 He spoke no more at Lierganfes than at 
 Cadiz, no.- could any thing be obtained 
 from him relative to his adventure. He 
 had entirely forgotten his native language, 
 except the words pan, vino, tabaco, "bread, 
 wine, tobacco.;" and these he uttered in- 
 discriminately and without application. 
 They asked him if he would have either of 
 these articles ; he could make no reply. 
 
 For several days together he would eat 
 large quantities of bread, and foi as many 
 days following he would not take the least 
 food of any kind. If he was directed to 
 do any thing, he would execute th« com- 
 mission very properly, but without speak- 
 ing a word : he would carry a letter to 
 where it was addressed, and bring an 
 answer back in writing. He was sent one 
 day with a letter to St. Ander; to get there 
 it was necessary to cross the river at Pa- 
 drenna, which is more than a league wide in 
 •that spot.; not finding a boat in which he 
 could cross it, he threw himself in, swam 
 over, and delivered the letter as directed. 
 
 At this time Francis de la Vega was 
 neaily six feet in height, and well formed, 
 ■with a fair skin, and red hair as shoit as a 
 new-born infant's. He always went bare- 
 footed, and had scarcely any nails either on 
 his hands or feet. He never dressed him- 
 self but when he was told to do it. The 
 ^ame with eating ; what was offered to 
 him he accepted, but he never asked for 
 food . 
 
 In this way he remained at his motlier's 
 for nine years, when he again disappeared, 
 without any apparent cause, and no one 
 knew hovv. It may be supposed, howeveT 
 that the motive or feeling which induced 
 liis 'first disappearance influenced the se- 
 cond. Some time afterwards it was reported 
 that an inhabitant of Lierganfes agam saw 
 Francis de la Vega in some port of Astu- 
 rias ; but this was never confirmed. 
 
 When this very singular man was first 
 taken out of the sea at Cadiz, it is said 
 that his body was entirely covered with 
 scales, but they fell off soon after his com- 
 ing out of the water. They also add, that 
 different parts of his body were as hard as 
 shagreen. 
 
 Father Feyjoo adds many philosophical 
 reflections on the existence of this pheno- 
 menon, and on the means by which a man 
 may be enabled to live at the bottom of the 
 sea. He observes, that if Francis de la 
 Vega had preserved his reason and the use 
 of speech, he would have given us more 
 instruction and information in marine af- 
 fairs, than all the naturalists combined. 
 
 ANTIPATHIES. 
 
 Erasmus, though a native of Rotterdarn- 
 had such an aversion to fish, that the smef. 
 of it threw him into a fever, 
 
 A.inbrose Par6 mentions a gentleraari. 
 who never could see an eel without faint- 
 ing. 
 
 There is an account of another gentle- 
 man, who would fall into convulsions at the 
 sight of a carp. 
 
 A lady, a native of France, always faint- 
 ed on seeing boiled lobsters. Other persons 
 of the same country experienced the same 
 inconvenience from the smell of roses, 
 though they were particularly partial to the 
 odour of jonquils or tuberoses. 
 
 Joseph Scaliger and Peter Abono never 
 could drink milk. 
 
 Cardan was particularly disgusted at the 
 sight of eggs. 
 
 Uladislaus, king of Poland, could not 
 bear to see apples. 
 
 If an apple was shown to Chesne, secre- 
 tary to Francis I., he bled at the nose. 
 
 A gentleman, in the court of the emperor 
 Ferdinand, would bleed at the nose ots 
 hearing the mewing of a cat, however great 
 the distance might be from him. 
 
 Henry III. of France could never sit in 
 a room with a cat. 
 
 The duke of Schoniberg had the same 
 aversion. 
 
 M. de Lancre gives an account of a very 
 sensible man, who was so terrified at seeing 
 a hedgehog, that for two years he imagined 
 his bowels were gnawed by such an animal. 
 The same author was intimate with a 
 very brave officer^ who was so terrified at 
 the sight of a mouse, that he never dared 
 to look at one unless he had his sword in 
 his hand. 
 
 M. Vangheim, a great huntsman in 
 Hanover, would faint, or, if he had suffi- 
 cient time, would run away at the sight of 
 a roasted pig. 
 
 John Roi, a gentleman in Alcantara, 
 w'ould swoon on hearing the word lana. 
 wool, pronounced, although his cloak wa^ 
 woollen. 
 
 The philosophical Boyle could not con 
 quer a stiong aversion to the sound oi 
 water running through a pipe. 
 
 La Molhe le Vayer could not endure the 
 sound of musical instruments, though ht 
 experienced a lively pleasure whenever h 
 thundered. 
 
 The author of the Turkish Spy tells us 
 that he would rather encounter a lion iii 
 the deserts of Arabia, provided he had but 
 a sword in his hand, than feel a spider 
 
 509 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 crawling on him in tne dark. He observes, 
 that tnere is no reason to be given for these 
 secret dislikes. He humorously attributes 
 them to the doctrine of the transmigration 
 of the soul ; and as regarded himself, he 
 supposed he had been a fly, before he came 
 into his body, and that having been fre- 
 quently persecuted with spiders, he still 
 retaipfid the dread of his old enemy. 
 
 TflE LACTEALS IN A MOLE. 
 
 A curious observer of nature will be de- 
 lighted to know, that the lacteal vessels 
 are more visible in a mole, th;m in any 
 animal whatever. The view, however, is 
 not of long duration. These vessels are 
 rendered visible by the mode of killing the 
 animal, which is by a wire gin that com- 
 presses the thoracic duct, thereby prevent- 
 ing the ascent of the chyle upwards. The 
 time of demonstration is about half an 
 hour after death. This curious fact was 
 unknown to anatomists, till mentioned by 
 Dr. A. Hunter, in his volume of maxims 
 on men and manners. 
 
 LOUIS GONZAGA 
 
 TO 
 
 MARIE MANCINI. 
 
 Florence, 1649. 
 
 t] cantar che nel aniiiia si sente, 
 
 II pill ne sente I'alma, il men I'orecchio. 
 
 1 worshippe thee thou silverre starre. 
 As thron'd amid the vault of blue. 
 
 Rushes thjr queenlye splendoure farre, 
 O'er mountain top and vale of dewe. 
 
 Yette more I love thy infante ray, 
 Asrisinge from its easterne cave, 
 
 With circlinge, fearfulle, fonde delaye. 
 It seemes ta kisse the crimsone wave. 
 
 I love the proud and solemne sweeps 
 Of harpe and trumpette's harmonye. 
 
 Like swellinges of the midnighte deepe 
 Like anthemes of the opening skye. 
 
 But lovelier to my heart the tone 
 
 That dies along the twilighte's winga, 
 
 Just heard, a silver sigh, and gone, 
 A I if a epiritt* toncli'd tb« stncgs. 
 
 Sweete Mane I swiftlye comes the nocue 
 That gives thy beadtye all its rayef. 
 
 And thou shalte be the rose, alone. 
 And heartes shall wither in its blaze. 
 
 Yette there are eyes had deeper loved 
 That rosebudde in its matine-beain. 
 
 The dew droppe on its blushe unmoved— 
 And shalle mye love be all a dreame . 
 
 PuLcr. 
 
 POINTS OF CHARACTEii. 
 
 A Prime Minister, 
 
 The late sir Robert Walpole was from 
 his youth fond of tield sports, and retained 
 his attachment to them until prevented by 
 the infirmities of age from their further en- 
 joyment. He was accustomed to hunt in 
 Richmond Park with a pack of beag-ies. 
 Upon receiving a packet of letters, he 
 usually opened that from his gamekeeper 
 first ; and in the pictures taken of him, he 
 preferred being drawn in his sporting 
 dress, 
 
 A Prelate. 
 
 Bishop Juxon, who attended Charles I. 
 on the scaffold, retired after the king's death 
 to his own manor of Little Compton, in 
 Gloucestershire, where, as Whitlocke tells 
 us in his Memorials, " he much delighted 
 in hunting, and kept a pack of good hounds, 
 and had them so well ordered and hunted^ 
 chiefly by his own skill and direction, that 
 they exceeded all other hounds in England 
 for the pleasure and orderly hunting of 
 them." 
 
 A Huntsman. 
 
 Mr. Woolford, a sporting gentleman, as 
 remarkable for politeness in the held as for 
 the goodness of his fox-hounds, was one 
 evening thus addressed by his huntsman : 
 " An' please your honour, sir," twirling his 
 cap and quid at the same time, " I should 
 be glad to be excused going to-morrow to 
 Woolford-wood, as I should hke to 9;o to 
 see my poor wife buried." "lam sorry for 
 thee, Tom," said his master, " we can do one 
 day without thee: she was an excellent 
 wife." On the following morning, how- 
 ever, Tom was the first in the field. " Hey- 
 day !" quoth Mr. VV.. « did not I give you 
 leave to see tne remains of your poor wife 
 interred ?" " Yes, your honour, but I 
 thought as how we should have good sport, 
 as it is a fine morning; so 1 desired ouj 
 Dick, the dog-feeder, to see her earth'<i " 
 
 510 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 MY DESK. 
 
 Fov the Table Book. 
 
 Every one will agree with me, that this 
 is the favourite article of furniture, Every 
 one is fond of it as of an old friend — a 
 faithful and trustworthy one — to whom has 
 been confided both joys and sorrows. It is 
 most likely the gift of some cherished, per- 
 haps departed being, reminding us by its 
 good qualities of the beloved giver. We 
 have no scruple in committing our dearest 
 secrets to its faithful bosom — they are never 
 
 divulged. The tenderest billet-doux, the 
 kindest acknowledgments, the sweetest 
 confessions of a mistress — the cruellest ex- 
 pressions and bitterest reprriaches of a 
 friend lost to us for ever through the false 
 and malignant representations of an enemy 
 ■ — or periiaps the youthful effusions of our 
 own brain, which we occasionally draw 
 forth from the recesses of the most secretly 
 contrived pigeon-hole, and read over d la 
 f^erobee, with a half blush (at our self-love) 
 and a smile partly painful from revived 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 511 
 
 VL 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 reco,iectior,is of days gone, never to return- 
 all these we may unhesitatingly deposit in 
 this personification of deskretion. 
 
 The very posture assumed at a desk be- 
 speaks confidence and security. The head 
 inclined over it, and the bosom leaning in 
 gentle trustingness against this kind and 
 patient friend. 
 
 By this description I would present to the 
 " mind's eye'' of the reader a plain. unosten- 
 tatious piece of furniture, of too simple an 
 exterior to be admitted any where than in 
 the study — square in shape, mahogany, 
 bound with brass at the corners, a plate of 
 the same metal on the top, of just a suffi- 
 cient size to contain one's own initials and 
 those of the giver. I detest those finicking 
 machines one finds wrapped up in an oil- 
 skin case in a drawing-room; made of 
 rosewood,, inlaid with silver, or mother-of- 
 pearl, and lined with blue velvet. It seems 
 like an insult to the friendly character of a 
 desk, to dress him smartly, seat him in a 
 fine apartment, and refuse to avail yourself 
 of the amicable services he tenders you. — 
 The contents of these coxcombical ac- 
 quaintances are seldom better than its fair 
 owner's private journal, (which no one 
 thinks worthy of perusal — herself of course 
 excepted,) her album, and scrap-book, the 
 honourable Mr. Somebody's poetical effu- 
 sions, and the sentimental correspondence 
 of some equally silly young lady, her dear- 
 est friend. 
 
 Then there is the clerk's desk in a count- 
 ing-house — there are no pleasant associa- 
 tions connected with that mercantile scaf- 
 folding, with its miniature balustrades at 
 the top, partly intersected with accounts, 
 bills, and papers of all sorts, (referring to 
 business,) and surrounded by files clinging 
 by their one hook. Above all this is seen 
 the semicircular scalp of a brown wiij, 
 which, as it is raised to reply to your ques- 
 tion, gradually discovers two eyes scowling 
 at yon. i"fom beneath a pair of glaring spec- 
 tacles, a little querulous turned-up nose, 
 and a mouth whose lines have become 
 rigid with ill-humour, partly occasioned by 
 a too sedentary life. 
 
 Again, there is the pulpit desk, with its 
 arrogant crimson cushion — telling a tale of 
 clerical presumption. 
 
 Lastly, there is the old bachelor's desk, 
 (Nay, do not curl up the corners of your 
 pretty mouths at me, sweet ladies — it may 
 be worth while to take a peep at it — at 
 least, I cannot prevail upon myself to omit 
 it in this notice of desks.) It is of the 
 plain and quiet description formerly men- 
 tioned, and very neatly aud orderly ar- 
 
 ranged, both inside and out. The latter is 
 kept bright and shining by the indefati. 
 gable hands of Sally the housemaid ; who, 
 while she breathes upon the plate to give 
 it a polish, at the same time breathes a wish 
 (to herself) that her breath possessed the 
 magic power of unfastening locks, and so 
 enabling her to see " what the old gentle- 
 man keeps in this here box to make him 
 so fond on it." The interior he, takes in- 
 finite care to keep in complete and exact 
 order himself. Each particular compart- 
 ment has its appropriate contents consigned 
 to it. The fold-down nearest to him, as he 
 sits at it, contains a small miniature witiiin 
 a red morocco, case, of a placid and gentle- 
 faced girl, whose original sleeps for ever in 
 the bosom of the cold earth — a little box, 
 containing a ring set with brilliants, and 
 enclosing a lock of her hair — all her letters 
 carefully tied up with green ribbon — a 
 miniature edition of Shakspeare, and Mil- 
 ton, with his name written in them in her 
 hand-writing. In the opposite fold, near 
 the receptacle for the pens, wafers, ink, &c. 
 are his own little v:ritings, (for we are to 
 suppose him fond of his pen, and as having 
 occasionally indulged that fondness,) of all 
 of which he preserves neat copies, some 
 private memoranda, and an old pocket- 
 book, given to him by his old friend and 
 
 school-fellow, admiral , when he left 
 
 England that year as a midshipman. 
 
 In the drawer are different letters from 
 his friends; and, perhaps, at the very back 
 of it, a little hoard of gold pieces, bright 
 and new from the mint. 
 
 As I now lean upon my old friend and 
 companion — my desk — I render it my 
 grateful acknowledgments for the many 
 pleasant hours I have spent. over it; and 
 also for its having been the means of my 
 passing an agreeable quarter of an hou 
 with my gentle leader, of whom I now take 
 a courteous leave. 
 
 4/«7y, 1827. M. H. 
 
 WRITING DESKS. 
 
 There is not any mention of wjiting-desks 
 among the ancients. They usually wrote 
 upon the knee in the manner wherein An- 
 gelica Kauffman represents the younger 
 Pliny, as may be seen in a modern engrav- 
 ino- ;' and yet it appears from Stolberg, 
 quoted by Mr. Fosbroke, that desks re- 
 sembling ours have been found in Her- 
 culaneum. Writing-desks in the middle 
 ages slanted so much, as to form an angle 
 of forty-five degrees : their slant till within 
 the last two centuries was little less, 
 
 512 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 WILTS' LOCAL CUSTOM. 
 DANCING ROUND THE HARROW. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Dear sir, — I hand you the following 
 iuthentic particulars which happened in 
 the pleasant village ofS****nB****r, 
 >nQ gave rise to " dancing round the har- 
 row :* n worthy of being chronicled in the 
 Table Book, they are yours. 
 
 John .Jones, not finding his lovesuit suc- 
 cessful with his master's daughter, because 
 her father, a fanner, rebuked him, took 
 umbrage, threw down his whip on the 
 ' harrow " in the fieM, left the team, and, 
 ^aiis ceremonie, went to sea. 
 
 The farmer and his daughter Nancy were 
 (Variously affected by this circumstance. — 
 '' Comfortable letters " were hopf;d for, 
 hews was expected from some corner of the 
 world, but no tidings arrived as to the late 
 or designs of honest John. Village gossips 
 often talked of the poor lad. The farmer 
 hin:iself, who was a good sort of man, began 
 to relent ; for Nancy's cheeks were not so 
 rosy as formerly ; she was dull at milking 
 time. Observers at church whispered, — 
 " How altered Nancy K* appears !''*** 
 After a lapse of alDOut six years appear- 
 ances change favourably. John returns 
 from sea auspiciously — meets his Nancy 
 with open arms — her father finds him dis- 
 posed to make her happy — John requests 
 forgiveness, and is pardoned — his steadiness 
 and attachment are tried and approved — 
 and — suffice it to say — John and Nancy 
 are married. He assists her father in the 
 duties of the farm as his years decline, 
 while she supplies the absence of her mo- 
 ther, buried in the family grave of the 
 church-yard of her native village. * * « * 
 As soon as the wedding took place, a 
 " harrow" was brought on the grass-plot in 
 the fore-close, when the villagers invited 
 danced round it till daybreak, * * * * 
 
 This " dancing round the harrow " was 
 kept on several anniversaries of the wed- 
 ding-day ; a young family and the old pro- 
 jector's decease occasioned its discontinu- 
 ance ; but, on each of these occasions, John 
 does not forget to present, instead, a not 
 iess acceptable offering, a good supper to 
 his workfolks in remembrance of his ad- 
 rance in life, 
 
 I am, dear sir. 
 
 Goat and Boots, Yours very truly, 
 August 3, 1827. Jehoiada. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 BAKEWELL, DERBYSHIRE. 
 
 Ancient Monuments and iNscRiPTicNa 
 IN THE Church. 
 
 Upon the tablet over the mural monu- 
 ment in the chantry of the Holy Cross, is 
 the following inscription : 
 
 Godfrey Foljambe, Knight, and Avena his 
 wife, (who afterwards married Richard 
 de Greene, Knight,) Lord and Lady of 
 the Manors of Hassop, Okebrook, Elton, 
 Stanton, Darley, Overhall, and Lokhawe, 
 founded this Chantry in honor of the 
 Holy Cross, in the 39th year of the Reign 
 of King Edward the 3id, 1 366. Godfrey 
 died on Thursday next after the Feast of 
 the Ascension of our Lord, in the SOthyear 
 of the reign of the same King ; and Ave- 
 na died on Saturday next after the Feast 
 of the Nativity of the blessed Virgin 
 Mary, in the 6th year of the reign of 
 Richard 2nd, 1383. 
 
 N. B. The Dates are taken from the 'Es- 
 cheat Rolls, which contain the Inquisilum 
 post mortem, 50th Edward 3. No. 24. 
 
 Ju the Vestry, there is an effigy in ala- 
 baster, of sir Thomas Wendersley de Won- 
 dersley, who was mortally wounded at the 
 battle of Shrewsbury, 4th Henry IV., 1403, 
 and was buried at Bakewell, where formerly 
 were several shields of the arms of his 
 family carved in wood. (See Brailsford'v 
 " Monumental Inscriptions of Derby- 
 shire.") 
 
 Adjoining the vestry are several hand- 
 some monuments of the Vernon and Man- 
 ners' families. 
 
 In the centre is the tomb or cenotaph of 
 sir George Vernon, inscribed thus : 
 Here lyeth Sir George Vernon, Knight, 
 deceased, y« daye of Ano 156 and 
 Dame Margaret his Wife, dowghter of 
 Sr Gylbeit Tayllboys, deceased the 
 daye of 156 and also Dame Mawde 
 his Wyffe, dowghter to Sir Ralphe Lang- 
 foot, deceased the daye of Ano 1566. 
 whose solles God p — don — 
 
 On the right is a monument to sir John 
 
 Manners, with this inscription : 
 
 Here lyeth Sir John Manners, of Haddon, 
 Knt. Second Sonne of Thomas Erie of 
 Rutland, who died the 4th of June, 1611, 
 and Dorothy his Wife, one of the Dawgb- 
 ters and heires of Sir George X'ernon, oi 
 Haddon, Knt. y,])o deceased the 24tl 
 day of June, in the 26th yeere of tht 
 Rayne of Queene Elizabeth, 1584. 
 
 513 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 To the right of the window, on a mural 
 monument, is the following : 
 Heere lyeth buryed John Manners, Gent" 
 3 Sorie of Sir John Maners, Knight, who 
 dyed the 16th day of July, in the Yeere 
 of our Lord God 1590, being of the Age 
 of 14 yeeres. 
 
 To the left is an elegant monument to 
 sir John Maners, with this inscription : 
 George Manners of Haddon, Kn^. here 
 awaits the resurrection of the just in 
 Christ. He married Grace, second 
 daughter of Henry Pierrepoint, Kn'. who 
 afterwards bore him 4 sons and 5 daugh- 
 ters, and lived with him in Holy Wed- 
 lock 30 years, she caused him to be 
 buried with his forefathers, and then 
 placed this monument at her own ex- 
 pence, as a perpetual Memorial of their 
 conjugal faith, and she united the figure 
 of h's body with hers, having resolvved 
 that their bones and ashes should be laid 
 together. He died 23rd Apl. 1623, aged 
 
 54 — She died aged 
 
 Beneath this monument, on an alabaster 
 grave-stone on the floor, are some figures 
 engraved round them, with an inscription, 
 now obliterated, and the arms of Eyre im- 
 paled with Mordaunt. 
 
 In the Chancel. 
 
 Upon an alabaster tomb, repaired, and 
 
 the inscription cut, and filled up with black 
 
 in 1774, (by Mr. Watson.) 
 
 Here lies John Vernon, son and heir of 
 
 Henry Vernon, who died the 12th of 
 
 August 1477, whose soule God pardon. 
 
 Jttgtist, 1827. E. J. H. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 ERASMUS. 
 
 Quteritur, unde tibi sit nomen Erasmus ? Eras-mtts. 
 
 6i sum M-jis ego, te judice Summus ero. 
 
 Joannis Audoeni, lib. vii. epig. 34. 
 
 That thou wast great Erasmus none dispute ; 
 
 Vet, by the import of thy name, wast small : 
 ■"•■or none its truth can readily refute 
 
 Thou wast — a Mouse, — Ebas-Mos after aU, 
 
 The Reply of Erasmus. 
 
 Hoace, if a Mouse, thy wit must this confess .— 
 I will be Suu-Mus : — Can'st thou maKc me lessT 
 
 J. R. P. 
 
 (Bnvtitk ^BlapiS* 
 
 No. XXX. 
 
 [From a " Woman's a Weathercock," » 
 Comedy, by Nathaniel Field, 1612.] 
 
 False Mistress. 
 
 Scnamore alone ; having a letter in hia 
 hand from Bellafront, assuring him of her 
 faith4 
 
 Scud. If what I feel I could express m words, 
 Methinks I could speak joy enough to men 
 To banish sadness from all love for ever. 
 
 thou that reconcilest the faults of all 
 Thy frothy sex, and in thy single self 
 Confines ! nay has engross'd, virtue enough 
 To frame a spacious world of virtuous women I 
 Had'st thou been the beginning of thy sex, 
 
 1 think the devil in the serpent's skin 
 
 Had wanted cunning to o'er-come thy goodness? 
 And all had lived and died in innocency. 
 The whole creation — . 
 Who's there ? — come in — 
 
 Nevill (entering.) What up already, Scndmore? 
 
 Scud. Good morrow, my dear Nevill ? 
 
 Nev. What's this ? a letter I sure it is not so — 
 
 Scud. By heav'n, you must excuse me. Come, 1 
 know 
 You will not wrong my friendship, and your vsiiney^ 
 To tempt me so. 
 
 Nev. Not for the world, my friend. 
 Good morrow — 
 
 Scad. Nay, Sir, neither must you 
 Depart in anger from this friendly haa 
 I swear I love you better than all men. 
 Equally with all virtue in the world : 
 Yet this would be a key to lead you to 
 A prize of that importance — 
 
 Nev. Worthy friend, 
 I leave you not in anger, — what d'ye mean ?— 
 Nor am I of that inquisitive nature framed, 
 To thirst to know your private businesses. 
 Why, they concern not me : if they be ill. 
 And dangerous, 'twould grieve me much to kiiow 
 
 them ; 
 If good, they be so, though I know them not: 
 Nor would I do your love so gross a wrong. 
 To covet to participate affairo 
 Of that near touch, which your assured love 
 Doth not think fit, or dares not trust me with. 
 
 Scud. How sweetly doth your friendship play ifiti 
 mine, 
 And with a simple subtlety steals my heait 
 Out of my bosom 1 by the holiest love 
 That ever made a story, you are a man 
 With all good so replete, that I durst trust you 
 Ev'n with this secret, were it singly mine. 
 
 Nev. I do believe you. Farewell, worthy friend. 
 
 Scud. Nay, look yoo, this same fashion does not 
 please me. 
 
 514 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 YoQ were not wont to make jronr Tisitotio* 
 
 So short and careless. 
 
 Net). 'Tis your jealiisy. 
 That makes you think it so ; for, by my son]. 
 You've given me no distaste in keeping from me 
 All things that might be burdensome, and oppress ma.— 
 In truth, I am invited to a Wedding ; 
 And the morn faster goes away from me. 
 That I go toward it : and so good morrow — 
 
 Scxid. Good morrow. Sir. Think I durst show it 
 you — 
 
 Nev. Now, by my life, I not desire it. Sir 
 Nor ever lov'd these prying list'ning men. 
 That ask of others 'states and passages : 
 Not one among a hundred but proves false. 
 Envious and sland'rous, and will cut that throat 
 He twines his arms about. I love that Poet, 
 That gave us reading " Not to seek ourselves 
 Beyond ourselves." Farewell. 
 
 Scud. You shall not go. 
 I cannot now redeem the fault I have made 
 To such a friend, but in disclosing all. 
 
 Nev. Now, if you love me, do not wrong me so ; 
 I see you labour with some serious thing, 
 And think, like fairies' treasure, to reveal it 
 Will burst your breast, — 'tis so delicious. 
 And so much greater than the continent. 
 
 Scud. O you have pierced iny entrails with your 
 words, 
 And I must now explain all to your eyes. (Oives him 
 
 the Letter.) 
 Read ; and be happy in my happiness. 
 
 Nev. Yet think on't ; keep thy secret and thy friend 
 Sure and entire. Oh give not me the means 
 To become false hereafter ; or thyself 
 A probable reason to distrust tliy friecd. 
 Though he be ne'er so near. I will not see it. 
 
 Scud. 1 die, by heav'n, if you deny again. 
 I starve for counsel ; take it, look upon it. 
 If you do not, it is an equal plague 
 As if it been known and published. 
 For God's sake, read ; but with this caution,^ 
 By this right hand, by this yet unstain'd sword. 
 Were you my father flowing in these waves. 
 Or a dear son exhausted out of them, 
 Should you betray the soul of all my hopes. 
 Like the two Brethren (though love made them Stars) 
 We must be never more both seen again. 
 
 Nev. I read it, fearless of the forfeiture : — 
 Yet warn you, be as cautelous not to wound 
 My integrity with doubt, on likelihoods 
 From misreport, but first exquire the truth, (reads.') 
 
 Scud. She is the food, the sleep, the air I live by— 
 
 Nev. (having read the Letter.) O heav'n, we speak 
 like Gods, and do like Dogs ! — 
 
 Scud. What means my — 
 
 Nsv. This day this Bellafront, this rich heir 
 Is married unto Count Frederick ; 
 And that's the Wedding I was going to. 
 
 Scud. I prithee do not mock me ; — married ! — 
 
 Nev. It is no matter to be plaid withal ; 
 Bnt yet as true, as women all are false. 
 
 Scud. O that this stroke were thunder to my breast, 
 for, Nerill, thou hast spoke my heart in twaui ; 
 
 And with the sadden whirlwind of thy breath 
 Hast ravish'd me out of a temperate soil. 
 And set me under the red burning zone. 
 
 Nev. For shame, return thy blood into thy fac» 
 Know'st not how slight a thing a Woman is f 
 
 Scud. Yes ; and how serious too. — 
 
 Scudmore, afterwards^ forsaken. 
 
 Scud. Oh Goa ! 
 What an internal joy my heart has felt. 
 Sitting at one of these same idle plays. 
 When I have seen a Maid's Inconstancy 
 Presented to the life ; how glad my eyes 
 Have stole about me, fearing lest my looks 
 Should tell the company contented there, 
 I had a Mistress free of all such thoughts. 
 
 He replies to his friend, who adjures him 
 to live. 
 
 Scud. The sun is stale to me ; to-morrow morn, 
 As this, 'twill rise, I see no difference ; 
 The night doth visit me but in one robe ; 
 She brings as many thoughts, as she wears stai ? 
 When she is pleasant, but no rest at all : 
 For what new strange thing should I covet life then i 
 Is she not false whom only I thought true ? 
 Shall Time (to show his strength) make Scudmore 
 
 live. 
 Till (perish the vicious thought) I love not thee ; 
 Or thou, dear friend, remove thy heart from me ! — 
 
 C. L. 
 
 9imitnt ilu^ir 
 
 SUPERIOR TO MODERN. 
 
 " That the music of the ancients,'' says 
 Jeremy Collier, " could command farther 
 than the modern, is past dispute. Whethei 
 they were masters of a greater compass ol 
 notes, or knew the secret of varying them 
 the more artificially ; whether they adjusted 
 the intervals of silence more exactly, liad 
 their hands or their voices further inipioved, 
 or their instruments better contrived; vilie 
 ther they had a deeper insight into the 
 philosophy of nature, or understood the 
 laws of the union of the soul and body 
 more thoroughly ; and thence were enabled 
 to touch the passions, strengthen the sense; 
 or prepare the medium with greater advan« 
 tage ; whether they excelled us in ill, ox 
 in how many of these ways, is not so clear 
 however, this is certain, that our improve- 
 ments in this kind are little better than 
 ale-house crowds (fiddles) with respaa to 
 theirt." 
 
 515 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The effects of music among the ancients, 
 are said to have been almost miraculous 
 The celebrated ode of Dryden has made 
 every one acquainted with the magic power 
 Df Timotheus over the emotions of the 
 human heart. And all, who have read 
 any thing of ancient history, must have re- 
 marked the wonderful effects attributed to 
 the musical instrument in the hand of a 
 master. 
 
 Among a hundred other stories, which 
 evince the power of music, is the fol- 
 lowing : 
 
 Pythagoras was once likely to be trou- 
 bled at his lecture, by a company of 
 young men, inflamed with wine, and petu- 
 lant with the natural insolence of youthful 
 levity. The philosopher wished to repress 
 their turbulence ; but forbore to address 
 them in the language of philosophy, which 
 they would either not have attended to, or 
 have treated with derision. He said no- 
 thing; but ordered the musician to play a 
 grave majestic tune, of the Doric style. 
 The effect was powerful and instantaneous. 
 The young men were brought to their sober 
 senses, were ashamed of their wanton be- 
 haviour, and with one accord tore off the 
 chaplets of flowers with which they had 
 decorated their temples in the hour of con- 
 vivial gaiety. They listened to the philo- 
 sopher. Their hearts were opened to in- 
 struction by music, and the powerful im- 
 pression being well timed, produced in 
 them a permanent reformation. 
 
 How desirable is it to revive the music 
 of Pythagoras ! How concise a method 
 of philosophizing to the purpose ! What 
 sermon or moral lecture would have pro- 
 duced a similar effect so suddenly ? 
 
 But nothing of this kind was ever pro- 
 duced by the most successful efforts of 
 modern music. Let us suppose a case 
 somewhat similar to the precedmg. Let 
 us imagine a number of intoxicated rakes 
 entering the theatre with a professed inten- 
 tion to cause a riot. Such a case has often 
 been real. The music in the orchestra has 
 done all that it could do to sooth the grow- 
 ing rage; but it was as impotent and con- 
 temptible as a pistol against a battery. It 
 would be a fine thing for the proprietors, 
 if a tune or two could save the benches, 
 and the fiddlers preclude the carpenters. 
 But Timotheus and the Doric strains are 
 no more ; yet, surely, in so general a study 
 of music it might be expected that some- 
 thing of their perfection might be revived.* 
 
 • Vioeiiimus Kiicx. 
 
 MUSICAL ANECDOTES, 
 A GRAND Movement. 
 
 A musical instrument-maker of Bremen 
 was on the point of failure, and his creditors 
 watched him so close, that he could not 
 get a pin's worth carried away. He be- 
 thought himself of a singular stratagem for 
 deceiving his watchmen. He got together 
 about a hundred and fifty musicians, his 
 friends, in the shop, and set them all play- 
 ing with the different instruments there, 
 the overture of the " Gazza Ladra." As it 
 was night, at each movement of the orches- 
 tra, lie contrived to throw some article oi 
 furniture from the back window, and the 
 fall was so managed, that, from the noise 
 of the instruments, no one perceived it. 
 At last, to finish the affair so happily be- 
 gun, at the end of the concert, each musi- 
 cian went out with his instrument. The 
 artist went out last, and locked the shop- 
 door, leaving nothing to his creditors but a 
 bust of Ramus. 
 
 An Accompaniment. 
 
 The most singular spit in the world is 
 that of the count de Castel Maria, one of 
 the most opulent lords of Treviso. This 
 spit turns one hundred and thirty different 
 roasts at once, and plays twenty-four tunes, 
 and whatever it plays, corresponds to a 
 certain degree of cooking, which is per- 
 fectly understood by the cook. Thus, a 
 leg of mutton o VAnglaise, will be excel- 
 lent at the 12th air ; a fowl a la Flamaude, 
 will be juicy at the 18th, and so on. It 
 would be difficult, perhaps, to carry farther 
 the love of music and gormandizing.* 
 
 BEETHOVEN. 
 
 Ludwig von Beethoven was born in I77u 
 at Baun, where his father was then tenor 
 singer in the chapel of the elector of Co- 
 logne. At an unusually early age he was 
 able to perform that first of all works for 
 forming a finished player on the organ or 
 the piano-forte, the preludes and fugues of 
 Sebastian Bach, called " Le Clavecin bien 
 tempere." At this time he displayed equal 
 progress in composition ; for, in the same 
 year, he published variations to a march, 
 sonatas, and sonefs, all for the piano-forte. 
 
 In 1 792, he was sent by the elector to 
 Vienna, as court-organist, to study the 
 theory of music under the celebrated J. 
 Haydn, who, on leaving Vienna for London 
 
 • Furet d» Londres. 
 
 516 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 two years after, intrusted his pupil to the 
 care of the learned Albrechtsberger. He 
 was then more distinguished for his per- 
 formance than his composition. Judging 
 by the criticisms of his early works, harsh- 
 ness of modulation, melodies more singular 
 than pleasing, and an evident struggle 
 to be original, were among the principal 
 faults of which he was accused. Severe as 
 these critics were on him as a composer, 
 they were lavish in their praises of him as 
 a player. In their opinion, no one could 
 equal him in spirit and brilliancy of exe- 
 cution ; and nothing more was wanting to 
 perfect his performance, than more preci- 
 sion and distinctness of touch. His greatest 
 power consisted in extemporary perform- 
 ance, and in the art of varying any given 
 theme without the least premeditation. In 
 this he approached nearest to Mozart, and 
 has never had a rival since. 
 
 The precarious situation of the court of 
 Cologne during the war, and the death of 
 the elector in 1801, in whom the art of 
 music lost one of its most zealous patrons, 
 induced Beethoven to choose Vienna as his 
 permanent residence. As original and in- 
 dependent in his general way of thinking, 
 as in his musical productions, a decided 
 enemy to flattery, an utter stranger to every 
 thing dishonourable, he disdained to court 
 the favour of any one, however wealthy or 
 high in rank. He has consequently resided 
 nearly thirty years in that splendid metro- 
 polis, in open hostility with many ; and in 
 friendship with only a few, whom the ad- 
 miration of his great genius will not allow 
 to take offence, either at the singularity of 
 his manner, or the candour with which he 
 r^ves his honest opinions. Till very lately, 
 he had hardly any other emolument than 
 what his compositions produced him, and 
 consequently he was too often in circum- 
 stances very unwonhy of such a great 
 genius. 
 
 In Austria, the native composers have 
 experienced a neglect similar to that which 
 Frederick the Great displayed to the literati 
 of Prussia. Salieri, the Italian, has all the 
 honours and emoluments of principal maes- 
 tro dicapellato their majesties; whereas 
 the inimitable Beethoven relies entirely on 
 his own strength, without the smallest por- 
 tion of imperial munificence. It must have 
 oeen a consideration like this, together with 
 the increase of difficulties, that determined 
 him, in 1809, to accept an offer from the 
 new Westphalian court of Jerome Buona- 
 parte, of the situation of maestro di capella. 
 Fortunately, for the honour of Vienna and 
 of Austria, the archduke Rudolph, and the 
 
 princes Lobkowitz and Kinsky, induced 
 him to alter this resolution. In expressions 
 at once the most favourable and delicate, 
 these princes had a document diawn up, 
 by which they settled on Beethoven an an- 
 nuity of 4000 florins, with no other condi- 
 tion, than that so long as he derives the 
 benefit of it, he must reside at Vienna, or 
 in some other part of the Austrian domi- 
 nions ; but he cannot travel into foreign 
 countries, unless with the consent of his 
 patrons. Vienna has thus become the place 
 of his abode during the principal part of 
 his life. Although he had a great wish tO' 
 see foreign countries, particularly England, 
 he has never applied for leave of absence 
 to the archduke Rudolph, who is now his 
 only patron, the princes Lobkowitz and 
 Kinsky beinyf dead. It has, however, been 
 doubted whether his presence would add, 
 either here or any where else, to his cele- 
 brity. His warmth of temper, extreme 
 frankness, and singularity of manners, 
 (which he is little able to rule according to^ 
 the prescribed forms of society,) his littl* 
 reserve in judging of people, and above 
 all, his great deafness, seem little calcu- 
 lated to endear his person to the true ad- 
 mirers of his genius. Notwithstanding 
 these foibles, which more frequently belong 
 to great than to ordinary men, his charac- 
 ter, as a man and as a citizen, ranks de- 
 servedly high. There is a rectitude in his 
 moral conduct, which ensures to him the 
 esteem of every honourable person. 
 
 Beethoven's works are universally ac- 
 knowledged to be, for the greater part, 
 productions of the highest order. In the 
 loftier strains of composition, he has attain- 
 ed so eminent a rank, that it is difficult to 
 say who excels him. In many of his or- 
 chestral symphonies, overtures, quarlettos 
 for the violin, concertos, trios, and sonatas 
 for the piano- forte, he may be placed with- 
 out the slightest presumption by the side 
 of Haydn and Mozart. His overture to 
 the " Men of Prometheus," and his piano- 
 forte concerto in C minor, Op. 37, would 
 alone be sufficient to immortalize him. 
 They will ever be heard with delight after 
 any overture or concerto, even of Mozart. 
 A list of his works is copied from that very 
 excellent periodical work, the " Harmoni- 
 con,'' into the " Biographical Dicticnary 
 of Musicians," from whence the present 
 notice of Beethoven is derived. 
 
 The talents of a Haydn and Mozart 
 raised instrumental composition in Ger- 
 many to an astonishing elevation ; and 
 Beethoven may be said not only to have 
 maintained the ait in that stupendous alt 
 
 517 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 tude, but exen in some respects to have 
 brougjit it to still higher perfection. Rei- 
 chardt, in his letters from Vienna, says, 
 " Haydn drew his quartets from the pure 
 source of his sweet and unsophisticated 
 nature, his captivating simplicity and 
 cheerfulness ; in these works he is still 
 without an equal. Mozart's mightier genius 
 and richer imagination took a more extend- 
 ed range, and embodied in several passages 
 the most profound and sublime qualities of 
 his own mind. Moreover, he was much 
 greater as a performer than Haydn, and as 
 such, expected more from instruments than 
 the latter did. He also allowed more 
 merit to highly wrought and complicated 
 compositions, and thus raised a gorgeous 
 palace within Haydn's fairy bower. Of 
 this palace Beethoven was an early inmate ; 
 and in order adequately to express his own 
 peculiar forms of style, he had no other 
 means but to surmount the edifice with that 
 defying and colossal tower, which no one 
 will probably presume to carry higher with 
 impunity." 
 
 " If any man," says the Quarterly Musi- 
 cal Review, " can be said to enjoy an 
 almost universal admiration as a composer, 
 it is Beethoven; who, disdaining to copy 
 his predecessors in any, the most distant, 
 manner, has, notwithstanding, by his ener- 
 getic, bold, and uncommon style of writing, 
 carried away the prize from our modern 
 Olympus. His peculiar beauties may be 
 enumerated as follows : originality of in- 
 vention — uncommon passages — a very 
 energetic manner — imitative passages al- 
 most innumerable — and abstruse scientific 
 modulation. The first of these peculiarities, 
 no sincere lover of music who has heard 
 any of his symphonies will refuse to admit ; 
 and it is principally to this prominent fea- 
 ture in all his works that the fame he has 
 acquired is owing. There is something in 
 the first movements of all his overtures and 
 symphonies, which, to the hearer, conveys 
 a clear impression that the piece is not 
 similar to any he ever heard before by other 
 composers. The frequent employment of 
 discords unresolved with a full harmony, 
 the apparent sombre cast of expression by 
 1 continual richness and depth of the bass, 
 the evident preparation for some beautiful 
 allegro or vivace movement; all these con- 
 spire to raise the author in our estimation, 
 and to keep our attention alive. Yet, when 
 he does lead us to the quick, it is not upon 
 a light, unmeaning, or dance-like passage, 
 that he chooses to work ; conscious of his 
 insources, he gives an excellent subject, 
 gradually rising into importance as the in- 
 
 struments one after the other join in the 
 stringed chorus ; and when (as Maister 
 Mace would say) * that vast concording 
 unity ' of the whole band comes ' thunder- 
 ing in," we perceive with what admirable 
 skill the orchestra are brought together, and 
 afterwards, to the latter part of the pifce, 
 continue our admiration of the scientific 
 manner in which the parts are worked up 
 The conclusion leaves us in regret." 
 
 In Beethoven's " Mount of Olives," the 
 introductory symphony is considered to be 
 so affecting and appropriate as to be equal, 
 if not superior, to Haydn's introduction, or 
 representation of " Chaos " in the " Crea- 
 tion." The whole is a striking instance of 
 his originality of invention. With respect 
 to his energetic manner, nearly the whole 
 of his works abound with specimens of this 
 description of beauty. Yet, however, in thfe 
 midst of his energy, variety, and abstruse- 
 ness, ideas may sometimes be discovered 
 which create enthusiasm solely from their 
 simplicity. Of this description is the well- 
 known passage in his " Ba'tle Sinfonia," 
 where the one fifer is supposed to be heard 
 attempting to rally the disordered ranks of 
 the French army, by playing their national 
 air of" Malbrouk," which he performs in a 
 minor key, from his own presumed thirst 
 and fatigue. 
 
 It is said that Beethoven does not write 
 down a single note of his compositions till 
 he has mentally completed them, and that 
 he holds his own earlier compositions in 
 contempt. He usually passes the summer at 
 the pleasant village of Baden, about twelve 
 miles from Vienna. He is very deaf, but can 
 hear without the assistance of any machine, 
 when addressed loudly and distinctly. His 
 principal amusement in the country is tak- 
 ing long walks in the most romantic parts 
 of the vicinity ; these excursions he some- 
 times extends even through the night.* 
 
 ANNE DE MONTMORENCY. 
 
 Of the sanguinary character of this coxi- 
 stable of France some idea may be formed 
 by the specimen which Brantome has given 
 of his favourite orders. — " Go ! Let me see 
 those rascals stabbed or shot directly 
 Hang me that fellow on yonder tree ! Hack 
 me to pieces those scoundrels this moment, 
 who dared to defend that church against 
 the king's forces ! Set fire to that village, 
 d'ye hear ! Burn me all the country for 
 mile round this spot I" 
 
 * Biof^raphical Dust, of Musicians. 
 
 518 
 
THE TA.BLE BOOK. 
 
 r, o I D u ii4 
 
 O T O B R E 1792 
 
 Sene.1173" 
 
 L' AN ler DE I, A I 
 R EPV B LI tJUE. 
 
 pagxihlc-aiLporLewn 
 
 La loi punit de mort 
 »%le contrefacteur.,*. 
 
 FAC-SIMILE OF A FRENCH ASSIGNAT FOR TEN SOUS, 
 Referred to in the following Communication. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Dear sir, — Perhaps you may esteem the 
 enclosed as a curiosity worthy of a place 
 m the Table Book. It is a genuine speci- 
 men of the assignats used in lieu of money 
 during the French revolution. I believe 
 there are very few now to be had. It was 
 given to me by a French gentleman, whose 
 father (a native of Normandy) had lost con- 
 siderable sums by them. He had unfor- 
 tunately converted most of his property 
 into assignats, as a precaution during these 
 times, which, although eventually of so 
 much benefit to the French nation, were so 
 distressing while they lasted. But when 
 the use of coin was resumed, he found his 
 intention frustrated, and himself deprived 
 of all bis fortune. 
 
 This gentleman had been the means of 
 assisting the duke and duchess of Chartres 
 in their escape to England, after having 
 concealed them for some time in his own 
 house. They left him with reiterated assru- 
 ances of liberal recompense and future 
 patronage, should they ever be so fortunate 
 as to return to their native country : — they 
 did return — but their Norman benefactor 
 was forgotten — he never heard any thing 
 more of them. — " Telle est la recompense 
 de loyantil" was the concluding remark 
 of his son, who related the story to me. 
 
 He was a pleasant specimen of a French 
 man — light, kind-hearted, and extremely 
 enthusiastic; but his enthusiasm was 
 equally bestowed on the most important or 
 the most trivial occasion. I have seen him 
 rise from his seat, stretch his clasped hands 
 out at full length, and utter with rapturous 
 ecstasy through his clenched teeth, " ^h, 
 Dien ! que r'etoit beau .'" when perhaps the 
 subject of his eulogy was the extraordinary 
 leap of some rope-dancer, or the exagge- 
 rated shout of some opera-singer, whose 
 greatest recommendation was, that she pos- 
 sessed " une voix a enlever le toil." He 
 had a habit of telling immensely long sto- 
 ries, and always forgot that you had heard 
 him relate them often and often before. He 
 used to tack his sentences together by an 
 awful " alors," which was the sure sign of 
 liis being in the humour (although by the 
 by he never was otherwise) for telling one 
 of his pet anecdotes, or, more properly 
 interminable narratives, for such he mad4 
 them by his peculiar tact at spinning theia 
 out. He had three special favourites ;— the 
 one above related of aristocratic ingrati- 
 tude ;— another about Buonaparte's going 
 incognito every morning, while he was a. 
 Boulogne sur Mer, to drink new milk a 
 the cottage of an old woman, with wnoia 
 hf used to take snuff, and talk quite fami- 
 liarly; — and the last and best-beloved, ap 
 
 519 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 account of his own good fortune in having 
 once actually spoken with the emperor Na- 
 poleon Buonaparte himself! He had been 
 an officer on board one of the ships belong- 
 ing to the flotille destined for the invasion 
 of England, and almost adored Buonaparte 
 as a sort of God. He was perhaps as 
 affectionate-hearted ahumanbeino as could 
 possibly exist, and I never heard him speak 
 bitterly against any one^ excepting Meii- 
 sieurs les Clergis. 
 
 1 have digressed considerably, but the 
 assiguat is merely a matter of curiosity to 
 look at, and does not admit of much com- 
 ment. 
 
 I am, dear sir, 
 
 Your respectful admirer, 
 
 J'(6H^28, :!827. M. H. 
 
 BUYING AND SELLING. 
 
 A merchant shall hardly keep himself from doing 
 vroDg ; acd an huckster shall not be freed from sin. 
 
 Aa a uail sticketh fast between the joinings of the 
 stones; so doth sin stick close between buying and 
 selling. Ecclesiasticus. 
 
 It has been observed in the House of 
 Commons, " That commerce tends to cor- 
 rupt the morals of a people." If we exa- 
 mine the expression, we shall find it true, 
 ■n a certain degree. 
 
 Perhaps every tradesman can furnish out 
 immberless instances of small deceit. His 
 conduct is marked with a littleness, which 
 though allowed by general consent, is not 
 strictly just. A person with whom I have 
 long been connected in business, asked if 
 I had dealt with his relation whom he had 
 brought up, and who had lately entered 
 into commercial life. I answered in the 
 affirmative. He replied, " He is a very 
 honest fellow." I told him I saw all the 
 finesse of a tradesman about him. " Oh, 
 rejoined my friend, a man has a right to 
 say all he can in favour of his own goods." 
 
 Nor is the seller alone culpable. The 
 buyer takes an equal share in the deception. 
 Though neither of them speak their senti- 
 ments, they well understand each other. 
 Whilst a treaty is agitating, the buyer pro- 
 nounces against the article; but when 
 finished, the seller whispers to his friend, 
 " It is well sold," and the buyer smiles at 
 the bargain. The commercial track is a 
 line of minute deceits. 
 
 But, on the other hand, it does not seem 
 possible for a man in trade to pass this 
 line, without wrecking his reputation ; 
 which, if once broken, can never be made 
 whole. The character of a tradesman is 
 valuable; it is his all; therefore, whatever 
 
 seeds of the ricious kind may shoot forth 
 in the mind, they are carefully watched and 
 nipped in the bud, that they may never 
 blossom into action. 
 
 Having stated the accounts between mo- 
 rality and trade, I shall leave the reader to 
 draw the balance, and only ask, " Whether 
 the people in trade are more corrupt than 
 those out?" If the curious reader will lend 
 an attentive ear to a pair of farmers in the 
 market, bartering for a cow, he will find as 
 much dissimulation as at St. James's, or at 
 any other saint's, but couched in more 
 homely phrase. The man of well-bred 
 deceit is " infinitely your friend — it would 
 give him immense pleasure to serve you V 
 
 while the man in the frock " will be 
 
 if he tells you a word of a lie !" 
 
 Having occasion for a horse, in 1759, I 
 mentioned it to an acquaintance, and in- 
 formed him of the uses the animal was 
 wanted for; he assured me he had one that 
 would exactly suit; which he showed in 
 the stable, and held the candle pretty high, 
 " for fear of affecting the straw." I told 
 him it was needless to examine him, for I 
 should rely upon his word, being conscious 
 he was too much my friend to deceive me; 
 I therefore bargained, and caused him to 
 be sent home. But by the light of the sun 
 ■which next morning illumined the heavens, 
 I perceived the horse was " greased" on all 
 fours I therefore, in gentle terms, up- 
 braided my friend with duplicity, when he 
 replied with some warmth, '' I would cheat 
 my own brother in a horse." Had this 
 honourable friend stood a chance of selling 
 me a horse once a week, his own interest 
 would have prevented himfrom deceiving me. 
 
 A man enters into business with a view 
 of acquiring a fortune — a laudable motive ! 
 That property which arises from honest in- 
 dustry is an honour to its owner; the re- 
 pose of his age, the reward of a life of 
 attention ; but great as the advantage 
 seemS; yet, being of a private nature, it is 
 one of the least in the mercantile walk. 
 For the intercourse occasioned by traffic 
 gives a man a view of the world, and of 
 himself; removes the narrow limits that 
 confine his judgment, expands the mind, 
 opens his understanding, removes his pre- 
 judices, and polishes his manners. Civility 
 and humanity are ever the companions of 
 trade ; the man of business is the man of 
 liberal sentiment : if he be not the philoso- 
 pher of nature he is the friend of his coun- 
 try. A barbarous and commercial people 
 is a contradiction.* 
 
 * Httttoa's History of Biruiiogham. 
 
 520-' 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 LONGEVITY 
 
 M^tobtvit^ 
 
 Of a remarkable Highlandeb. 
 
 In August, 1827, John Macdonald ex- 
 pired in his son's house, in the Lawnmar- 
 ket, at the advanced age of one hundred 
 and seven years. lie was born in Glen 
 Tinisdale, in the Isle of Skye, and, like the 
 other natives of that quarter, was bred to 
 rural labour. Early one morning in his 
 youth, when looking after his black cattle, 
 he was surprised by the sight of two ladies, 
 as he thought, winding slowly round a hill, 
 and approaching the spot where he stood. 
 When they came up, they inquired for a 
 well or stream, where a drink of water 
 could be obtained. He conducted them to 
 the " Virgin Well," an excellent spring, 
 which was held in great reverence on ac- 
 count of its being the scene of some super- 
 stitious and legendary tales. When they 
 had quenched their thirst, one of the ladies 
 rewarded Macdonald with a shilling, the 
 first silver coin of which he was possessed. 
 At their own request he escorted them to a 
 gentleman's house at some distance, and 
 there, to his great surprise and satisfaction, 
 he learned that the two " ladies " were 
 Flora Macdonald and prince Charles Stew- 
 art. 
 
 This was the proudest incident in Mac- 
 donald's patriarchal life ; and, when sur- 
 rounded by his Celtic brethren, he used to 
 dilate on all the relative circumstances with 
 a sort of hereditary enthusiasm, and more 
 than the common garrulity of age. He 
 afterwards turned joiner, and bore a con. 
 spicuous part in the building of the first 
 protestanl church which was erected in the 
 island of North Uist. He came to Edin- 
 burgh twenty-three years before his death, 
 and continued to work at his trade till he 
 was ninety-seven years of age. 
 
 Macdonald was a temperate, regular- 
 living man, and never paid a sixpence to a 
 surgeon for himself, nor had an hour's sick- 
 ness in the whole course of his life. He 
 used to dance regularly on New-year's 
 day, along with some Highland friends, to 
 the bagpipe. On New-year's day, 1825, 
 he danced a reel with the father, the son, 
 the grandson, and great-grandson, and was 
 jn more than his usual spirits. His hearmg 
 was nothing impaired, and till within three 
 weeks of his demise he could have threaded 
 the finest needle with facility, without 
 glasses.* 
 
 • Scotsman, Aujfust, 1827. 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS 
 
 No. V. 
 
 Having examined what knowledge tlie 
 ancients had in logic and metaphysics, we 
 are now to consider with the same impar- 
 tiality, what general or particular disco- 
 veries they made in physics, astronomy, 
 mathematics, mechanics, and the other 
 sciences. 
 
 Of Bodies — the Incorpokeality of 
 THEIR Elements. — Leibnitz. 
 
 Although the distance may appear con- 
 siderable between metaphysics and phy- 
 sics, yet an idea of their connection runs 
 through the whole system of Leibnitz. He 
 founds this on the principle, employed long 
 ago by Archimedes, " that there must be 
 a sufficient reason for every thing." Leib- 
 nitz inquires, why bodies are extended in 
 length, breadth, and thickness. He holds, 
 that to discover the origin of extension, we 
 must come at something unextended, and 
 without parts; in short, at existences en- 
 tirely simple ; and he contends, that " things 
 extended" could have had no existence, 
 but for " things entirely simple." 
 
 The foundations of this system were, in 
 effect, long since laid by Pythagoras and 
 his disciples. Traces of it are in Strato of 
 Lampsacus, who succeeded Theophrastus 
 in the Lyceum; in Democritus; in Plato, 
 and those of his school; and in Sextus 
 Empiricus, who has even furnished entire 
 arguments to Leibnitz for establishing "the 
 necessity of seeking for the reason of com- 
 pound things, in those which never had 
 ejtternal existence." Moderatus Gaditanus, 
 in relation to the numbers of Pythagoras, 
 says, " Numbers are, so to speak, an assem- 
 blage of units, a progressive multitude 
 which arises from unity, and finds there its 
 ultimate cause." And Hermias, expound- 
 ing the doctrine of the Pythagoreans, says, 
 that, according to them, "the unit, or sim- 
 ple essence, was the origin and principle 
 of all things." 
 
 Sextus Empiricus deerns it unworthy oi 
 a philosopher to advance, that what falls 
 under the notice of our senses, could be the 
 principle of all things; for things sensible 
 ought to be derived from what is not so. 
 Things compounded of other things cannot 
 possibly be themselves a principle ; but 
 what constitutes those things may. Those 
 
 521 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 who affirm that atoms, similar parts, parti- 
 cles, or those bodies which only are to be 
 ipprehended by the intellect itself, are the 
 primary elements of all things, in one 
 respect say true, in another not. In so far 
 as they acknowledge for principles, only 
 such things as fall not under our senses, 
 they are right ; but they are wrong in ap- 
 Drehending those to be corporeal princi- 
 Tjiles : for as those bodies whicli fall not 
 under our senses, precede those which do, 
 ihey themselves are preceded also by what 
 is of another nature : and as the letters are 
 not a discourse, though they go into the 
 composition of it, neither are the elements 
 of body, body : but since they must be 
 either corporeal or incorporeal, it follows, 
 that they are incorporeal. To this end he 
 argues, that " bodies are composed of in- 
 corporeal principles, not to be compre- 
 hended but by the mind itself." 
 
 To the same effect, Scipio Aquilianns, 
 treating of the opinion of Alcmaeon, the 
 Pythagorean, concerning the principles of 
 things, reduces it to a syllogism. " What 
 precedes body in the order of nature, is the 
 principle of body ; number is such a thing ; 
 therefore number is the principle of body. 
 The second of these propositions is proved 
 thus ; — Of two things, that is the first, 
 which may be conceived independent of 
 the other, whilst that other cannot of it. 
 Now number may be conceived independ- 
 ently of body, but not body of number; 
 wherefore number is antecedent to body in 
 the order of nature." '' 
 
 Marcilius Ficinus imputes to Plato the 
 same notion, and gives us the substance of 
 that philosopher's thoughts. " The dif^"c;r- 
 ent species of all sorts of compounds may 
 be traced out to something which in itself 
 is uncompounded ; as the boundaries of 
 body to a point, which has no boundary ; 
 numbers to a unit, which consists not of 
 numbers ; and elements to what has nothing 
 in it mixt or elementary." Marcilius Fici- 
 nus expresses the system in a few words. 
 '' Compounds are reducible into things un- 
 compounded, and these again into what is 
 still more simple." One sees here those 
 compounds of Leibnitz, which, when re- 
 duced to their simple parts, terminate in 
 the Deity for their cause and source. 
 
 Plotinus also aSrms, that " there must 
 be in bodies some principle, or substratum, 
 entirely different from any thing corporeal. 
 
 These quotations accord with passages 
 in Plutarch concerning Heraclitus. There 
 are passages in Stobaeus, from Epicurus, 
 Xeni/orates, and Diodorus, to a similar pur- 
 port; and a remarkable one in Hebrewt 
 
 xi. 3. " Through faith we understand tha 
 the worlds were framed by the word ol 
 God, so that things which are seen were no, 
 made of things which do appear."* 
 
 It every where appears that Leibniti 
 drew many of his notions from Plato ; ana 
 he defines his " monads," just as Plato does 
 his ideas, to, Hvrais ovTa, " thiiiETS really ex- 
 isting." An erudite German says, " I am 
 assured by one of my friends, who was 
 himself informed of it by a learned Italian, 
 who went to Hanover to satisfy an ardent 
 desire he had of being acquainted with Mr. 
 Leibnitz, and spent three weeks with hira, 
 that this great man, at parting, said to him : 
 ' Sir you have often been so good as to in- 
 sinuate, that you looked upon me as a man 
 of some knowledge. Now, sir, I'll show 
 you the sources whence I drew it all ;' and 
 immediately taking him by the hand, led 
 him into his study, showing him all the 
 books he had ; which were Plato, Aristotle, 
 Plutarch, Sextus Empiricus, Euclid, Archi- 
 medes, Pliny, Seneca, and Cicero.'' 
 
 Leibnitz and Parmenides agree in these 
 particulars : — 
 
 1. The existence and essence of things 
 are different. 
 
 2. The essence of things existent, is with 
 out the things themselves. 
 
 3. There are, in nature, similar and dis- 
 similar things. 
 
 4. The similar are conceived, as in exist- 
 ence essentially the same. 
 
 5. Whatever exists is reducible to certain 
 classes, and specific forms. 
 
 6. All those forms have their existence 
 in the unity ; that is, in God ; and hence 
 the whole is one. 
 
 7. Science consists in the knowledge, 
 not of individuals, but of kinds or species. 
 
 8. This knowledge differs fiom that of 
 things existing externally. 
 
 9. Forms or ideas, as they exist in God, 
 escape the observation of men. 
 
 10. Hence men perceive nothing per- 
 fectly. 
 
 11. Our mental notions are but the 
 shades or resemblances of ideas. 
 
 Of Animated Nature. — Buffon. 
 
 Buffon's theory respecting universal mat- 
 ter, generation, and nutrition, so much re- 
 sembles what was taught by some of the 
 ancients, that it is difficult not to think that 
 his ideas drew their origin from that first 
 school. It appears indeed, that he had 
 
 • Perhaps this principle derives further illnstratioj 
 from icripture. " Id the beginiting was the Word.' 
 Jobs \ 1. Kd. 
 
 522 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 attentively read the ancients, and knew 
 how to value them. He says himself, that 
 " the ancients understood much better, and 
 made a greater progress in the natural history 
 of animals and minerals, than we have 
 done. They abounded more in real obser- 
 vations ; and we ought to have made much 
 better advantage of their illustrations and 
 "emarks." Yet Buffon does not seem to 
 nave perceived the analogy which every 
 where reigns between his system and that 
 of the ancients. 
 
 Anaxagoras thought that bodies were 
 composed of small, similar, or homogeneous 
 particles ; that those bodies, however, ad- 
 mitted a ccitain quantity of small particles 
 that werF lelerogene, or of another kind ; 
 but that -t) constitute any body to be of a 
 particular species, it sufhced, that it was 
 composed of a great number of small parti- 
 cles, similar and constitutive of that species. 
 Different bodies were masses of particles 
 similar among themselves ; dissimilar, how- 
 ever, relatively to those of any other body, 
 or to the mass of small particles belonging 
 to a different species. Thus, the ancients 
 taught, that bliod was formed of many 
 drops or particles, each of which had blood 
 in it ; that a bone was formed of many 
 small bones, which from their extreme lit- 
 tleness evaded our view ; and these similar 
 parts they called ifioiofnoiiai similaritates. 
 Likewise, that nothing was properly liable 
 to generation, or corruption, to birth, or to 
 death ; generations of every kind, being no 
 other than an assemblage of small particles 
 constituent of the kind ; and the destruction 
 of a body being no other than the disunion 
 of many small bodies of the same sort, 
 which always preserving a natural tendency 
 to reunite, produce again, by their conjunc- 
 tion with other similar particles, other 
 bodies of the same species. Vegetation and 
 nutrition were but means employed by 
 nature for the continuation of beings ; thus, 
 the different juices of the earth being com- 
 posed of a collection of innumerable small 
 particles intermixed, constituting the dif- 
 ferent parts of a tree or flower for example, 
 take, according to the law of nature, differ- 
 ent arrangements ; and by the motion ori- 
 ginally impressed upon them, proceed till, 
 arriving at the places destined and proper 
 for them, they collect themselves and halt, 
 to form all the different parts of that tree or 
 flower; in the same manner as many small 
 imperceptible leaves go to the formation of 
 '.he leaves we see, manv little parts of the 
 fruits of different kinds to the composition 
 of those which vee eat; and so of the rest. 
 The same, with respect to the nutrition of 
 
 animals. Tlie bread we eat, and the othe 
 aliments we take, turn themselves, accord 
 ing to the ancients, into hair, veins, arteries 
 nerves, and all the other parts of our body ; 
 because there are, in those aliments, the 
 constituent parts of blood, nerves, bones, 
 hair, &c. which, uniting with one another, 
 make themselves by their coalition percepti- 
 ble, which they were not before, because of 
 their infinite littleness. 
 
 Empedocles believed, that matter had in 
 it a living principle, a subtile active fiie, 
 which put all in motion ; and this Buffer 
 calls, by another name, " organized matter, 
 always active ; or animated organic mattei ." 
 According to Empedocles, "this matter 
 was distributed through the four elements, 
 among which it had an uniting force to bind 
 them, and a separating to put them asun- 
 der; for the small parts either mutually 
 embraced, or repelled one another ; whence 
 nothing in reality perished, but every thing 
 was in perpetual vicissitude." 
 
 Empedocles had a sentiment, which Buf- 
 fon follows, in the same terms ; where he 
 says, that " the sexes contain all the small 
 parts analogous to the body of an animal, 
 and necessary to its production." 
 
 Plotinus, investigating what might be 
 the reason of this sympathy and attraction 
 in nature, discovered it to proceed from 
 such a " harmony and assimilation of the 
 parts, as bound them together when they 
 met," or repelled them when they weie 
 dissimilar ; he says, that it is the variety or 
 these assimilations that concurs to the form- 
 ation of an animal; and calls this binding, 
 or dissolving force, " the magic of the uni- 
 verse." 
 
 Anaxagoras thought as Buffon does, that 
 there is no preexistent seed, involvine: in- 
 finite numbers of the same kind one within 
 another; but an ever active organic matter, 
 always ready so to adapt itself, as to assi- 
 milate, and render other things conform- 
 able to that wherein it resides. The species 
 of animals and vegetables can never there- 
 fore exhaust themselves ; but as long as an 
 individual subsists, the species will be 
 always new. It is as extensive now as it 
 was at the beginning, and all will subsist 
 of themselves, till they are annihilated by 
 the Creator. 
 
 It would be easy to show, that in moral* 
 and politics, as in physics, the most enii 
 nent moderns have said nothing nev 
 Hobbes has advanced nothing, but what hp 
 found in the writings of the Grecian and 
 Latin philosophers ; and above all, in those 
 of Epicurus. Montesqiieu also assumes 
 from the ancients the principles of hi* 
 
 5i3 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 system; and Machiavel those of his politics 
 from Aristotle, though we have attributed 
 to his genius the whole honour of having 
 invented them. But these discussions 
 would detain the reader too long; we hasten 
 therefore to another field of contemplation, 
 not less fruitful of testimony, in support of 
 the position, that the most celebrated phi- 
 losophers among the moderns have taken 
 what they advance from the works of the 
 ancients. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 GRASSHOPPERS. 
 
 " Saater de branche en branche." 
 
 The stream may flow, the wheel may run, 
 The corn in vain be brown'd in sun, 
 
 And boltinef-mills, like corks, be stoppers ; 
 Save that their clacks, like noisy rain. 
 Make flour of corn in root and grain 
 
 By virtue of their Hoppebs. 
 
 And London sportsmen (sportsmen f) meet 
 To shoot at sparrows twenty feet 
 
 Like ginger-beer escaping, — poppers : 
 Pigeons are thus humanely shot. 
 And thus they go to pie and pot. 
 
 Poor pulse and crum'h-led Hoppeks ' 
 
 Trees in their shrouds resemble men. 
 And they who " cut may come again," 
 
 To take their tithe as legal toppers : 
 Soldiers and sailors, after wars. 
 In spite of glory, fame, and stars, — 
 
 Are they not pen-sion Hoppers ? 
 
 Yet more than these, in summer's even. 
 There hop, between the blades of Heaven 
 
 And hailstones pearly droppers. 
 Insects of mirth, whose songs so shrill 
 Delight the cars of vale and hill. 
 
 The grassy, green — Grass-Hoppers. 
 
 Atig. 1827. 
 
 J. R. P. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 WASPS. 
 
 A grocer's shop at Camberwell — " the 
 Grasshopper" — is much visited by wasps 
 for the sweets of the sugar hogsheads. The 
 shop is closed on Sundays, but they find 
 entrance into it by creeping privately 
 tnrough the keyhole of the door. 
 
 C. W. P. 
 
 THE BARLEY^MOW. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 My dear sir, — Nothing could possibly 
 exceed the heartfelt pleasure I enjoyed 
 when the last load was drawn into the 
 farm-yard ; and the farmer, and his men and 
 women, witnessed the completion of the 
 " Barley-mow." Their huzzas filled the 
 scenery, and the barns and church replied. 
 The carters and horses were trimmed with 
 boughs and wild flowers. The hedges 
 siding the lanes, and the patriarch elms and 
 walnut-trees, as the survivors of templar 
 consecrations to the demesne, look their 
 tithes, to the joy of birds; and the fields had 
 still a generous strewing of ears for the 
 peasant-gleaners, who, like ants, collected 
 a small store for the days of frost and ad- 
 versity. The farmer's heart gladdened with 
 the reward of his labours. The ale-bottle, 
 when held upward, gurgled its choice liquid 
 into many thirsty throats. E\ery thing and 
 every body showed satisfaction. The 
 housewife came forth with a rake in her 
 hand, in her sun-shielding gloves and broad 
 flat bonnet, and she sung the rejoicings of 
 her peace in a minor key, suitable to hei 
 taste of harmony. Her daughter too came 
 tripping in a lightsome gait and charming 
 advance, towards her sire and myself, with 
 cake and cider, dimpling and exhilarating. 
 
 By this time the " Barley-mow " was 
 coning to a point, and the stray ears were 
 plucked out of its bulging sides. 
 
 The evening closing into eternitv, the 
 peaceful aspect of nature sweetly accorded 
 with the quiet sensations of thankfulness, 
 glowii.g in the grateful breasts of the per- 
 sons cast in this out-of-town spot. The 
 increasing pall of dusk, when the work 
 was ended, drew the labourers into a circle 
 within their master's welcome domicile. 
 Here the farmer and his wife and family 
 were assembled, and, without pride's dis- 
 tinction, regaled the sharers of their sum- 
 mer-toil with that beverage that warms the 
 feelings of hd^e into real joy. This was 
 the triumph of the " Barley-mow." Everv 
 tongue praised, as every energy assisted it 
 It was a heartfelt celebration. Songs werv 
 sung, and they danced down the midnight 
 The foot of Time stepped lightly, till tli'? 
 weather-featured clock toU'd the end of thf 
 joyful recreation. Sincerity, unity, anu 
 hospitality were blended : the master was 
 satisfied with his servants — the servants 
 were thankful with their means of support. 
 My thoughts rebounded high, as my sym- 
 pathies awakened to so much happiness i> 
 
 524 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 to small a compass. Ere satiety arrived 
 the companions separated. My candle was 
 ready; I shook hands with my fiiends ; 
 and, after penning you this outline, retired 
 with benevolent impressions and aspirations 
 in behalf of a cheerful country life, arising 
 from contented habits and industrious 
 courses. 
 
 The two following stanzas were audible 
 for a long time in the neighbouring rural- 
 ries : 
 
 Let the scythe and sickle lie 
 
 Undisturb'd for many a day 
 Labour stoops wit}iout a sigh. 
 
 And grisly care is gay 
 Bless the harrow and the plough. 
 ■^Bless the glorions Barley-mote 
 
 Now the miller's hoppers play ; 
 
 Now the maltster's kiln is dry 
 Empty casks prepare the way. 
 
 And mirth is in the eye: 
 Praise the sun and trim the bough,— 
 Hail the golden Barley-now I 
 
 I am, my dear sir, 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 J. R. P. 
 
 T n T e, 
 
 August 1, 1827. 
 
 HANGING THE SHUTTLE. 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — The custom of " hanging ihe shut- 
 tle " arose out of the introduction of a 
 " spring loom," which an eminent clothier 
 at Langley ventured, in 1794, to have 
 erected in "one of his cottages, built for the 
 use of his men. 
 
 One person performing nearly as much 
 .work in this loom as two persons, the 
 weavers in the neighbourhood met at the 
 " Plough," to consider the best means of 
 opposing the success of the* one-shuttle 
 stranger. 
 
 After sundry resolutions were passed, 
 declarative that spring-looms would prove 
 hurtful to weavers of the old school, they 
 suspended a shuttle to a bacon rack by a 
 skein of tangled yarn over the table round 
 which they sat. Meeting every Saturday- 
 night at this inn, they pledged their affiance 
 to the " shuttle," and continued the custom 
 till their meetings were fruitless. 
 
 The "hanging the shuttle" over them 
 iignified that no honest weaver should work 
 
 a spring-loom to the injury of his fellow 
 workman. This prejudice having subsided 
 and most of the weavers that assembled a 
 the " Plough" being dead, their sons agree 
 to the prevailing and supposed improve- 
 ments. 
 
 I am, sir, 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 July 28, 1827. 
 
 For the Table Booh. 
 
 THE STEPS OF PERFECTION. 
 
 Paraphrased from the Latin of John Owen 
 
 Faith, Hope, and Charity. 
 
 'Y 
 
 T 
 
 H - I 
 
 T - R - E 
 1 - A - P 
 A - II - O 
 F - C - H 
 5 7 4 
 
 S 
 
 A 
 
 T 
 I 
 
 S - 
 E - 
 
 D - R 
 
 When Virtue her examples drew in heaven. 
 
 Seven steps to reach them were to mortals given : — 
 
 Hope, so desirous to be first, attains 
 
 Four of the Seven : but h'A^TH Jive precepts gains : 
 
 Love is the chief, for Love the two excels. 
 
 And in the virtue of Pebfiction dwells. 
 
 NEWSPAPER ORTHOGRAPHY, 1682. 
 
 From the " True Protestant Mercury" 
 
 No. 162. 
 
 Advertisement. 
 
 OST, a Flowered silk Manto (Mantua) 
 Gown of a sable and Gold Coulor, 
 lined with Black, betwixt Arniseed Clere 
 (St. Agnes le Clair) and the White Houses 
 at Hogsden (Hoxton) oh Wednesday last, 
 the 19lh instant, about 4 or 5 a clock in 
 the Afternoon. Any one that can givt 
 Intelligence of the said Manto Gown tc 
 Mr. Blewit's, at the Rose and Crown in 
 Loathberry, shall have 10*. for their paios. 
 
 525, 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 THE DESTRUCTION OF 
 SENNACHERIB'S ARMY. 
 
 *nd it came to pass that niglit, that the Angel of the 
 '■>ord went out, and smote in the camp of the Assy- 
 rians an hundred fourscore and five thousand : and 
 rt'lien they arose early in tlie morning, behold, they 
 were all dead corpses ! —'2 Kings, xix. 35. 
 
 n>e sun in his beauty had sunk to rest, 
 
 A. jd with magic colours illumin'd the west, 
 
 Gtisting o'er the temple his brightest gold, 
 
 The temple, — Jehovah's dwelling of old : 
 
 The flowers were clos'd by the evening breeze, 
 
 That sadly sigh'd through Lebanon's trees ; 
 
 The moon was up, so pale and bright, 
 
 (Slie look'd more beautiful that night,) 
 
 Whilst numerous stars were round her gleaming— 
 
 Stars in silent beauty beaming. 
 
 The Fiend of Fear his dark wings spread 
 O'er the city of God, and fill'd it with dread ; 
 But the king at the altar prostrate lay. 
 And plac'd on Jehovah's arm his stay ; 
 In anxious watching he pass'd the night, 
 Waiting the return of the morning light. 
 When forth his embattled hosts should move. 
 The power of Jehovah on the Heathen to prove ! 
 
 The Assyrian hosts were proud in their might. 
 And in revelry spent the commencement of night, 
 'Till the power of wine o'er their coward-souls creep- 
 ing. 
 Each man in his armour lay prostrate, sleeping ! 
 
 At the midnight watch the angel of God 
 
 O'er the Assyrian camp spread his wings abroad : 
 
 On his brow was plac'd a crown of light. 
 
 Which shone like a meteor in the gloom of night. 
 
 And quench'd, with its brightness, the moon's pale 
 
 sheen, 
 Which her sickly rays flung over the scene : 
 His flowing robe in large folds roU'd, 
 Spangled with gems and bright with gold 
 As over the Assyrian camp he pass'd. 
 He breathed upon them a poisonous blast- 
 It blanch'd their cheeks — and without a g oan 
 Each soul was hurried to his long, long home 1 
 
 At the morning watch in the Assyrian camp 
 
 Was heard no sound of the war-horse tramp I 
 
 The bright sun rose, like a bridegroom dress'd. 
 
 And illumin'd the camp from east to west ; 
 
 But there was no spear in his bright beam gleaming, 
 
 Nor polish'd mail his reflected light streaming : 
 
 The spear and the armour were cover'd with rust. 
 
 And prostrate the warrior lay down in the dust 1 
 
 To arr>'i ' to arms! the trumpet sounded — 
 
 The echoes in mockery th? blast resounded 1 
 
 Sennacherib waited his embattled host, 
 
 I'he priJe of his heart aad his impious ooaxt }— • 
 
 The trumpet was sounded again and again. 
 Its shrill notes echoing o'er the prostrate slain; — 
 But his bands were bound in the slumber of death. 
 Nor heeded the war-stirring clarion's breath ! 
 The angel of God had pass'd over the host — 
 In the grasp of Death lay Sennacherib's host I 
 
 O. N. Y. 
 July, 1827. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 NIXON'S PROPHECIES.— MR. CAN- 
 NING. 
 
 Mr. Canning's decease on the 8th o< 
 August, 1827, occasioned the t'oUowing 
 article in the newspapers. 
 
 The Death of Mr. Canninb predicted 
 BY Nixon, the Astrologer. 
 
 In an old book, entitled The Prophecies 
 of Robert A^ijon, printed in the year 1701, is 
 the following prophetic declaration, which 
 appears to refer to the late melancholy event, 
 which has deprived the English nation ofone 
 of her brightest ornaments : — " In the year 
 1827 a man will raise himself by his wis- 
 dom to one of the most exalted offices in 
 the state. His king will invest him with 
 great power, as a reward for his zeal. Eng- 
 land will be greatly rejoiced A strong 
 party will enter into a league against him, 
 but their envy and hatred will not prevail. 
 The power of God, which reigneth over all, 
 will cut him off in his prime, and the nation 
 \^ ill bitterly bemoan her loss. Oh, Eng- 
 land? beware of thy enemies. A great 
 friend thou will lose in this man." 
 
 The preceding is a prediction made after 
 the event — a mere " hoax " on the credu- 
 lous. There is nothing of the kind among 
 the prophecies imputed to Nixon, who was 
 not an astrologer, and probably existed no- 
 where but in the imagination of the writer 
 of the manuscript copied by the " Lady 
 Cowper." 
 
 BUSH EELS. 
 
 At this season when persons, at inns in 
 Lincolnshire, ask for " eel-pie," they are 
 presently provided with "bush eels;" name« 
 ly, snakes, caught for that purpose in the 
 bushes, and sold to the landlords cheaply, 
 "Which are made into stews, pies, and fries. 
 
 P. 
 
 526 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 CASE CONTAINING THE HEART OF LOED' EEWAED BRUCE, 
 At Culross Abbey. 
 
 Lord Edward Bruce was eldest son of 
 Sir Edward, baron of Kinloss, so created 
 by James I. in 1603, to whom the king 
 gave the dissolved abbey of Kinloss, in 
 Ayrshire, after he had been instrumental 
 in his succession to the crown of England ; 
 whither accompanying the king, be was 
 
 made master of the rolls in 1604, died in 
 1610, and was buried in the Rolls chapel. 
 His son, the lord Edward, killed in duel by 
 sir Kdward Sackville in 1613, was suc- 
 ceeded by his brother, who was created 
 earl of Elgin ia 1633, and an English baron 
 in 1641. 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 527 
 
 "iU 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Sir Edward Sackville, l)y whose hand 
 the lord Edward Bruce fell, was younger 
 brother to Richard SackviUe, earl of Dor- 
 set, on whose death he succeeded to the 
 title. He was lord president of the coun- 
 cil, a joint lord keeper, and filled several 
 other distinguished offices under Chailes I., 
 to whom he adhered, by whose side he 
 foug-ht at the battle of Edge-hill, and whose 
 death he took, so much to heart, that he 
 never afterwards stirred out of his house in 
 Salisbury-court, but died there on the 17th 
 of July, 1652. 
 
 Between these noblemen there arose a 
 quarrel, which terminated in their duel ; 
 and all that is, or probably can be known 
 respecting it, is contained in the following 
 correspondence, preserved in a manuscript 
 in Queen's college library, Oxford.* 
 
 A Momieur, Monsieur Sackvile. 
 
 " I that am in France, hear how much 
 you attribute to yourself in this time, that I 
 have given the world leave to ring your 
 praises ; and for me, the truest almanack, 
 to tell you how much I suffer. If you call 
 to memory, when as I gave you my hand 
 last, I told you I reserved the heart for a 
 truer reconciliation. Now be that noble 
 gentleman, my love once spoke, and come 
 and do him right that could recite thetryals 
 you owe your birth and country, were I 
 not confident your honour gives you the 
 same courage to do me right, that it did 
 to do me wrong. Be master of your own 
 weapons and time; the place wheresoever, 
 I will wait on you. By doing this, you 
 shall shorten revenge, and clear the idle 
 opinion the world hath of both our worths. 
 
 " En. Bruce." 
 
 A Momieur, Monsieur Baron de Kinloss. 
 
 " As it shall be always far from nne to 
 seek a quarrel, so will I always be ready 
 to meet with any that is desirous to make 
 tryal of my valour, by so fair a course as 
 you require. A witness whereof yourself 
 shall be, who, within a month, shall receive a 
 strict account of time, place, and weapon, 
 where you shall find me ready disposed to 
 give Honourable satisfaction, by him that 
 shull conduct you thither. In the mean 
 time, be as secret of the appointment, as it 
 seems you are desirous of it. 
 
 " E. Sackvile." 
 
 • CoU-na'i Peerage. 
 
 A Monsieur, Monsieur Baron de Kinloss. 
 
 " I am at Tergose, a town in Zeland, tc 
 give what satisfaction your sword can ren- 
 der you, accompanied with a worthy gentle- 
 man for my second, in degree a knight. 
 And, for your coming, I will not limit you 
 a peremptory day, but desire you to make 
 a definite and speedy repair, for your own 
 honour, and fear of prevention; at which 
 time you shall find me there. 
 
 Tergose, Wth " E. Sackvile." 
 
 of August, 1613. 
 
 A Monsieur, Monsieur Sackvile. 
 
 " I have received your letter by your 
 man, and acknowledge you have dealt 
 nobly with me; and now I come, with all 
 possible haste, to meet you. 
 
 " E. Bruce." 
 
 The combat was fierce, and fatal to lord 
 Bruce. The survivor, sir Edward Sack 
 ville, describes it in a letter, which will be 
 inserted at a future time. For the present 
 purpose it is merely requisite to state, that 
 lord Stowell, in a communication to the 
 ear] of Aberdeen, president of the Society 
 of Antiquarians, dated February 15, IS'^Q, 
 seems to have determined the spot whereon 
 the duel was fought, and the place of lord 
 Bruce's interment. From that communica- 
 tion, containing an account of the discovery 
 of his heart, with representations of the case 
 wherein it was enclosed, the following detail 
 is derived, together with the engravings. 
 
 It has always been presumed that the 
 duel was fought under the walls of Ant- 
 werp ; but the combatants disembarked at 
 Bergen-op-Zoom, and fought near that 
 town, and not Antwerp. The circumstances 
 are still well remembered at Bergen, while 
 at Antwerp there is not a trace of them. 
 A small piece of land, a mile and a half 
 from the Antwerp gale of Bergen, goes by 
 the name of Bruce-land ; it is recorded as the 
 spot where Bruce fell ; and, according to 
 tradition, was purchased by the parties to 
 fight upon. The spot is unclaimed at the 
 present day, and marked by a little earth- 
 en boundary, which separates it from the 
 surrounding corn-fields. It was considered, 
 until the French revolution, as free ground, 
 where any person might take refuge with- 
 out being liable to arrest. Lord Bruce was 
 buried at Bergen, and a monument is stated 
 to have been erected to his memory within 
 the great Protestant church, which was 
 neaiiy destroyed in the siege of 1747. 
 
 1 
 
 52« 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 APPEAEANCE OF THE HEART OF LORD EDWARD BRUCE. 
 
 In consequence of a tradition, that the 
 heart of lord Edward Bruce had been sent 
 from Holland, and interred in the vault or 
 burying-ground adjoining the old abbey 
 church of Culross, in Perthshire, sir Robert 
 Preston directed a search in that place in 
 1808, with the foUowiner result. — Two flat 
 stones, without inscription, about four feet 
 in length and two in breadth, were disco- 
 vered about two feet below the level of the 
 pavement, and partly under an old projec- 
 tion in the wall of the old building. These 
 stones were strongly clasped together with 
 iron ; and when separated, a silver case, or 
 box, of foreign workmanship, shaped like a 
 heart, was found in a hollow or excavated 
 place between them. Its lid was engraved 
 with the arms and name " Lord Edward 
 Uruse;" it had hinges and clasps; and 
 when opened, was found to contain a heart, 
 carefully embalmed, in a brownish coloured 
 liquid. After drawings were taken of it, 
 as represented in the present engravings, 
 it was carefully replaced in its former 
 situatio-n. There was a small leaden box 
 between the stones in another excavation ; 
 the contents of which, whatever they were 
 originally, appeared reduced to dust. 
 
 Some time after this discovery, sir Robert 
 Preston caused a delineation of the silver 
 case, according to the exact dimensions, 
 with an inscription recording its exhuma- 
 tion and re-deposit, to be engraved on a. 
 
 brass plate, and placed upon the projectfoii 
 of the wall where the heart was found.* 
 
 It is a remarkable fact, that the cause of 
 tV.e quarrel between lord Bruce and sir 
 Edward Sackvile has remained wholly un- 
 detected, notwithstanding successive inves- 
 tigations at different periods. The last was 
 conducted by the late lord Leicester, and 
 several gentlemen, whose habits and love 
 of investigation are equally well known, 
 but they were unable to discover the slight- 
 est clue to the object of their anxious and 
 diligent inquiry. Lord Clarendon, in his 
 " History of the Rebellion," records the 
 combat as an occurence of magnitude, 
 from its sanguinary character and the emi- 
 nence of the parties engaged in it. He 
 does not say any thing respecting the occa- 
 sion of the feud, although lord Bruce's 
 challenge seems to intimate that it was 
 matter of public notoriety. 
 
 HEART BURIAL. 
 
 During the rebuilding of part of the 
 church o-f Chatham, Kent, in 1788, there 
 was found in one of the vaults a leaden pot, 
 containing, according to an inscription, 
 the heart of a woman, one Hester Harris. 
 The pot appeared to have been nailed up 
 to the side of the vault, there being a piece 
 of lead soldered on for that purpose.f 
 
 • ArchsBologia, xx. 515. 
 
 ♦ Gent. Mag. 1789. 
 
 529 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 POETICAL QUID PRO QUO. 
 
 A Greek poet frequently offered little 
 compliments to Augustus, v/hh hopes of 
 some small reward. His poems were 
 worthless and unnoticed, but as he per- 
 sisted in his adulation, Augustus amused 
 himself with writing an epigram in praise 
 of the poet, and when he received the next 
 customary panegyric, presented his lines to 
 the bai'd with surprising gravity. The poor 
 man took and read them, and with appa- 
 rent delig-ht deliberately drew forth two 
 farthings, and gave them to the emperor, 
 saying, " This is not equal to the demands 
 of your situation, sire ; but 'tis all I have : 
 if I had more I would give it to you." 
 Augustus could not resist this ; he burst 
 into laughter, and made the poet i hand- 
 some present. 
 
 POCKETS. 
 
 Mr. Gifford relates the preceding anec- 
 dote, in a note on his Juvenal, from Macro- 
 bins. He makes the poet draw the far- 
 things from his " pocket :" but the pocket 
 was unknown to the Greeks and Romans. 
 Mr. Fosbroke says the men used the girdle, 
 and the women their bosom ; and that Strutt 
 thinks the scrip, and purse, or bag, were 
 succedanea. The Anglo-Saxon and Nor- 
 man women wore pockelting sleeves ; and 
 sleeves with pockets in them, mentioned hy 
 DuCange, Matthew Paris, Malraesbury, and 
 Knighton, were searched, before the wear- 
 ers could be admitted to the royal presence. 
 Sleeve pockets are still worn by the monks 
 m Portugal. 
 
 POCKET HANDKERCHIEFS. 
 
 These useful appendages to dress were 
 certanily not in use with ihe Greeks. The 
 most ancient text wherein handkerchiefs 
 are expressly mentioned, describes them as 
 long cloths, called oraria, used and worn 
 by senators " ad emungendum et exspuen- 
 dum ;" that use is said to have grown out 
 of the convenience of the ovarium, which 
 is supposed to have been merely used at 
 first to wave for app\ause in the public 
 shows. Mr. Fosbroke presumes it to have 
 been the " swat cloth " of the Anglo- 
 Saxons ; for one called mappula and mani- 
 pulns was then worn on the left side to 
 wipe the nose. Iq subsequent ages there 
 
 was the manuariolum, one carried in the 
 hand during summer, on account of per- 
 spiration. Queen Elizabeth wore handker- 
 chiefs of party-coloured silk, or canabrir 
 edg'ed with gold lace. 
 
 PICKPOCKETS. 
 
 The old robbers, in the " good old times,.' 
 when purses were carried in the hand c" 
 borne at the side, cut them away, and car- 
 ried them off with the contents, and hence 
 they were called " cut-purses." In the 
 scarce " History of Highwaymen," by 
 Smith, there is a story of a ludicrous pri- 
 vate robbery, from " the person" of a man, 
 mistakenly committed by one of these cut- 
 purses. One of Shakspeare's rogues, Auto- 
 lycus, says, that " to have an open ear, a 
 quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary 
 for a cut-purse." Of course, "pickpockets'' 
 are of modern origin ; they "came up" with 
 the wearing of pockets. 
 
 6aiTirfe f Iaj)« 
 
 No. XXXI. 
 
 [From the " Triumphant Widow,'' a Co- 
 medy, by the Duke of Newcastle, 1677.] 
 
 Humours of a Thief going to Execution. 
 
 Officers. Room for the prisoner there, room for the 
 prisoner. 
 
 Footpad. Mate room there ; 'tib a strange thing a 
 man cannot go to be hanged without crowding for it. 
 
 lit Fellow. Pi-ay, Sir, were not you a kin to one 
 Hinder* 
 
 Footpad. No ; I had run faster away then. 
 
 2d Fellow. Pray, prisoner, before your death clear 
 your conscience, and tell me truly, &c. 
 
 (all ask him questions about rohberics.) 
 
 Margery. 1 am sure you had my Lady's gilt caudle 
 cup. 
 
 Footpad. Yes, and would have kept it ; but she has 
 it again, has she not ? 
 
 James. And the plate out of my buttery — 
 
 Footpad. Well, and had she not it again ? what a 
 plague would you have ? you examine me, as if yoc 
 would hang me, after I am hanged. Pray, officers, ri<i 
 me of these impertinent people, and let me die in 
 quiet. 
 
 1st JVoman. O lord ! how angry he is ! that shews 
 he is a right reprobate, I warrant you. 
 
 Footpad. 1 believe, if all of you were to be hanged, 
 
 • A noted Highwayman in those days. 
 
 -530 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 d'Oich I hope may be in good time, you would not be 
 .'ery merry. 
 
 2d IFoman. Lord, what a down look he has I 
 
 1st fVoman. Aye. and what a cloud in his forehead, 
 ?oody Twattle, m.>rk that— 
 
 2(i ff^oman. Aye, and such frowning wrinkles, I 
 warrant you, not so much as a smile from him. 
 
 Footpad. Smile, quolh she! Tho' tis sport for you, 
 'tis none for me, 1 assure you. 
 
 1st fFoman. Aye, but 'tis so long before you aie 
 hanged. 
 
 Footpad. I wish it longer, good woman. 
 
 1st Fellow. Prithee, Mr. Thief, let this be a warning 
 to you for ever doing the like again. 
 
 Footpad. 1 promise you it shall. 
 
 2d JFoman. That's well; thank you with all my 
 lieart, la! that was spoken like a precious godly man 
 now. 
 
 1st JFoman. By my truly, methmks now he is a 
 very proper man, as one shall see in a summer's da^. 
 
 Footpad. Aye, so are all that are hanged ; the gal- 
 lows add? a great deal of grace to one's person. 
 
 2d JFoman. I vow he is a lovely man ; 'tis pity he 
 should be taken away, as they say, in the flower of his 
 age. 
 
 1st Officer. Come, dispatch, dispatch; what a plagire 
 >hall vve stay all day, and neglect our business, to hang 
 one thief? 
 
 2d Officer. Pray, be hanged quickly, Sir ; for I am 
 to go to a Fair hard by. 
 
 1st Officer. And I am to meet some friends to drink 
 out a stand of ale by and by. 
 
 1st JFoman. Nay, pray let him speak, and die like a 
 yhristian. 
 
 2d IFoman. 0, I have lieard brave speeches at this 
 place before. 
 
 Footpad. Well, good people — if I may be bold to 
 call you so — this Pulpit was not of my chusing. I 
 shall shortly preach mortality to you without speak- 
 ing, therefore pray take example by me, and then 1 
 know what will become of ye. 1 wili be, I say, your 
 memento mort, hoping you wiU all follow me. 
 
 Is^ Fellow. O he speaks rarely. 
 
 2d Fellow. Aye, does Latin it. 
 
 Footpad. I have been tco covetous, and at last 
 taken for it, and am very sorry for it. I have been a 
 great sinner, and condemned for it, which grieves me 
 not a lit'tle, that I made not my escape, and so I 
 heartily repent it, and so I die with this true confes- 
 sion. 
 
 1st JFoman (weeping). Mercy on him, for a better 
 man was never hanged. 
 
 2d JVoman. So true and hearty repentance, and so 
 pious. 
 
 2d Fellow. Help him up higher on the ladder. Now 
 vou are above us all. 
 
 Footpad. Truly I desire you were all equal with 
 me ; I have no pride in this woild. 
 
 1st Fellow. Will you not sing. Sir, before you are 
 hanged ? 
 
 Footpad. No, I thank you ; I am not so mernly 
 disposed. 
 
 Hangman. Come, are you read> ? 
 
 Footpad. Yes, T have bctn preparing, for you these 
 m»ny years. 
 
 .i< JFoman. Mercy on him, and save hig belter part. 
 
 2d JFoman. You see what we must all come t9. 
 (horn blows a reprieve.) 
 
 Officer. A reprieve 1 how came that ? 
 
 Post. My Lady Haughty procured it. 
 
 Footpad. I will always say, while I live, tnat her 
 Ladyship is a civil person. 
 
 1st Fellow. Pish, what must he not be hanged now ? 
 
 2d Fellow. What, did we come all this way for this ? 
 
 1st JFoman. Take all this pains to see nothing ? 
 
 Footpad. Very pious good people, I shall shew yo> 
 no sport this day, 
 
 [From " Mamamouchi," a Comedy, bv 
 Edward Ravenscroft, 1675. 
 
 Foolish Lender: 
 
 Debtor. As to my affairs, you know I stand indebted 
 to you. 
 
 Creditor. A few dribbling sums. Sir. 
 
 Debt. You lent 'em me very frankly, and with a 
 great deal of generosity, and much like a gentleman. 
 
 Cred. You are pleased to say so. 
 
 Debt. But 1 know how to receive kindnesses, and to 
 make returns according to the merits of the person that 
 obliges me. 
 
 Cred. No man better. 
 
 Debt. Therefore pray let's see how our accounts 
 stand. 
 
 Cred. They are down here in my table book. 
 
 Debt. I am a man that love to acquit myself of all 
 obligations as soon 
 
 Cred. See the memorandum. 
 
 Debt. You have set it all down. 
 
 Cred. All. 
 
 Debt. Pray read — 
 
 Cred. Lent, the second time I saw you, one hundred 
 guineas. 
 
 Debt. Right. 
 
 Cred. Another time fifty. 
 
 Debt. Yes. 
 
 Cred. Lent for a certain occasion, which I did not 
 tell you, one hundred and fifty. 
 
 Debt. Did I not ? that I should conceal any thing 
 from niy friend ! 
 
 Cred. No matter. 
 
 Debt. It looks like mistrust, which is a wrong to 
 friendship — 
 
 Cred. O Lord 1 
 
 Debt. I am so ashamed I — for I dare trust my sou! 
 with you. I borrowed it, to lend a person of quality 
 whom I employed to introduce me to the King, aiW re 
 commend to his particular favour, that I might b: 
 able to do you service in your affairs. 
 
 Cred. O did you so ? theo that debt is as it ,vert 
 paid ; I'll cross it oat. 
 
 Debt. By no means ; yon shall have it, or I tow— ' 
 
 Cred. Well, Sir, as you please. 
 
 531 
 
•THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Debt. I vow I would ne'er have borrowed ol yon 
 ag;ain, as long as you lived — but proceed — 
 
 Cred. Another time one hundred — 
 
 Debt, O, that was to send into France to my wife to 
 bring her over, but the Queen would not part with ber 
 then ; and since, she is fallen sick — 
 
 Cred. Alas! 
 
 Debt. But pretty well recovered — 
 
 Cred. These four sums make up four hundred gui- 
 neas — 
 
 Debt, just as can be; a very good accouit. Put 
 down two hundred more, which 1 will borrow of yo« 
 now; and then it will be just six hundred: that is, if 
 it will be no inconvenience to you — 
 
 Cred. Euh, not in the least — 
 
 Debt, It is to make up a sum of two thousand 
 pounds, which I am about to lay up in houses I have 
 bought ; but if it incommode you, I can have it else- 
 where — 
 
 Cred. O, by no means — 
 
 Debt. You need but tell me, if it will be any trou- 
 ble— 
 
 Cred, Lord, Sir, that you will think so — 
 
 Debt, I know some will be glad of the occasion to 
 serve me ; but these are favours only to be asked of 
 special friends. I thought you, being my most 
 esteemed friend, would take it ill, if you should come 
 to hear of it, that I did not ask you first — 
 
 Cred. It IS a great honour. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 FURS.— TIPPETS AND SCARFS. 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Dear sir, — Dr. Whitaker, in his " His- 
 tory of Craven," makes several extracts 
 from the Compotus of Bolton in Cra- 
 ven, a folio of a thousand pages, kept by 
 the monastery; which book begins in 1290 
 and ends in 13'25. On one item, " In 
 furura de Buget, vs.," the doctor has the 
 following note, which may be interesting 
 to others besides the lovers of the delight- 
 ful science of heraldry. 
 
 " lit Furura de Buget. In the middle 
 ages,/Hr of different species formed an ele- 
 gant and comfortable appendage, not only 
 to professional habits, but to the ordinary 
 dress of both sexes, from the sovereign to 
 the private gentleman. Beneath the latter 
 rank, none but the coarsest kinds were ever 
 in use, which they certainly wore ; for Chau- 
 cer, who intended to clothe his personifi- 
 cation of Avarice in the garb of Poverty, 
 allows her, notwithstanding, • a burnette 
 cote, furred with no meniveere, but with a 
 fuvre rough of lambe skynnes, hevy and 
 blacke.' {Rom. Ros.) Tiie different sorts 
 enumerated in the Compotus are, the buget, 
 or budge, gris, de ventre leporino, the white 
 fur of the hare's belly, and de pelUbiLi agni- 
 
 nis, or lambs' skins The last of tnese, 
 which still forms the Iming of the hoods o) 
 the bachelors of arts at Cambridge, was 
 anciently worn both by bishops and noble- 
 men. For the first, see Mr. Warton's note 
 on ' Comus,' edit. i. p. 146; and the in- 
 ventory of the wardrope of the second earl 
 of Cumberland in that volume. With re- 
 spect to budge, or buget, it is understood 
 by Mr. Warton (note on Comus, line 709> 
 to be fur in general; but this interpretation 
 is negatived by the terms of the present 
 article, furura de buget. Whatever budgi 
 may have been, it is unknown to Du Cange, 
 who has, with immense labour and erudi- 
 tion, collected every thing known on the 
 subject in the middle ages. It was cer- 
 tainly scarce and expensive, being used for 
 the lining of the prior's (Bolton) hood 
 nl'-'iie. After all, I suspect it to have been 
 tile skin of the Lithuanian weasel.* Even 
 as late as Dr. Caiius's time, the hoods of 
 the regent masters of arts of Cambridge 
 were lined ' pelle arming seu Lituana Can- 
 dida.' Lituan is sometimes used by the 
 old writers on heraldry as synonymous 
 with ermine. If I am right in my conjec- 
 ture, therefore, budge so nearly resembled 
 ermine, that either skin might be used in- 
 diflerently as a badge of the same academi- 
 cal rank. And this accounts for Milton's 
 epithet ' budge,' as applied to doctors, 
 whose congregation robes at Cambridge 
 are still faced with ermine. Gris, I think, 
 was the skin of the grey, or badger.-)- The 
 sleeves of Chaucer's monk, ' a fayre pre- 
 late,' who was gayly and expensively 
 habited, were * purfited with gris:' and 
 in the head of a bishop in painted glass, I 
 have a fine specimen of this fur in the form 
 of a tippet about the neck. 
 
 " It seems that, in the middle ages, eccle- 
 siastics were apt to luxuriate in the use of 
 beautiful and costly furs : ' Ovium itaque 
 et agnorum despiciuntur exuvise ; ermelini, 
 gibelini {sables) martores exquiruntur et 
 vulpes.' This vanity was checked by an 
 English sumptuary law — ' Statutum est ne 
 quis escarleto, in Anglorum gente, sabelino, 
 
 • I have since discovered that budge is the same with 
 " shanks," one of the many kinds of fur enumerated in 
 the statute of the 24th Hen.VIII.; that is, a very delicate 
 white skin stripped from the legs of a fine haired kid, 
 and almost equal in value, as well as in appearance, to 
 ermine. It is not impossible that the name may have 
 been derived from the verb " budge," as the legs are 
 the instruments of locomotion. See Minshew, in voce 
 Furre. Note to second edit, fyhitaier's Craven. 
 
 t In the dialect of Craven, cornfactors or millers are 
 called badgers. Why is this? — the derivation in Mr. 
 Carr's work, " Horae Momenta Cravenae," Teut. Rat 
 sen discurrere, seems to me very far-fetched. I am 
 inclined to think that millers obtained the name fion 
 *ke colour of thwr jlcthes. T. Q. M. 
 
 532 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 rano, vel grisfeo uteretur,' Brompton, Anno 
 1188. Again, in two MSS. quoted by Du 
 Cange, to whom 1 am also indebted for the 
 foregoing passage, the expensive furs are 
 enumerated thus, 
 
 ' Vairs et gris, et ermines, et sables de rosie :' 
 and again, 
 
 ' Sables, ermines, et vair, et gris.' 
 
 P'air was the skin of the Mus Pontieus, a 
 Kind of weasel, the same animal with the 
 ermine, but in a different state, i. e. killed 
 in summer when the belly was white and 
 the back brown, whence it obtained the 
 name of ' Varia.' The ancient mineveere 
 was * minuta varia,' or fur composed of 
 these diminutive skins ; and Drayton was 
 learned and accurate when he gave his 
 well-dressed shepherd ' mitions* of bauson's 
 skin ;' that is, of gris, and a hood of mine- 
 veere. With respect to sables, I have only 
 to add, that from their grave and sober 
 elegance, they were retained as tippets in 
 the habits of bishops and other dignitaries 
 in England to the time of queen Elizabeth, 
 when they gave place to a similar ornament 
 of silk, the origin of the present scarf, 
 which continued to be called a tippet till 
 the reign of Charles II. See Baxter's life, 
 where we find that puritan, when sworn 
 in king's chaplain, refusing to wear the 
 tippet." 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 T. Q. M. 
 
 BUDGE BACHELORS.— BUDGE- 
 KOW. 
 
 In the old lord mayors' processions of 
 London, there were, in the first division, 
 the " budge bachelors marching in mea- 
 sured order."t These fiwd'^'-er-bachelors go 
 in the " Lord Mayor's Show" to the present 
 day, dressed in blue gowns trimmed with 
 hudge coloured fur, white. Bishop Corbet, 
 in his " Iter Boreale," speaks of 
 
 a most officious drudge. 
 
 His face and gown drawn out with the same budge; 
 
 implying, that his beard and habit were of 
 like colour. Budge-row, Cannon-street, ac- 
 cording to Stow, was "so called of budge- 
 fur, and of skinners dwelling there." 
 
 • Mittons are gloves with no tinerprs, having oniy a 
 nure for the thumb. They are much worn in Craven, 
 icd the Scotch shepherds, many of whom are con- 
 stantly there, earn a little money by the sale of them : 
 they knit them with common wood skewers. J . Q. M. 
 
 t See the "London Pageant " of 1680, in " Hone on 
 Vysterie?." 
 
 DAIRY POETRY. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir,— You may perhaps think the " Old 
 Arm Chair " worthy a place in your amus- 
 ing columns. It is the production of a 
 self-taught, or natural genius, hke Bloom- 
 field, living in the .ens of this place, and 
 carrying on the business of a small dairy- 
 man. 
 
 Isle of Ely, 
 Aug. 14, 1827. 
 
 Yours obediently, 
 M. W. 
 
 THE OLD ARM CHAIR. 
 
 See Table Book, vol. i. p. 786. 
 
 What recollections of the past. 
 Of scenes gone by, and days that were, 
 
 Crowd through my mind whene'er I cast 
 A look upon my father's chair. 
 
 How often have I climb'd his knees 
 To pat his cheek, and stroke his hair; 
 
 The kind paternal kiss to seize. 
 When seated in this old arm chair. 
 
 And much of monitory lore. 
 
 Which bade me of the world beware j 
 His tongue has utter'd o'er and o'er. 
 
 When seated in this old arm chair. 
 
 When ev'ning call'd us round the hearth. 
 And storms disturb'd the wintry air; 
 
 What merry tales of social mirth 
 Have issued from this old arm chair. 
 
 With summer's toil and heat o'ercome, 
 When weary nature sought repair; 
 
 Oft has he thrown his languid frame. 
 Exhausted, in this old arm chair. 
 
 When adverse fortune crcss'd his road. 
 And bow'd him down with anxious caT« ■ 
 
 How has he sigh'd beneath the load. 
 When seated in this old arm chair. 
 
 But death long since has clos'd his eye»; 
 
 And peacefully he slumbers, where 
 A glassy turf is seen to rise, 
 
 And fills no more this old arm chair. 
 
 Ev'n that which does those scenes recall, 
 Which age and wasting worms imp..ir 
 
 Must shortly into pieces fall. 
 And cease to be an old arm chair. 
 
 Yet while its smallest parts remaiu. 
 My fancy shall behold him there ; 
 
 And memory stir those thoughts agein. 
 Of him who fiU'd the old aim chsir. 
 
 533 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 SONNET 
 
 To T. Hood, Esq. written after read- 
 ing HIS " Plea of the Midsummer 
 Fairies." 
 
 Delightful bard I what praises meet are thine. 
 More tlian my verse can sound to thee belong ; 
 
 Well hast thou pleaded, with a tongue divine. 
 In this thy sweet and newly breathed song, 
 Where, like the stream, smooth nainbers gliding 
 throng ; 
 
 Gather'd. methinks I see the elfin ra e, 
 With the Immortal standing them anion?, 
 
 Smiling benign with more than courly grace ; 
 
 Rescued I see them, — all their gambols trace, 
 With their fair queen Titania in ht r bower, 
 
 And all their avocations small embrace, 
 Pictur'd by thee with a Shakspearean power — 
 
 O when the time shall come thy soul must flee. 
 
 Then may some hidden spirit ^/ead for thee. 
 
 Edward Moxon. 
 
 For the liable Book. 
 THE QUINTAIN. 
 
 — My better parts 
 
 Are all thrown down ; and that which here stands up. 
 Is but a quintain, a meie lifeless block. 
 
 As You Ltke tt. 
 
 Mr. Chalmers, in his edition of Shak- 
 speare, gives the following annotation on 
 the preceding passage : — " A quintain was 
 a po.st, or butt, set up for several kinds of 
 martial exercises, against which they threw 
 their darts, and exercised their arms. But 
 all the commentators are at variance about 
 this word, and have illustrated their opi- 
 nions with cuts, for which we must refer 
 the reader to the r.ew edition, 21 vols. 8vo." 
 
 Ben, the satirical sorrel Ben Jonson, thus 
 notices this same qnintin, quintain, or 
 gwyntyn, as the Welsh spell it : — 
 
 At quintin he 
 
 In honour of his bridal-tee. 
 
 Hath challenged either wide countee ; 
 
 Come cut and long taile, for there be 
 
 Six batchelors as bold as he, 
 
 Adjating to his company, t 
 
 And each one hath his livery. 
 
 The word gwyntyn literally meant vane, 
 and was corrupted by the English into 
 quintin, or qumtain. Thus, we may natu- 
 rally suppose, that this ancient custom, and 
 more particularly bridal game, was bor- 
 row€tt by the Britons from the Welsh, 
 
 who had it from the Romans on their in- 
 vasion of England. It is mentioned by 
 Minshew, as being a sport held every fifth 
 year among the Olympic games, or it was 
 the last of the 'nvTo.SXoi, used on the tifth or 
 last day of the Olympics: it is supposed to 
 be a Roman game, and left in this island 
 ever since their time. 
 
 Dr. Kennet, in his " Parochial Antiqui- 
 ties," from Dr. Plot, says, that at the village 
 or Blackthorn, through which the Roman 
 road lay, they use it at their weddings to 
 this day, on the common green, with much 
 solemnity and mirth.* 
 
 Dr. Johnson says, I know not from 
 whence it is derived; Minshew deduces it 
 from qnintus, and calls it a game celebrated 
 every fifth year; pains quint anus, and from 
 quintaine, French. It is, says he, an upright 
 post, on the top of which a cross-post turned 
 upon a pin ; at one end of the cross-post 
 was a broad board, and at the other a heavy 
 sand-bag; the play was, to ride against 
 the broad end with a lance, and pass by 
 before the sand-bag, coming round, should 
 strike the tiller to the ground. Sir Henry 
 Spelman, who was a spectator of the game, 
 coincides with this account, and says, " by 
 which means, striking at the board, whirls 
 round the bag and endangers the striker.' 
 At weddings, in England and Wales, it 
 was a constant amusement, and so gene- 
 rally practised in the latter country, that it 
 may almost be said to class with their sports 
 and manners. 
 
 In Roberts's " Popular Antiquities of 
 Wales, "f there is the following account of 
 this ancient manly amusement. " On the 
 day of the ceremony, the nuptial pre- 
 sents having previously been made, and the 
 marriage privately celebrated at an early 
 hour, the signal to the friends of the bride- 
 groom was given by the piper, who was 
 always present on these occasions, and 
 mounted on a horse trained for the pur- 
 pose ; and the cavalcade being all mounted, 
 set off at full speed, with the piper playing 
 in the midst of them, for the house of the 
 bride. The friends of the bride in the 
 mean time having raised various obstructions 
 to prevent their access to the house of the 
 bride, such as ropes of straw across the 
 road, blocking up the regular one, &c., and 
 the quintain ; the rider in passing struck 
 the flat side, and if not dexterous was over- 
 taken, and perhaps dismounted, by the 
 sand-bag, and became a fair object for 
 
 • Vide also Mat. Pans: and Strype's "History of 
 London," vol. i. 1st part, page 24&, who delineates its 
 figure. 
 
 t Page 16a. 
 
 53i 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 laughter. The gwyntyn was also guarded 
 by champions of the opposite party ; who, 
 if it was passed successfully, challenged the 
 adventurers to a trial of s'kill at one of the 
 iour and twenty games — a challenge which 
 could not be declined ; and hence to guard 
 the gwyntyn was a service of high adven- 
 ture." 
 
 In Henry the Third's tim-e, or about the 
 year 12.")3, it was much in fashion in almost 
 every part of the kingdom : this game was 
 sometimes played, by hanging a shield upon 
 a stafi' fixed in the ground, and the skilful 
 squire riding by struck the shield in such a 
 manner as to detach it from its ligatures ; * 
 but this was of a less dangerous nature, and 
 only used when the quintain could not be 
 obtained. 
 
 There wps another, but more hazardous 
 manner, to those who were not skilled by 
 Aabit in the use of the lance and javelin. 
 [t consisted of two large poles being drove 
 into the ground, far enough apart to allow 
 a man on horseback to ride full speed be- 
 tween them : at the top of these was an 
 immense heavy sand-bag, fixed on a pivot, 
 so as to swing freely round, and backward 
 and forward, with amazing rapidity: this 
 the young aspirant for chivalric honours 
 delighted in, as a grand treat for the dis- 
 play of his personal bravery and contempt 
 for danger. He commenced by reining in 
 his steed opposite to the sand-bag, then 
 dashing away at full speed, at the same 
 time hurling the javelin at the bag with 
 considerable force, and passing between 
 the poles before it could resume its original 
 position. Many of the squires and yeo- 
 men of Richard with the Lion-heart, held 
 it hi creat esteem; and they would often 
 pass throuij;h the supporters, regain their 
 javelin, return back before the bag had 
 sufficient time to fall, and ride bravely off 
 without a single blow from this heavy in- 
 strument of pleasure. He who executed 
 this feat in a handsome manner was de- 
 clared victor, and the prize to which he 
 became entitled was a peacock. 
 
 In the princely f^te ^iven by sir Rhys ap 
 Thomas, in honour of his being admitted 
 companion of the illustrious order of the 
 Garter, it is mentioned thus: — "When 
 they had dined they went to visit cache 
 captaine in his quarters, wheare they found 
 everie man in action, some wrestling, some 
 hurling at thebarr, some taking of the pike, 
 some running at the quintaine, &c." Dr. 
 Watts thus explains it : — " A ludicrous and 
 
 Mill's History of Chtralry. 
 
 sportive way of tilting or running on horse^ 
 back at some mark huna; on i^ish, move- 
 able, and turning round ; which, while tht 
 riders strike at with lances, unless they rid( 
 quickly off, the versatile beam strikes upoi 
 their shoulders." 
 
 I earnestly recommend for the perusa. 
 of the reader, (if he delights in " merit 
 deedes an" greenewoodee sportes, inn thee 
 brighte formes of ladees highh, immersed 
 in uncouthe donjons, by treacherouse kings, 
 greate lords, an' mightee knights,") the 
 tale of" Castle Baynard," in which he will 
 find many very interesting customs, and 
 more particularly, an excellent delineation 
 of the above game. The author of this 
 delightful little story is Hal Willis, who is 
 possessed of considerable talent, and a 
 knowledge of our ancestorial manners. 
 
 F. C. N. 
 
 A FARTHING LORD. 
 
 Lord Braco, an ancestor of the earl of 
 Fife, was remarkable for practising thai 
 celebrated rule, " Get all you can, and keep 
 all you get." One day, walking down the 
 avenue from his house, he saw a farthin" 
 lying at his feet, which he took up and 
 carefully cleaned. A beggar passing at the 
 same time, entreated his lordship would 
 give him the fatthing, saying, it was not 
 worth a nobleman's attention. " Fhi' a 
 farthing to yoiirseV, puir body," replied his 
 lordship, and carefully put the coin into his 
 breeches pocket. 
 
 In addition to being his own farthing 
 finer, his lordship was his own factor and 
 rent-collector. A tenant who called upon 
 him to pay his rent happened to be deficient 
 a single farthing. This amount could not 
 be excused ; and the farmer had to seek the 
 farthing. When the business was adjusted, 
 the countryman said to his lordship, " Now 
 Braco, I wou'd gie ye a shillin' for a sight 
 o' a' the goud an' siller ye hae." — " Week 
 mon," replied Braco, " it's no cost ye onv 
 mair;" and accordingly, for and in con- 
 sideration of the aforesaid sum, in hand first 
 well and truly paid, his lordship exhibited 
 several iron boxes filled with gold and sil- 
 ver coin. " Now," says the farmer, " I'a 
 as rich as yoursel', Braco." — " Aye, mon V 
 said his lordship, " how can that be ?" 
 " Because I've seen it — an' you can do uat 
 mair.'* 
 
 535 
 
THE TAPLE BOOK. 
 
 SINGULAR TOLL. 
 SKfPTON IN Craven. 
 
 From a paper of Henry the Eighth's time, 
 Among the MSS. at Skiptoi., 1 find tliat the 
 following singular toll was anciently levied 
 in Skirack and Crookrise : 
 
 " Note, that the:se customes hayth ben 
 used tyme out of mynd, by y« report of 
 Rob. Garth, forsier ther; the whycS s-ay- 
 eth, that he in all his tyme, and hisi father 
 afore him in y' office, always hayth taken 
 the sayd customes : 
 
 " First, that ev'ry bryde cumynge that 
 waye shulde eyther gyve her lefte shoo or 
 ills. ivd. to the forster of Crookryse, by 
 way of custome or gaytcloys." 
 
 The rest only relate to tolls taken for the 
 passage of sheep, cattle, and wool. 
 
 The commutation was so high, that I 
 suppose the penalty would generally be 
 paid in kind; and by this ungallant cus- 
 tom, the poor brides of Craven would be 
 reductd to tread the rugged ways of Crook- 
 rise in the situation of the light-footed sons 
 of Thestius — 
 
 Tayl' {» zrihKot;. — 
 
 Earip. in Fragm.* 
 
 A CURIOUS NARRATIVE. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Prince George of Denmark, and Sir 
 John and Lady Duddlestone. 
 
 The following very remarkable anecdote 
 IS accompanied by a reference to the only 
 woik of any authority whereia I have met 
 with it. 
 
 Prince George of Denmark, the nominal 
 kiTig-consort to cjueen Anne, in passing 
 through Bristol, appeared on the Exchange, 
 attended only by one gentleman, a military 
 officer, and remained there till the mer- 
 chants had pretty generally withdrawn, not 
 one of them having sufficient resolution to 
 speak to him, as perhaps they might not be 
 prepared to ask such a guest to their houses. 
 But this was not the case with all who saw 
 him, for a person, whose name was John 
 Duddlestone, a bodice-maker, in Corn- 
 street, went up and asked the prince if he 
 was not the husband of the queen, who in- 
 formed him he was. John Duddlestone 
 then told the prince, that he had observed, 
 with a great deal of concern, that none of 
 the merchants had invited him home to 
 
 * Dr. WAiiaKw's History of Craven. 
 
 dinner, adding, it was not for want ot love 
 to the queen or to him, but because they 
 did not consider themselves prepared to 
 entertain so great a man ; but John said, 
 he was ashamed to think of his dining at 
 an inn, and requested him to go and dine 
 with him, and bring the gentleman along 
 with him, informing him that he had a piece 
 of good beef and a plum pudding, and ale 
 of his dame's own brewing'. The prince 
 admired the loyalty of the man, and though 
 he had bespoke a dinner at the White Lion, 
 went with him ; and when they got to the 
 house, Duddlestone called his wife, who 
 was up stairs, desiring her to put on a clean 
 apron and come down, for the queen's 
 husband and another gentleman were come 
 to dme with them; she accordingly came 
 down with her clean blue apron, and was 
 immediately saluted by the prmce. In the 
 course of the dinner, the prince asked him 
 if he ever went to London .' He said, that 
 since the ladies had worn stays instead of 
 bodices, he sometimes went to buy whale- 
 bone ; whereupon the prince desired him 
 to take his wife when he went again, at the 
 same time giving him a card, to facilitate 
 his introduction to him at court. 
 
 In the course of a little time, John Dud- 
 dlestone took his wife behind him to Lon- 
 don, and, with the assistance of the card, 
 found easy admittance to the prince, and 
 by him they were introduced to the queen, 
 who invited them to an approaching dinner, 
 informing them that they must have new 
 clothes for the occasion, allowing them to 
 choose for themselves. Each therefore 
 chose ptirple velvet, such as the prince had 
 then on, which was accordingly provided 
 for them, and in that dress they were intro- 
 duced by the queen herself, as the most 
 loyal persons in the city of Bristol, and the 
 only ones in that city who had invited the 
 prince her husband to their house ; and 
 after the entertainment, the queen, desiring 
 him to kneel down, laid a sword on his 
 head, and (to use lady Duddlestone's own 
 words) said to him, " Stan up, sir Jan." 
 
 Sir " Jan" was offered money, or a place 
 under government, but he did not choose 
 to accept of either, informing the queen 
 that he ha.d " fifty pounds out at use," and 
 he apprehended that the number of people 
 he saw about her must be very expensive. 
 The queen, however, made lady Duddle- 
 stone a present of her gold watch from hei 
 side, which " my lady " considered as no 
 small ornament, when she went to market, 
 suspended over a blue apron. 
 
 I first found this interesting account in 
 " Corry's History of Bristol," which was 
 
 536^ 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 published a few years ago ; out whence it 
 was derived that author does not mention. 
 As the editor of the Table Book is equally 
 uninformed, perhaps some of his corres- 
 pondents may be able to point out its 
 origin; and, if it be authentic, communi- 
 cate some particulars respecting the worthy 
 knight and his dam*. 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 
 
 No. VI. 
 The Corpuscular Philosophy. 
 
 The two illustrious moderns, Newton and 
 Gassendi, attribute the continual change 
 whi<;h happens in bodies to the different 
 figure and magnitude of their minute cor- 
 puscles; and affirm, that their different 
 junction or separation, and the variety of 
 their arrangement, constitute the differences 
 of bodies. This corpuscular philosophy 
 can be traced from the times of Democrilus, 
 to its founder Moschus the Phcenician. It 
 does not appear that the Ph'Oenician school 
 admitted the indivisibility of atoms ; where- 
 as, Leucippus, Democritus, and Epicurus 
 did. And so the philosophers in all ages, 
 down to the Cartesians and Newtonians, 
 admit the same. Aristotle, as g'reat in 
 metaphysics as able in mathematics, treats 
 of it in his works of both kinds A modern 
 proposition respecting it has been deemed 
 new, although anciently it was expressed 
 in almost the very same terms. 
 
 The Newtonians say, " that the smallest 
 parcel of matter is able to cover the largest 
 extent of space, by the number of parts 
 into which it may be divided; and that 
 without so much as leaving any one pore 
 of the smallest dimension uncovered." 
 Anaxagoras had previously said, that each 
 body, of whatever size, was infinitely di- 
 visible ; insomuch, that a particle so small 
 as the half of the foot of the minutest in- 
 sect, might furnish out of itself parts suffi- 
 cient for covering an hundred million of 
 worlds, without ever becoming exhaustible 
 as to the number of its parts. Democritus 
 expressed the like proposition, when he 
 affirmed that it was " possible to make a 
 world out of an atom." Chrysippus says 
 .he same, when he maintains that a drop of 
 wine may be divided into a number of 
 parts, each of itself sufficient to mingle 
 with all the small particles of the ocean. 
 
 Motion — its Acceleration — the Fall 
 OF Bodies. 
 
 The ancients, as well as the moderns, 
 define motion to be change of place, or the 
 passing from one place to another ; they 
 knew the acceleration of bodies in falling, 
 but not so exactly as to determine its law or 
 cause. It was an axiom of Aristotle and 
 the Peripatetics, that a body in falling ac- 
 quired a celerity of motion, proportionable 
 to its distance from the plane whence the 
 motion began ; but they knew not that this 
 increase of the celerity of falling bodies 
 was uniform, and that the spaces passed 
 over in equal times increased proportiona- 
 bly to the unequal numbers 1, 3, 5, 7, &c. 
 Two mistakes of Aristotle hindered him 
 from arriving at the truth. The first was, 
 that there were two tendencies in body ; 
 one downwards, carrying it to the centre, 
 in those that were heavy ; the other up- 
 wards, removing it from it, in those that 
 were light. His second error was, that he 
 thought different bodies rolled through 
 space with a celerity proportional to their 
 masses. He did not consider that the re- 
 sistance of the medium was the only cause 
 of this difference ; for supposing them to 
 move through an irresisting medium, or in 
 rat'Ho, the lightest bodies would then fall 
 with the same velocity as the heaviest. 
 This is demonstrated by means of the air- 
 pump, wherein paper, lead, and gold, de- 
 scend with equal swiftness. 
 
 Yet all the ancients were not thus igno- 
 rant. Lucretius, instructed in the principles 
 of Democritus and Epicurus, arrived at 
 this knowledge, and supports it by such 
 arguments, as might do honour to the most 
 experienced naturalist of our times. — 
 "Admitting that there was nothing in the 
 vacuum to resist the motion of bodies, it 
 necessarily followed, that the lightest would 
 descend with a celerity equal to the weigh- 
 tiest ; that where there was no resistance 
 in the medium, bodies must always move 
 through equal spaces in equal times; but 
 that the case would be different in such 
 mediums, as opposed divers degrees of re- 
 sistance to the bodies passing through them." 
 Hereupon, he alleges the very same rea- 
 sonings which Galileo draws from experi- 
 ence to support his theory. He says, that 
 "the difference of velocities ous^ht to increase 
 or abate, according to the difference of re- 
 sistance in tfie medium ; and that because 
 air and water resist bodies differently, they 
 fall through these mediums with different 
 degrees of velocity." We shall presently 
 see, that the ancients were acquainted with 
 the principle of gravitation. 
 
 537 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 GHASSINGTON THEATRICALS. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Dear sir, — When I sent you the sketch 
 of " Tom Aiiay " of this place, and his as- 
 sociates, I was not aware that the practice 
 of acting plays was a veiy ancient one in 
 the parish of Linton, (in which this place 
 IS.) The following extract from Whitaker's 
 history will prove this to have been the 
 case, and that Airay was " the last of a 
 'iright band." It will doubtless be perused 
 with interest by many of the inhabitants of 
 Craven, very few of whom I am inclined to 
 think know of the circumstance. Whita- 
 ker's histor;, is an expensive work, and only 
 m the hands of a few. 
 
 " Many of these amusements were long 
 after in use at Linton. But the most popu- 
 lar of their amusements was the practice of 
 icting old plays, continued, I have no doubt, 
 from the old ' Kiik Sights,' and clerk 
 plays, though I can trace it in Craven 'no 
 farther than 1606, where I find the foUow- 
 mg article in the accounts of Francis, earl 
 of Cumberland : — 
 
 " ' Item, paid to the yonge men of the 
 town, (Skipton,) being his I'ps tenants and 
 ■servants, to fit them for acting plays this 
 Christmas, irii*.' 
 
 " In the interval of a century from this 
 lime, it does not seem that they had much 
 mproved their stock of dramas ; for, within 
 the recollection of old persons with whom 
 [ have conversed, one of their favourite 
 performances was 'The Iron Age,' by Iley- 
 wood, a poet of the reign of James I., whose 
 vv'ork, long since become scarce, and almost 
 forgotten, had probably been handed down 
 from father to son, through all that period. 
 But in every play, whether tragedy or 
 comedy, the Vice constituted one of the dra- 
 matis personcB, and was armed, as of old, 
 with a sword of lath, and habited in a loose 
 party-coloured dress, with a fur-cap, and 
 fox's brush behind. In some parts of Craven 
 these personages were called clowns, as in 
 Shakspeare's time, and too often and too 
 successfully attempted to excite a laugh by 
 ribaldry and nonsense of their own ; a prac- 
 tice which is very properly reprehended in 
 Hamlet. 
 
 " In the ' Destruction of Troy ' tkis per- 
 sonage easily united with Thersites ; but 
 he was often found in situations where his 
 appearance was very incongruous, as ex. 
 gr. in 'George Farnwell.' These rustic 
 actors ha-d neither stage nor scenes, but 
 performed in a large room, what is called 
 the ' house,'* of an ordinaiy dwelling. 
 
 " Sometimes they fabricated a kind o 
 rude drama for themselves; in which case 
 as it IS not likely that the plot would bi 
 very skilfully developed, the performers 
 entered one by one, and each utteied f 
 short metrical prologue, which they verj 
 properly chose to call a fore-speech. For 
 why should these honest Englishmen be 
 indebted to the Grecian stage for the word 
 prologue, when they were certainly be- 
 holden to it for nothing else? 
 
 " In these fabrications, I believe, the 
 s'lbjects were frequently taken from printed 
 plays; but the texture was of very inferioi 
 workmanship. For this I must beg m\ 
 reader to give me credit; though, if all 
 readers had the same relish for what, in the 
 language of dulness, is called low, with 
 Dr. Farmer and Mr. Warton, I could excite 
 more than a smile by their travestie of the 
 ' Merchant of Venice.' An old inhabitant 
 of this place, (Linton,) whom I well knew, 
 had the reputation of a dramatic manufac- 
 turer, though he had, in reality, no talents 
 beyond those of an actor. But his fame 
 drew upon him an awkward application; 
 which, as the stated price of these services 
 was three half crowns, he parried very 
 dexterously by demanding half a guinea. 
 Thus much for the chapter of amuse- 
 ments." 
 
 In mentioning Airay's stage companions 
 I forgot to name Sim Coates, one of the 
 principal. He was a club-footed man, 
 and used to perform the " Fair Penitent !" 
 He is lately dead. 
 
 Grassington in Craven, 
 Aug. 1, 1827. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 T. Q. M. 
 
 * So is a Kitchen called in the Craven dialect. 
 
 THE GIN ACT— NAMES OF DRAMS. 
 
 On the 29th of September, 1736, when 
 the bill against spirituous liquors took 
 place, several people at Norwich, Bristol, 
 and other places, as well as at London, 
 made themselves very merry on the " Death 
 of Madam Gin," and some of both sexes 
 got soundly drunk at her " funeral," for 
 which the mob made a formal procession, 
 but committed no outrage. 
 
 A double guard for some days mounted 
 at Kensington ; the guard at St. James's, 
 and the horse-guards at Whitehall, were 
 reinforced ; a guard was placed at the 
 Rolls Office, Chancery-lane; and a detach- 
 ment of the life and horse grenadier guards 
 
 538 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 paraded in Covent Garden, &c. in order to 
 suppress any tumult that might happen at 
 the going down of spirituous liquors. 
 
 Several of the distillers took out licenses 
 to sell wine, others made preparations to 
 take to the brewing-trade, and some went 
 down to Oxford and Cambridge to open 
 taverns there. The accounts of that period 
 state, that the university of Oxford intended 
 to try their right witii them ; the privilege 
 of licensing vintners having been granted to 
 it by a charter of Henry VIII., and after- 
 wards confirmed by an act of parliament 
 in 13 Elizabeth. 
 
 The distillers and others in different 
 parts of the town sold a liquor, which 
 seems to have been wine, with spices in- 
 fused therein ; and several continuing to 
 sell spirituous liquors contrary to the act, 
 informations were laid against them to the 
 commissioners of excise. 
 
 Drams under the following names were 
 <old at several brandy-shops in High Hol- 
 born, St. Giles's, Tothill-street, Kosemary- 
 lane, Shoreditch, the Mint, Kent-stieet, &c. 
 viz. " Sangree," " Tow Row," " Cuckold's 
 Comfort," " Parliament Gin," " Bob,'' 
 " Make Shift," " The Last Shift," " The 
 Ladies' Delisht," " The Balk," " King 
 Theodore of Corsica/' " Cholick and Gripe 
 Waters." These denominations were with 
 a view to evade the late act. 
 
 On the 14th of October, 1736, there 
 came on before the commissioners of excise 
 the trials of Mr. Robert Kirkpatrick, sur- 
 geon and apothecary in Turnmill-street, 
 and Mr. John Thomas, chymist at Shore- 
 ditch, on informations for retailing spiiitu- 
 ous liquors, contrary to the intent and 
 meaning of the act; and they were both 
 found guilty. The penalty was one hun- 
 dred pounds each. 
 
 G. K. 
 
 A YOUNG POErS OWN EPITAPH. 
 
 A few weeks before John Keats died of 
 decline, at Rome, a gentleman, who was 
 sitting by his bedside, spoke of an inscrip- 
 tion to his memory. Keats desired that 
 there should be no mention of his name or 
 country. " If there be any thing," he said, 
 " let it be, Here lies the body of one whose 
 name teas writ in water." 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 TIME. 
 
 Oh Time, that ever with resistless wing 
 Cuts off our joys and shortens all our paiu. 
 
 Thou great destroyer that doth always bring 
 Relief to man— all bow beneath thy reign ; 
 
 Nations before thee fall, and the grim king 
 Of death and terror follows in thy train. 
 
 Thou bring'st the cup of I,ethe to the mind. 
 
 Which else on earth no joy could ever iind- 
 
 Little in youth we think upon thy flight. 
 Nor catch the lesson of each passing day. 
 
 Till, when too late, it bursts upon our sight, 
 And thou hast crowned us with thy cap of grey : 
 
 Our friends for ever fled, and all the light 
 That gilded this dim world hath passed away 
 
 On to eternity — thro' that sad portal 
 
 Which parts us, and assures us man is mortal. 
 
 Thou teachest us the vanity of earth. 
 
 With which, in spite of thee, we are delighted, 
 
 And lead'st us quickly onward from our birth 
 Unto old age, then leav'st us there benighted ; 
 
 Where all our earthly pleasures, joys, and mirth 
 Fade fast away,like young leaves seared andbligkted 
 
 And hope, that lured us onward, then, we find. 
 
 Was but an ignis fatuus of the mind. 
 
 HACKERSTON'S COW. 
 
 This is a Scotch proverb, the application 
 of which may be inferred from the follow- 
 ing account of its origin. A tenant of lord 
 Haekerston, who was one of the judges of 
 the court of session, one day waited on his 
 lordship with a woful countenance. " My 
 lord," said he, " I am come to inform your 
 lordship of a sad misfortune, my cow has 
 gored one of your lordship's cows, so that 
 I fear it cannot live." — " Well, then, you 
 must pay for it.''-^" Indeed, my lord, it 
 was not my fault, and you know I am a veiy 
 poor man." — " I can't help that, I say you 
 must pay for it ; I am not to lose my cow." 
 — " Well, my lord, if it must be so I cannot 
 say against your lordship, — but stop, my 
 lord, I believe I have made a mistake, it 
 was your lordship's cow that gored mine." 
 ♦' O ! that is quite a diflerent affair, — go 
 along and don't trouble me, I am busy— go 
 along, I say." 
 
 539 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 aOPE-RIDING ON HORSEBACK, ON 
 ST. MARK'S DAY AT VENICE. 
 
 The gaiety and splendour exhibited in 
 the place of St. Mark at Venice on this 
 anniversary, is extremely attractive. For- 
 meily, among the remarkable customs in 
 .lonour of this the patron saint of the city, it 
 was usual for a man to ascend and descend 
 a rope stretched from the summit of St. 
 Mark's tower, and secured at a consider- 
 able distance from the base. 
 
 On the last day of February, 1680, the 
 doge, the senate, and the imperial ambas- 
 sador, with about fifty thousand spectators, 
 beheld the annual solemnity. In the first 
 place appeared certain butchers, in their 
 roast-meat clothes ; one of which, with a 
 Persian scimitar, cut off the heads of three 
 oxen, one after another, at one blow, to the 
 admiration of the beholders, who had never 
 seen the like either in Venice, or any other 
 Dart of the world. But that which caused 
 greater wonder was this : — A person, 
 adorned in a tinsel riding habit, having a gilt 
 helmet upon his head, and holding in his 
 right hand a lance, in his left a helmet 
 made of a thin piece of plate gilded, and 
 sitting upon a white horse, with a swift 
 pace ambled up a rope six hundred feet 
 long, fastened from the quay to the top of 
 St. Mark's tower. When he had arrived 
 half way, his tinsel coat fell off, and he 
 made a stand, and stooping his lance sub- 
 missively, saluted the doge sitting in the 
 palace, and flourished the banner three 
 times over his head. Then, resuming his 
 former speed, he went on, and, with his 
 horse, entered the tower where the bell 
 hangs ; and presently returning on foot, he 
 climbed up to the highest pinnacle of the 
 tower; where, sitting on the golden angel, 
 he flourished his banner again several times. 
 This performed, he descended to the bell- 
 tower; and there taking horse, rode down 
 again to the bottom in like manner as he 
 had ascended.* 
 
 " Whoever, says Mrs. Piozzi, " sees St. 
 Mark's Place lighted up of an evening, 
 adorned with every excellence of human 
 art, and pregnant with pleasure, expressed 
 by intelligent countenances sparkling with 
 every grace of nature — the sea washing its 
 walls — the moon-beams dancing on its sub- 
 jugated waves — sport and laughter resound- 
 ing from the coffee-houses — girls with gui- 
 tars skipping about the square — masks and 
 merry-makers singing as they pass you — 
 unless a barge with a band of music is 
 
 * Malcolm's Manners of Eiirope. 
 
 heard at some distance upon the vater, 
 and calls attention to sounds made sweeter 
 by the element over which they are 
 brought ; — whoever is led suddenly," says 
 Mrs. Piozzi, " to this scene of seemingly 
 perennial gaiety, will be apt to exclaimin 
 Venice, as Eve does to Adam in Milton, 
 
 With thee conversing, I forgjet all time. 
 
 All seasons, and their change — all please alike I" 
 
 REV MR. WILSON, 
 THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 It will now give pain to no one, if I no- 
 tice Mr. Wilson, formerly curate of Halton 
 Gill, near Skipton in Craven, and father of 
 the late Rev. Edward Wilson, canon of 
 Windsor. He wrote a tract, entitled " The 
 Man in the Moon," which was seriously 
 meant to convey the knowledge of common 
 astronomy in the following strange vehicle : 
 
 A cobbler, Israel Jobson by name, is 
 supposed to ascend first to the top of Pen- 
 nigint; and thence, as a second stage 
 equally practicable, to the moon ! after 
 which he makes a tour of the whole solar 
 system. From this excursion, however, 
 the traveller brings back little information 
 which might not have been had upon earth, 
 excepting that the inhabitants of one of the 
 planets, I forget which, were made of" pot 
 metal." The work contains some other 
 extravagancies ; but the writer, after all, was 
 a man of talent, and has abundantly shown 
 that had he been blessed with a sound 
 mind and a superior education, he would 
 have been capable of much better things. 
 If I had the book before me I could quote 
 single sentences here and there, which in 
 point of composition rise to no mean de- 
 gree of excellence. It is rarely to be met 
 with, having, as T am told, been induslri 
 ously bought up by his family. I have 
 only seen one copy, and my recollection of 
 what I read in it is not very particular.* 
 
 Mr. Wilson had also good mechanical 
 hands, and carved well in wood, a talent 
 winch he applied to several whimsical pur- 
 poses. But his chef-d'oenvre was an oracu- 
 lar head, like that of friar Bacon and the 
 disciple of the famous Escotillo, with which 
 he diverted himself and amazed his neigh- 
 bours, till a certain reverend wiseacre 
 threatened to complain of the poor man to 
 his metropolitan as an enchanter I Alter 
 this the oracle was mute.f 
 
 * Could any reader of the Table Booh forward a 
 eopy ?— Ei). 
 •^ Rev. D"r. Whi taker's History ef Ciaren. 
 
 540 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 SUMMER SHOWERS— SCORCHED 
 LEAVES. 
 
 In the summer, after some days of fine 
 weather, during the heat of the day, if a 
 storm happens, accompanied with a few 
 light showers of rain, and the sun appears 
 immediately after with its usual splendour, 
 it burns the foliage and the flowers on 
 which the rain had fallen, and destroys the 
 hopes of the orchard. The intense heat, 
 which the ardour of the sun produces at 
 that time on the leaves and flowers, is 
 equal to that of burning iron. Naturalists 
 haive sought for the cause of this strange 
 effect, but they have said nothing which 
 satisfies a reasonable mind. This is, how- 
 ever, the fact : in the serene days of the 
 summer it is visible that there gathers on 
 the foliage and the flowers, as, indeed, on 
 every other part, a little dust, sometimes 
 more and sometimes less, scattered by the 
 wind. When the rain falls on this dust, 
 the drops mix together, and take an oval or 
 round form, as we may frequently observe 
 in our houses on the dusty floor, when ser- 
 vants scatter water before they sweep. These 
 globes of water form convex lenses, which 
 produce tlie same effect as burning mirrors. 
 Should the rain be heavy and last long, the 
 sun would not produce this burning heat, 
 because the force and duration of the rain 
 will have destroyed the dust that formed 
 these drops of water; and the drops, losing 
 their globular form, in which alone consisted 
 their caustic power, will be dispersed.* 
 
 ROYAL SUMMER-HOUSE, IN SIAM. 
 
 The king of Siam has in one of his coun- 
 try palaces a most singular pavilion. The 
 tables, the chairs, the closets, &c. are all 
 composed of crystal. The walls, the ceiling, 
 and the floors, are formed of pieces of plate 
 g-lass, of about an inch thick, and six feet 
 square, so nicely united by a cement, which 
 is as transparent as glass itself, that the 
 most subtile fluid cannot penetrate. There 
 is but one door, which shuts so closely, that 
 it is as impenetrable to the water as the rest 
 of this singular building. A Chinese en- 
 gineer constructed it thus as a certain re- 
 medy against the insupportable heat of the 
 climate. This pavilion is twenty-eight feet 
 in length, and seventeen in breadth; it is 
 placed in the midst of a great basin, paved 
 and ornamented with marble of various 
 colours. They fill this basin with water in 
 
 • Petei Huet. 
 
 about a quarter of an hour, and it is emphett 
 as quickly. When you enter the pavilion 
 th« door is immediately closed, and ce- 
 mented with mastic, to hinder the water 
 from entering ; it is then that they open the 
 sluices; and this great basin is soon filled 
 with water, which is even suffered to over- 
 flow the land ; so that the pavilion is en- 
 tirely under water, except the top of the 
 dome, which is left untouched for the benefit 
 of respiration. Nothing is more charming 
 than the agreeable coolness of this delicious 
 place, while the extreme heat of the snn 
 boils the surface of the freshest fountains.* 
 
 SPANISH PUNCTILIO. 
 
 On occasion of the decease of the queen 
 mother of Spain in 1696, the Paris papers 
 gravely relate the following particulars of 
 a dispute respecting precedence. 
 
 The officers of the crown and the grandees 
 of the kingdom assembled at the usual time 
 to open her majesty's will; but finding 
 that the first lady of the queen's chamber, 
 who ought by virtue of her office to have 
 been piesent, was absent, the august body 
 sent a messenger, requesting her attend- 
 anoe. The first lady, deeming the message 
 a gross attack upon her privileges and 
 high importance, indignantly replied, that 
 it was her indispensable duty not tu leave 
 her deceased royal mistress, and therefore 
 the nobles must wait on her. 
 
 Thereupon ensued a negotiation by mes- 
 sages, which occupied eight hours. In the 
 course of the discussion, the grandees in- 
 sisted on their claims of precedence as an 
 aggregate body, yet, individually, they 
 considered themselves happy when com- 
 plying with the commands of the ladies. 
 Fixed in her resolution, the lady high- 
 chamberlain acquainted her opponents with 
 her final determination. The decision of 
 the great oflicers and grandees was equally 
 unalterable; but at the last they proposed, 
 that " without rising from their s'^ats, or 
 moving themselves, they should be curried 
 to a room at an equal distanc- between 
 their own apartment and the lady high- 
 chamberlain's, who should be carried to 
 the same place, seated upon a high civshion, 
 in the same manner as she sat in the 
 queen's chamber, to the end it might be 
 said, that neither side had made a step to 
 meet each other." It seems that the per- 
 formance of the solemnity happily termi- 
 nated the important diff'erence. 
 
 • Fnretiere. 
 
 541 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 BOSWELLIANA. 
 
 The following anecdotes are related by, 
 or relate to, the well-known James Boswell, 
 who conducted Dr. Johnson to the High- 
 lands of Scotland. 
 
 It may be recollected that when Boswell 
 took the doctor to his father's house, the old 
 laird of Auchinleck remarked, that "Jamie 
 had brought an odd kind o' a chiel' wi' 
 him." " Sir," said Boswell, " he is the 
 grand luminary of our hemisphere, — quite 
 a constellation, sir.' — " Ursa Major, (the 
 Great Bear,) I suppose,'' said the laird. 
 
 Some snip-snap wit was wont to pass 
 between sire and son. " Jamie" was bred 
 an advocate, and sometimes pleaded at the 
 bar. Pleading, on a particular occasion, 
 before his father, who, at that time, was 
 " Ordinary on the bills," and saying some- 
 thing which his lordship did not like, he 
 exclaimed to Jamie, " Ye're an ass, mon." 
 — " No, my lord," replied Jamie, " 1 am 
 not an ass, but I am a colt, the foal of an 
 ass !" 
 
 In 1785, Boswell addressed " a Letter 
 to the People of Scotland " on a proposed 
 alteration in the court of session. He says 
 in this pamphlet, " When a man of probity 
 and spirit, a lord Newhall, whose character 
 is ably drawn in prose by the late lord 
 president Arnislon, and elegantly in verse 
 by Mr. Hamilton of Bangour, — when such 
 a man sits among our judges, should they 
 be disposed to do wrong, he can make them 
 hear and tremble. My honoured father 
 told me, (the late lord Auchinleck,) that sir 
 Walter Pringle ' spoke as one having au- 
 thority' — even when he was at the bar, 
 * he would cram a decision down their 
 throats,' " 
 
 Boswell tells, in the same " Letter," that 
 " Duncan Forbes of Culloden,vvhen lord 
 president of the court, gave every day as a 
 toast at his table, ' Here's to every lord of 
 session who does not deserve to be hang- 
 ed !' Lord Auchinleck and lord Mon- 
 boddo, both judges, but since his time, are 
 my authority," says Boswell, " for this. — I 
 do not say that the toast was very delicate, 
 or even quite decent, but it may give some 
 notion what sort of judges there may be." 
 
 It is further related by Boswell, that a 
 person was executed to please his laird. 
 " Before the heritable jurisdictions were 
 abolished, a man was tried for his life in 
 the court of one of the chieftains. The 
 jury were going to bring him in ' not 
 guilty,' but somebody whispered them, that 
 ' the young laird had never seen an execu- 
 tioa ' upon which their verdict wais — 
 
 ' death ;' and the man was hanged accord' 
 ingly." 
 
 This is only to be paralleled by the 
 story of the highland dame, whose sense 
 of submission to the chief of her clan 
 induced her to insinuate want of proper 
 respect in her husband, who had been con- 
 demned, and showed some reluctance to 
 the halter. "Git up, Donald," said the 
 " guid wife," to her " ain guid man," " Git 
 up, Donald, and be hangit, an' dinnaa;i^(?r 
 the laird." 
 
 BOWEL COMPLAINTS 
 A Recipe. 
 
 The writer of a letter to the editor of the 
 " Times," signed " W." in August, 1827, 
 communicates the following prescription, as' 
 particularly useful in diarrhoea, accompanied 
 by inflammation of the bowels : — 
 
 Take of confection of catechu 2 drachms; 
 simple cinnamon water 4 ounces; and 
 syrup of white poppies 1 ounce. Mix 
 them together, and give one or two table- 
 spoonfuls twice or thrice a day as required. 
 To children under ten years of age give a 
 single dessert-spoon, and under two years a 
 tea-spoonful, two or three times, as above 
 stated. 
 
 This mixture is very agreeable, and far 
 preferable to the spirituous and narcotic 
 preparations usually administered. In the 
 course of a few hours it abates the disor- 
 der, and in almost every instance infallibly 
 cures the patient. During the fiuit. season 
 k is especially valuable. 
 
 (^pitapl) 
 
 ON A MARINE OFFICER 
 
 Here lies retired from busy scenes 
 A First Lieutenant of Marines ; 
 Who lately lived in peace anJ plenty 
 On board the ship the Atalanta . 
 Now, stripp'd of all his warlike show, 
 And laid in box of elm below. 
 Confined to earth in narrow borde>"8. 
 He rises aot till further orders.* 
 
 • From the " Notes of a BooiiworiB. 
 
 542 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 NATHAN COWAED, 
 Glover and Poet, of Dersingham, Norfolk. 
 
 Fur the Table Book. 
 
 This eccentric individual, whose fertile 
 pen procured him notoriety, was the son of 
 a small grocer at March in the Isle of Ely. 
 To use his favourite expression, he " came 
 forth" on Friday, the 13th of April, 1735. 
 O. S. He received the rudiments of his 
 education under " dame Hawkins,'' from 
 whom he was removed to a most sagacious 
 schoolmaster, named Wendall ; and he 
 " astonished his schoolfellows hy the bril- 
 liancy of his genius," till he was bound to 
 ills cousin Coward, of Lynn, to learn the 
 art and mystery of a " glover and breeches- 
 maker." He had nearly passed through 
 his apprenticeship, and attained to the age 
 of twenty, unconscious of the numerous 
 " ills that flesh is heir to," when one day 
 gazing at a small shop-window, nearly 
 blinded by gloves and second-hand unmen- 
 tionables, an accidental aperture favoured 
 him with a glimpse of the toe charming 
 
 Miss Barbara Green, in the act of m.aking 
 wash-leather gloves. She was a maiden, 
 and though something more than fifty, her 
 fading beauty rendered her, to Nathan, all 
 that 
 
 " Youthful poets fancy when they love." 
 
 From that moment his eyes lost their 
 lustre, — 
 
 " Love, like a worm i' th' bud, preyed on his damasV 
 cheek. 
 
 He was to be seen pursuing his avoca- 
 tions at his " board of green cloth" day bj 
 day, sitting 
 
 • " Like Patience on a monument 
 
 Smiling at grief." 
 
 He " never told his love " till chance ena- 
 bled him to make the idol of his hope 
 the ofi'er of his hand. " No," said the ion 
 fascinating Barbara Green, " I will be an 
 Evergreen." The lady was inexorable, and 
 Nathan was in despair; but time 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 543 
 
 ^N 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 reflriction whispered "grieving'safolly,"and 
 it's belter to have any wife than none, ' 
 and Nathan took unto himself another, with 
 whom he enjoyed all the "ecstatic ecstasies" 
 of domestic felicity. 
 
 Nathan's business at Lynn became in- 
 adequate to his wants, and he removed to 
 the village of Dersingham, a few miles dis- 
 tant; and there, as a " glover, poet, haber- 
 dasher, green-g^rocer. and psalm-singer," he 
 vegetated remote from vulgar throng, and 
 beguiled his leisure by " coeitating in co- 
 gibundity of cogitation." — Here it was, he 
 tells us, that in 1775 he had a " wonderful, 
 incomprehensible, and pathetic dieam " — 
 a vision of flames, in the shapes of " wig- 
 blocks'' and " Patagonian cucumbers," at- 
 tended with horrid crashes, like the noise 
 of a thousand Merry Andrew's rackets, 
 which terrified and drove him to the 
 " mouth of the sea;" where, surrounded by 
 fire and water, he could only escape from 
 dreadful destruction by — awaking. He 
 believed that the ■fiery wig-blocks were 
 " opened to him" in a dream as a caution, to 
 preserve him from temptation. It was soon 
 after this that, seeing one of his neighbours 
 at the point of death, he " cogitated " the 
 following 
 
 " Reflection. 
 
 •' What creatures are we ! 
 
 Under the hands of he. 
 Who created iis for to be. 
 
 Objects of his great mercy: 
 And the same must I be. 
 When years seventy. 
 Creep upon me." 
 
 On another occasion, while his wife was 
 dangerously ill, Nathan, sitting by her bed- 
 side, became overwhelmed with " the in- 
 fluence of fancy," and believing her actually 
 dead, concocted this 
 
 " Epitaph. 
 
 " My wife is dead, — she was the best. 
 
 And I her bosom friend ; 
 Yes, she is gone, — her soul's at rest. 
 
 And I am left to mend." 
 
 Kathan made a trifling mistake; for, "to 
 his great surprise," his wife recovered, and 
 the epitaph was put by till the proper time 
 should arrive. 
 
 Nathan's dexterity in wielding his pen 
 enabled him to serve unlettered swains in 
 other matters, besides their nether gar- 
 ments. He wrote letters for them " on 
 love or business," in 
 
 Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn." 
 
 The following ending of a " Love-lettef 
 written by particular desire," is a specimen 
 of his " effusions io prose." 
 
 " Marriage is like war ; the battle 
 
 causes fear, but the sweet hope of winning 
 at the last stimulates us to proceed. But 
 the effects of matrimony are much more 
 agreeable than war, because the engage- 
 ment may be accomplished without being 
 prejudicial to the welfare of society. Were 
 1 to mention all the comparisons my warm 
 imagination could furnish me with, it would 
 swell this letter to a very great bulk. 
 
 " So to conclude; — the many inconveni- 
 ences attending- my being in business alone, 
 are beyond conception ; and I wish the fa- 
 tigue to be abated by sharing it with some 
 congenial soul, who may be intrusted with 
 both secrets and circumstances, and all 
 affairs of importance, too tedious to men- 
 tion." 
 
 Filled with self-importance by a lively 
 sense of his vast acquirements, and his 
 amazing utility to his villase neighbours, 
 he turned his thoughts to the " affairs of 
 the nation" in the year 1 799, and projected 
 the salvation of the empire, by a plan of 
 finance for raising adequate supplies to 
 carry on the war against France with 
 vigour. This he submitted in a spirited 
 memorial, addressed 
 
 " To THE Hon. Wm. Pitt, First of 
 Ministers, Sic. &c. &c. 
 
 " May it please your gracious Honour, 
 Dear sir, to take into your honourable con- 
 sideration the undermentioned business 
 which at this critical crisis and expensive 
 period wants very much to be put in prac- 
 tice, to the advantage of the world, the 
 benefit of our own government, the public's 
 welfare, and the glory of Dersingham." 
 
 Nathan's memorial runs to great length, 
 but he states its real " business " in a few 
 words. — " Beloved and honourable sir, be 
 not angry at my proposal, if not approved 
 of, which is, to beg of all dukes, lords, 
 earls, baronets, country squires, profound 
 justices, gentlemen, great and rich farmers, 
 topping tradesmen, and others, who, to my 
 certain and inconceivable knov^'ledge, have 
 so much unnecessary ornamental and use- 
 less plate, of all sorts and descriptions, to 
 deliver up the same immediately to govern- 
 ment, to be made into money for the sup 
 port of this just and necessary war. Ho- 
 noured sir, my plan is not to debar any one 
 from having a sufficient quantity of such 
 like plate, but only that which stands and 
 remains useless and unused, which would 
 
 544 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 raise many hundreds, if not thousands of 
 money. 1 have but little, yet I am (so is 
 my wife, in God's name) minded, willing, 
 and desirous, out of half a dozen tea- 
 SfXions, to deliver up half, which you know, 
 ■iiiuhty sir, will be exactly three." 
 
 Nathan proceeds lo say, that " Many 
 iseiess things, such as great waiters, tea- 
 kettles, frying and sauce pans, and sundry 
 other ai tides in the gold and silver way, 
 too tedious to mention, were they now 
 turned into money, would supply your 
 wants of cash. Brass, earthenware, pipe- 
 clay, china and glass, nothinsjf can be 
 sweeter, nor look neater, and sufficient for 
 any man or woman upon eartii to eat and 
 drink out of. — Mr. Pitt, these sentiments I 
 deliver from my heart; they are the dictates 
 of wisdom and the fiuit of experience. — 
 \^as our good and gracious king, as also 
 yourself, worthy Mr. Pitt, once to come 
 ■^own into the country, and take a survey 
 of matters, you would be astonished how 
 abundance of individuals live. Pray, sir, 
 in God's name, take off a few taxes from 
 the necessaries of life, especially salt, sugar, 
 leather, and parchment. I myself have but 
 six or seven shillings a week coming in, 
 and sometimes not that, by losses and bad 
 debts; and now corn is risen, we labour 
 under great apprehension in other articles. 
 — Dear and noble sir, I once heard a ser- 
 mon preached on a thanksgiving day, for 
 the proclamation of peace, by one Rev. 
 Mr. Stony, at Lynn, Norfolk, mentioning 
 the whole calamities of the war; and he 
 brought your honourable father in, very 
 fine. I wish from the bottom of my heart 
 I may shortly hear such a like one preached 
 upon yourself." 
 
 In conclusion, Nathan thus inquires of 
 Mr. Pitt, " Honoured sir, from whence 
 comes wars, and rumours of wars, cock- 
 fightings, and burglaries 1" Finally, says 
 Nathan, " The limits of one sheet of paper 
 being filled, I must conclude, with wishing 
 well to our good and gracious king, the 
 queen, and all the royal family; as also to 
 ytiur honour, Mr, Pitt, your consort, sons 
 and daughters, (if any,) and family in 
 general." 
 
 Nathan established his public character 
 by his epistle to Mr. Pitt. He made known 
 its contents to all his friends, and shortly 
 after he had transmitted it, he received an 
 acknowledgment of thanks and a promise 
 of reward, in a scrawling hand with an 
 unintelligible signature; whereupon he 
 sagely consoled himself with this remark, 
 that great men, " despising the common, 
 plebeian method of writing, generally 
 
 scratch their names so ilicgible,that neither 
 themselves nor any body else can read 
 them." 
 
 Nathan's notoriety was now at its lieigtit. 
 He usually visited Lynn once or twice a 
 v^eek ; and flattered by the general enco- 
 miums bestowed on his transcendent aiiili- 
 ties by his admirers in that ancient town, 
 he ventured to disclose a long-cherished 
 liope, the object of his ardent ambition, (o 
 a|ipear in print as an author His desire 
 was fostered by several literary youths, re- 
 sident in Lynn, to whom he submitted his 
 writings for arrangement, and in 1800 they 
 were published to the world under the title 
 of " Quaint Scraps, or Sudden Cogitations." 
 Previous to its appearance, he received re- 
 peated congratulations on the forthcoming 
 book. Among other " Commendatory 
 Verses" was a poetical address, purporting 
 to have been written in America, addressed 
 " To Nathan Coward, the sage Author of 
 Scraps and Cogitations, by Barnabas Bol- 
 dero, LL.D. VS. MOPQ. &c. of the Cogi- 
 tating College, Philadelphia.'' This pleas- 
 ing testimonial required Milton, and the 
 "far-filmed bards of elder times,'' to give 
 place to the rising luminary of the poetical 
 hemisphere. 
 
 " Avaunt I avaunt I hide your diminish'd heads I 
 
 When the sun shines the stars should seek their lieds. 
 
 No longer clouds the dawning light imprison. 
 
 The golden age is come ! a mighty sun has ri.seii 
 
 A mighty sun, whose congregated rays 
 
 At Dersingham pour forth their dazzling blaze ; 
 
 Not there alone, but e'en throughout all natioun, 
 
 Beam Nathan's Scraps and Sudden Cogitatiuna I 
 
 None better knows Pindaric odes to write. 
 
 None e'er a better love-song can indite ; 
 
 None better knows to play the tragic part. 
 
 Or with sweet anthems captivate the heart ; 
 
 None better knows to sport extemo're wit. 
 
 Or with strange spells avert an ague fit ; 
 
 None better knows to frame th' elegiac air. 
 
 Or with the nasal Jews harp charm the ear." 
 
 This address is printed entire in Nathan's 
 book, which consisted of epitaphs, love- 
 letters, valentines, cures for the ague and 
 consumption, reflections, songs, &c. &c. 
 The preface, the sketch of his life, and the 
 conclusion to the work, were drawn up by 
 Nathan's youthful editors. Through then: 
 Nathan appealed to the reviewers in an ad- 
 dress, containing the following spirited 
 passage: — " It is ye, ye mites of criticism 
 it is ye alone I fear; for, like your name- 
 sakes, the greater the richness and good- 
 ness of the cheese the more destructive are 
 your dcpredationsj and the more numerous 
 
 545 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 four partisans." Towards the public, the 
 poet of Detsingham was equally candid 
 and courageous. — " I shun the general path 
 of authors," says Nathan, " and instead of 
 a feeling conscious of the numerous defects, 
 and submitting my trifles, with all possible 
 humility, to the candour of a generous 
 public,' I venture to assert, that the public 
 must receive the greatest advantage from 
 my labours; and every member of society 
 shall bless the hour that ushered into ex- 
 istence my ' Quaint Scraps and my Sudden 
 Cogitations.' For what author, were lie 
 actually conscious of his numerous defects, 
 would wish to trust himself to the mercy 
 of that generous public, whom every one 
 condemns for want of discernment and 
 liberality. No, I profess, and I am what I 
 do profess, a man of independent spirit ! 
 and although I have hitherto dwelt in ob- 
 scurity, and felt the annihilating influence 
 of oppression and the icy grasp of poverty, 
 yet 1 have ever enjoyed the praisewortliy 
 luxury of having an opinion of my own ; 
 because, — I am conscious of the inferiority 
 of the opinions of others." 
 
 These were some of the preliminary 
 aieans by which, with an honesty wortliy 
 to be imitated by authors of greater fame, 
 Nathan aspired to win " golden opinions." 
 The final sentence of his valedictory ad- 
 dress " to the reader " is remarkable for 
 feeling and dignity. " I am conscious," 
 says Nathan, " that I begin to fade; and be 
 assured, that if I should be so fortunate as 
 to blossom a few years longer, it must be 
 entirely imputed to the animating influence 
 of your praises, which will be grateful as 
 the pure and renovating dews of heaven. 
 And when at length the soft breeze of 
 evening shall fly over the spot where I 
 once bloomed, the traveller will refresh it 
 with the soft tears of melancholy, an I sigh 
 at the frailty of all sublunary grandeur." 
 
 Ilis wish accomplished, and his book 
 published, Nathan's spare person, (about 
 the middle size,) clad in tight leather 
 " shorts," frequently ambulated the streets 
 of Lynn, and he liad the ineffable pleasure 
 of receiving loud congratulations from his 
 numerous friends. Here, perhaps, his lite- 
 rary career had terminated, had not Napo- 
 leon's abortive threats of invasion roused 
 Nathan to take his stand, with daring pen, 
 in defiance of the insolent foe. Our pa- 
 triotic author produced a " Sermon" on the 
 impending event. His former editorial 
 assistants again aided him, and announced 
 iis intentions by a prospectus, setting forth 
 that, on such an occasion, " when address, 
 argument, and agitation, elegy, epitaph, and 
 
 epithalamiura, pufT, powder, poetry, ano 
 petition, have been employed to invigorate 
 and inspirit the minds of Englishmen, it 
 surely must be a matter of serious exulta- 
 tion, that a writer of such superlative cele- 
 brity as Nathan Coward should draw his 
 pen in defence of the common cause. — 
 Cold and disloyal indeed must be that 
 breast which, even on the bare perusal, 
 does not feel the glow of enthusiastic pa- 
 triotism, — does not beat with rapture at 
 the pride of Dersingbam, the glory of his 
 country, and the admiration of the uni- 
 verse." 
 
 " Rise, Britons, rise, and rising nobly raise 
 Yo»r joyful Paeans to great Nathan's praise ; 
 Nathan, whose powers all glorious heights can rearb. 
 Now charm an ague, — now a Sermon preach ; — 
 Nathan, who late, as time and cause .seein'd fit, 
 Despatch'd a letter to great premier Pitt. 
 Showing how quick the public in a dash 
 Might change their spoons and platters into cash ; 
 And now with zeal, attach'd to name nor party. 
 Thunders out vengeance 'gainst great Buonaparte ; 
 Zeal that no rival bard shal' e'er exceed ; 
 To prove your judgment, quickly buy and read." 
 
 Soon after the publication of his '• Ser- 
 mon," Nathan became more sensible to the 
 infirmities of " threescore years and ten." 
 And the epitaph on his wife having been 
 duly appropriated, for in good time she 
 died, he removed to Liveipool, where he 
 had a daughter married and settled, and 
 there, in her arms, about the year 1815, he 
 breathed his last at the age of eighty. — 
 Requieseat in pace^ 
 
 PETER AND MARY. 
 
 Dr. Soams, master of Peterhouse, Cam 
 bridge, towards the close of tlie sixteenth 
 century, by a whimsical perverseness de- 
 prived the college over which he presided 
 of a handsome estate. Mary, the widow 
 of Thomas Ramsey, lord mayor of London, 
 in 1577, after conferring several favours on 
 that foundation, proff'ered to settle five 
 hundred pounds a year (a very large in- 
 come at that period) upon the house, pro- 
 vided that it might be called " The college 
 of Peter and Mary." "No!" said the 
 capricious master, " Peter, who has lived 
 so long single, is too old now for a female 
 partner." Fuller says it was " a dear jest by 
 which to lose so good a benefactress." The 
 lady, offended by the doctor's fantastic 
 scruple, turned the strenm of her Der.evo- 
 lence to the benefit of othtr public fouLda- 
 tions. 
 
 546- 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Bnvvitk \^hj}^. 
 
 No. XXXII. 
 
 From " Love's Metamorphosis," a Come- 
 dy, by John Lily, M. A. I6O1.] 
 
 Love half-denied is Love half-confest. 
 Nisa. Niobe, her maid. 
 
 Nisa. I fear Niobe is in love. 
 
 Niohe. Not I, madam; yet must I confess, that 
 oftentimes I have had sweet thoughts, sometimes hard 
 conceits; betwixt both, a kind of yielding; I know 
 not what ; but certainly I think it is not love : sigh I 
 can, and find ease in melanclioly : smile I do, and take 
 pleasure in imagination: I feel in myself a pleasing 
 pain, a chill heat, a delicate bitterness ; how to term 
 it I know not ; without doubt it may be Love; sure I 
 am it is not Hate, 
 
 [From " Sapho and Phao," a Comedy, by 
 the same Author, 1601.] 
 
 Phao, a poor Ferryman, praises his con- 
 dition. — He ferries over F'enus ; who in- 
 flames Sapho and him with a mutual pas- 
 sion. 
 
 Phao. Thou art a ferryman, Phao, yet a freeman ; 
 possessing for riches content, and for honours quiet. 
 Thy thoughts are no higher than thy fortunes, nor thy 
 desires greater than thy calling. Who climbeth, stand- 
 eth on glass, and falleth on thorn. Thy heart's thirst 
 IS satisfied with thy hand's thrift, and thy gentle la- 
 bours in the day turn to sweet slumbers in the night. 
 As much doth it delight thee to rule thy oar in a calm 
 stream, as it doth Sapho to sway the sceptre in her 
 brave court. Knvy never casteth her eye low, ambi- 
 tion pointeth always upward, and revenge barketh 
 only at stars. Thou farest delicately, if thou have a 
 fare to buy any thing. Thine angle is ready, when thy 
 oar is idle; and as sweet is the fish which thou gettest 
 in the river, as the fowl which others buy in the mar- 
 ket. Thou needest not fear poison in thy glass, nor 
 treason in thy guard. The wind is thy greatest enemy, 
 whose might is withstood by policy. O sweet life ! 
 seldom found under a golden covert, often under a 
 thatcht cottage. But here cometh one; I will with- 
 draw myself aside ; it may be a passenger. 
 
 Venus, Phao : She, as a mortal. 
 
 Venus. Pretty youth, do yon keep the ferry, that 
 conducteth to Syracusa? 
 
 Phao. The ferry, fair lady, that conducteth to Syra- 
 cusa. 
 
 Venus. 1 fear, if the water should begin to swell, 
 thou wilt want cunning to guide. 
 
 Phao. These waters are commonly as the passengers 
 are ; and therefore, carryinj; one so fair in show, there 
 u BO caate to fear a rough sea. 
 
 Venus. To pass the time in thy boat, can'st (boa dt, 
 vise any pastime ? 
 
 Phao. If the wind be with me, I can angle, or tell 
 tales : if against me, it will be pleasure for you to see 
 me take pains. 
 
 Venus. I like not fishing ; yet was I bom of the sea. 
 
 Phao. But he may bless fishing, that caught such an 
 one in the sea. 
 
 Venus. It was not with an angle, my bov, but with 
 a net. 
 
 Phao. So, was it said, that Vulcan caught Mars 
 with Venus. 
 
 Venus. Did'st thou hear so ? it was some tale. 
 
 Phao. Yea, Madam; and that in the boat did 1 
 mean to make my tale. 
 
 Venus. It is not for a ferryman to talk of the God^ 
 Loves : but to tell how thy father could dig, and tk/ 
 mother spin. But come, let ns away. 
 
 Phao. I am ready to wait — 
 
 Sapho, sleepless for love of Phao, who 
 loves her as much, consults with him about 
 some medicinal kerb : She, a great Lady ; 
 He, the poor Ferryman, but now promotea 
 to be her Gardener 
 
 Sapho. What herbs have you brought, Phao ? 
 Phao. Such as will make you sleep, Madam ; though 
 they cannot make me slumber. 
 
 Sapho. Why, how can you cure me, when you can- 
 not remedy yourself ? 
 
 Phao. Ves, madam ; the causes are contrary. For 
 it is only a dryness in your brains, that keepeth you 
 from rest. But— 
 
 Sapho. But what ? 
 
 Phao. Nothing : but mine is not so^ 
 
 SapJio. Nay then, I despair of help, if our disease 
 be not all one. 
 
 Phao. I would our diseases were all one ! 
 
 Sapho. It goes hard with the patient, when the phy- 
 sician is desperate. 
 
 Phao. Yet Medea made the ever-waking dragon to 
 snort, when she (poor soul) could not wink. 
 
 Sapho. Medea was in love, and nothing could cause 
 her rest but Jason. 
 
 Phao. Indeed I know no herb to make lovers sleep 
 but Heart's Ease : which, because it groweth ao high, 
 I cannot reach, for — 
 
 Sapho. Kor whom ? 
 
 Phao. For such as love— 
 
 Sapho. It stoopetb very low, and I can never stoop 
 to it, that 
 
 Pha^. That what ? 
 
 Sapho. That I may gather it But why do you sigh 
 so, Phao ? 
 
 Phao. It is mine use. Madam. 
 
 Sapho. It will do you harm, and me too : for I never 
 hear one sigh, but I must sigh also. 
 
 Phao. It were best then tliat your Ladyship pve me 
 leave to be gone : for I can but sigh — 
 
 Sapho. Nay, stay ; for now I begin to sigh, I shall 
 not leave, though you be gone. But what do you think 
 best for your sighing, to take it away? 
 
 Phao. Yew, Madam. 
 
 m 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Stphfi, Mel 
 
 Pkao. No, Madam ; Yew of the tree. 
 
 Sapho. Then fl^ill I love Yew tfie better. And in- 
 deed 1 think it would mate me sleep too ; therefore, 
 hU other simples set aside, I will simply use only 
 Vew. 
 
 Phao. Do, Madam ; for I think nothing in the world 
 BO ifooil as Yew. 
 
 Sapho. Farewell, for this time. 
 
 Sapho questions her low-placed Affection. 
 
 Sapko. Into the nest of an Alcyon no bird can enter 
 rat the Alcyon : and into the heart of so great a Lady 
 ;an any Cireep but a great Lord T 
 
 Cupid. Sapho cured of her love by the 
 pity of Venus. 
 
 Cupid. But what will you do for Phao? 
 
 Sapho. I will wish him fortunate. This will I do 
 lor Pliao, because I once loved Phao : for never shall 
 it be said, that Sapho loved to hale : or that out of love 
 she could not be as courteous, as she was in love pas- 
 sionate. 
 
 P hud's final resolution. 
 
 Phnn. O Sapho, thou hast Cupid in thy arms I in 
 !in hwart ; thou kissest him for sport, I must curse 
 hiiii (oi- spite ; yet will I not curse him, Sapho, whom 
 thi)M kissest. This shall be my resolution, wherever I 
 wandpr, to be as I were ever kneeling before Sapho; 
 my lovalty unspotted, though unrewarded. With as 
 litlle malice will I go to my grave, as I did lie withal 
 m my cradle. My life shall be spent in sighing and 
 wishing; the one for my bad fortune, the other for 
 SapUo's good. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 WHITTLE SHEEPSHANKS, ESQ. 
 
 Formerly there was a farmer of very ex- 
 tensi ve property, who was also of great piety, 
 residing in Craven, with the above awkward 
 Christian and surname. He once purchased 
 »!ome sheep of a native of North Britain at 
 one of the Skipton cattle fairs, and not havinp' 
 cash enough with him to pay for them, lie said 
 to the man, " I've no money by me at pre- 
 sent, but I'll settle with you next fair." 
 " An' wha ma ye be, sir?" said the Scots- 
 man. " What, don't ye know me ? I 
 thought every body knew Whittle Sheep- 
 shanks." " Hont ! mon," said the Scots- 
 man, " dinna think to make a fule o' me ; 
 wha' ever heard sic a name o' a sheepshanks 
 u-i' a whittle to it." This so offended Mr. 
 Slieepshanks, that he changed his name to 
 York. 
 
 T. Q. M. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 MY "HOME." 
 
 This is the soothing word tha^ calms the 
 mind under all the various anxieties, mor- 
 tifications, and disappointments we meet 
 with, day after day, in the busy world. 
 This is the idea that enables us to support 
 the most trying vexations and troubles — it 
 is an antidote for every evil — 
 
 My " Home !" — There is a deliciously 
 restful, quiet tone about the word. It pre- 
 sents heavenly ideas of soft ease, and gentle 
 repose to the oppressed mind and languid 
 body — ideas of quiet seclusion, where one's 
 powers and faculties may be relaxed, and 
 be at rest. The idea of " home " is per- 
 haps the only one which preserves an equal 
 influence over us through all the different 
 periods of life. 
 
 The weary child that slowly draws its 
 little tender feet, one after the other, in 
 endeavours to keep up with " dear papa," 
 who has taken it out for a long walk, looks 
 up in his face with brightening eyes, as he 
 says, " Never mind, we shall soon be home 
 now." Its tiny fingers take a firmer grasp 
 of the supporting hand of its father, and 
 its poor drooping head half erects, as it 
 thinks of the kind mother who will receive 
 it with words of sympathy for its fatmue, 
 seat it in her lap, lay its face on her 
 cherishinij bosom with comforting expres- 
 sions, and chafe its aching limbs with her 
 soft palms. 
 
 The school boy, or girl, when holiday- 
 time comes — with what anxiety do they 
 not look forward to the time of the chaise's 
 arrival, which is to take them " home !" 
 They both think of the approaching happy 
 meeting with all their affectionate famiiy — 
 the encouraging smile of the pioud father 
 — the overwhelming kisses of the fond 
 mother — the vociferous welcomes of the 
 delighted brothers and sisters. Visions of 
 weh-mprited praise bestowed on the differ- 
 ent exliibitions of the neatly executed copy- 
 book, the correctly worked sums, (those 
 tremendously long phalanxes of figures, 
 that call forth the mirthful astonishment of 
 the younger party,) the well-recited Latin 
 lines, and the " horribly hard " translation, 
 pass before his mind. — She anticipates the 
 admiration that will be elicited by the dis- 
 play of certain beautiful needlework, (that 
 pernicious destroyer of female health, both 
 bodily and mental,) which, at the expense 
 of shape and eyesight, is perhaps brought 
 to such perfection as exactly to imitate the 
 finest "Brussels." — Alas, poor Woman' 
 How comes it that we are so blind to oar 
 
 548 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 own good, as to emplty in such trifling and 
 even injurious pursuits all your faculties, 
 which (inferior to man's, as man assumes 
 they are) mi^ht still be cultivated and de- 
 veloped, so as to add mental acquirements 
 to your gentle qualities, and render you a 
 still more amiable and desirable companion 
 for us. 
 
 The man while busy at his daily occupa- 
 tion thinks of going " home " after the 
 fatigues of the day with ecstasy. He knows 
 that on his return he shall hnd an affection- 
 ate face to welcome him — a warm snug 
 room — a bright fire — a clean hearth — the 
 tea-things laid — the sofa wheeled round on 
 the rug — and, in a few minutes after his 
 entrance, his wife silting by his side, con- 
 soling him in his vexations, aiding him in 
 his plans for the future, or participating in 
 his joys, and smiling upon him for the 
 good news he may have brought home for 
 her — his children climbing on the hassock 
 at his feet, leaning over his knees to eye 
 his face with joyous eagerness, that they 
 may coaxingly win his intercession with 
 •' dear mamma " for " only half an hour 
 longer." 
 
 I have hitherto looked only at the bright 
 side of the picture. I am unhappily aware 
 that there are individuals who never can 
 know the luxury of " home." Mr. Charles 
 Lamb says, that " the home of the very 
 poor is no home." And I also aver, that 
 the home of the very rich is no home. lie 
 may be constantly at home if he chooses, 
 therefore he can never know the delightful 
 sensation of a return to it, after birring 
 been obliged (for with human beings the 
 chief charm of a thing seems to arise from 
 its being denied to us) to remain out all 
 day. Besides, •' home " should be a place 
 of "simplicity and quiet retirement after the 
 turmoil of the world. Do the rich find 
 these amid their numerous guests and 
 officious domestics— their idle ceremony, 
 and pomp, and ostentation? This is not 
 the " ease and comfort " (that greatest 
 source of an Englishman's delit'ht) which 
 should be peculiar to " home." 
 
 There is, likewise, another being who 
 never can taste the truly exquisite enjoy- 
 ment of " home :" — I mean the " Old 
 Bachelor." He leturns to his lodging (I 
 will not say to his " home ")— there may 
 be every thing he can possibly desire in the 
 shape of mere external comforts, provided 
 for him by the officious zeal and anxious 
 wish to please of Mrs. Smith, (his house- 
 keeper,) but still the room has an air of 
 chilling vacancy :— the very atmosphere of 
 the aj ailment has a di^, uninhabited 
 
 appearance — the chairs, set round \*ith pro- 
 voking neatness, look reoroachfullv useless 
 and unoccupied — and tne tables and othe. 
 furniture shine with impertinent and futile 
 brightness. All is dreary and repelling. 
 No gentle face welcomes his arrival — no 
 loving hand meets his — no kind looks an- 
 swer the listless gaze he throws rnund the 
 apartment as he enters. He sits down to a 
 book — alone. There is no one sitting by 
 his side to enjoy with him the favourite 
 passage, the apt remark, the just criticism 
 — no eyes in which to read his own feelings 
 — his own tastes are unappreciated and 
 unreflectcd — he has no resource but him- 
 self — no one to look up to but himself— all 
 his enjoyment, all his happiness must ema- 
 nate from himself. He flings down the 
 volume in despair — buries his face in his 
 hands — thinks of her who might have been 
 his beloved and heart-cheering companion 
 
 — she is gone ! 
 
 Home! — scene of tenderly cherished 
 infancy — of youthful buoyancy, brilliant 
 with enjoying and hopeful feelings — ol 
 maturer and exquisite happiness — of all 
 our best feelings — towards thee does my 
 heart ever yearn in constant and grateful 
 affection ! — 
 
 M. H. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 THE BLACKBERRY BLOSSOM. 
 
 Written in Epping Forest. 
 
 The maiden's blush, 
 
 Sweet blackberry blossom, thou 
 Wearest, in prickly leaves that rove 
 
 O'er friendlike turning bough. 
 
 Companionship 
 
 Thine attributes, thou givest 
 Likeness of virtue shielded safe 
 
 From lives with whom thou livest. 
 
 What is mankind ? 
 
 But like thy wand'rirg? — Time 
 Leads mortals through the maze of life, 
 
 And thousands hopewards climb. 
 
 A sudden blast — 
 
 Then what of hope remains ? 
 Beauty full soon by sickness falls, 
 
 And pleasures die in pains. 
 
 But fruit succeeds — 
 
 Thou ripenest by the sky: 
 May Imman hearts bear fruits of peac« 
 
 Before in earth tkcy lie 1 
 
 August IQ, 182r. 
 
 549 
 
THE TABLE BOOK, 
 
 B.URNSAL LICH-GATE. 
 
 GEASSMERE FONT. 
 
 NOTES ON A TOUR, CHIEFLY PEDESTEIAN, FEOM SKIFTON IN GEAVEN, 
 TOEKSHIEE, TO KESWICK, IN CUMBEELAND. 
 
 " I hate the man who can travel from Dan to Beersheba and say 'tis all barren." — Sterne, 
 
 July 14, 1827. Left Skipton for Kes- 
 wick. The road from Skipton to Burnsal 
 exhibits some romantic scenery, which the 
 muse of Wordsworth has made classic 
 ground. About half a mile from Rilston, 
 on the right-hand side of the road, are the 
 ruins of Norton tower, one of the principal 
 scenes in the poem of the " White Doe of 
 Rylstone." Having visited the tower before, 
 I did not think it worth while to reascend 
 'he immense precipice on which it stands. 
 
 15th, Sunday. Previously to the com- 
 mencement of the service at Bur7isal church, 
 I sketched the " lich-gate," which differs 
 considerably from the beautiful one of 
 Beckenham, in Kent; a drawing whereof 
 is in my friend Mr. Hone's Table Book. 
 The manner wherein the gate turns on its 
 pivot is rather curious, and will be best 
 exemplified by the drawing above. The 
 church, an old structure, apparently of the 
 reign of Henry VH., is pleasantly situated 
 on " the banks of the crystal Wharfe." WTiile 
 attending divine service, one or two things 
 struck me as remarkable. The church has 
 an organ, on which two voluntaries were 
 
 played; one after the psalms for the day, 
 and the other after the second iesson ; but 
 during the singing of the metrical psalms 
 the organ was silent. Instead of it two oi 
 three strange-looking countrymen in the 
 organ gallery raised an inharmonious noise 
 with a small fiddle, a flute, and a clarinet. 
 Why do the churchwardens allow this! 
 The gallery of the church should not be 
 allowed to resemble the interior of an ale- 
 house at a village feast. The church would 
 have looked better had it been cleaner ; 
 the pew wherein I sat was covered with 
 cobwebs. The business of the church- 
 wardens seemed to me to consist rather iu 
 thumping the heads of naughty boys than 
 in looking after the state of the church. 
 
 Afternoon, same day. At Linton, about 
 two miles up the river, arrived during the 
 time of service. This church has suffered 
 much from the "beautifiers;" who, amongst 
 other equally judicious improvements, have 
 placed a Veiietian window over the altar of 
 the Gothic edifice : the present incumbent, 
 the Rev. Mr. Coulthurst, is about to remove 
 it. The altar rails were covered with 
 
 550 
 
"^hen I am dead, before I be buried. 
 Hearken ye iiiaideiis fair, this mnst ye do — 
 
 Make me a garland of marjoram and lemon thyme, 
 Mixed with the pansy, resemary, and me. 
 
 THB TABLE BOOK. 
 
 garlands made of artificial flowers. Church July 17, 18. Kirby Lonsdale. Ttns fowr 
 j^arlands were formerly made of real flowers, is on the banks of the Lune, which here 
 they are borne before the corpses of un- winds through a finely wooded valley. It 
 named young women. I have heard an has an elegant old bridge. In one of the 
 old woman in Durham sing the following battlements is a stone, resembling a Roman 
 stanza, which evidently alludes to the altar, with this inscription — Feake God, 
 justom : — HoNORE TE KiNGE, 1683. Why and when 
 
 placed there I know not. Drunken Bar- 
 na.by's '^' Aulam factam in tubernam," may 
 be seen in the main street : it is still used 
 as an inn. The church is a handsome 
 structure; near the altar rails I observed 
 The practice of bearing the garlands is still '^^ ^^^^^ °^ consanguinity placed.* At the 
 very common in the country churches m '^^^^ ^"^ ^^ a fine Norman doorway, a 
 Craven. considerable sufferer by " beautifying." 
 
 In the church-yard is the following in- ^° *^® church-yard, on a neat pyramidal 
 scription on a stone, date 1825 ! The march tombstone, is the following melancholy in- 
 of intellect is surely here proceeding at a scription : 
 rapid pace I 
 
 Remember man, that paseth by 
 As thou is now so onoe was I ; 
 And as I is so must thou be. 
 Prepare thyself to follow me. 
 
 Some one had written beneath. 
 
 To follow you's not my intent. 
 Unless I knew which way you went. 
 
 July 16. Went from Linton over the 
 moors to Claphain ; passed through Skire- 
 thorns, over Skirethorns moor, by Malham 
 Water, by the side of Pennygent, through 
 
 Great and Little Stainforth, over • 
 
 moor,* through Wharfs and Austwick. 
 Malham Water is a beautiful lake, well 
 worthy of the traveller's notice ; it is sup- 
 posed to be the source of the river Aire, 
 which springs in the neighbourhood. About 
 a mile from it is the famous chasm Gor- 
 
 dale. (Vide Gray's Journal.) From 
 
 moor,* above the village of Little Stain- 
 forth, is a sublime view of mountain scenery, 
 in which Pennygent is a principal object. 
 No traveller should pass through Little 
 Stainforth without seeing the waterfall be- 
 low the bridge. There is a finer one in the 
 
 neighbourhood, but I was ignorant of it evening it is cut down and withered. 
 
 Eastern side. 
 
 Sacked 
 
 to the Memory of 
 
 Alice Clark, 
 
 Aged 31 years ; 
 
 AONES Wallino, 
 
 Aged 25; 
 
 Bella ConNTHwrAiTE, 
 
 Aged 20 ; 
 
 Hannah Ahmstbono, 
 
 Aged 18 ; 
 
 Agnes Nicholson, 
 
 Aged 17 : 
 
 All of whom were hurried into eternity by the a^-fti! 
 
 conflagration by fire of the Rose and Crown Hotel, la 
 
 this town, on the night of the 6 December, 1820. 
 
 JVestern side. 
 
 In the midst of life we are in Death. 
 
 Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever 
 thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even (ron; 
 everlasting to everlasting thou art, O God 1 
 
 Thou turnest man to destruction, and sayest, Return, 
 ye children of men. 
 
 Thou earnest them away as with a flood ; they are 
 as a sleep: in the morning they are like grass w'licl 
 springeth up. 
 
 In the morning it flourisheth and groweth up : m the 
 
 when I passed through the village. From 
 the waterfall the bridge appears to great 
 advantage; the arch has a fine span. There 
 are, I was told, some curious caves in this 
 part. N.B. This day's journey taught me 
 that the information of the peasantry with 
 respect to distances is not to be depended 
 upon : at Little Stainforth I was informed 
 it was three miles to Clapham ; six would 
 have been nearer the mark. 
 
 Erected by voluntary contributions. 
 
 All the sufiierers in this dreadful conflagra- 
 tion seem to have been young. " Whom 
 the Gods love die young," I think is said 
 by one of the Grecian poets. 
 
 A walk, extending from the north gate 
 of the chuich-yard along the banks of t.'^e 
 Lune, affords a delightful prospect of the 
 county, with several gentlemen's seats. 
 
 • I cannot remember the names: the map of Yoik- 
 uhiie i have affords no cule. 
 
 * This seems a pretty general custom :n Westraore* 
 land. Do the young people of thisoounty need inforu* 
 inj that " u man may not marry bia grandmother ? " 
 
 551 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 N.B. The Rev. Mr. Hunt, the author of an 
 eleeaut version of Tasso's Jerusalem Deli- 
 vered, was once curate here. I believe the 
 well-known Carus Wilson is the officiating 
 minister at present. 
 
 18th, Evening — At Kendal. At Cow- 
 brow half way between Kirby Lonsdale 
 and this place, is the following stanza, be- 
 neath a sign representing a ploughboy : — 
 
 The weather's fair, the season's now. 
 Drive on my boys, God speed the plough; 
 Ail yon my friends pray call and see 
 What jolly boi/s we ploughmta be. 
 
 Had this " poetry" been in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Durham, I should have sus- 
 pected it to have been written either by 
 the late Baron Brown, or Vet. Doc. Mar- 
 shall, though I do not think the doctor 
 would have made such a bull as runs in 
 the last line. 
 
 19. Left Kendal for Bownesn. Arrived 
 there in the evening, and took up my quar- 
 ters at the posting-house at the entrance of 
 the village. From the front windows of 
 the inn is a good view of Windermere. At 
 the time of my arrival it was invisible ; both 
 lake and village were enveloped in a thick 
 i:nist. About eight o'clock the mist dis- 
 persed, the sky grew clear, and Winder- 
 mere was seen in all its beauty. This is 
 the largest of the English lakes ; and, ac- 
 cording to Mr. Athey's Guide, is ten miles 
 in length. The hills ai'ound it are delight- 
 fully wooded, but the scenery is tame when 
 compared with that of the more northern 
 lakes. Bell's Island is now called Cur- 
 wen's Island, from its being the country 
 residence of Mr. Curwen : it is the largest 
 of the numerous islands on Windermere. 
 In Bowncss church-yard is a tomb to the 
 memory of Rassellas Belfield, an Abyssi- 
 nian. Near Troutbeck bridge, in the neigh- 
 bourhood, is the seat of the laureate of the 
 Palmy isle. In the midst of the village is 
 a tiee on which notices of sales are posted. 
 Bowness is to the inhabitants of Kendal 
 ■what Hornsey is to the cocknies, and dur- 
 ing the summer months gipsying excur- 
 sions are very frequent. On the evening 
 that I arrived some Oxonians were '' asto- 
 nishing the natives:" they seemea ro think 
 that, as they were from college, they had a 
 right to give themselves airs. The inhabit- 
 ants appeared to regard them with mingled 
 ooks of pity and derision. 
 
 July 20. Left Bowness for Graxsmere, 
 through Ambleside and Rydal. At the last 
 place I turned aside to see Rydal Mount, 
 ihe residence of the celebrated poet, Words- 
 «vorth. While proceeding to his cottage, 
 
 an old woman popped out her liead from 
 the window of a rude Init, and asked me if 
 I should like to see the waterfall : I entered 
 her dwelling, where a good fire of sticks 
 and turf was burning on the hearth ; and, 
 from the conversation of the dame, I 
 gleaned that she was a dependant on the 
 bounty of Lady le Fleming, in whose 
 grounds the waterfall was : she at length 
 conducted me to it. This waterfall is cer- 
 tainly a fine one, but as seen through the 
 window of a summer-house it has rather a 
 cockney appearance. Rydal Hall is a huge 
 uncouth building ; the beautifiers have 
 made the old mansion look like a factory : 
 when I first saw it from the road I mistook 
 it for one. N.B. For seeing the waterfall, 
 the price is " what you choose !" 
 
 I now proceeded to Rydal Mount, which, 
 from the trees surrounding it, can hardly 
 be seen from the road : the approach is 
 shaded by beautiful laurels — proper trees 
 _,fb,r_ the residence of Wordsworth ! While 
 reconnoitring r vvas caught in a heavy 
 thunder-shower, and should have been 
 drenched, had not a pretty servant girl m- 
 vited me into the kitchen, where I sat for 
 at least an hour. On the dresser, in a large 
 wicker cage, were two turtledoves ; these, 
 I learnt, were great favourites, or rather pets, 
 (that was the word,) with the bard. The 
 shower having ceased, I obtained Mrs. 
 Wordsworth's leave to walk through the 
 garden : from the mount in it I gained an 
 excellent view of the front part of the 
 house. I had scarcely reached the village 
 of Rydal when another shower drove me 
 into a cottage, from the door of which I 
 had my fiist view of the author of the Lyri- 
 cal Ballads: he is rather tall, apparently 
 about fifty years of age; he was dressed m 
 a hair cap, plaid coat, and white trowsers. 
 It was gratifying to hear how the Rydal 
 peasantry spoke of this good man. One 
 said he was kind to the poor ; another, that 
 he was very religious ; another, that he had 
 no pride, and would speak to any body : 
 all were loud in his praise. 
 
 At Rydal is a neat gothic church, lately 
 erected at the sole cost of Lady le Fleming. 
 I have not seen any new church that pleased 
 me so much as this; the east end is finely 
 conceived, and both the exterior and inte- 
 rior reflect the highest credit on the taste 
 and talent of the artist, Mr. Webster of 
 Kendal. I wished Mr. Hone had seen it 
 with me, for 1 know he would have been 
 delighted with it. The church tower forms 
 a pretty object from many parts of the 
 neighbourhood. Rydal lake is small, but 
 very romantic. On some of the surrounding 
 
 552: 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 hills I observed those rude erections of 
 loose stones which the country boys are in 
 the habit of building, and which they call 
 men. Wordsworth alludes to these men in 
 his Lyrical Ballads: — 
 
 - they chanc'd to climb, 
 
 To the top of hig-h ' 
 And there did they build, without mortar or lime, 
 A man on the top of the crag. 
 
 A few of these " men " being provided 
 with arms, resemble crosses, and transport 
 the imagination of the beholder to catholic 
 countries. The " Opium Eater" resides in 
 this part; I saw him; his name is ])e 
 
 Q . 
 
 July 21. Grassmere. Arrived here at 
 nine in the morning, and took up my 
 quarters at Jonathan Bell's, the Grassmere 
 inn. This is a most lovely village. The 
 poem of the " City of the Plague," in which 
 its lake and church are so exquisitely de- 
 scribed, conveys but a faint idea of its 
 beauties — even my favourite, Wilson, has 
 tailed in delineating this fairy spot. On 
 entering, the first object that struck me was 
 the church and its cemetery. 
 
 There is a little church-yard on the side 
 
 Of a low hill that hangs o'er Grassmere lake. 
 
 Most beautiful it is 1 a vernal spot 
 
 Enclos'd with wooded rocks, where a few graves 
 
 Lie shelter'd, sleeping in eternal calm — 
 
 Go thither when you will, and that sweet spot 
 
 Is bright w:th sunshine. 
 
 Death put on 
 The countenance of an angel, in the spot 
 
 Which he had sanctified 
 
 City of the Plague. 
 
 T found the description correct, with the 
 exception of the sunshine passage ; for 
 when I entered the church-yard not a sun 
 ray smiled on the graves ; but, on the con- 
 trary, gloomy clouds were frowning above. 
 The church door was open, and 1 discovered 
 that the villagers were strewing the floors 
 with fresh rushes. I learnt from the old 
 clerk, that, according to annual custom, 
 t'he rush-bearing procession would be in 
 the evening. I asked the clerk if there were 
 any dissenters m the neighbourhood; he 
 said, no, not nearer than Keswick, where 
 there were some that called themselves 
 Presbyterians ; but he did not know what 
 they were, he believed them to be a kind 
 of papishes.-f During the whole of this day 
 
 • I quote from memory, and cannot fill up the blank. 
 
 + The only instance of dissent I heard of betwixt 
 Kendal and Keswick, was a private Unitarian chapel 
 St a gentleman's seat near Bowness. At Kendal and 
 Keswick the dissenters are vary numerous. 
 
 I observed the children busily employed 'tn 
 preparing garlands of such ^ild Howers as 
 the beautiful valley produces, for the even- 
 ing procession, which commenced at nine, 
 in the following order: — The children 
 (chiefly girls) holding these garlands, pa- 
 raded through the village, preceded by the 
 Union band, (thanks to the great drum for 
 this information ;) they then entered the 
 church, where the three largest garlands 
 were placed on the altar, and the remaining 
 ones in various other parts of the place. 
 (By the by, the beautifiers have placed an 
 ugly window above the altar, of the non- 
 descript order of architecture.) In the pro- 
 cession I observed the " Opium Eater," 
 Mr. Barber, an opulent gentleman residing 
 in the neighbourhood, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Wordsworth, Miss Wordsworth, and Miss 
 Dora Wordsworth. Wordsworth is the 
 chief supporter of these riostic cetTmonies,, 
 The procession over, the party adjourned 
 to the ball-room, a hayloft, at my worthy 
 friend, Mr. Bell's, where the country lads 
 and lasses tripped it merrily and heavily. 
 They called the amusement dancing, but 1 
 called it thumping; for he who could make 
 the greatest noise seemed to be esteemed the 
 best dancer; and, on the present occasion, 
 I think Mr. Pooley, the schoolmaster, bore 
 away the palm. Billy Dawson, the fiddler, 
 boasted to me of having been the officiating 
 minstrel at this ceremony for the last six 
 and forty years. He made grievous com- 
 plaints of the outlandish tunes which the 
 " Union band chaps" introduce : in the 
 procession of this evening they annoyed 
 Billy by playing the " Hunters' Chorus in 
 P'riskits." " W^ho," said Billy, " can keep 
 time wii'n such a queer thing?" Amongst 
 the gentlemen dancers was one Dan Bur- 
 kitt; he introduced himself to me, by 
 seizing my coat collar in a mode that would 
 have given a Burlington Arcade lounger 
 
 the hysterics, and saying, " I'm 
 
 old Dan Burkitt, of Wytheburn, sixty-six 
 years old — not a better jigger in Westmore- 
 land." No, thought I, nor a greater toss- 
 pot. On my relating this to an old man 
 present, he told me not to judge of West- 
 moreland manners by Dan's ; " for," said 
 he, " you see, sir, he is a .statestnan, and 
 has been at Lunnon, and so takes liberties." 
 In Westmoreland, farmers residing on their 
 own estate are called " statesmen." The 
 dance was kept up till a quarter to twelve, 
 when a livery-servant entered, and deliver- 
 ed the following verbal message to Billy — 
 " Master's respects, and will thank you to 
 lend him the fiddlestick." Billy took the 
 hint; the sabbath morn was at hand, aod 
 
 553 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 the pastor of the parish had adopted this 
 gentle mode of apprizing the assembled 
 revellers that they ought to cease their 
 revelry. The servant departed with the 
 fiddlestick, the chandelier was removed, 
 and when the village clock struck twelve 
 not an individual was to be seen out of 
 doors in the village. No disturbance of 
 any kind interrupted the dance : Dan Bur- 
 kitt was the only person at all " how came 
 you so ?" and he was " non se ipse" before 
 the jollity commenced. He told me he 
 was " seldom sober ;" and I believed what 
 he said. The rush-bearing is now, I be- 
 lieve, almost entirely confined to West- 
 moreland. It was once customary in 
 Craven, as appears from the following ex- 
 tract from Dr. Whitaker: — "Among the 
 seasons of periodical festivity, was the 
 rush-bearing, or the ceremony of conveying 
 fresh rushes to strew the floor of the parish 
 church. This method of covering floors 
 was universal in houses while floors were 
 of earth, but is now confined to places of 
 worship : the bundles of the girls were 
 adorned with wreaths of flowers, and the 
 evening concluded with a dance. In Craven 
 the custom has wholly ceased." 
 
 In Westmoreland the custom has under- 
 gone a change. Billy remembered when 
 the lasses bore the rushes in the evening 
 procession, and strewed the church floor at 
 the same time that they decorated the 
 church with garlands ; now, the rushes are 
 laid in the morning by the ringer and 
 clerk, and no rushes are introduced in the 
 evening procession. I do not like old cus- 
 toms to change ; for, like mortals, they 
 change before they die altogether. 
 
 The interest of the scene at Grassmere 
 was heightened to me, by my discovering 
 that the dancing-room of the rush-bearers 
 was the ball-room of Mr. Wilson's chil- 
 dren's dance. The dancing-master described 
 so exquisitely in his poem is John Carra- 
 dus. From an old inhabitant of Grass- 
 mere I had the following anecdotes of the 
 now professor of moral philosophy. He was 
 once a private in the Kendal local militia ; 
 he might have been a captain, but not hav- 
 ing sufficient knowledge of military tactics, 
 he declined the honour. 
 
 Wilson, while in the militia, was billeted 
 at one of the Kendal inns, where a brother 
 private was boasting of his skill in leaping, 
 and stated, that he never met with his 
 equal. Wilson betted a guinea that he 
 would outleap him ; the wager was accept- 
 ed, and the poet came off vicloiious, having 
 leaped seven yards; his bragging antago- 
 nist, leaped only five. Mr. Wilson appears 
 
 to have been celebrated in Westmoreland 
 for these things ; being a good climber ol 
 trees, an excellent swimmer, and a firsi-rate 
 leaper. 
 
 The poet had a curious fancy in wearino 
 his hair in long curls, which flowed about 
 his neck. His sergeant noticed these curls, 
 and remarked, that in the militia they 
 wante«d men and not puppies; requesting, 
 at the same time, that he would wear his 
 hair like other Christians. The request oi 
 the sergeant was complied with, and the 
 poet's head was soon deprived of its tresses. 
 On a friend blaming him for submitting to 
 the orders of a militia sergeant, he coolly 
 said, " I have acted correctly; it is the 
 duty of an inferior soldier to submit to a 
 superior.'' 
 
 While in the militia, Wilson opposed 
 himself to seven beggars, or trampers, of 
 " Yoanghusband's gang,'' who were insult- 
 ine a poor man. In this fray the bard got 
 two black eyes ; " but," added the narrator, 
 " no matter — he got 'em in a good cause.'' 
 
 July 22, Sunday, Attended church. 
 After service sketched the font, which ap- 
 peared to be of great antiquity. Near the 
 altar is the following inscription on a beau- 
 tiful marble monument, designed and exe- 
 cuted by Webster of Kendal : the poetry 
 is by Wordsworth. 
 
 In the Bukial Ground 
 Of this church are deposited the remains of Jemima 
 Ann Dkbobah, second Daughter of Sir Egeeton 
 Bktdoes, of Denton Court, Kent, Bart. She departed 
 this life, at the Ivy Cottage, Rydal, May 25, 18:]2, 
 Aged i!8 years. This memorial is erected by her hus- 
 band, Edward Quillinan. 
 
 These vales were saddened with no common gloom 
 When good Jemima perished in her bloom ; 
 When, such the awful will of Heaven, she died 
 By flames breathed on her from her own fire-side. 
 On earth we dimly see, and but in part 
 We know, yet faith sustains the sorrowing heart : 
 And she the pure, the patient, and the meek, 
 Might have fit epitaph could feelings speak: 
 If words could tell, and monuments record. 
 How treasures lost are inwardly deplored, 
 No name by grief's fond eloquence adorned. 
 More than Jemima's would be praised and mournei 
 The tender virtues of her blameless life, 
 Bright in the daughter, brighter in the wife; 
 And in the cheerful mother brightest shone — 
 That light hath past away— the will of God be done 
 
 From the church-yard I transcribed the 
 following inscriptions : — 
 
 Hebk lieth 
 The Dody of Thomas, the son of William and Ma« 
 
 554 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 'VoaDsflroETH. He died on the 1st of December, a. d. 
 .813. 
 
 Six months to six years added, he remained 
 Upon this sinful earth by sin unstained. 
 O blessed Lord, whose meroy then removed 
 A child whom every eye that looked on loved. 
 Support us, teach us calmly to resign 
 What we possessed, and now is wholly thine. 
 
 Sacred to the Memory or 
 William Green, the last 23 years of whose life were 
 massed in tlie neighbourhood, where, by his skill and 
 Bdustry as an artisr,, he produced faithful representa- 
 tions of the county, and lasting memorials of its more 
 perishable features. 
 
 He was bom at Manchester, 
 
 And died at Ambleside, 
 
 On the 29 Day of April, 1823, in the 63 year of 
 
 his age, deeply lamented by a numeroas family, 
 
 and universally respected. 
 
 His afflicted Widow 
 
 Caused this stone to be erected. 
 
 Green was a surprising man, and his 
 ■sketches of mountain scenes are correctly 
 executed, tliou^h I never liked his manner 
 )f diawing; and in his colouring there is 
 something glaring and unnatural But the 
 fame of Green does not rest on his abilities 
 is an artist. As the historian of the Eng- 
 lish maintains, his descriptive talents were 
 of the first order. His entertaining and in- 
 valuable " Guide " will be perused by pos- 
 terity with increased admiration. There is 
 a charm about it wh'ch I have not found in 
 any other of the numerous publications of 
 a similar nature. I have been informed, 
 however, that notwithstanding its excel- 
 -ence its sale was limited, and the author 
 was out of pocket by it. 
 
 Jnl^ 23. Ascended Silvertop oi Silver- 
 how, a hill at Grassmere. It is not very 
 high, but from its unevenness it is not easy 
 to reach the summit. The view from it is 
 rather extensive, considering its very mode- 
 rate height. When I ascended there was a 
 considerable mist, yet I could distinguish 
 Windermere, Kydal lake and church, and 
 the surrounding objects. To day I leave 
 Grassmere ; I do it with regret, but with 
 hopes of once more visiting it, and seeing 
 Jonathan Bell again. He is one of the 
 pleasantest fellows I ever met with, and I 
 shall recommend the Grassmere inn to all 
 my friends who may visit the lakes. 
 
 July 24. Walked to iiLesH'icft. The road 
 from Grassmere is so well described in 
 Mr. Otlej''s srnalLxU-'de, (which has been 
 
 road passes by Thulniere, or contracted 
 Lake, (so called from its sudden contraction 
 in the middle, where there is a neat bridge,) 
 through the greatest part of Saint John's 
 Vale, so celebrated by ?ir Walter Scott's 
 poem, the " Bridal of Triermain.'* Oppo- 
 site Wytheburn chapel, (which is the small- 
 est I ever saw,) I entered into conversation 
 with a labouring man, who was well ac- 
 quainted with the late Charles Gouche, the 
 " gentle pilgrim of nature," who met an 
 untimely death by falling over one of the 
 precipices of Helvellyn. Some time pre- 
 vious to his death he had lodged at the 
 Cherry Tree, near Wytheburn. The man 
 related many anecdotes of him, but none 
 particularly interesting. Mr. Gouche was 
 an enthusiastic admirer of poetry, which 
 he would frequently recite to him and 
 others of his friends. 
 
 Keswick is a neat town. The Greta runs 
 through it ; but, alas ! its once pure waters 
 have become polluted by the filthy factories 
 now on its banks. Havino been obliged 
 to leave Keswick in the afternoon of the 
 day after my arrival, I was unable to see 
 much of it or its neighbourhood. 1 paid a 
 hasty visit to Derwentwater and the falls ot 
 Lowdore. The latter, from the dryness oi 
 the season, much disappointed me. I saw 
 the Druid's Temple on the old road to 
 Penrith; it is a circle formed of rough stones. 
 The common people pretend these stones 
 cannot be counted, but 1 found no diflficulty 
 in ascertaining their number to be forty- 
 eight. A barbarian once recommended 
 the owner to blast these stones for walling, 
 but happily for the antiquary his suggestion 
 was not attended to. Green, in his guide, 
 speaking of this spot, alludes to the very 
 erroneous opinion that the druidical was a 
 polytheutic religion.— N B. Skiddaw has a 
 majestic appearance when viewed from 
 Keswick. Southey's house is at the foot. 
 
 of the greatest use to me,) that it would be 
 only a waste of tim-e and paper to paiticu- 
 Inrize its numerous interesting objects. The 
 
 During my residence in the above parts 
 I collected the following scraps, by whom 
 written, or whether original, I know not. 
 
 Sonnet. 
 
 The nimble fancy of all beauteous Greece 
 Fabled young Love an everlasting: boy. 
 That through the blithe air, like a pulse of joy, 
 
 Wing'd his bright vi-ay — a life that could not cease. 
 
 Nor suffer dimi-ntion or increase ; 
 
 Whose quiver, fraught with quaint delicious woes, 
 
 And wounds that hurt not— thorns plucked from th 
 rose 
 
 Making the fond heart hate its stagnant 
 
 55d 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Was ever full. Oh musical eonfeit 
 
 Of old Idolatry, and youthful time, 
 
 fit emanation of a happy clime, 
 Where but to live, to move, to breathe, was sweet; 
 ■Vnd love indeed came floating on the air, 
 A. winged God, for ever fresh and fair I 
 
 Sonnet. 
 
 i t must be so — my infant love must find 
 In my own breast a cradle and a grave; 
 Like a rich jewel hid beneath the wave, 
 
 Or rebel spirit bound within the rind 
 
 Of some old [wither'd] oak — or fast enshrin'J 
 
 In the cold durance of an echoing cave 
 
 Yet better thus, than cold disdain to brave ; 
 
 Or worse, to taint the quiet of that mind 
 That decks its temple with unearthly grace. 
 
 Together must we dwell my dream and I — 
 
 Unknown then live, and unlamented die 
 Rather than dim the lustre of tliat face. 
 Or drive the laughing dimple from its place. 
 
 Or heave that white breast with a painful sigh. 
 
 Sonnet. 
 
 Few lov'd the youthful bard, for he was one 
 Whose face, tho' with inteUlgence it beam'd. 
 Was ever sad ; if with a smile it gleara'd 
 
 It was but momentary, like the sun 
 Darting one bright ray thro' the thunder cloud- 
 He lov'd the secret vale, and not the crowd 
 
 And hum of populous cities — some would say 
 There was a secret labouring in his breast, 
 That made him cheerless and disturb'd his rest; 
 
 Whose influence sad he could not drive away. 
 
 What caused the young bard's woe was never known. 
 Yet, once, a wanderer deem'd an hapless flame 
 Consani'd his life away, for one, whose aame 
 
 He heard him breathe, upon the luountaius lone 1 
 
 Song. 
 
 She IS not fair to outward vievr. 
 
 As many maidens be ; 
 Her loveliness I never knew. 
 
 Until she smil'd on me. 
 O then I saw her eye was blight, 
 A well of love, a spring of light. 
 
 But now her looks are coy and cold. 
 
 To mine they ne'er reply ; 
 And yet I cease not to behold 
 
 The love-light in her eye — 
 Her very frowns are fairer far. 
 Than smiles of other maidens are. i 
 
 Song. 
 
 I have lived, and I have loved. 
 
 Have lived, and loved in vain ; 
 Some joy, and many woes, hare proA ed. 
 
 Which may not be again. 
 My lieart is old — my eye is sere — 
 Joy wins no smile, 8nd grief no tear. 
 
 1 would hope, if hope I could, 
 
 Tho' sure to be deceived; 
 There's sweetness in a thought of gojd. 
 
 If 'tis not quite believed — 
 But fancy ne'er repeats the strain 
 That memory once reproves, for vain. 
 
 Here endeth my journal. 
 
 T. Q. M. 
 
 GENDERS.— JAMES HARRIS. 
 
 A good translation of Xenophon's Cyro- 
 paedia is much wanted. That by Ashley is 
 vilely done; though Mr, Harris has pro- 
 nounced a high eulogium on it in his Phi- 
 loloo;ical Inquiries. 
 
 Mr. Harris was an excellent Greeit 
 scholar, but beyond that he does not seem 
 to have great merit as a writer. In h-' 
 " Hermes," speaking of the grammaticctl 
 genders, he says, they are founded on a 
 " reasoning which discovers, even in things 
 without sex, a distant analogy to that great 
 distinction, which, according to Milton, ani- 
 mates the world." To this he adds, in a note, 
 ' Linnaeus has traced the dLstinction of sexes, 
 through the vegetable world, and made it 
 the basis of his botanic method." Should 
 not one be induced to think from this, that 
 Linnaeus classed some plants as male, and 
 others as female, from their form and cha- 
 racter? when, in fact, they are classed 
 according to the number and form of those 
 parts on which the fructification of the 
 plants actually depends. What becomes 
 of this supposed analogy in the German 
 language, where the sun is feminine, and 
 the moon masculine? 
 
 Lowth, in his grammar, mentions the 
 poetical advantage our language derives 
 from making all inanimate things neuter, 
 by the power it gives of personification by 
 the mere change offender.* 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 WHAT IS LIFE? 
 
 What is life ? 'tis like the ocean, 
 In its placid hours of rest. 
 
 Sleeping calmly — bo emotion 
 Rising in its tranquil breast. 
 
 But too soon the heavenly sky 
 Is obscured by nature's hand. 
 
 And the whirlwind passing by 
 I^paves a wreck upon the strai.i 
 
 Py«. 
 
 556 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 DOCTOR LETTSOM. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — Few inherited better qualities or 
 were more eccentric than the late Dr. 
 Lettsom. While he associated with lite- 
 rary men, communicated with literary 
 works, and wrote and published his medi- 
 cal experience, he gave gratuitous aid to 
 the needy, and apportioned his leisure to 
 useful and practical purposes. 
 
 In a work, called " Moods and Tenses," 
 lately published, I find anecdotes of the 
 doctor, which I had sent to a literary pub- 
 lication,* reprinted without acknuwledg- 
 ment, and extracted since into other works. 
 In addition to the printed anecdotes of so 
 amiable a man, I trust, sir, you will not be 
 unwilling further to illustrate his character 
 by an anecdote or two, until now untold. 
 
 The first is of a Lady and her Servant. 
 The doctor was once callefl in to attend a 
 sick lady and her maid-servant. On enter- 
 ing the passage, he was asked by the nurse 
 into the lady's chamber. " Very well,"' 
 said he mildly, " but is there not a servant 
 ill also." " Yes, sir," was the reply. "Then 
 let me prescribe for her first," he rejoined, 
 " as her services will be first wanted." His 
 request was complied with; and as he 
 predicted so it proved, — by the second 
 visit the servant was convalescent. " I 
 generally find this the case," observed the 
 doctor, good-humouredly, to his friend ; 
 " Seivants want physic only, but their mis- 
 tresses require more skill than physic. This 
 IS owing to the difference between scrub- 
 birg the stairs and scrubbing the teeth." 
 
 The second anecdote refers to books. 
 Whenever a friend borrowed a book fiom 
 the doctor's library, he rarely lent it but 
 •with this stipulation, that the supposed 
 value of the book should be deposited, with 
 the name of the borrower, and the title of 
 the volume with date, in the vacant place 
 till the book was restored. " Though at- 
 tended with some pains, I find this a good 
 plan," said the doctor; " many of my sets 
 would otherwise be imperfect. I feel plea- 
 sure in lending my books, (many I give 
 away,) but I like to see my library, like my 
 practice, as regularly conducted as possi- 
 ble." 
 
 The third anecdote relates to the cure of 
 filching. The doctor had a favourite ser- 
 vant, who manifested the frailty of taking 
 that which did not belong to him. John 
 nad abstracted a loaf of sugar from the 
 store closet, and sold it to a person that 
 
 kept a shop. Shortly afterwards, on the 
 carriage passing the shop, the doctor de- 
 sired John to go in and order a loaf or 
 lump sugar, and to pay for it, which was 
 accordingly done; but when they returned 
 home, John suspecting his master's motive, 
 made a full confession of the crime, fell on 
 his knees, implored forgiveness, and was 
 pardoned on his solemn promise of future 
 honesty. 
 
 The fourth anecdote is worthy of the 
 consideration of medical practitioners. The 
 doctor having been called to a poor " lone 
 woman," pitied her desolate situation so 
 much, that he shed tears. Her person and 
 room were squalid ; her language and de- 
 portment indicated that she had seen better 
 days; he took a slip of paper out of his 
 pocket, and wrote with his pencil the fol- 
 lowing very rare prescription to the over- 
 seers of the parish in which she resided : — 
 
 " A shilling joer diem for Mrs. Maxton : 
 Money, not Physic, will cure her. 
 
 Lettiom." 
 
 That the doctor was not a rich man may 
 be easily accounted for, when it is con- 
 sidered that at the houses of the necessitous 
 he gave more fees than he took. At public 
 medical dinners, anniversaries, and lectures, 
 he must be well remembered by many a 
 truly vivacious companion, with a truly 
 benevolent heart and good understanding 
 
 IIPI. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 A FAREWELL. 
 
 Go, go, thy heart is still thine own. 
 Go, taste of joy and gladness ; 
 
 I fondly dreamt that heart mine own, 
 To hope so now were madness. 
 
 Many a mortal yet will woo thee. 
 Many a lover trust that smile, 
 
 But, If well as I they knew thee, 
 Few thy beauty would beguile. 
 
 Like the merchant who has ventured 
 
 All his fortune on the sea. 
 So in thee my hopes were centered, 
 
 Destin'd soon a wreck to be. 
 
 Then fare-thee-well, we meet, co mr*a 
 
 Better had we never met ; 
 Thou hast many joys in store, 
 
 1 have none — my sun is sec. 
 
 Literary Chronicle, 1819, p. 392. 
 
 557 
 
THE TABLEIBOOK 
 
 « PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE." 
 Extemporaneous Lines, written to 
 
 OBLIGE \ YOUNG Friend, WHO SUGGEST- 
 ED the Topic. 
 
 The PAST, which once was uresent, then did seem, 
 As doth this present, b;it " a sick man's dream." 
 i\''wui, the remembrance of that past appears. 
 Through the dim distance ef receding years, 
 A lovely vision of fair for-ns : — and yet. 
 How different it was 1 Fool 1 to regret 
 What had no being I Time, that faithful tutor. 
 Were I but teachable, might show the fctuke 
 As the PRESENT is ; and yet I paint it 
 Teeming with joy; and my hope doth saint it. 
 With haloes round the fond imagination. 
 And so through life I pass — without a station 
 Whence I can see the present, a reality 
 To be enjoy'd-^living on ideality, 
 August 25, 1827. * 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 TOMMY MITCHESON, OF DURHAM. 
 
 The above is a well-known character in 
 Durham, called "the philosopher:" and 
 were his literary attainments to be mea- 
 sured by the books he peruses, they would 
 far exceed those ol any gentleman in the 
 place. Tommy reads every thing that he 
 can borrow — legal, medical, theological, 
 historical — true narrative, or romance, it 
 matters little to him ; — but Tommy has no 
 recollection. On arriving: at the last page 
 of a work he is just as wise as before he 
 commenced. A friend of mine once lent 
 him Gibbon's " Decline and Fall ;" and 
 when Tommy returned the last volume, 
 asked him how he liked it. " It is a nice 
 work." — " Well, tiow did you like that part 
 about the boxing match between Crib and 
 Molineux"?" — " Oh," said he, " it was the 
 nicest part in the whole book !" Poor 
 Tommy! I can say this of thee ; I have lent 
 thee many a book, and have always had 
 them returned clean and unsoiled ! I can- 
 not say this of some of my book borrowers. 
 T. Q. M. 
 
 A MAN-LIKING BIRD. 
 
 *' I have read of a bird," says Dr. Ful- 
 ler, in his Worthies of England, " which 
 hath a face like, and yet will prey upon, a 
 man, who coming to the water to drink, 
 and finding there, by reflection, that he 
 had killed one like himself, pineth away 
 by degrees, and never afterwards enjoyeth 
 itself." 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 PENNY A LOT. 
 
 A Scnoohhoy's fruitless Rajable turquov 
 Town. 
 
 The morning is warm, and the weather is fine, 
 'Tis too late for school, and too early to dine ; 
 Through the streets as I go for refreshment, or not. 
 All the dainties to sell are, a — Penny a Lot I 
 
 Fine pears, by the'r cheeks, are inviting to taste, 
 With their tails curling round, like bashaws in the 
 
 east ; 
 Red apples in heaps, on a wicker-work spot, — 
 How d'ye sell them ?— These — Kere, are, a — Penny a 
 
 Lot I 
 
 But your plums — are they cheap ? By their Orlean 
 
 hues 
 They belong to the Indigo Warehouse, — the Blues ; 
 And your gages, so green ! — are they fresh from the 
 
 cot ?— 
 From the Garden this morning, sir, — Penny a Lot I 
 
 Barcelonas in small wooden measures are piled ; 
 How attractive they look to the one-copper child, 
 With his treasure to spend ! 'But what there hare ye 
 
 got? 
 Acid Drops ! cries a Jew Boy, a — Penny a Lot t 
 
 Nice slices o-f cocoa-nut, white as the snow. 
 Brazil-nuts and almond-nuts all in a row ; 
 Napoleon's-ribs, — brandy-balls for the sot. 
 And sweet ca'*es— what are these f Sir, a — Penny a 
 Lot. 
 
 Groundsel, chickweed, canes, posies, beads, cresses, and 
 
 grapes. 
 Currants sodden'd with rains, raisins press'd in their 
 
 shapes ; 
 Seaweeds, shells, and ornaments, fit for a Grot, 
 Are all sold at the rate of, a — Penny a Lot I 
 
 What chance has the Far-thing to burn a hole through ? 
 What chance has the Half-penny, though it were new' 
 Unbless'd with a purchase, though thirsty and hot. 
 All the order of sale is, a — Penny a Lot. 
 
 P. 
 
 FISH. 
 
 Philip II. of Spain, the consort of our 
 queen Mary, gave a whimsical reason for 
 not eating fish. "They are," said he, 
 " nothing but element congealed, or a jelly 
 of water." 
 
 It is related of a queen Aterbatis, that 
 she forbad her subjects ever to toucli fish, 
 " lest," said she, w:th calculating forecast, 
 " there should not be enoKgh left to rt^cdf. 
 their sovereign." 
 
 558 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 HOGAKTH EMBARKING AT THE ISLE OF GRAIN. 
 
 on hands and knees we crawl, 
 
 And so get safe on board the yawL Gostlin^, 
 
 This sheet is dedicated to the five days' 
 travels, in 1732, of him 
 
 That drew th' essential form of grace, 
 That saw the manners in the jace. 
 
 and four of his friends. " Some few copies 
 of the Tour," says Horace Walpole, " were 
 
 printed by Mr, Nichols. It was a party of 
 pleasure down the river into Kent, under- 
 taken by Mr. Hogarth, Mr. Scott, and three 
 of their friends, in which they intended to 
 have more humour than they accomplished, 
 as is commonly the case in such meditated 
 attempts. The Tour was described in verse 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 569 
 
 90 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 by one of the company, and the drawings 
 executed by the painters, but with little merit, 
 except the views taken by Mr. Scott." 
 
 VValpole's account is an incorrect and 
 contemptuous flout of " a merry, and a very 
 merry" party, consisting — besides Hogarth, 
 and his friend Scott, a landscape painter — 
 of Thornhill, (son of sir James, whose 
 daughter Hogarth married ;) Tothall, a wooi- 
 lendraper at the corner of Tavistock-court, 
 Covent-garden, who, bemg a member of the 
 club at the Bedford coffee-house, became 
 intimate with Hogarth ; and Forrest, ano- 
 ther of Hogarth's friends. They " ac- 
 complished " much "humour," as their 
 journal shows ; though not to the under- 
 standing of Walpole, who was only a fine 
 gentleman, a wit, and an adept in artificial 
 knowledge. 
 
 A few months ago, I heard from the lips 
 of the kindest and most exquisite humourist 
 of the age, what seems to me a perfect 
 definition — " Humour is Wit steeped in 
 Mannerism." Walpole could never say, 
 because he never thought, or felt, any thing 
 like it. He was skilled in imitative mat- 
 ters alone : lie brought himself up to Art, 
 and there stopped ; his good breeding 
 would not permit him to deviate towards 
 Nature. He talked of it as people of 
 fashion do of trade — a vulgar thing, which 
 they are obliged to hear somethin"g about, 
 and cannot help being influenced by. 
 
 The " some few copies of the Tour," 
 which Horace Walpole says " were printed 
 by Mr. Nichols," and which he represents 
 as having been " described in verse by one 
 of the company," Mr. Nichols certainly 
 
 printed in 1781 ; but that gent.eman. ac- 
 quaints us, that it " was the production of 
 the ingenious Mr. W. Gostling, of Canter- 
 bury," who was not of the party. Mr 
 Nichols reprinted it at the request of som> 
 friends, on account of its rarity, in his 
 " Biographical Anecdotes of Hogarth." The 
 account of the " Tour," really written " by 
 one of the company," was in prose ; and 
 this, which certainly Walpole had not seen, 
 was edited, and given to the world, by Mr. 
 R. Livesay, in 1782, on nine oblong folio 
 pages, with etchings of the same size. 
 
 The Tour in question was not " medi- 
 tated." The party set out at midnight, at 
 a moment's warning, from the Bedford 
 Arms tavern, each with a shirt in his 
 pocket. They had particular departments 
 to attend to. Hogarth and Scott made the 
 drawings ; Thornhill (Hogarth's brother-in- 
 law) the map ; Tothall faithfully discharged 
 the joint oflnce of treasurer and caterer ; and 
 Forrest wrote the journal. They were out 
 five days only ; and on the second night 
 after their return, the book was produced, 
 bound, gilt, and lettered, and read at the 
 same tavern to the members of the club 
 then present. A copy of the journal having 
 been left in the hands of the Rev. Mr. 
 Gostling, (author of " A Walk in and about 
 Canterbury,") he wrote an imitation of it 
 in Hudibrastic verse, of which Mr. Nichols 
 printed twenty copies as a literary curiosity.* 
 
 The original Tour by Mr. Forrest, and 
 the versified version of it, are placed on 
 the ensuing pages, from the before-men- 
 tioned editions ; beginning with Forrest's 
 from the title-page, viz. 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT seemed most remarkable in the five DAYS' PF.RE- 
 GRINATION OF the five following Persons; viz. Messrs. TOTHALL, 
 SCOTT, HOGARTH, THORNHILL, and FORREST. Begun on Saturday 
 May 27th, 1732, and finished on the 31st of the same Month. " Abi tu, et fal 
 SIMILITER." — Inscription on Dulwich College Porch. LondoA : Printed for R 
 Livesay, 1782, 
 
 Saturday, May the 27th, we set out with 
 the morning, and took our departure from 
 the Bedford Arms Tavern, in Covent Gar- 
 den, to the tune of " Why should we quar- 
 rel for riches ?'' The first land we made 
 was Billingsgate, where we dropped anchor 
 at the Dark House. 
 
 There Hogarth made a caracatura of a 
 porter, who called himself the Duke of 
 Puddle Dock.* The drawing was (by his 
 grace) pasted on the cellar door. We were 
 tgreeably entertained with the humours of 
 
 • It i» to be regrettea that nis grace's picture was 
 not ©reserved in this collection 
 
 the place, particularly an explanation of a 
 Gaffer and Gammer, a little gross, though 
 in presence of two of the fair sex. Here 
 we continued till the clock struck one. 
 
 Then set sail in a Gravesend boat we 
 had hired for ourselves. Straw was our 
 bed, and a tilt our covering. The wind 
 blew hard at S.E. and by E. We had 
 much rain and no sleep for about three 
 hours. At Cuckold's Point we sung St. 
 .John, at Deptford Pishoken ; and in Black- 
 wall Reach eat hung beef and biscuit, and 
 drank right Hollands. 
 
 • Mr. Nichok's account of Hogarth. 
 
 560 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 At Purfleet we had a view of the Gib- 
 altar, the Dursley ( ralley, and Tartar 
 Pink, men of war, from the last of which 
 we took on board the pilot who brought 
 ler up the channel. He entertained us 
 with a lieutenant's account of an insult 
 offered him by the Spaniards, and other 
 afikirs of consequence, which naturally 
 made us drowsy ; and then Hogartli fel.'. 
 isleep, but soon awaKing, was going to 
 relate a dream he had, but falling asleep 
 igain, when he awaked forgot he had 
 ireamed at all. 
 
 We soon arrived at Gravesend, and 
 found some difficulty in getting ashore, 
 occasioned by an unlucky boy's having 
 placed his boat between us and the land- 
 ing-place, and refusing us passage over his 
 vessel ; but, as virtue surmounts all obsta- 
 cles, we happily accomplished this adven- 
 ture, and arrived at Mr. Bramble's at six. 
 There we washed our faces and hands, and 
 had our wigs powdered ; then drank coffee, 
 eat toast and butter, paid our reckoning, 
 and set out at eight. 
 
 We took a view of the building of the 
 New Cliurch, the unknown person's tomb 
 and epitaph, and the Market place, and 
 ithen proceeded on foot to Rochester. 
 
 Nothing remarkable happened in that 
 jo' npv, except our calling and drinking 
 th jjots of beer at an evil house, (as we 
 •were afterwards informed,) known by the 
 sign of the Dover Castle, and some small 
 -distress Scott suffered in travelling through 
 some clay ground moistened by the rain ; 
 but the country being extremely pleasant 
 .alleviated his distress, and made him 
 jocund, and about ten we arrived at Ro- 
 .chester. 
 
 There we surveyed the fine Bridge, the 
 cathedral, and the Castle ; the last well 
 worth observing. It is a very high build- 
 ing, situate on the river Medway, strong 
 built, but almost demolished. With some 
 difficulty we ascended to the top of the 
 battlements, and took a view of a most 
 beautiful country, a fine river, and some of 
 the noblest ships in the world. There is a 
 very curious well cut in the middle wall 
 from the top of the Castle, a considerable 
 ■dei.th below it^ foundation, as we believed : 
 we saw a little boy go down towards the 
 bottom of it by small holes cut in the sides, 
 wherein he placed his hands and feet, and 
 soon returned, bringing up with him a 
 young daw he had taken out of a nest 
 there. 
 
 We afterwards traversed the city, saw 
 the Town-'nouse, Watts's Hospital for relief 
 of six travelling persons, by entertaining 
 
 them with one nignt's lodging, and giving 
 to each fourpence in the morning, pro- 
 vided tney are not persons contagiously 
 di.=ieased, rogues, or proctors. 
 
 We saw on the front of a house four 
 figures in basso relievo after the antique, 
 done by some modern hand, representing 
 the Seasons; and then came to the Crown 
 inn at twelve. From that time till dinner 
 most of our company slept on several chairs 
 in the dining-room. From one o'clock till 
 three we were at dinner on a dish of soles 
 and flounders, with crab sauce, a calf's 
 heart stuffed and roasted, the liver fried,, 
 and the other appurtenances minced, a 
 leg of mutton roasted, and some green 
 peas, all very good and well drest, with 
 good small beer and excellent port. The 
 'boy of the house cleaned all our shoes, and 
 we again set out to seek adventures. 
 
 Hogarth and Scott stopped and played 
 at hop-scotch in the colonnade under the 
 Town-hall ; and then we walked on to 
 Chatham, bought shrimps and eat them, 
 and proceeded by a round-about way to 
 the king's store-houses and dock-yard., 
 which are very noble. We went on board 
 the Marlborough and the Royal Sovereign, 
 which last is reckoned one of the finest 
 ships in the navy. We saw the London, 
 the Royal George, and Royal Anne, af. 
 first-rate men of war. At six we returned 
 to our quarters at Rochester, and passed 
 the time agreeably till nine, and then, -quite 
 fatigued with pleasure, we went to bed. 
 
 Sunday at seven awaked. Hogarth and 
 Thornhill related their dreams, and we en- 
 tered into a conversation on that subject in 
 bed, and left off no wiser than we begun. 
 We arose and missed Scott, who soon 
 came, and acquainted us that he had been on 
 the bridge drawing a view of some part of 
 the river, (vide Drawing the 2d,) and won- 
 dered at the people staring at him, till he 
 recollected it was Sunday. We askefl him 
 to produce the drawing; and he told us he 
 had not drawn any thing. We were all 
 desirous to have him reconcile this contra- 
 diction ; but other affairs intervening, pre- 
 vented our further inquiry. 
 
 At nine we breakfasted, and set out over 
 the bridge, through part of Stroud, and by 
 the Medway side. Going through the 
 fields, we were attacked by a severe shower 
 of rain ; to escape which Scott retired under 
 a hedge, and lying down had the misfortune 
 
 to soil the back of his coat . Uneasy 
 
 at this, and requiring assistance to be 
 
 cleaned , he missed a white cambric 
 
 handkerchief, which he declared was lent 
 him by his spouse ; and though he soon 
 
 561 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 found il, yer was his joy at that success 
 again abated by his fear that it was torn ; 
 bLt being soon convinced that he was more 
 afraid than hurt, we all proceeded merrily 
 to Frendsbury. 
 
 We there viewed the church and church- 
 yard, pleasantly situated. There are some 
 bad epitaphs, and in the church is hung up 
 i. list of benefactions to the parish, at the 
 bottom of which there is wrote, " Witness 
 our hands," and subscribed with the name 
 of " William Gibbons, Vicar," only. This 
 seemed a little odd; but being in such a 
 place we imagined there might be some 
 mystery in it, sO inquired no further. 
 
 At ten we walked on, and calling a 
 council among ourselves, it was proposed, 
 that if any one was dissatisfied with our 
 past proceedings, or intended progress, he 
 might depatriate, and be allowed money to 
 bear his charges. It was unanimously re- 
 jected, and resolved to proceed to Upnor. 
 
 We viewed, and Hogarth made a draw- 
 ing of the castle, and Scott of some ship- 
 ping riding near it (vide Drawing the 3d). 
 The castle is not very large, but strong, 
 garrisoned with twenty-four men, and the 
 like ijumber of guns, though no more than 
 eight are mounted. I went and bought 
 cockles of an old blind man and woman, 
 who were in a little cock-boat on the river. 
 We made a hurry-scurry dinner at the 
 Smack at the ten-gun battery, and had a 
 battle-royal with sticks, pebbles, and hog's 
 dung. In this fight Tothall was the great- 
 est sufferer, and his cloaths carried the 
 marks of his disgrace. Some time this 
 occasioned much laughter, and we marched 
 on to the bird's-nest battery; and, keeping 
 the river and shipping still in view, passed 
 over the hills, and came to Hoo church- 
 yard, where, on a wooden rail over a grave, 
 is an epitaph, supposed to be wrote by a 
 maid-servant on her master, which, being 
 something extraordinary, I shall here tran- 
 scribe verbatim : 
 
 And. wHen. he. Died. you. plainLy. see. 
 Hee. freely, gave. al. to. Sara, passa. Wee. 
 And. in. Doing, so. if. DoTh. prevail, 
 that. Ion. him. can. Well. besTow. this Rayel. 
 On. Year. I. sarved. him. it. is. well. None. 
 BuT. Thanks, beto. God. it. js. al. my. One. 
 
 At four we left Hoo and an agreeable 
 widow landlady, who had buried four hus- 
 bands. As we travelled along this charm- 
 ing country, the weather was exceeding 
 pleasant, and Scott (according to custom) 
 mad us laugh by attempting to prove, a 
 
 man might go over but not througn the 
 
 world; and, for example, pointea to the 
 earth, and asked us to go through that ele- 
 ment. Our fixed opinion was, that his 
 argument had less weight than his coat- 
 pockets, which were, by some of the com- 
 pany, filled with pebble-stones, unperceived 
 by him, and he carried them some time ; 
 but at last discovering the trick, and being 
 thereby in a condition to knock down all 
 opposition to his argument, we acquiesced. 
 
 At five we took a view of Stoke Church, 
 and passed through the church-yard, buJ 
 saw nothing worth observation till we 
 came to a farm-house not far distant; where, 
 on an elm-tree at the door was placed a 
 high pole, with a board that moved with 
 the wind, painted in form of a cock, over 
 which was a fane weather-cock, and above 
 that a shuttle-cock. This variety of cocks 
 afforded much speculation. 
 
 At; North-street, a little village we passed 
 through, we all agreed to quarrel ; and be- 
 ing near a well of water full to the brim, 
 we dealt about that ammunition for some 
 time, till the cloaths and courage of the 
 combatants were sufficiently cooled ; and 
 then, all pleased, travelled on to the town 
 of Stock, and took up our quarters at the 
 Nag's Head. 
 
 At six, whilst supper was getting ready, 
 we walked out to take a view of the low 
 countries thereabouts; and, on an adjacent 
 plain, another sharp engagement hapjiened, 
 in which Tothall and Scott both suffered, 
 by their cloaths being daubed with soft 
 cow-dung. 
 
 At seven we returned back and cleaned 
 ourselves; supped, and adjourned to the 
 door; drank punch, stood and sat for our 
 pictures drawn by Hogarth, for which see 
 Drawing the 3d. Night coming on, we 
 drew cuts who should lie single, there 
 being biit three beds, and no night-caps. 
 The lot fell to Tothall, and he had the satis- 
 faction of lying alone. 
 
 At ten went to bed, and had much 
 laughter at Scott and I being forced to lie 
 together. They threw the stocking, fought 
 perukes, and did a great many pretty tricks 
 in a horn, and then left us. At eleven we 
 arose again, without a candle, and dressed 
 ourselves, our sheets being very damp ; then 
 went to bed again in our cloaths, and slept 
 till three. 
 
 Monday at three, awaked and cursed oui 
 day ; our eyes, lips, and hands, being tor- 
 mented and swelled by the biting of gnats. 
 Notwithstanding this, the God of Sleep 
 being powerful, we soon forgot our miseries, 
 and submitted to be bound fast again in his 
 
 562 
 
THE TABLE BOC: 
 
 leaden chains, in which condition we re- 
 mainea till six ; then arose, had our shoes 
 cleaned, were shaved, and had our wigs 
 flowered, by a fisherman in his boots and 
 shock hair, without coat or waistcoat, vide 
 Drawing the 4th. We had milk and toast 
 for breakfast, paid our reckoning, and set 
 out for Sheerness at eight. 
 
 We passed down Stock Marshes, being 
 directed to keep the road-way, which being 
 heavy walking (much ram having fallen the 
 preceding night) I prevailed on the com- 
 pany to follow me over a style, which led 
 along the beach by a creek side, imagining 
 it as near and a better way ; but was de- 
 ceived, and led the company about two 
 miles astray ; bu* getting into the right 
 road, we soon entered the Isle of Grain, (so 
 called from its fruitfulness, as I conjecture,) 
 and near the ohurch there, we stopped at 
 the Chequar ale-house, kept by Goody 
 Hubbard, who entertained us with salt pork, 
 bread, butter, and buns, and good malt 
 liquor. Here Scott left and lost his pen- 
 knife, value five shillings. We expected 
 to have goi a boat here to carry us over to 
 Sheerness ; but the ferry-man did not care 
 to go, and another person we would have 
 employed for that purpose sent us word, 
 that the wind blew too hard. But our 
 landlady put us into a method by which 
 we might possibly get a passage ; and that 
 was, to go down the marshes towards the 
 salt-houses, and endeavour to hail the shiT)S 
 in ordinary, and by that means get one of 
 their boats. We accordingly went down 
 to the shore, which was covered with variety 
 of shells, and accidentally espied a little 
 boat coming on our side the water below 
 us, which Thornhill and Tothall went down 
 to meet, and brought up to us, and with 
 some difficulty took us in (the manner of 
 our embarking is delineated in the 5th 
 drawing) ; and we set sail for Sheerness. 
 The sea ran high the wind blowing hard 
 at S.W. and by S. In our passage we had 
 the pleasure of seeing and hearing the guns 
 fired from the fort and the men of war, and 
 about twelve we landed. We traversed the 
 fort, went round the lines, saw all the for- 
 tifications and batteries, and had a delight- 
 ful prospect of the sea and the island of 
 Sheppy. Scott was laughed at for smelling 
 to the touch-holes of some of the guns 
 lately discharged ; and so was Hogarth, 
 for sitting down to cut his toe-nails in the 
 garrison. At one we set out for Queen- 
 borough, to which place we walked along 
 the beach, which the spray flew over in many 
 places. Thornhill fell down, and slightly 
 hurt his leg; yet we all perambulated 
 
 merrily, and arrived at Queenborough about 
 
 two. 
 
 The town is but one street, situate on 
 the east side of a creek, called after thf 
 town's name, and branching out of the 
 Medway near the town. The street is clean 
 and well paved (for a more exact descrip- 
 tion see the 6th drawing), and answers the 
 description I have had of a Spanish town, 
 viz. there is no sign of any trade, nor were 
 many human creatures to be seen at our 
 first arrival. The church is low and ill 
 built: among many tomb-stones there are 
 but few epitaphs worth noting, and the 
 most material I take to be the following 
 one, viz. 
 
 Henry Knight Master of a Shipy to Greenland and 
 
 Herpooner )ii Voyages 
 It Greenland I whales Sea horses Bears did Slay 
 Though Now my Body is Intoinbe in Clay 
 
 The town-house or clock-house (as it is 
 called) stanas in tne middle of the street, 
 supported by four piers, which form four 
 arches, and (it being holiday) was decorated 
 with a flag, in which is delineated the arms 
 of the corporation. We took up our quar- 
 ters at the Red Lion (which the people call 
 the Swans) fronting the river, and met with 
 a civil, prating landlady ; but she being 
 unprovided with beds, we applied to a 
 merry woman at a private house, who fur- 
 nished us with what we wanted. We then 
 took another walk up the town, had a view 
 of the inside of the church, and a con- 
 ference with the grave-digger, who informed 
 us of the state of the corporation. Among 
 other things we were told, that the mayor 
 is a custom-house officer, and the parson a 
 sad dog. We found, to our sorrow, that 
 although the town has two market-dars, 
 yet there was not one piece of fresh meat'of 
 any sort, nor any poultry or fish, except 
 lobsters, to be got ; with which, and some 
 eggs and bacon, we made our supper. 
 
 We walked up the hill behind the town, 
 to a well of very good water; over which 
 (we were informed) a palace formerly stood, 
 built by King Edward the Third for his 
 Queen Philippa. Whilst we were at the 
 well, two sailors came and drew a bucket 
 of water to drink, and told us, that they 
 and four more, belonging to the Rose man 
 of war, were obliged the day before to at- 
 tend one of their midshipmen, a son of 
 
 General S , in a yawl up the creek, and 
 
 run the vessel ashore, where the midship, 
 man left them, (without any sustenance, 
 but a few cockles, or one penny of money 
 to buy any,) and went to Sheerness, and 
 was not yet returned, and they half-starved. 
 
 563 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 We g-ave the felloirs six-pence, who were 
 very thankful, and ran towards the town to 
 Duy victuals for themselves and their com- 
 panions, who lay asleep at some distaHce. 
 We going to view their boat that stuck fast 
 in the mud, one of the sailors returned 
 hastily, and kindly offered us some cockles ; 
 this seemed an act of so much gratitude 
 that we followed the fellows into the town, 
 and gave them another sixpence ; and they 
 fetched their companions, and all refreshed 
 themselves, and were very thankful and 
 merry. 
 
 About seven we passed through the town, 
 and saw and conversed with several pretty 
 Women, which we did not expect, not hav- 
 ing seen any at our arrival, and returned to 
 our quarters. We got a wooden chair, and 
 placed Hogarth in it in the street, where 
 he made the Drawing No. 6, and gathered 
 a great many men, women, and children, 
 about him, to see his performance. Having 
 finished his drawing, we again walked up 
 town, and at the mayor's door saw all the 
 sailors before mentioned, who informed me, 
 (with " your worship" at every word) that 
 the midshipman was lately returned from 
 Sheerness, and had been up the creek to 
 see how the boat lay ; and coming back, 
 had met a sailor in company with a woman 
 whom the midshipman wanted to be free 
 with, and the sailor opposed, insisting she 
 was his wife, and hindered him from being 
 rude ; which the midshipman resenting, 
 was gone to the mayor to redress his griev- 
 ance. We thought this a very odd affair, 
 hut did not stay to see the result of it. 
 
 About nine we returned to our quarters, 
 drank to our friends as usual, and emptied 
 several cans of good flip, and all sung 
 merrily ; but were quite put out of counte- 
 nance by some Harwich men, who came 
 with lobsters, and were drinking in the 
 next room. They sung several sea-songs 
 so agreeably, that our St. John could not 
 come in competition, nor could Pishoken 
 save us from disgrace ; so that after finish- 
 ing the evening as pleasantly as possible, 
 we went out of the bouse the back-way to 
 our lodgings, at near eleven. 
 
 When we came there, our landlady had 
 provided a bed for Scott in the garret, 
 which made him grumble, and us laugh : 
 this provoked him so far, that he absolutely 
 ■re'firsed to lie there ; and Tothall, out of 
 ipure good-nature, offered him his bed at 
 'the house we came from, and that he would 
 lie in the garret. This Scott accepted, 
 and went away ; and Tothall going up 
 stairs, found he was to lie on a flock bed, 
 without curtains; «o came down again 
 
 immediately, and went after Scott, at whici! 
 we were very merry- and slept upon it til', 
 six in the morning. 
 
 Tuesday morning, at six, Hogarth called 
 me up, and told me, the good woman in- 
 sisted on being paid for her bed, or having 
 Scott before the mayor; which last we did 
 all in our power to promote, but to no 
 effect; so commg to the public-house 
 where Scott and Tothall lay, we found the 
 doors open (a thing common in this town,) 
 and nobody up. However, Hogarth soon 
 roused them ; and then Scott related ano- 
 ther distress he had the last night, viz. when 
 he left us, and was going to bed, he per 
 ceived something stir under the bed- 
 cloaths, which he (collecting all his cou- 
 rage) was resolved to feel ; at which some- 
 thing cried out, (seemingly affrighted,) and 
 scared him out of his wits; but, resuming 
 courage enough to inquire into the nature 
 of affairs, he found it to be a little boy of 
 the house, who had mistook the bed. This 
 relation, according to custom, made us very 
 merry, and Tothall provided some break- 
 fast ; after which we left the Swans, and 
 went up town, where our shirts were sent 
 to be washed ; but not having time to dry, 
 we took them wet, and had them dried and 
 ironed at the next town. 
 
 About ten we quitted Queenborough : 
 the morning was delightful, the country 
 very pleasant, through which we passed 
 very agreeably up to Monster, a little vil- 
 lage on the highest part of the island. We 
 laboured hard to climb the hill to the 
 church-yard, it being very steep. We saw 
 there, on a wooden rail over the grave, the 
 following epitaph in verse : 
 
 Here Interr'd George Aiiderson Doth Lye 
 
 By fallen on an Anchor he did Dye 
 
 In Sheerness Yard on Good Friday 
 
 ye 6th of April, I do say 
 
 All yon that Read my Allegy : Be alwaies 
 
 Ready for to Dye — Aged 42 Years 
 
 Our landlord at the George procured us 
 a key of the church, which we entered, and 
 saw there the monuments of Lord Cheyne, 
 of a Spanish Ambassador, and of the Lord 
 Shorland. Scott made a drawing of the 
 Ambassador, (vide Drawing the 7th,) and 
 Hogarth of Lord Shorland (see Drawing 
 the 8th). The legend of the last being re- 
 markable, I shall relate it with all its cir- 
 cumstances. In the reign of Queen Eli- 
 zabeth, this lord having been to visit a 
 friend on this island, and passing by this 
 church in his way home to Shorland, about 
 two miles off, 'he saw a concourse of peojile 
 gathered together in the church-yard ; and 
 
 :564 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 inquiring the reason, was informed, that the 
 parson who stood by there, refused to bury 
 the co-rpse brought for that purpose, be- 
 cause there was no money to pay the burial 
 fees. His lordship, being extremely moved 
 at the parson, ordered the people to throw 
 him into the grave, and bury him quick ; 
 which they accordingly did, and he died. 
 My lord went home ; and there reflecting 
 on what he had done, and fearing to forfeit 
 his life for the offence, he wrote a petition, 
 setting forth the nature of his offence ; and 
 hearing the queen was on board one of the 
 ships at the Nore, (to which place she came 
 to take a view of her fleet designed to 
 oppose the Spanish armada,) he took a 
 horse, and rode directly into the sea, and 
 swam to the Nore, above three miles off, 
 and coming to the ship's side, begged to 
 see her majesty ; who came immediately, 
 and he presented his petition. The queen 
 received, read, and granted it; and he, 
 without quitting his horse, swam back 
 again to the island ; and coming on the 
 shore met an old woman, who told him, 
 that though the horse had then saved his 
 life, he would be the cause of his death. 
 His lordship fearing ^and in order to pre- 
 vent) the accomplishment of the old wo- 
 man's prophecy, alighted from his hoise, 
 drew his sword and killed him, and left 
 him there; and his carcass was, by the 
 force of the sea, thrown some little way on 
 the land; 
 
 Some years after this, my lord, walking 
 with some of his friends near the sea-side, 
 espied the skull and some other bones of 
 the horse lying there, and relating the fore- 
 going account, happened to kick the skull 
 and "hurt one of his toes, which mortified 
 and killed him; and he lies in Minster 
 Church, and a monument is erected over 
 his grave, on which he is figured with a 
 horse's head (supposed to be in the waves) 
 placed by him. (Vide Drawing the 8th.) 
 This story is so firmly believed in that 
 parish, that a horse's head, finely gilt, is 
 placed as a weather-cock on the church 
 steeple, and the figure of a horse is struck 
 upon the spindle above that weather-cock, 
 and the church is commonly called the 
 Horse Church. We were so well satisfied 
 of the people's beUef that all they told us 
 was true, that we did not dare to declare 
 our disbelief of one tittle of the story. 
 
 We dined at the George, staid till four, 
 then left Minster, and walked to Sheerness ; 
 hired a small vessel, (vulgarly called a 
 bomb-boat,) and about five set sail for 
 G'ave«end. 
 
 The wind blew a fresh gale at E. and by 
 
 S. Scott grew very sea-sick, and did what 
 was natural in such cases. Soon after, 
 Hogarth grew sick, and was consequently 
 uneasy, which was augmented by our stop- 
 ping; and Tothall going on board Captain 
 Robinson, in one of the custom-house 
 sloops, riding in Holy Haven, who furnished 
 him with some milk punch, and us with 
 some fire to light our pipes, which was 
 greatly wanted. 
 
 It rained hard all the voyage. We saw 
 several porpoises rolHng in pursuit of their 
 prey ; and one in particular was got so 
 near shore, that we thought he must remain 
 there ; but he deceived our expectation, 
 and got off again. 
 
 About seven, our sick passengers being 
 recovered, we sailed merrily, and sung St. 
 John, Pishoken, and several'*^other songs 
 and tunes ourselves, and our cockswam 
 entertained us with several sailors' songs ; 
 but our notes were soon changed by our 
 vessel running on, and sticking fast in, the 
 Blye sand, though we were almost in the 
 middle of the channel. It was the tide of 
 ebb, and within about an hour of flood, 
 which gave us some concern, believing we 
 should be forced to continue there some 
 time, and bear the beating of the wind and 
 waves ; yet, by the industry of our mari- 
 ners, and the skilful assistance of Tothall, 
 we got off again in a little time (though 
 with some difficulty) ; and the wind prov- 
 ing favourable, we arrived safe at Graves- 
 end about ten. 
 
 We supped, and drank good wine, and 
 thought our adventures and extraordinary 
 mirth ended, but found otherwise : -ior a 
 great coat Scott had borrowed for this, 
 journey, and left at Gravesend, and tra- 
 velled without it, we found, on our arrival 
 here, could not be found. This, though 
 grief to him, was sport to us ; and he soon 
 got the better of his uneasiness, and grew 
 as merry as we. Thus we continued till 
 pretty late, and then went to bed. 
 
 Wednesday, at eight, we arose, break- 
 fasted, and walked about the town. At 
 ten went into a boat we had hired, with a 
 truss of clean straw, a bottle of good wine, 
 pipes, tobacco, and a match. The wind 
 was favourable at S.E. and a mackerel gale. 
 Our passage was very pleasant to all till 
 we came into Eriff Reach, when Scott, be- 
 ing without his great coat, (for the reason 
 above-mentioned,) taking a drawing of some 
 shipping, a flurry of wind caused our vessel 
 to ship a sea, which washed him from 
 head to foot, and nobody else. He, greatly 
 surprised, got up, and drawing the fore- 
 tail of his shirt from out of his breechev 
 
 56§ 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ^which were also well soused with salt 
 watei,) he held it in both hands opposed 
 to the windward ; apd the sun shining 
 warm, he was soon dry; and, recovering 
 his surprise, joined with us in laughing at 
 the accident. 
 
 We came merrily up the river; and 
 quitting our boat at Billingsgate, got into 
 a wherry that carried us through bridge, 
 and landed at Somerset Water-gate ; from 
 whence vi^e walked all together, and arrived 
 at about two at the Bedford Arms, Covent 
 Garden, in the same good-humour we left 
 it to set out on this very pleasant expedition. 
 
 I think I cannot better conclude than 
 with taking notice, that not one of the com- 
 pany was unemployed ; for Mr. Thornhill 
 np.ade the map, Mr. Hogarth and Mr. Scott 
 the drawings, Mr. Tothall was our trea- 
 surer, which (though a place of the greatest 
 trust) he faithfully discharged ; and the 
 foregoing Memoir was the work of 
 
 E. Forrest. 
 
 The veracity of this manuscript is attested 
 by us, 
 
 Wm. Hogarth. Wm. Totkall. 
 Sa ML. Scott. Juo. Thornhill. 
 
 London, May 27, 1732. Accompt of Dis- 
 bursements for Messieurs Hogarth and 
 Co. viz. 
 
 To paid at tlie Dark-house, Billingsgate 
 To paid for a pint of Geneva Hollands - 
 To J aid waterman to Graveseud - 
 To paid barbur ditto - . . . 
 To paid for breakfast at ditto 
 
 Carried np 
 
 £. 
 
 s. d. 
 
 
 
 Si 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 
 
 10 
 
 
 
 2 S 
 
 
 
 9 8i 
 
 6 
 3 
 3 
 3 
 
 8 
 6 
 
 
 
 1 
 7 
 
 4 
 1 
 
 11 
 3 
 2 10 
 1 6 
 
 £ 
 
 Brouirht un 
 
 To paid for beer on the road to Rocnester 
 
 To paid for shrimps at Chatham - - 
 
 To paid at the gunnery and dock - - 
 
 To paid bill at Rochester - - - I 
 
 28, To gave at UpnoT for information - - 
 To paid at the Smack at ditto - 
 To paid at Hoo ..... 
 To paid at Stoke - - - - 
 
 29. To paid at Mother Hubbard's at Grain - 
 To paid for passage over to Sheerness • 
 To paid for lobsters at Queenborough - 
 To paid for two pots of beer to treat the 
 
 sexton - . , . • 
 
 i- o paid for dinner, &c. ... 
 
 To charity gave the sailors - . - 
 
 0. To paid for lodgings and maid - 
 
 J. o paid for breakfast ... -,0 
 
 paid for washing shirts ■ • 
 
 To paid at Minster ... 
 
 To paid at Sheerness ... 
 
 To paid for a boat to Gravesend . - 
 
 To paid barber at ditto 
 
 ,, paid for sundry at ditto • . . 1 3^ 
 
 for passage to Somerset House - 5 6 
 
 Vouchers produced, examined, and allowed. 
 Per E. Forrest. Saml. Scott. 
 Wm. Hogarth. Jno. Thornhill. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Gostling's version bore 
 the same title and motto as the prose Tour, 
 with this addition, — " Imitated in Hudi- 
 brasticks, by one well acquainted with 
 some of the Travellers, and of the places 
 here celebrated, with liberty of some addi- 
 tions." It is subjoined ; viz. 
 
 MR. GOSTLING'S ACCOUNT OF HOGARTH'S TOUR, 
 
 'TwAs first of mom on Saturdaj/, 
 The seven-and-t.wentieth day of May, 
 When Hogarth, ThornhxU, Tothall, Scott, 
 And Forrest, who this journal wrote. 
 From Covent-Garden took departure, 
 To see the world by land and water. 
 Our march we with a song begin ; 
 Our hearts were light, our breeches thin 
 We meet with nothing of adventure 
 Till Billingsgate's Dark-house we enter. 
 Where we diverted were, while baiting. 
 With ribaldry, not worth relating 
 (Quite suited to the dirty place) 
 But what most pleas'd us was his Grace 
 9f Paddle Bock, a porter grim, 
 Wkuwe portrait Hoaarth, in a whim. 
 
 Presented him in caricature. 
 He pasted on the cellar door.* 
 
 But hark 1 the Watchman cnes " Past one ." 
 •Tis time that we on board were gone. 
 Clean straw we find laid for our bed, 
 A tilt for shelter over head. 
 The boat is soon got under sail. 
 Wind nearS. E. a mack'rel gale. 
 Attended by a heavy rain ; 
 We try to sleep, but try in vain, 
 So sing a song, and then begin 
 To feast on biscuit, beef, and gm. 
 
 At Purfleet find three men ol war, 
 The Dursley galley, Gibraltar, 
 
 * Ttkis drawing unluckily has not b««n pnserFsd. 
 
 566 
 

 
 
 . 
 
 THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 
 A.nd Tartar pink, and of this last 
 
 Must have been Tery strong, brot lenj^b 
 
 
 
 The pilot begg'U of us a cast 
 
 Of t'tne has much impair'd its stieogta ; 
 
 
 
 To Oravosend, which he greatly wanted. 
 
 The iofty Tower as high or higher 
 
 
 
 And readily by us was granted. 
 
 Seems thar the old Cathedral's spire , 
 
 
 
 The grateful man, to make amends. 
 
 Yet we determm'd were to gam 
 
 
 
 Told how the officers and friends 
 
 Its top, which cost some care and pam ; 
 
 
 
 Of England were by Spaniards treated. 
 
 When there arriv'd, Yie found a well, 
 
 
 
 And shameful instances repeated. 
 
 The depth of which I cannot tell ; 
 
 
 
 While he these insults was deploring. 
 
 Small holes cut in on every side 
 
 
 
 ffogarth, like Premier, fell to snoring, 
 
 Some hold for hands and feet provide. 
 
 
 
 But waking cry'd, " 1 dream'd"— and then 
 
 By which a little boy we saw 
 
 
 
 Fell fast asleep, and snor'd again. 
 
 Go down, and bring up a jack-daw. 
 
 
 
 ITie morn clear'd up, and after five 
 
 All round about us then we gaze. 
 
 
 
 At port of Oravesend we arrive, 
 
 Observing, not without amaze, 
 
 
 
 But found it hard to get on shore. 
 
 How towns here undistinguish'd join. 
 
 
 
 His boat a young son of a whore 
 
 And one vast One to form combine. 
 
 
 
 Had fix'd just at our landing-place, 
 
 Chatham with Rochester seems but one. 
 
 
 
 And swore vve should not o'er it pass ; 
 
 Unless we're shewn the boundary stone, 
 
 
 
 But, spite of all the rascal's tricks. 
 
 That and its yards contiguous lie 
 
 
 
 We made a shift to land by six. 
 
 To pleasant Bromptun standing high ; 
 
 
 
 And up to Mrs. Bramble's go 
 
 The Bridge across the raging flood 
 
 
 
 [A house that we shall better know]. 
 
 Which Rochester divides from Stroud, 
 
 
 
 There get a barber for our wigs, 
 
 Extensive Stroud, on t'other side. 
 
 
 
 Wash hands and faces, stretch our legs. 
 
 To Frindshury quite close ally'd. 
 
 
 
 Had toast and butter, and a pot 
 
 The country round, and river tair, 
 
 
 
 Of coffee (our third breakfast) got : 
 
 Our prospects made beyond compare, 
 
 
 
 Then, paying what we had to pay. 
 
 Which quite in raptures we admire; 
 
 
 
 For Rochctter we took oar way, 
 
 Then down to face of earth retire. 
 
 
 
 Viewing the new church as we went. 
 
 Up the Street walking, first of all 
 
 
 
 And th' unknown person's monument. 
 
 We take a view of the Town-Hall. 
 
 
 
 The beauteous prospects found us talk. 
 
 Proceeding farther on, we spy 
 
 
 
 — ud shorten'd much our two hours wallt. 
 
 A house, design'd to catch the eye. 
 
 
 
 Though by the way we did not fail 
 
 With front so nch, by plastick skill. 
 
 
 
 To stop n-r d take three pots of ale, 
 
 As made us for a while stand still : 
 
 
 
 And this enabled us by ten 
 
 Foar huge Hobgoblins grace the wall. 
 
 
 
 At Roehtater to drink again. 
 
 Which we foil' Has Relievo's call ; 
 
 
 
 Now, Muse, assist, while I declare 
 
 They the four Seasons represent. 
 
 
 
 (Like a true English traveller) 
 
 At least were form'd for that Hitent. 
 
 
 
 What vast variety we survey 
 
 Then fFatts's Hospital we see 
 
 
 
 In the short compass of one day. 
 
 .(No common cuiiosity) ; 
 
 
 
 We scarce had lost the sight of Thamni, 
 
 Endow'd (as on the front appears) 
 
 
 
 When the fair Medu/iy's winding streams. 
 
 In favour of poor travellers ; 
 
 
 
 And far-extending Rochester, 
 
 Six such It every night receives. 
 
 
 
 Before our longing eyes appear . 
 
 Supper and lodging gratis gives. 
 
 
 
 The Castle and Cathedral grace 
 
 And to each man next mom does pay 
 
 
 
 One prospect, so we mend oar pace; 
 
 A groat, to keep nim on his way : 
 
 
 
 Impatient for a nearer view. 
 
 But the contagiously infected. 
 
 
 
 But first must Strood's rough street trudge through, 
 
 And rogues and proctors, are rejected. 
 
 
 
 And this our feet no short one find ; 
 
 It gave us too some entertainment 
 
 
 
 However, with a cheerful mind. 
 
 To find out what this bounteous man meant. 
 
 
 
 All difficulties we get o'er. 
 
 Vet were we not so highly feasted. 
 
 
 
 And soon are on the Medway's shore. 
 
 But that we back to dinner hasted. 
 
 
 
 New objects here before us rise, 
 
 By twelve again we reach The Crown, 
 
 
 
 And more than satisfy our eyes. 
 
 But find our meat not yet laid down. 
 
 
 
 The stately Bridge from side to side. 
 
 So (spite of " Gentlemen, d'ye call ?") 
 
 
 
 The roaring cataracts of the tide, 
 
 On chairs quite fast asleep we fall, 
 
 
 
 Deafen our ears, and charm our sight. 
 
 And with clos'd eyes again survey 
 
 
 
 And terrify while they delight. 
 
 In dreams vvhat we have seen to-day ; 
 
 
 
 These we pass over to the Town, 
 
 Till dinner's coming up, when we 
 
 
 
 And taice our Qaarters at The Crown, 
 
 As ready are as that can be 
 
 
 
 To which the Castle is so near. 
 
 If we describe it not, we're iinoone. 
 
 
 
 That we all in a hurry were 
 
 You'll scarce believe we came from Z.0)is*»^ 
 
 
 
 The grand remains on't to be viewing; 
 
 With due attention then prapare 
 
 
 
 It is indeed a noble rain. 
 
 Yourself to hear our bill of fai« 
 
 
 567 
 
 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 For onr fiist conn* » ^jsh there was 
 
 There of his friends a joke he made. 
 
 Of soles and flounders wiHi crab-sauce. 
 
 But rose most woefully bewray'd; 
 
 A stuff'd and roast calfs-heart beside, 
 
 How against him the laugh was turn'd. 
 
 With 'purt'nance minc'd, and liver fry'd ; 
 
 And he the vile disaster mourn'd ! 
 
 And for a second course, they put on 
 
 We work, all hands, to make him clean, 
 
 Green pease and roasted leg of mutton. 
 
 And fitter to he fitly seen. 
 
 The cook was much commended for't ; 
 
 But, while we scrap'd bis back and side. 
 
 Fresh was the beer, and sound the port , 
 
 \11 on a sudden, out he cried. 
 
 So that nem. con. we all agree 
 
 " I've lost my cambrick handkercher. 
 
 (Whatever more we have ;o see) 
 
 'Twas lent me by my wife so dear : 
 
 From table we'll not rise till thre?. 
 
 What I shall do I c;in't devise. 
 
 Our shoes are clean'd, 'tis three o'clocH, 
 
 I've nothing left to wipe my eyes." 
 
 Come let's away tc Ck(itham-Dock ; 
 
 At last the handkerchief was found. 
 
 We shan't get the e till almost four. 
 
 To his great comfort, safe and sound. 
 
 To see't will take at least an hour; 
 
 He's now recover'd and alive ; 
 
 Yet Scott and Hogarth needs must stoj. 
 
 So in high spirits all arrive 
 
 At the Court-Hall to play Scotch hop. 
 
 At Frindsbury, fam'd for prospects fair. 
 
 To Chatham got, ourselves we treat 
 
 But we much more diverted were 
 
 With Shrimps, which as we walk we eat. 
 
 With what the parish church did grace. 
 
 For speed we take a round-about- 
 
 " A list of some who lov'd the place. 
 
 way, as we afterwards found out: 
 
 la memory of their good actions. 
 
 At length reach the King's yards and docks 
 
 And gratitude for their benefactions. 
 
 Admire the ships there on the stocks, 
 
 Witnes our hands— ^iW. Gibbons, Vicar — " 
 
 The men of war afloat we view, 
 
 And no one else. — This made us snicker . 
 
 Find means to get aboard of two ;♦ 
 
 At length, with countenances serious. 
 
 But here I musi not be prolix. 
 
 We all agreed it was mysterious, 
 
 For we went home again at six. 
 
 Not guessing that the reason might 
 
 There smoak'd our pipes, and drank out ivia*, 
 
 B«. the Churchwardens could not write. 
 
 And comfortably sat till nine. 
 
 At ten, in council it was mov'd. 
 
 Then, with our travels much improv'd. 
 
 Whoe'er was tir'd, or disapprov'd 
 
 To our respective beds we mov'd. 
 
 Of our proceedings, might go- back, 
 
 Sunday at seven we rub our eyes. 
 
 And cash to bear his charges take. 
 
 But are too lazy yet to rise. 
 
 With indignation this was heard . 
 
 Hogarth and ThornhiU tell their dreams. 
 
 Each was for all events prepar'd. 
 
 And, reasoning deeply on those themfta. 
 
 So all with one consent agreed 
 
 After much learned speculation. 
 
 To Upnor-Castlc to proceed. 
 
 Quite suitable to the occasion. 
 
 And at the sutler's there we din'd 
 
 Left off as wise as they begun. 
 
 On such coarse fare as we could find. 
 
 Which made for us in bed good fun. 
 
 The Castle was not large, but strong. 
 
 But by and by, when up we got. 
 
 And seems to be of standing long. 
 
 Sam Scott was missing, " Where's Sam Scott t" 
 
 Twenty-four men its garrison. 
 
 " Oh I here he comes. Well 1 whence come you 
 
 And just for every man a gun ; 
 
 " Why from the bridge, taking a view 
 
 Eight guns were mounted, eight men active. 
 
 Of something that did highly please me. 
 
 The rest were rated non-effective. 
 
 But people passing by would teaze me 
 
 Here an old couple, who had brought 
 
 With ' Do you work on Sundays, friend ?" 
 
 Some cockles in their boat, besought 
 
 Sc that I could not make an end." 
 
 That one of us would buy a few, 
 
 At this we laugh'd, for 'twas our will 
 
 For they were very fresh and new. 
 
 Like men of taste that day to kill. 
 
 1 did so, and 'twas charity; 
 
 So after breakfast we thought good 
 
 He was quite blind, and half blind she. 
 
 To cross the bridge again to Strood : 
 
 Now growing frolicksome and gay. 
 
 Thence eastward we resolve to go. 
 
 Like boys, we after dinner play. 
 
 And througli the Hnndred march of Hoo, 
 
 But, as the scene lay in a fort. 
 
 Wash'd on the north side by the Thames, 
 
 Something like war must be our sport : 
 
 And on the south by Medway's streams, 
 
 Sticks, stones, and hogs- dung were our weapons 
 
 Which to each other here incline, 
 
 And, as in such frays oft it happens. 
 
 Till at the Nore in one they join. 
 
 Poor Tothall's cloaths here went to pot. 
 
 Before we Frindsbury could gain, 
 
 So that he could not laugh at Scott. ' 
 
 There fell a heavy shower of rain. 
 
 From hence all conquerors we go 
 
 When crafty Scott a shelter found 
 
 To visit the church-yard at Hoo. 
 
 Voder a hedge upon the ground, 
 
 At Hoo we found an Epitaph, 
 
 
 Which made us (as 'twill make you) lav;;li ! 
 A servant maid, turn'd poetaster. 
 
 
 • 2%e Jivuoi- HoKcrcign and Marlborough. 
 
 Wrote it in honour of her msstfr ; 
 
 1 
 
 568' 
 

 
 
 
 THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 
 I therefore give you (and I hope you 
 
 But this our heat and courage cooling'. 
 
 
 
 WiU like it weU) a Vera Copia : 
 
 'Twas soon high time to leave such fooliti^, 
 
 
 
 " And . wHen . he . Died . You plainly . see 
 
 To The Nag's Head We therefore bie. 
 
 
 
 Hee . freely . gave . al . to . Sara . passaWee. 
 
 To drink, and to be turn d adry. 
 
 
 
 And . in . Doing; . so . it DoTh . prevail . 
 
 At six, while supper was preparing, 
 
 
 
 that . Ion . him . can . ivell . bes . Tow . this Rayel . 
 
 And we about the marsh-lands staring, 
 
 
 
 On . Year . I sarved . him . it is well . none . 
 
 Our two game cocks, Tothall and Scott, 
 
 
 
 BuT Thanks . beto . God . it . i» . all my . One." 
 
 To battling once again were got : 
 
 
 
 « * * * • 
 
 But here no weapons could they find. 
 Save what the cows dropp'd from behind ; 
 
 
 
 Long at one place we must not stay. 
 
 With these they pelted, till we fancy 
 
 
 
 'Tis almost four, let's haste away. 
 
 Their cloaths look'd something like a tan»_v 
 
 
 
 But here's a sign ; 'tis rash, we think. 
 
 At seven we all come home again. 
 
 
 
 To leave tlie place before we driaU. 
 
 Tothall and Scoff their garments clean ; 
 
 
 
 We meet with liquor to our mind. 
 
 Supper we get, and, when that's o'er. 
 
 
 
 Our hostess coniplaisant and kind : 
 
 A tiff of punch drink at the door ; 
 
 
 
 She was a widow, who, we found, 
 
 Then, as the beds were only three. 
 
 
 
 Had (as the phrase is) been shod round. 
 
 Draw cuts who shall so lucky be 
 
 
 
 That is, had buried husbands four. 
 
 As here to sleep without a chum ; 
 
 
 
 And had no want of charms for more ; 
 
 To Tolhall's share the prize did come;; 
 
 
 
 Yet her we leave, and, as we go, 
 
 Hogarth and Thornhill, Scott and J 
 
 
 
 Saott bravely undertook to show 
 
 In pairs, like man and wife, must Ire; 
 
 
 
 That through the world We could not pass-, 
 
 Then mighty frolicksome they grow. 
 
 
 
 How thin soe'er our breeches Was ; 
 
 At Scoff and me the stocking throw. 
 
 
 
 " 'Tis true, indeed, we may go round, 
 
 Fight with their wigs, m which perhaps 
 
 
 
 But through" — then pointed to the ground. 
 
 They sleep, for here we found no caps. 
 
 
 
 Bo well he manag'd the debate. 
 
 Up at eleven again we get. 
 
 
 
 We own'd he was a man of weight : 
 
 Our sheets were so confounded wet ; 
 
 
 
 And so indeed he was this once. 
 
 We dress, and he down in our cloaths ; 
 
 
 
 His pockets we had fill'd with stones. 
 
 Monday, at three, awak'd and rose, 
 
 
 
 But here we'd serv'd ourselves a trick. 
 
 And of the cursed gnats complain. 
 
 
 
 Of which he might have made us sick • 
 
 Yet make a shift to sleep again. 
 
 
 
 We'd furnish'd him with ammunition 
 
 Tin six o'clock we quiet lay, 
 
 
 
 Fit to knock down all opposition ; 
 
 And then got out for the whole day ; 
 
 
 
 And, knowing well his warmth of temper. 
 
 To fetch a barber out we send ; 
 
 
 
 Out of his reach began to scamper. 
 
 Stripp'd, and in boots, h« does attend, 
 
 
 
 Till, growing cooler, he pretends 
 
 For he's a fisherman by trade ; 
 
 
 
 His passion feign'd, so all are iiiendSj 
 
 Tann'd was his face, shock was his head ; 
 
 
 
 Our danger now becomes a joke. 
 
 He flowers our wigs and trims our faces. 
 
 
 
 And peaceably we go to Stoke. 
 
 And the top barber of the place is. 
 
 
 
 About the church we nothing can see 
 
 The cloth is for our breakfast spread, 
 
 
 
 To strike cr entertain our fancy : 
 
 A bowl of milk and toasted bread 
 
 
 
 But near a farm, or an elm tree. 
 
 Are brought, of which while Forrest eats. 
 
 
 
 A long pole fix'd upright we see. 
 
 To draw our pictures Hogarth sits ; 
 
 
 
 And tow'rd the top of it was plac'd 
 
 Thornhill is in the barber's hands. 
 
 
 
 A weathercock, quite in high taste, 
 
 Shaving himself Will Tothall stands ; 
 
 
 
 Which all of us, ere we go further. 
 
 While Scoff is in a corner sitting. 
 
 
 
 Pronounce of the Composite order. 
 
 And an unfinish'd piece completing. 
 
 
 
 First, on a board turn'd by the winl. 
 
 Our reckoning about eight we pay, 
 
 
 
 A painter had a cock design'd. 
 
 And take for Isle of Greane our way ; 
 
 
 
 A common weathercock was above it. 
 
 To keep the road we were directed. 
 
 
 
 This turn'd too as the wind did move it 5 
 
 But, as 'twas bad, this rule neglected. 
 
 
 
 Then on the spindle's point so small 
 
 A tempting path over a stile 
 
 
 
 A shuttlecock stuck o'ertopp'd them all. 
 
 Led us astray above a mile ; 
 
 
 
 This triple alliance gave occasion 
 
 Yet the right road at last we gain. 
 
 
 
 To much improving speculation. 
 
 And joy to find ourselves at Greane ; 
 
 
 
 Alas ! we ne'er know when we are well. 
 
 Where my Dame Husbands, at The Chequer, 
 
 
 
 So at Northfieet again must quarrel ; 
 
 Refresh'd us with some good malt liquor ; 
 
 
 
 But fought not here with sticks and stones 
 
 Into her larder then she runs, 
 
 
 
 (For those, you know, might break our bones) 
 
 Brings out salt pork, butter, and buns. 
 
 
 
 A well just by, full to the brim. 
 
 And coarse black bread, but that's no matter, 
 
 
 
 Did fitter for our purpose seem ; 
 
 •TwiE fortify us for the water. 
 
 
 
 So furiouily we went to dashing, 
 
 Here Scoff so carefully laid down 
 
 
 .: 
 
 Till our coaU wanted ao mors washiof; { 
 
 Hi* penknife which bad cost a crown, 
 
 
 ^&9 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 That all in vain we sought to fina it, 
 
 And, for his comfort, say, " Ne'er mind it ;" 
 
 For to Sheerness we now must go : 
 
 To this the ferryman says, " No." 
 
 We to another man repair'd : 
 
 He too says, " No— it blows too hard." 
 
 But, while we study how to get there. 
 
 In spite of this tempestuous weather. 
 
 Our landlady a scheme propos'd. 
 
 With which we fortunately clos'd. 
 
 Was to the shore to go, and try 
 
 To hail the ships in ordinary. 
 
 So we might get, for no great matter, 
 
 A boat to take us e'er the water. 
 
 We haste, and soon the shore we tread. 
 
 With various kinds of shells bespread. 
 
 And in a little time we spy'd 
 
 A boat approaching on our side ; 
 
 The man to take us in agreed. 
 
 But that was difficult indeed. 
 
 Till, holding in each hand an oar, 
 
 Ke made a sort of bridge to shore. 
 
 O'er which on hands and knees we crawl. 
 
 And so get safe on board the yawl. 
 
 Id little time we seated were. 
 And now to Shcpey's coast draw near ; 
 When suddenly, with loud report. 
 The cannons roar from ships and fort. 
 And, like tall fellows, we impute 
 To our approach this grand salute . 
 But soon, alas ! our pride was humbled. 
 And from this fancy'd height we tumbled. 
 On recollecting that the day 
 The nine and twentieth was of Mai/. 
 The tiring had not long been ended. 
 Before at Skeerness we were landed. 
 Where on the battery while we walk. 
 And of the charming prospect talk, 
 Scott from us in a hurry runs. 
 And, getting to the new-fir'd guns. 
 Unto their touch-holes clapp'd his nose ; 
 Hogarth sits down, and trims his toes ; 
 These whims when we had made our sport. 
 Our turn we finish round the fort. 
 And are at one for Queenhorough going : 
 Bleak was the walk, the wind fierce blowing, 
 And driving o'er our heads the spray ; 
 On loose beach stones, our pebbly way. 
 But Thornhill only got a fall. 
 Which hurt him little, if at all : 
 So merrily along we go. 
 And reach that famous town by two. 
 
 Queenhorough consists of one .'^hort street. 
 Broad, and well-pav'd, and very neat ; 
 Nothing like dirt offends the eye, 
 Scarce any people could we spy : 
 I'he town-house, for the better shoWi 
 In mounted on a portico 
 Of piers and arches, number four. 
 And crown'd at top with a clock tower ; 
 But all this did not reach so high 
 Aa a llatg-staff, that stood just by, 
 Ob whicn a standard huge was flying 
 !'Xti« irarough's arms, the king's supplfiag) 
 
 WTilch on hi»ih festivals thty dtspl&r 
 To do the honours of the day. 
 As for salutes, excus'd they are. 
 Because they have no cannon there. 
 To the church-yard we first repair. 
 
 And hunt for choice inscriptions tliere. 
 
 Search stones and rails, till almost weary all 
 In hopes to find something material. 
 
 When one at last, of pyebald style 
 
 (Though grave the subject) made us smile • 
 
 Telling us first, in humble prose, 
 
 " That Henry Knight doth here repose, 
 
 A Greenland Trader twice twelve year, 
 
 As master and as harpooner :" 
 
 Then, in a.-j humble verse, we read 
 
 <'As by himself in person said) 
 
 ^'■InGreentand I whales,sea/-horse,and bears did si 
 
 Though now my body is intombed m clay." 
 The house at which we were to quarter 
 
 Is call'd The Swans ; this rais d our laughter. 
 
 Because the sign is The Red Lion, 
 
 So strange a blander we cry " Fie on I" 
 
 But, going in, all neat we see 
 
 And clean ; so was our landlady . 
 
 With great civility she told us. 
 
 She had not beds enough to hold us. 
 
 But a good neighbour had just by. 
 
 Where some of us perhaps might lie. 
 
 She sends to ask. The merry dame 
 
 Away to us directly came. 
 
 Quite ready our desires to grant. 
 
 And furnish us with what we want. 
 Back to the church again we go. 
 
 Which IS bnt small, ill built, and low, 
 View'd tJie inside, but still we see 
 Nothing of curiosity. 
 Unless we suffer the grave-digger 
 In this oar work to make a figut-e. 
 Whom just beside us now we have, 
 
 Employ'd in opening of a grave. 
 A prating spark indeed he was, 
 Kaew all the scandal of the place. 
 And often rested from his labours. 
 To give the history of his neighbours ; 
 Told who was who, and what was what. 
 Till on him we bestow'd a pot. 
 (For he forgot not, you may think, 
 •* Masters, I hope you'll make me drink ") 
 At this his scurrilous tongue run faster. 
 Till " a sad dog" he call'd his master. 
 Told us the worshipful the Mayor 
 Was but a custom house officer. 
 Still rattling on till we departed, 
 Not only with his tales diverted. 
 But so much wisdom we had got. 
 We treated him with t'other pot. 
 
 Return we now to the town-hall. 
 That, like the borough, is but small. 
 Under its portico s a space. 
 Which you may call the market plaoe. 
 Just big enough to hold the stocks. 
 And one, if not two, butchers' blocks, 
 Kmblems of plenty and excess. 
 Though you can no where meet with iMs I 
 
 .570 
 

 
 
 THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 
 
 ?or thougn 'tis call'd a market-town 
 
 To draw the townhonse, church, and steeple, 
 
 
 
 (A» tiiey ^re not asham'd to own) 
 
 Surrounded by a crowd o; people; 
 
 
 
 Yet we saw neither butcher's meat. 
 
 Tag, rag, and bobtail, stood quite thick theie, 
 
 
 
 Nor fish, nor fowl, nor aught to eat 
 
 And cry'd, " What a sweet pretty picture t" 
 
 
 
 Once in seven years, they say, there's plenty, 
 
 This wa» not finish'd long before 
 
 
 
 When strangers come to represent ye. 
 
 We saw, about the Mayor's fore-door. 
 
 
 
 Hard at The Swans had been our fare. 
 
 Our honest sailors in a throng : 
 
 
 
 But that some Harwich men were there. 
 
 We call'd one of them from amonif 
 
 
 
 Who Irately had some lobsters taken, 
 
 The rest, to tell us the occasion ; 
 
 
 
 With which, and eke some eggs and bacon. 
 
 Of which he gave us this relation : 
 
 
 
 Our bellies we design to till ; 
 
 " Our midshipman is just come back. 
 
 
 
 But first will clamber up the hill. 
 
 And chanc'd to meet or overtake 
 
 
 
 A most delightful spot of ground. 
 
 A sailor walking with a woman * 
 
 
 
 O'erlooking all the country round ; 
 
 (May be she's honest, may be common) : 
 
 
 
 On which there formerly has been 
 
 He thought her handsome, so his honour 
 
 
 
 The palace of Philippa, queen 
 
 Would needs be very sweet upon her ; 
 
 
 
 To the third Edward, as they tell, 
 
 But this the seaman would not suf- 
 
 
 
 Now nought remains ou't but a well : 
 
 -fer, and this put him in a huff. 
 
 
 
 But 'tis from hence, says common fame. 
 
 • Lubber, avast,' says sturdy John, 
 
 
 
 The borough gets its royal name. 
 
 • Avast, I say, let her alone ; 
 
 
 
 Two sailors at this well we meet. 
 
 You shall not board her, she's my wife. 
 
 
 
 And do each other kindly greet : 
 
 Sheer off. Sir, if you love your life : 
 
 
 
 " What brings you here, my lads ?" cry we. 
 
 I've a great mind your back to lick ;' 
 
 
 
 '' Thirst, please your honours, as you see , 
 
 And up he held his oaken stick. 
 
 
 
 For (adds the spokesman) we are here 
 
 " Our midship hero this did scare : 
 
 
 
 Waiting for our young officer. 
 
 I'll swear the peace before the Mavor," 
 
 
 
 A mid>hipman on board The Rose, 
 
 Says he, so to the Mayor's they trudge : 
 
 
 
 CFor Generals 's son he goes) 
 
 How such a case by such a judge 
 
 
 
 We and our messmates, six m all. 
 
 Determin'd was I cannot say. 
 
 
 
 Yesterday brought him in our yawl, 
 
 We thought it not worth while to stay : 
 
 
 
 And when, as we had been commanded. 
 
 For it strikes nine, " How th' evening spends 
 
 
 
 Quite safe and dry we had him landeU, 
 
 " Come, let us drink to all our friends 
 
 
 
 By running of her fast aground 
 
 A chearful glass, and eat a bit." 
 
 
 
 At tide of ebb, he quickly found 
 
 So to our supper down we sit. 
 
 
 
 That he might go and see Sheerness, 
 
 When something merry check'd our mirth : 
 
 
 
 So here he left us pennyless. 
 
 The Harwich men had got a birth 
 
 
 
 To feast on Queenborough air and water. 
 
 Closely adjoining to our room, 
 
 
 
 Or starve, to him 'tis no great matter , 
 
 And were to spend their evening come : 
 
 
 
 While he among his friends at ease is. 
 
 The wall was thin, and they so near. 
 
 
 
 And will return just when he pleases : 
 
 That all they say, or sing, we hear. 
 
 
 
 Perhaps he may come back to-day, 
 
 We sung eur songs, we crack'd our Jokes, 
 
 
 
 If not, he knows that we must stay." 
 
 Their emulation this provokes ; 
 
 
 
 So one of us gave him a tester, 
 
 And they perform'd so joyously, 
 
 
 
 When both cried out, " God bless you, master!" 
 
 As distanc'd hollow all our glee ; 
 
 
 
 Then ran to rouse their sleepmg fellows. 
 
 So (were it not a bull) I'd say. 
 
 
 
 To share their fortune at the alehouse. 
 
 This night they fairly won the day. 
 
 
 
 Hence to the creek-side, one and all. 
 
 Now plenteously we drink of flip, 
 
 
 
 We go to see The Rose's yawl, 
 
 In hopes we shall the better sleep ; 
 
 
 
 And found her bedded in the mud, 
 
 Some rest the long day's work requires ; 
 
 
 
 Immovable till tide of flood. 
 
 Scott to his lodging first retires ; 
 
 
 
 The sailors here had cockles got 
 
 His landlady is waiting for him. 
 
 
 
 Which gratefully to us they brought, 
 
 And to his chamber walks before him ; 
 
 
 
 'Twas all with which they could regale us. 
 
 In her fair hand a light she bears. 
 
 
 
 This t' other sixpence sent to tli' alehouse . 
 
 And shows him up the garret-stairs ; 
 
 
 
 So merrily they went their way. 
 
 Away comes he greatly aff'ronled. 
 
 
 
 And we were no less pleas'd than they. 
 
 And his disgrace to us recounted, 
 
 
 
 At seven about the town we walk. 
 
 This makes us game, we roast him for it, 
 
 
 
 And with some pretty damsels talk. 
 
 " Scott's too high-minded for a garret. ' 
 
 
 
 Beautiful nymphs indeed, I ween. 
 
 But Tothall more humanely said. 
 
 
 
 Who came to see, and to be seen. 
 
 " Come, Scott, be easy, take my bed. 
 
 
 
 Then to our Swans returning, there 
 
 And to your garret I will go." 
 
 
 
 We borrow'd a great wooden chair 
 
 (This great good-nature sure did show) 
 
 
 
 And plac'd it in the open street. 
 
 Ther^ finding nought him to entertaui 
 
 
 
 Where, in much stata did Hogatth sit 
 
 But a flock-bed without a curtain. 
 
 
 571 
 
 
THE TABLE BOOK:. 
 
 H» -too in haste came back, and «ot 
 Away to share his bed with Scott, 
 And at eleven each goes to nest, 
 1 ill Tuesday morn to take his rest. 
 
 At six comes Hiigarth, " Rise, Sirs, rise," 
 Says he, with roguery in his eyes, 
 " Scott's landlady is below stairs ; 
 And roundly the good woman swears. 
 That for his lodging he shall pay, 
 (Where his tir'd bones he scorn'd to lay) 
 Or he should go before the Mayor." 
 She's in the right on't, we declare, 
 For this would cut the matter short, 
 (At least 'twould make us special sport); 
 But here she balk'd us, and, no doubt. 
 Had wit enough to find us out. 
 Our mark thus miss'd, we kindly go 
 To see how he and Tuthall do. 
 We tind the doors all open were, 
 (It seems that's not unusual here) 
 They're very well, but Scott last night 
 Had been in a most dreadful fright : 
 " When to his room he got," he said, 
 " And j\rsi was stepping into bed, 
 He thought he saw the bed-cloaths stir, 
 So back he flew in mortal fear ; 
 But, taking heart of grace, he try'd 
 To feel what 'twas, when out it cry'd ; 
 Again he starts, but to his joy 
 It pi'ov'd a little harmless boy 
 Who by mistake had thither crept. 
 And soundly (till he wak'd him) slept. 
 So from his fears recover'd quite, 
 He got to sleep, and slept all night." 
 We laugh at this, and he laughs too, 
 for, pray, what better could he do ? 
 
 At ten we leave our Liun-Swant, 
 And to the higher lands advance. 
 Call on our laundress by the way 
 For the led shirts left yesterday 
 To wash ; " She's sorry, they're not yet 
 Quite dry 1" — " Why then we'll take them wet 
 They'll dry and iron'd be, we hope, 
 At Minster, where we next shall stop." 
 
 The way was good, the weather fair. 
 The prospects most delightful were. 
 To Minster got, with labour hard 
 We cliiiib'd the hill to the church-yard, 
 But, when arriv'd there, did not fail 
 To read some verses on a rail 
 \'\'ell worth transcribing, we agree. 
 Whether you think so, you may see. 
 " Here mlerr'd Oeorge Anderson doth lye. 
 By fallen on an anchor he did dye 
 (n Sheerncss yard on Good Friday 
 The 6th of April, I do say. 
 All you that read my allegy be alwaies 
 Ready for to dye — aged 42 years." 
 
 Of monuments that here they shew 
 Within the church, we drew but two ; 
 One an ambassador of Spain's, 
 T'other Lord ShorlanSs dust contains. 
 Of whom they have a wondrous story, 
 */\k» c*» t'i«/ tell) I' 11 lay b«fore ya. 
 
 • The Lord of Shofland, ■-a i. day. 
 Chancing to take a ride this way, 
 Aoout a corpse observ'd a crowd. 
 Against their priest complaining loud. 
 That he would not the service say 
 Till somebody his fees should pay 
 
 On this his lordship too did rave, 
 And threw the priest into the grave, 
 " Make haste and fill it up," said he, 
 "We'll bury both without a fee." 
 But when got home, and '■ool, reflecting 
 On the strange part he had been acting. 
 He drew a state up of the case, 
 Humbly petitioning for grace. 
 And to the sea gallop'd away. 
 Where, at that time, a frigate lay, 
 With Q»ieen Elizabeth on board, 
 When (strange to tell!) this hare-brain'd Lord 
 On horseback swam to the ship's side, 
 And there to see the Queen apply'd. 
 His case she reads; her royal breast 
 ■Is niov'd to grant him his request. 
 His pardon thankfully he takes. 
 And, swimming still, to land he makes ; 
 But on his riding up the beach. 
 He an old woman met, a witch : 
 " This horse, which now your bfe doth save 
 Seya she, " will bring you to the grave." 
 ** You'll prove a liar," sa)s my lord, 
 *' You ugly hag !" and with his sword 
 (Acting a most ungratelul part) 
 Kis panting .steed stabb'd to the heart. 
 
 It happen'd, after many a day, 
 I'hat with some friends he stroU'd that way, 
 And this strange story, as they walk, 
 Becaiiie the subject of th(*ir talk : 
 V/hen, " There the carcase lies," he cry'd, 
 " Upon the beach by the sea side." 
 As 'twas not tar, he led thein lo't. 
 And kick'd the skull up with his foot, 
 When a sharp bone pierc'd through his shoe, 
 And wounded grievously his toe, 
 Which m.ortify'd ; so he was kiU'd, 
 And the hag's prophecy fulfill'd. 
 See tliere his cross-legg'd figure laid, 
 And near his feet the horse's head! 
 
 The tombt is of too old a fashion 
 To tally well with this narration ; 
 But of the truth we would not doubt. 
 Nor put our Cicerone out : 
 
 • This story is q^ioted by Mr. Grose in his Antiqir.- 
 ties. Vol. II. art. Minster Monastery. " The legend,'' 
 says Mr. Grose, " has, by a worthy friend of mine, 
 been hitched into doggrnl rhyme. It would 'oe paying 
 the reader but a bad compliment to attempt seriousl) 
 to exa^riirie the credibility of the story." 
 
 + A cross-legg'd figure in armour, with a shield oiei 
 his left arm, like I hat of a Knight Templar, said tc 
 represent Sir Robert de Sh-urland, who by Edward 1 
 was created a Knight banneret for his gallant beha 
 viour at the siege of Carlaverock in Scotland. He lies 
 under a Gothic arch in the south wall, having an 
 armed page at his feet, and on his right side the head 
 of a horse emerging out of the waves of the sea, as u 
 the action of swimming. — Gaoss. 
 
 572 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 MONUMENT IN MINSTER CHURCH TO LORD SHORLAND. 
 
 Of whom they have a ■wondrous story, 
 Which (as they tell) I'll lay before ye. 
 
 Gcsllingi. 
 
 It gives a moral hint at least, 
 
 That gratitude's due to a beast. 
 
 So ffir It's good, whoever made it, 
 
 And that it may not fail of credit, 
 
 A horsehead vane adorns the steeple, 
 
 And it's Horse-church call'd by the people. 
 
 Our shirts dry'd at The George we get, 
 We dine there, and till four we sit. 
 And now in earnest think of home ; 
 So to Sheemess agiin we come. 
 Where for a bum-boat we agree, 
 And about five put oflf to sea. 
 We presently were under sail. 
 The tide our friend, south-east the gale. 
 Quite wind enough, and some to spare. 
 But we to that accustom'd were. 
 
 When we had now got past The Nore, 
 And lost the sight of Shepey's shore. 
 The ebbing tide of Thames we met, 
 The wind against it fiercely set ; 
 This made a short and tumbling sea. 
 And finely toss'd indeed were we. 
 
 The porpoises in stormy weather 
 Are often seen in shoals together 
 About us while they roU'and play 
 One in his pambols miss'd his way. 
 
 And threw himself so far on shore. 
 
 We thought he would get off no more ; 
 
 Pnt with great struggling, and some pain. 
 
 He did, and went to play again. 
 
 On this we moralising say, 
 
 " How thoughtless is the love of play I" 
 
 When we ourselves with sorrow find 
 
 Our pleasures too with pain conjoin'd. 
 
 P'or troubles crowd upon us thick ; 
 
 Our hero, Scott, grows very sick ; 
 
 Poor Hogarth makes wry faces too 
 
 (VVorse fases than he ever drew). 
 
 You'ir guess what were the consequences. 
 
 Not overpleasing to our senses ; 
 
 And this misfortune was augmented 
 
 By Master TothaWs being acquainted 
 
 With the commander of a sloop, 
 
 At Holy Haven near The Hope. 
 
 " There's Captain Robinson" says he, 
 
 " A friend, whom I must call and see." 
 
 Up the ship's side he nimbly goes. 
 
 While we lie overs-, "-/jlm'd with woes. 
 
 Sick, and of winds and waves the sport. 
 
 But then he made his visit short. 
 
 And when a sup of punch he'd got. 
 
 Some lighted match match to us he brought 
 
 57a 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 A sovereign o^irdial this, no doubt. 
 To men whose pipes had long been out. 
 
 By seven o'clock our sick recover. 
 And all are glad this trouble's over. 
 Now jovially \pe sail along, 
 Oui cockswain giving song for song. 
 But soon our notes are chang'd; we fonnd 
 Our boat was on Bly-sand aground, 
 Just in the middle of the river ; 
 Hpre Tothall shew'd himself quite clever : 
 And, knowing we must else abide 
 Till lifted by the flowing tide, 
 Work'd without skippers, till the boa 
 Was once more happily afloat. 
 We all applaud his care and skill. 
 So do the boatmen his good-will. 
 
 Ere long the tide made upward, so 
 With that before th§ wind we go, 
 And, disembarking about ten, 
 Our Gravesend quarters reach again. 
 Here Madam, smiling, co nes to tell 
 How glad she is to see us well : 
 Tiiis kind reception we commended. 
 And now thought all our troubles ended j 
 But, when for what we wanJ; we call. 
 Something unlucky did befall. 
 
 When we our travels Srst began 
 Scott (who's a very prudent man) 
 Thought a great coat could do no harm. 
 And in the boat might keep him warm; 
 So far perhaps you think him right. 
 As we took water in the night: 
 But when from hence we took our rrny 
 On foot, the latter end of May, 
 He, quite as reasonably, thought 
 'Twould be too heavy or too hot ; 
 " I'll leave it here," says he, " acd talw 
 ■* it with me at our coming back." 
 And he most certainly design'd it. 
 But now the thing was, how to find it ? 
 We told him he had been mistaken. 
 And did without his hostess reckon. 
 To him it was no jest ; he swore. 
 
 He left it there three days before. 
 * This Mrs. Bramble cau't deny." 
 " Sir, we shall find it by and by :" 
 So out she goes, and rends her throat 
 With " Molt, go find the gem'man's coat." 
 I'he house Moll searches round and round, 
 At last, with much ado, 'twas found — 
 'Twas found, that, to the owner's cost. 
 Or Scott's, the borrow'd coat was lost. 
 " Coat lost !" says he, stamping and staring. 
 Then stood like dumb, then fell to swearing : 
 He curs'd the ill-concluding ramble. 
 He curs'd Gravesend and mother Bramble. 
 
 But, while his rage he thus express'd. 
 And we his anger made our jest. 
 Till wrath had almost got the upper 
 -band of his reason, in came supper .[ 
 To this at once his stomach turn'd, 
 No longer it with fury burn'd, 
 BTit hunger took the place of rage, 
 Aiul a food meal did both assuit^d 
 
 Me eat and drank, be drank and eat. 
 
 The wine commended, and tVe meat; 
 
 So we did all, and sat so late, 
 
 That ffedaesday morn we lay till eignt« 
 
 Tobacco then, and wine provide. 
 
 Enough to serve ns for this tide. 
 
 Get breakfast, and our reckoning pay. 
 
 And next prepare for London hey ; 
 
 So, hiring to ourselves a wheiry. 
 
 We put off, all alive and merry. 
 
 The tide was strong, fair was the wind, 
 Gravesend is soon left far behind. 
 Under the tilt on straw we lay. 
 Observing what a charming day. 
 There stretch'd at ease we smoke a»id drinn, 
 Londoners like, and now we think 
 Our cross adventures all are past. 
 And that at Gravesend was the last : 
 But cruel Fate to that says no ; 
 One yet shall Fortune find his foe. 
 
 While we (with various prospects cloy'd) 
 In clouds of smoke ourselves enjoy 'd, 
 More diligent and curious, Scott 
 Into the forecastle had got. 
 And took his papers out, to draw 
 Some ships which right ahead he saw. 
 There sat he, on his work intent, 
 ^Vhen, to increase our merriment, 
 So luckily we shipp'd a sea. 
 That he got sous'd, and only he. 
 This bringing to his mind a thought 
 How much he wanted his great coat, 
 Renew'd his anger and his grief; 
 He curs'd Gravesend, the coat, and thief; 
 And, still to heighten his regret. 
 His shirt was in his breeches wet : 
 He draws it out, and lets it fly, 
 L:ke a French ensign, till 'tis dry. 
 Then, creeping into shelter safe. 
 Joins with the company and laugh. 
 
 Nothing more happen'd worthy note: 
 At Billingsgate we change our boat. 
 And in another through bridge get. 
 By two, to Stairs of Somerset, 
 Welcome each other to the shore. 
 To Covcnt Garden walk once more. 
 And, as from Bedford Arms we started. 
 There wet our whistles ere we parted. 
 
 With pleasure I observe, none idle 
 Were in our travels, or employ'd ill. 
 Tothall, our treasurer, was just. 
 And worthily discharg'd his trust ; 
 {We all sign'd his accounts as fair ;) 
 Sam Scott and Mogarth, for their share. 
 The prospects of the sea and land did; 
 As Thornhill of our tour the plan did ; 
 And Forrest wrote this true relation 
 Of our five days peregrination. 
 This to attest, our names we've wrote all, 
 Viz. Thornhill, Hogarth, ScoU, a.nd Tcthii2l 
 
 574 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE DIET OF AUGSBUEG COMMEMOKATION MEDAL. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — This engraving is from a silver 
 nedal, of the same size, which commemo- 
 ates two events — The first is that of the 
 iate of June 1530, which is calL1^ ^he 
 Confession of Augsburgh, to settle the re- 
 ligious disputes, in a Diet, or Assembly of 
 Princes between the Lutherans and the 
 Catholics — The second relates to the cele- 
 -jration of the Centenary of the Diet. 
 
 Tlie inscription " Johannes " on the side 
 of the medal dated 1530, is for John 
 Elector of Saxony. The inscription " Joh. 
 Geor." on the side dated 1630, is for the 
 Elector John George IIL The escutciieon 
 with swords saltierwise, accompany ing 
 -heir arms, denotes the dignity of Grand 
 Marshal of the Empire. 
 
 The medal is in the possession of John 
 Burrell Vaux, Esq.of Thetford, in Norfolk, 
 who obligingly lent it to me, with permis- 
 sion to have a drawing taken from it for 
 any purpose I pleased, together with a 
 memorandum accompanying it, to the pre- 
 ceding ettect. As a friend to the compo- 
 sure of differences, I deemed it suitable to 
 me peaceful columns of the Table Book; and 
 I shall be happv if so striking 3 memorial. 
 
 and the events it refers to, receive furtlie_ 
 illustration from other correspondents. 
 1 am, &c. 
 
 H. B. 
 
 [By a mistake of the. engravf r, the present is the onlj 
 engraving in the present sheet of the Table Book.— 
 Editob.] 
 
 HIGHLAND EMIGRATION. 
 
 Son of the GaSl, how many a wierle change 
 
 The wing of time has brought across thy hills I 
 How many a deed uncouth, and custom strange. 
 
 The lofty spirit of thy fathers chills ! 
 
 The usage of thy foes thy region fills. 
 And low thy head is bowed their hand beneath. 
 
 And driven by innumerable ills. 
 Thy olden race is gone from hill and heath, 
 To live a homeless life, and die a stranger's death. 
 
 The preceding stanza is the first in the 
 poem entitled " The Last Deer of Beann 
 Doran." On the last two lines its author 
 Mr. James Hay Allan, appends a note as 
 follows : — 
 
 In consequence of the enormous advance 
 of rents, and the system of throwing the 
 small crofts into extensive shtep-farms, the 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 575 
 
 2P 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 Highlands have been so depopulated in the 
 last seventy-seven years,* that the inhabit- 
 ants do not now amount to above one- 
 third of their number at the commence- 
 ment of that period. An instance of this 
 melancholy fact is very striking in Glen 
 Urcha : in 1745 the east half only of the 
 straith from Dalmallie to Strone sent out 
 a hundred fighting men : at the present 
 day there are not in the same space above 
 thirty. This proportion of decrease is 
 general. During the last twenty years 
 fifteen hundred persons have gone from 
 Argyleshire; three thousand from Inver- 
 ness ; the same number fiom Ross and 
 Caithness ; and five thousand from Suther- 
 land. The desertions have been equal in 
 the isles. Pennant, speaking of the inha- 
 bitants of Skie, says: "Migrations and 
 depression of spirit, the last a common 
 cause of depopulation, have since the year 
 1750 reduced the number from fifteen 
 thousand to between twelve and th'rteen : 
 one thousand having crossed the Atlantic ; 
 others, sunk beneath poverty, or in despair, 
 ceased to obey the first great command, 
 Increase and multiply." These observa- 
 tions were written m 1774; so that the 
 depopulation which is mentioned, took 
 place in twenty-four years. 
 
 It is impossible to paint the first depart- 
 ings of a people who held the memory of 
 their ancestors, and the love of their soil, a 
 part of their soul. Unacquainted with any 
 mechanical art, and unable to obtain for 
 their overflowing numbers an agricultural 
 or pastoral employment in their own coun- 
 try, they were obliged to abandon their 
 native land, and seek an asylum in the un- 
 peopled deserts of the western world. The 
 departing inhabitants of each straith and 
 hamlet gathered into bands, and marched 
 out of their glens with the piper playing 
 befoie them the death lament, " Cha pill ! 
 cha pill! cha pill me tulle!" — "Never! 
 never! never shall I return!'' Upon the 
 spot where they were to lose sight of their 
 native place, and part from those who 
 were to remain behind, they threw them- 
 selves upon the ground in an agony of de- 
 spair, embracing the earth, moistening the 
 heather with their tears, and clinging with 
 hopeless anguish to the necks and plaids 
 of the friends whom they were to see no 
 more. When the hour of separation was 
 past, they went forth upon the world a 
 lonely, sad, expatriated race, rent fiom all 
 
 ♦ Mr. Allan's poems, the " Bridal of Caelcljairn," 
 the " Last Deer of Beann Doran," &c. were published 
 i>y CarpsDter, Bond-street, in 18S2. 
 
 which bound them to the earth, and lost 
 amid the tide of mankind : none mixed 
 with them in character, none blended with 
 them in sympathy. They were left in 
 their simplicity to struggle with fraud, 
 ignorance, and distress, a divided people 
 set apart to misfortune. 
 
 In the third starua of the poem on 
 " Beann Doran,'' its author says, 
 
 There was a time — alas ! full long ago, 
 Wide forests waved upon thy mountains' side. 
 
 On these lines Mr. Allan remarks as 
 follows : — 
 
 Almost every district of the Highlands 
 beats the trace of the vast forests with 
 which at no very distant period the hills 
 and heaths were covered : some have de- 
 cayed with age, but large tracts were pur- 
 posely destroyed in the latter end of the 
 sixteenth and the early part of the seven- 
 teenth century. On the south side of 
 Beann Nevis a large pine forest, which 
 extended from the western braes of Loch- 
 abar to the black water and the mosses of 
 Kanach, was burned to expel the wolves. 
 In the neighbourhood of Loch Sloi a tract 
 of woods, nearly twenty miles in extent, 
 was consumed for the same purpose; and 
 at a later peiiod a considerable part of the 
 forests adjoining to Lochiel was laid waste 
 by the soldiers of Oliver Cromwell, in their 
 attempts to subdue the Clan Cameron. 
 Nothing of late years has tended more to 
 the destruction of the small woods than the 
 pasturage of sheep. Wherever these ani- 
 mals have access to a copse-wood which 
 has been cut down, they entirely stunt its 
 growth, and sometimes destroy it altoge- 
 ther, by continually eating oft" the young 
 shoots as soon as they appear. A consi- 
 derable quantity of the yet remaining 
 woods is also too frequently sacrificed 
 to the avarice of the proprietors. On 
 the west bank of Loch Catrine, near the 
 Trossachs, a ground which ought now to 
 have been as sacred as the vale of Tempe, 
 a beautiful copse-wood has been cut and 
 sold within a recent period ; and there ap- 
 pears in its place only the desolate side of 
 a naked htather hill. It is not above sixty 
 years since Glen Urcha has been divested 
 of a superb forest of firs some miles in 
 extent. The timber was bought by a com- 
 pany of Irish adventurers, who paid at the 
 rate of sixpence a tree for such as would 
 now have been valued at five guineas 
 After having felled the whole of the forest 
 
 57(3 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ihe pui-chasers became bankrupt, and A'lS- 
 persed : the overseer of the woikmen was 
 hanged at Inverara, for assassinating one 
 of his mea. The laird never received the 
 purchase of his timber, and a considerable 
 number of the trees were left upon the spot 
 wiiere they fell, or by the shores of Loch 
 Awe, where they were carried for convey- 
 ance, and gradually consumed by the 
 action of the weather. Those mosses where 
 the ancient forests formerly stood, are over- 
 spread with the short stocks of trees still 
 standing where they grew. Age has re- 
 duced them almost to the core, and the 
 rains and decay of the earth have cleared 
 them of the soil : yet their wasted stumps, 
 and the fangs of their roots, retain their 
 original shape, and stand amid the hol- 
 lows, the realization of the skeletons of 
 trees in the romance of Leonora. Abun- 
 dance of these remains of an older world 
 are to be seen in Glen Urcha and its neigh- 
 bourhood. In Corral Fhuar, Glen Phin- 
 glass, and Glen Eitive, they are met at every 
 step. In the first, a few living firs are yet 
 thriving ; but they are surrounded on every 
 side by the shattered stumps, fallen trunks, 
 and blasted limbs of a departed forest. 
 
 It is difficult to conceive the sad emotions 
 which are excited by this picture of an aged 
 existence falling without notice, and con- 
 suming in the deepest solitude and silence: 
 on every side lie different stages of decay, 
 from the mouldered and barkless stock, 
 half overgrown with grass and moss, to 
 the overturned tree, yet bearing on its 
 crashed limbs the withered leaves of its 
 last summer. In Glen Phinglass there is 
 no longer any living timber; but the re- 
 mains of that which it once produced are 
 of greater magnitude than those in Corrai 
 Fhuar. In this tract the trees were chiefly 
 oak ; firs were, however, intermixed among 
 them, and in the upper part of the glen is 
 the stump of one six feet in diameter. At 
 intervals are stocks of oak from five to 
 seven or eight feet in height; they are all 
 of a great size and age : some are still 
 covered with bark, and yet bear a few 
 stunted shoots; but many are so old, that 
 the mossy earth has grown on one side to 
 their top, and the heath has begun to tuft 
 them over like ivy. In Glen Eitive the 
 remains are less obliterated : many of the 
 scathed and knotted stumps yet bear a thin 
 iisad of wieathed and dwarfish boughs, 
 and in some places trunks of immense 
 oaks, straight as a mast, yet lie at the foot 
 of tiie stump from which they were snap- 
 ped. I know not how to describe the feel- 
 oigs with which I have gazed upon these 
 
 relics of the ancient forests which once 
 covered the hills, and looked up to the 
 little feathery copse-wood which is all that 
 now remains upon the side of the moun- 
 tain. What must be the soul of that man 
 who can look upon the change without a 
 thought? who hears the taunts of the 
 stranger revile the nakedness of his land, 
 and who can stand upon his hill and 
 stretch his eye for an hundred miles over 
 tlie traces of gigantic woods, and say, 
 " This is mine;" and yet ask not the neg- 
 lected earth for its produce, nor strive to 
 revive the perished glory of his country, 
 and which to be reanimated needs but to 
 be sought ? 
 
 The success of those who have possessed 
 this patriotism ought to be a source of 
 emulation, and is a monument of reproach 
 to those who do not follow their example. 
 The princely avenues of Inverara, the beau- 
 tiful woods of Glengarrie, the plantations 
 of Duntroon, and the groves of Athol, must 
 excite in a stranger, admiration; in a na- 
 tive, pride and gratitude — pride in the pro- 
 duce of his country, and gratitude to the 
 noble possessors who have pieserved and 
 cherished that which every Scottish pro- 
 prietor ought to support, the honour and 
 the interest of his fathers' land. 
 
 Mr. Allan's elegant poem is a " lament 
 on ihe desertion of the Highlands by its 
 ancient inhabitants. He says : — 
 
 Full often in the valleys still and lone. 
 
 The ruins uf deserted /luts appear. 
 
 And here and there g;rovvn o'er for many a year, 
 Half-hidden ridges in the heath are seen. 
 Where once the delving plough arid waving corn had 
 been. 
 
 In a note on this stanza, Mr. Allan elo- 
 quently depicts the depopulated districts, 
 viz. : — 
 
 Upon the narrow banks of lonely streams, 
 amid the solitude of waste moors, in the 
 bosom of desolate glens, and on the emi- 
 nences of hills given to the foxes and the 
 sheep, are seen the half-mouldered walls ot 
 ruined huts, and the mossy furrows ot 
 abandoned fields, which tell the existence 
 of a people once numerous and rich. In 
 these melancholy traces of desolation are 
 sometimes seen the remains of eight or 
 twelve houses bereft of their roofs, and 
 mouldering into a promiscuous heap. Upor 
 one farm in the straith of Glen Urcha 
 there were " sixty years since" thirty-seven 
 " smokes ;" at this day they are all ^.\- 
 tinguished, except four. A less extensiv 
 
 577 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 but more striking instance of this falling 
 away of the people will still farther illus- 
 trate the lines in the poem. I was one 
 evening passing up a solitary glen between 
 Glen Phinglass and Loch Bhoile ; the day 
 was fast closing, and wearied with hunting, 
 and at a distance from the inhabited straiths, 
 I wished to discover some house where I 
 might obtain refreshment. As I turned the 
 shoulder of the hill, I came upon a small 
 level plain where four glens met. In the 
 midst stood two cottages, and I hastened 
 forward in the hopes of obtaining a stoup 
 of milk and a barley scone. As I drew 
 near I remarked that no smoke issued from 
 the chimney, no cattle stood in the straith, 
 nor was there any sign of the little green 
 kale yard, which is now found in the pre- 
 cincts of a highland cottage. I was some- 
 thing discouraged by the quiet and desola- 
 tion which reigned around ; but knowing 
 the solitude and ptverty of the shepherds 
 of tlie outward bounds, I was not sur- 
 prised. At length, however, as I drew 
 near, I saw the heath growing in the walls 
 of the huts, the doors were removed, and 
 the apertures of the windows had fallen 
 into chasms. As I stopped and looked 
 round, I observed a level space which had 
 been once a field : it was yet green and 
 smooth, and the grass-grown ridges of long- 
 neglected furrows were perceivable, retiring 
 beneath the encroaching heather. Famili- 
 arity with such objects prevented surprise 
 and almost reflection ; but hunger and 
 weariness reminded me not to linger, and 
 I pursued my way towards Loch Bhoile. 
 As I turned into the north-west glen, I 
 again discovered before me a small house 
 by the side of the burn, and the compacti- 
 tude of its walls and the freshness of its 
 grey roof as the setting sun glinted upon 
 its ridge, assured me that it was not desert- 
 ed. I hastened onward, but again I was 
 deceived. When I came near, I found that 
 although it had not been so long unin- 
 habited, it was forsaken like the rest: the 
 small wooden windows were half-closed ; 
 the door stood open, and moss had crept 
 upon the sill ; the roof was grown over 
 with a thick and high crop of long-withered 
 grass : a few half-burnt peats lay in a cor- 
 ner of the hearth, and the smoke of its last 
 fire was yet hanging on the walls. In the 
 narrow sandy path near the door was a 
 worn space, which yet seemed smoothened 
 by the tread of little feet, and showed the 
 half-deranged remains of children's play- 
 houses buiit with pebbles and fragments of 
 broken china : the row of stepping-stones 
 vet stood as they had been placed in the 
 
 brook, but no foot-mark vias upon them, 
 and it was doubtless many a day since 
 they had been crossed, save by the foxes o' 
 the hill. 
 
 viarrirk fih^* 
 
 No. XXXIII. 
 
 [From the "True Trojans, or Fuimus 
 Troes,'' an Historical Play, Author un- 
 known, 1633.] 
 
 Invocation of the Druidn to the Gods oj 
 Britain, on the invasion of Caesar. 
 
 Draw near, ye Heav'nly Powers, 
 Who dwell in starry bowers; 
 And ye, who in the deep 
 On mossy pillows sleep ; 
 And ye who keep the centre. 
 Where never light did enter ; 
 And ye whose habitations 
 Are still among the nations. 
 To see and hear our doings. 
 Our births, our wars, our wooings. 
 Behold our present grief* 
 Belief doth beg relief. 
 
 By the vervain and lunary. 
 
 By feni seed planetary, 
 
 By the dreadful misletoe 
 
 Which doth on holy oak grow. 
 
 Draw near, draw near, draw near. 
 
 Help us beset with danger, 
 And turn away yonr anger ; 
 Help us begirt with trouble. 
 And now your mercy double ; 
 Help us opprest with sorrow 
 And fight for us to-morrow. 
 Let fire consume the foeman. 
 Let air infest the Roman, 
 Let seas intomb their fury, 
 Let gaping earth them bury. 
 Let fire, and air, and water, 
 And earth conspire their slaughtei 
 
 By the vervain, &g. 
 We'll praise then your great powei 
 Each nionth, each day, each hour. 
 And blaze in lasting story 
 Your honour and your glory. 
 High altars lost in vapour, 
 "Voung heifers free from labour. 
 White lambs for suck still crying. 
 Shall make your music dying. 
 The boys and girls around, 
 "With honey suckles crown'd; 
 The bards with harp and rbiminf 
 Green bays their brows entwining. 
 Sweet tune and sweeter ditty. 
 Shall chaunt your gracious pity . 
 
 By the vervaia. Sec. 
 
 578 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Another, to the Moon. 
 
 Thpn QneeE of Heav'n, Coramandress of the deep, 
 
 fwady of lakes, Regent of woods and deer ; 
 
 A Lamp, dispelling irksome night; the Source 
 
 Of generable moisture ; at whose feet 
 
 Wait twenty thousand Naiades! — thy crescent 
 
 Brute elephants adore, and man doth feel 
 
 Thy force run through the zodiac of his limbs. 
 
 O thou first Guide of Brutus to ihis isle. 
 
 Drive back these proud usurpers from this isle. 
 
 Whether the name of Cynthia's silver globe. 
 
 Or chaste Diana with a gilded quiver. 
 
 Or dread Proserpina, stern Dis's spouse. 
 
 Or soft Lncina, call'd in child-bed throes, 
 
 Doth thee delight: rise with a glorious face; 
 
 (rreen drops of Nereus trickling down thy cheeks. 
 
 And with bright horns united in full orb 
 
 Toss high the seas, with billows beat the banks. 
 
 Conjure up Neptune, and th' -'Eolian slaves, 
 
 Protract both night and winter in a storm. 
 
 That Romans lose their way, and sooner land 
 
 At sad Avernus' than at Albion's strand. 
 
 So may'st thou shun the Dragon's head and tail ! 
 
 So may Endymion snort on Latmian bed ! 
 
 So may the fair game fall before thy bow ! — 
 
 Shed light on us, but light'ning on our foe. 
 
 [From (he " Twins," a Comedy, by W. 
 Rider, A. M. 1655.] 
 
 Irresolution. 
 
 I am a heavy stone. 
 
 Rolled up a hill by a weak child: I move 
 
 A little up, and tumble back again. 
 
 Resolution for Innocence. 
 
 My noble mind has not yet lost all shame. 
 
 I will desist. My love, that will not serve me 
 
 As a true subject, I'll conquer as an enemy. 
 
 O Fame, I will not add another spot 
 
 To thy pure robe. I'll keep ray ermine honour 
 
 Pure and alive in death ; and with my end 
 
 I'll end my sin and shame : like Charicles, 
 
 Who living to a hundred years of age 
 
 Free from the least disease, fearing a sickness, 
 
 To kill it killed himself, and made his death 
 
 The period of his health. 
 
 From " Sir Giles Goosecap," a Comedy, 
 Author Unknown, 1606.] 
 
 Friendship in a Lord; modesty in a 
 Gentleman. 
 
 Clarence, (to tome musiciani'). Thanks, gentle 
 fr 3nds ; 
 fs your gx>od lord, and mine, gone up to bed yet . 
 
 Momford. I do assure yon not. Sir, not yet, nor yet, 
 m/dsep aud Etudioos friend, not yet, musical Clarence. 
 
 Clar. My Lord — 
 
 Mom. Nor yet, thou sole divider of my Lordship. 
 
 Clar. That were a most unfll division, 
 And far above the pitch of my low plumes. 
 1 am your bold and constant guest, my Lord. 
 
 Mom. Far, far from bold, for thou hast kno?m mi 
 long. 
 Almost these twenty years, and half those years 
 Hast been my bedfellow, long time before 
 This unseen thing, this thing of nought indeed, 
 Or atom, calTd my Lordship, shiued in me ; 
 And yet thou mak'st thyself as little bold 
 To take such kindness, as becomes the age 
 And truth of our indissoluble love. 
 As our acquaintance sprong but yesterday; 
 Such is thy gentle and too tender spirit. 
 
 Clar. My Lord, my want of courtship makes inp 
 fear 
 I should be rude ; and this my msan estate 
 Meets with such envy and detraction, 
 Such misconstructions andrespiv'd raisdonms 
 Of my poor worth, that shoula I be advanced 
 Beyond my unseen lowness but one hair, 
 I should be torn in pieces by the spirits 
 That fly in ill-lung'd tempests thro' the world. 
 Tearing the head of virtue from her shoulders, 
 If she but look out of the ground of glory ; 
 'Twixt whom, and me, and every worldly fortune. 
 There fights such sour and curst antipatiiy, 
 So waspish and so petulant a star. 
 That all things tending to my grace and good 
 Areravish'd from their object, as I were 
 A thing created for a wilderness. 
 And must net think of any place with men. 
 
 [From the " English Monsieur," a Comedy 
 by the Hon. James Howard, 1674.] 
 
 The humour of a conceited Traveller, 
 u-ho is taken with every thing that is 
 French. 
 
 English Monsieur. Gentlemen, if you please, let us 
 dine together. 
 
 Vaine. I know a cook's shop, has the best boilea and 
 roast beef in town. 
 
 Eng. Mons. Sir, since you are a stranger to me, I 
 only ask you what you mean , but, were you acquaint- 
 ed with me, I should take your greasy proposition as 
 an affront to my palate. 
 
 Vaine. Sir, I only meant, by the consent of this com- 
 pany, to dine well together. 
 
 Eng. Mons. Do you call dining well, to eat out of a 
 French house. 
 
 Vaine. Sir, I understand you as little as you do 
 beef. 
 
 Eng. Mons. Why then, to interpret my meaning 
 plainly, if ever you make me such offer again, expect 
 to hear from me next morning — 
 
 Vaine. What, that you would not dine with me — 
 
 Eng. Mons. No, Sir; that I will fight with you. In 
 short. Sir, I can only tell you, that I had once a dispute 
 with a certain person in this kind, who defended (ha 
 
 579 
 
t- 
 
 THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Enghsli way of eating ; whereupon I sent him a chal- 
 .enge, as any man that has been in France would have 
 done. We fought ; I killed him : and whereabouts do 
 you think I hit him ? 
 
 Vaine. I warrant you, in the small guts — 
 Eng. Mons. I run him through his mistaken palate ; 
 which made me think the hand of justice guided my 
 sword. 
 
 « « * » « 
 
 Eng. Mons. Madam, leading your Ladyship, puts me 
 in mind of France. 
 
 Lady. Why, Sir ? 
 
 Eng. Mons. Because you lead so like French ladies. 
 
 Lady. Sir, why look you so earnestly on the ground ? 
 
 Eng. Mons. I'll lay a hundred pounds, here has been 
 three English ladies walking up before us. 
 
 Crafty. How can you tell. Sir ? 
 
 Eng. il/ons. By being in France. 
 
 Crafty. What a devil can he mean ? 
 
 Eng. Mons. 1 have oftea in France observed in gar- 
 dens, when the company used to walk after a small 
 >hower of rain, the impression of the French ladies' 
 feet. I have seen such bon mien in their footsteps, that 
 the King of France's Maitre de Daunce could not have 
 found fault with any one tread amongst them all. In 
 this walk I find the toes of the English ladies ready to 
 tread one upon another. 
 
 « « « 4 • 
 
 Vaine. Monsieur Frenchlove, well met — 
 
 Eng. Mons. I cannot say the like to you. Sir, since 
 I'm told you've done a damn'd English trick. 
 
 Vaine. In what ? 
 
 Eng. Mons. In finding fault with a' pair of tops I 
 wore yesterday ; and, upon my parol., I never had a 
 pair sat better in my life. My leg look'd in 'em not at 
 all like an English leg. 
 
 Vaine. Sir, all that I said of your tops was, that 
 they made such a rushing noise as you walk'd, that my 
 mistress could not hear one word of the love I made to 
 ner. 
 
 Eng. Mons. Sir, I cancot help that ; for I shall 
 justify iny tops in the noise they were guilty of, since 
 'twas Alamode of France. Can you say 'twas as Eng- 
 lish noise. 
 
 Vaine. I can say, though your tops were made in 
 France, they made a noise in England. 
 
 Eng. Mons. But still, Sir, 'twas a French noise — 
 
 Vaine. But cannot a French noise hinder a man 
 from hearing ? 
 
 Eng. Mons. No, certainly, that's a demonstration, 
 for, look you, Sir, a French noise is agreeable to the 
 air, and therefore not unagreeable, and therefore not 
 prejudicial, to the hearing ; that is to say, to a person 
 that has seen the world. 
 
 The Monsieur comforts nimself, when his 
 mistress rejects iiim, that " 'twas a denial 
 wiin a French tone of voice, so that 'twas 
 agreeable :" and, at her final departure, 
 " Do you see, Sir, how she leaves us ? she 
 walks away with a French step." 
 
 C.L. 
 
 THOU AND YOU, IN POETRY. 
 
 The promiscuous use of thou and you is 
 a common error among all our poets, not 
 the best or most accurate excepted. 
 
 The cause of this anomaly is not of diffi- 
 cult investigation. The second person 
 singular not being colloquial with us, (for 
 we never use it to our familiar friends like 
 the French,) it at once elevates our lan- 
 guage above the level of common discourse 
 — a most essential object to the poet, and 
 therefore he readily adopts it; but when it 
 comes to govern a verb, the combination 
 of St is so harsh that he as readily aban- 
 dons it. 
 
 In Pope's Eloisa to Abelard, the singu- 
 lar pronoun is constantly used till verse 65 ; 
 
 " — Heaven listen'd while you sung ;" 
 
 for thou sungst (without considering thr 
 rhyme) would have been intolerable. 
 
 In lines l07, 109, the verb canst thon 
 has a good effect ; as by lengthening the 
 syllable by position it becomes more em- 
 phatic, and the harshness is amply com- 
 pensated by the superior force of canst thou 
 to cati you. The fastidious critic therefore 
 would do well, before he passes his sen- 
 tence, to consider whether an inaccuracy, 
 which is never discovered except it be 
 sought after, is not fairly entitled to the 
 favour Aristotle grants to those deviations 
 from strict propriety which tend to height- 
 en the interest of a poem. 
 
 This change however is absolutely inde- 
 fensible when used for the sake of rhyme 
 only. Many instances of this occur in the 
 same poem; the most striking will be 
 found in two succeeding couplets : 
 
 come! O ! teach me nature to subdue. 
 Renounce my love, my life, myself, — and j/o«; 
 Fill my fond heart with God alone ; for he 
 Alone can rival, can succeed to thee. 
 
 In some cases this change is strictly justi- 
 fiable ; as, when a person is addressed in a 
 different style. For example, in Thom- 
 son's Tancred and Sigismunda, when Sif- 
 fredi discloses to Tancred that he is the 
 king, he says. 
 
 Forgive me, sir I this trial oi your heart. 
 
 For the respectful appellation sir demands 
 the more colloquial term of address, but 
 he immediately adds with animation, 
 Thou I thou I art he ! 
 
 And so in Tancred's subsequent speech W 
 Siffredi, he first says, 
 
 1 think, my lord 1 you said the king intrusted 
 To you his will ! — 
 
 ^80 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 out soon after adds, in a more impassioned not unfrequently happens at the heel of an 
 tone, evening, he incurs a similar penalty. 
 
 On this alone I will not bear dispute. 
 Not even from thee, Slffredi I 
 
 The same distinction will, in general, be 
 found in the speeches of Sigismunda to 
 Tancred.* 
 
 HARVEST-CATCH IN NORFOLK. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — Your Every-Day Book contains 
 -several interesting accounts relating to the 
 present joyous season of the year. Amongst 
 others, a correspondent (^, |^. §). (in vol. ii. 
 col. llf)8,) has furnished us with some 
 amusing particulars of the old customs of 
 the harvest supper. It should seem, how- 
 ever, that he is but imperfectly acquainted 
 with the old " catch" of this cnuiitiy. That 
 vi'hich lie has given is evidently compounded 
 of two different songs in use on these occa- 
 sions, and I have no doubt when you have 
 •ead and compared them you will be of 
 my opinion. A few years more, and pro- 
 bably (but for your notice of them) they 
 w^ill be entirely forgotten. 
 
 The health-drinking catch, which is 
 always the last thing before parting, is as 
 follows ; — 
 
 First the mistresx ; — 
 
 Now supper is over, and all things are past. 
 
 Here's our mistress's good health in a full flowing^ 
 
 glass ; 
 She is a good mistress, she provides us good cheer. 
 Here's our mistress's good health, boys — Come drink 
 
 half your beer — 
 She is a good mistress, she provides us good cheer. 
 Here's our mistress's good health, boys— Come drink 
 
 off your beer. 
 
 During the time the catch is going round 
 the whole party are standing, and, with the 
 exception of the drinker, they join in 
 chorus. The glass circulates, beginning 
 with the " Lord " in regular succession 
 through the " company :" after that it is 
 handed to the visitors,— the harvestmen of 
 gone-by days, — who are not, or ought not 
 to be, forgotten on the occasion. If the 
 drinker be taken off his guard, and should 
 drink off his beer at the pause in the catch, 
 ne is liable to a forfeit : if one of the chorus 
 misplaces the words half and off, which 
 
 After the mistress the master : — 
 
 Here's health to our master, the lord of the feast, 
 God bless his endeavours, and give him increase, 
 And send him good crops, that we may meet anothei 
 
 year. 
 Here's our master's good health, boys— Come drink 
 
 half your beer. 
 God send him good crops, &c.— Come drink cff youi 
 
 beer. 
 
 Where the beer flows very freely, and 
 there is a family, it is sometimes usual tc 
 carry on the catch, through the different 
 branches, with variations composed for the 
 purpose, perhaps at the spur of the mo- 
 ment : some of these I have known very 
 happily conceived. The other glee to 
 which I alluded in the beginning of my 
 letter, and which I conceive @, ^. ^. to 
 have had in view, is this :-^ 
 
 Here's health unto our master, the founder of the feas*. 
 God grant, whenever he shall die, his soul may go to 
 
 rest, 
 And that all things may prosper whate'er he has it 
 
 hand, 
 For we are all his servants, and are at his command 
 So drink, boys, drink, and mind you do none spill 
 For if you do 
 You shall drink two. 
 For 'tis our master's will I 
 
 If the foregoing be acceptable, it will be 
 a satisfaction to have contributed a trifle to 
 a miscellany, which has afforded a fund o^ 
 instruction and amusement to 
 
 Your constant reader and admirer. 
 
 Norfolk, August 20, 1827. 
 
 C ?3. ?^. 
 
 Pre. 
 
 POTTED VENISON. 
 
 Sir Kenelm Digby, in a fi.nciful discourse 
 on " Sympathy," affirms, that the venison 
 which is in July and August put into 
 earthern pots, to last the whole year, is very 
 difficult to be preserved during the space 
 of those particular months which are^called 
 the fence-months; but that, when that 
 period is passed, nothing is so easy as to 
 keep it gustful (as he words it) during the 
 whole year after. This he endeavours to 
 find a cause for from the " sympathy" be 
 tween the potted meat, and its friends and 
 relations, courting and capering about in 
 its native park. 
 
 581 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 THE DEFEAT OF TIME; 
 
 OR A 
 
 TALE OF THE FAIRIES. 
 
 TiTANiA, and her moonlight Elves, were 
 assembled under the canopy of a huge oak, 
 that served to shelter them from the moon's 
 radiance, which, being now at her full 
 noon, shot forth intolerable rays — intolera- 
 ble, I mean, to the subtil texture of their 
 little shadowy bodies — but dispensing an 
 agreeable coolness to us grosser mortals. 
 An air of discomfort sate upon the Queen, 
 and upon her Courtiers. Their tiny frisk- 
 ings and gambols were forgot ; and even 
 tlobin Goodfellow, for the first time in his 
 little airy life, looked grave. For the Queen 
 had had melancholy forebodings of late, 
 founded upon an ancient Prophecy, laid up 
 in the records of Fairy Land, that the date 
 of Fairy existence should be t/ieu extinct, 
 when men should cease to believe in them. 
 And she knew how that the race of the 
 Nymphs, which were her predecessors, and 
 had been the Guardians of the sacred 
 floods, and of the silver fountains, and of 
 the consecrated hills aud woods, had utterly 
 disappeared before the chilling touch of 
 cnan's incredulity ; and she sighed bitterly 
 at the approaching fate of herself and of 
 her subjc-cts, which was dependent upon so 
 fickle a lease, as the capricious and ever 
 mutable faith of man. When, as if to 
 realise her fears, a melancholy shape came 
 gliding in, and that was — Time, who with 
 his intolerable scythe mows down Kings 
 and Kingdoms ; at whose dread approach 
 the Fays huddled together, as a flock of 
 timorous sheep, and the most courageous 
 among them crept into acorn cups, not en- 
 during the sight of that ancientest of Mo- 
 narchs. Titania's first impulse was to wish 
 the presence of her false Lord, King Obe- 
 ron, who was far away, in the pursuit of a 
 strange Beauty, a Pay of Indian Land — 
 that with his good lance and sword, like a 
 faithful knight and husband, he might de- 
 fend her against Time. But she soon 
 checked that thought as vain, for what 
 could the prowess of the mighty Oberon 
 himself, albeit the stoutest Champion in 
 Fairy Land, have availed against so huge a 
 Giant, whose bald top touched the skies. 
 So in the mildest tone she besought the 
 Spectre, that in his mercy he would over- 
 look, and pass by, her small subjects, as 
 too diminutive and powerless to add any 
 worthy trophy to his renown. And she 
 besought hiiii to employ his resistless 
 
 strength against the ambitious Children o 
 Men, and to lay waste their aspiring works 
 to tumble down their towers and turrets, 
 and the Babels of their pride, fit objects oi 
 his devouring Scythe, but to spare her and 
 her harmless race, who had no existence 
 beyond a dream; frail objects of a creed; 
 that lived but in the faith of the believer. 
 And with her little arms, as well as she 
 could, she grasped the stern knees of Time, 
 and waxing speechless with fear, she beck- 
 oned to her chief attendants, and Maids of 
 Honour, to come forth from their hiding 
 places, and to plead the Plea of the Fairies. 
 And one of those small delicate creatures 
 came forth at her bidding, clad all in white 
 like a Chorister, and in a low melodious 
 tone, not louder than the hum of a pretty 
 bee — when it seems to be demurring whe- 
 ther it shall settle upon this sweet flower 
 or that, before it settles — set forth her hum- 
 ble Petition. " We Fairies," she said, 
 " are the most inoffensive race that live, 
 and least deserving to perish. It is we that 
 have the care of all sweet melodies, that no 
 discords may offend the Sun, who is the 
 great Soul of Music. VVe rouse the lark at 
 morn ; and the pretty Echos, which respond 
 to all the twittering quire, are of our mak- 
 ing. Wherefore, great King of Years, as 
 ever you have loved the music which is 
 raining from a morning cloud, sent from 
 the messenger of day, the Lark, as he 
 mounts to Heaven's gate, beyond the ken 
 of mortals; or if ever you have listened 
 with a charmed ear to the Night Bird, that 
 
 in the flowery spring-. 
 Amidst the leaves set, mates the thickets ring 
 Of her sour sorrows, sweeten'd with her song : 
 
 spare our tender tribes ; and we will muffle 
 up the sheep-bell for thee, that thy pleasure 
 take no interruption, whenever thou shall 
 listen unto Philomel." 
 
 And Time answered, that "he had heard 
 that song too long; and he was even wea- 
 ried with that ancient strain, that recorded 
 the wrongs of Tereus. But if she would 
 know in what music Time delighted, it 
 was, when sleep and darkness lay upon 
 crowded cities, to hark to the midnight 
 chime, which is tolling from a hundred 
 clocks, like the last knell over the soul of a 
 dead world ; or to the crush of the fall o' 
 some age-worn edifice, which is_ as the 
 voice of himself when he disparleth king- 
 doms." 
 
 A second female Fay took up the Plea, 
 and said, " We be the handmaids of the 
 Spring, and tend upon the birth of all 
 sweet buds ; and the pastoral cowslips are 
 
 582 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 our friends, and the pansies ; and the vio- 
 ets, like nuns ; and the quaking hare-bell 
 IS in our wardship ; and the Hyacinth, once 
 a fair youth, and dear to Phoebus." 
 
 Then Time made answer, in his wrath 
 striking the harmless ground witli his hurt- 
 ful scythe, that " they must not think that 
 he was one that cared for flowers, except to 
 see them wither, and to take her beauty 
 from the rose." 
 
 And a third Fairy took up the Plea, and 
 said, " We are kindly Things; and it is 
 we that sit at evening, and shake rich 
 odours fiom sweet bowers upon discoursing 
 lovers, that seem to each other to be their 
 own sighs; and we keep off the bat, and 
 the owl, from their privacy, and the ill- 
 boding whistler ; and we flit in sweet 
 dreams across the brains of infancy, and 
 conjure up a smile upon its soft lips to 
 beguile the careful mother, while its little 
 soul is fled for a brief minute or two to 
 sport with our youngest Fairies." 
 
 Then Saturn (which is Time) made 
 answer, that " they should not think that 
 he delighted in tender Babes, that had de- 
 voured his own, till foolish Rhea cheated 
 him with a Stone, which he swallowed, 
 thinking it to be the infant Jupiter." And 
 thereat in token he disclosed to view his 
 enormous tooth, in which appeared mon- 
 strous dints, left by that unnatural meal ; 
 and his great throat, thai seemed capable 
 of devouring up the earth and all its in- 
 habitants at one meal. " And for Lovers," 
 he continued, " my delight is, with a hurry- 
 ing hand to snatch them away from their 
 love-meetings by stealth at nights, and to 
 ravish away hours from them like minutes 
 whilst they are together, and in absence to 
 stand like a motionless statue, or their 
 leaden Planet of mishap (whence I had my 
 name), till I make their minutes seem ages." 
 
 Next stood up a male fairy, clad all in 
 green, like a forester, or one of Robin 
 Hood's mates, and doffing his tiny cap, 
 said, " We are small foresters, that live in 
 woods, training the young boughs in grace- 
 ful intricacies, with blue snatches of the 
 sky between ; we frame all shady roofs 
 and arches rude; and sometimes, when we 
 are plying our tender hatches, men say, 
 that the tapping woodpecker is nigh : and 
 (t is we that scoop the hollow cell of the 
 squirrel; and carve' quaint letters upon 
 :he rinds of trees, which in sylvan soli- 
 tudes sweetly recall to the mind of the 
 heat-oppressed swain, ere he lies down to 
 slumber, the name of his Fair One, Dainty 
 Aminta, Gentle Rosalind, or Chastest Laura, 
 as A may happen." 
 
 Saturn, nothing moved with this courte- 
 ous address, bade him be gone, or " if h» 
 would be a woodman, lo go forth, and fel. 
 oak for the Fairies' coffins, which would 
 forthwith be wanting. For himself, ht 
 took no delight in haunting the woods, 
 till their golden plumage (the yellov 
 leaves) were beginning to fall, and leave 
 the brown black limbs bare, like Nature in 
 her skeleton dress." 
 
 Then stood up one of those gentle 
 Fairies, that are good to Maii, and blushed 
 red as any rose, while he told a modes! 
 story of one of his own good deeds. '' L 
 chanced upon a time," he said, " that while 
 we were looking cowslips in the meads, 
 while yet the dew was hanging on the 
 buds, like beads, we found a babe left in 
 its swathing clothes — a little sorrowful de- 
 serted Thing ; begot of Love, but begetting 
 no love in others; guiltless of shame, but 
 doomed to shame for its parents' offence 
 in bringing it by indirect courses into the 
 world. It was piry to see the abandoned 
 little orphan, left to the world's care by an 
 unnatural mother, how the cold dew kepi 
 wetting its childish coats ; and its little 
 hair, how it was bedabbled, that was like 
 gossamer. Its pouting mouth, unknowing 
 how to speak, lay half opened like a rose- 
 lipt shell, and its cheek was softer than 
 any peach, upon which the tears, for very 
 roundness, could not long dwell, but fell 
 off', in clearness like pearls, some on the 
 grass, and some on his little hand, and some 
 haply wandered to the little dimpled well 
 under his mouth, which Love himself 
 seemed to have planned out, but less for 
 tears than for smilings. Pity u was, too, 
 to see how the burning sun sr^orched its 
 helpless limbs, for it lay without shade, or 
 shelter, or mother's breast, for foul weather 
 or fair. So having compassion on its sad 
 plight, my fellows and I turned ourselves 
 into grasshoppers, and swarmed about the 
 babe, making such shrill cries, as that 
 pretty little chirping creature makes in its 
 mirth, till with our noise we attracted the 
 attention of a passing rustic, a tender- 
 hearted hind, who wondering at our small 
 but loud concert, strayed aside curiously, 
 and found the babe, where it lay on the 
 remote grass, and taking it up, lapt it in 
 his russet coat, and bore it to his cottage, 
 where his wife kindly nurtured it, till it 
 grew up a goodly personage. How this 
 Babe prospered afterwards, let proud Lon- 
 don tell. This was that famous Sir Thomas 
 Gresham, who was the chiefest of her Mer 
 chants, the richest, the wisest. W.iness 
 his many goodly vessels on ibe Tnimes, 
 
 583 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 keighted with costlj merchandise, jewels 
 froiTi Ind, and pearls for courtly dames, and 
 silks of Sarnarcand. And witness more 
 than all, that stately Bourse (or Exchange) 
 which he caused to be built, a mart for 
 merchants from East and West, whose grace- 
 ful summit still bears, in token of the 
 Fairies' favours, his chosen crest, the Grass- 
 hopper. And, like the Grasshopper, may 
 it please you, great King, to suffer us also 
 to live, partakers of the green earth !" 
 
 The Fairy had scarce ended his Plea, 
 when a shrill cry, not unlike the Grass- 
 hopper's, was heard. Poor Puck — or 
 Robm Goodfellow, as he is sometimes 
 called — had recovered a little from his 
 first fright, and in one of his mad freaks 
 had perched upon the beard of old Time, 
 which was flowing, ample, and majestic, 
 and was amusing himself with plucking at 
 a hair, which was indeed so massy, that it 
 seemed to him that he was removing some 
 huge beam of timber rather than a hair; 
 which Time by some ill chance perceiving, 
 snatched up the Impish Mischief with his 
 great hand, and asked '' What it was 1" 
 
 " Alas !" quoth Puck, " A little random 
 Elf am 1, born in one of Nature's sports, a 
 i^ery weed, created for the simple sweet 
 enjoyment of myself, but for no other pur- 
 pose, worth, or need, that ever I could 
 learn. 'Tis I, that bob the Angler's idle 
 cork, till the patient man is ready to 
 breathe a curse. I steal the morsel from 
 the Gossip's fork, or stop the sneezing 
 Chanter in mid Psalm ; and when an in- 
 fant has been born with hard or homely 
 features, mothers say, that I changed the 
 child at nurse; but to fulfil any graver 
 purpose I have not wit enough, and hardly 
 the will. I am a pinch of lively dust to 
 frisk upon the wind, a tear would make a 
 puddle of me, and so I tickle myself with 
 the lightest straw, and shun all griefs that 
 might make me stagnant. This is my small 
 philosophy." 
 
 Then Time, dropping him on the ground, 
 as a thing too inconsiderable for his ven- 
 geance, grasped fast his mighty Scythe; 
 and now not Puck alone, but the whole 
 State of Fairies had gone to inevitable 
 wreck and destruction, had not a timely 
 Apparition interposed, at whose boldness 
 Time was astounded, for he came not 
 with the habit, or the forces, of a Deity, 
 who alone might cope with Time, but as a 
 simple Mortal, clad as you might see a 
 Forester, that hunts after wild coneys by 
 the cold moonshine ; or a Stalker of stray 
 deer, stealthy and bold. But by the golden 
 lustre in his eye, and the passionate wanness 
 
 in his cheek, and by the fair and ample 
 space of his torehood, which seemed a 
 palace framed for the habitation of all 
 glorious thoughts, he knew that this was 
 his great Rival, who had power given him 
 to rescue whatsoever victims Time should 
 clutch, and to cause them to live for ever 
 in his immortal verse And muttering the 
 name of Shakspeare, Time spread his 
 Itoc-like wings, and fled the controuling 
 presence. And the liberated Court of the 
 Fairies, with Titania at their head, flocked 
 around the gentle Ghost, giving him thanks, 
 nodding to hira, and doing him cctesies, 
 who had crowned them henceforth with a 
 permanent existence, to live in the minds 
 of men, while verse shall have power to 
 charm, or Midsummer moons shall brighten 
 
 What particular endearments passed 
 between the Fairies and their Poet, passes 
 my pencil to delineate; b'lt if you are 
 curious to be informed, I must refer you, 
 gentle reader, to the " Plea of the Fairies," 
 a most agreeable Poem, lately put forth by 
 my friend, Thomas Hood : of the first half 
 of which the above is nothing but a meagre, 
 and a harsh, prose-abstract. Farewell. 
 
 Elia. 
 
 The words of Mercury are harsh afte-i 
 the songs of Apollo. 
 
 PARODIES ON HORACE 
 
 Mr. James Petit Andrews, the continua- 
 tor of Dr. Henry's History of England, 
 mentions a whimsical instance of literarj 
 caprice — a parody of Horace, by a German 
 David Hoppius, who had interest enougl 
 to have his book piinted at Brunswick, ii 
 1568, under the particular protection o 
 the elector of Saxony. Hoppius, with in- 
 finite labour, transformed the odes anc 
 epodes of Horace into pious hymns, pre 
 serving the original measure, and, as far as 
 possible, the words of the Roman poet 
 " The classical reader," Mr. Andrews says, 
 " will, at one glance, co-mprehend the 
 amazing difficulties which such a parodist 
 must undergo, and will be surprised to 
 find these productions not wanting in pure 
 Latinity." A specimen or two are annexed 
 
 Ad Pyrrham. Ode v. lib. 1. 
 
 Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosft 
 Perfusus liiiuidis urget odoribus 
 Grato, Pyrrha, sub antro ? 
 Cui fiavam religas comam 
 Simplex mnDditiis? &ie. 
 
 584 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Act Mariam De'iparam. Parodia v. UD. 1. 
 
 Qui* foeno Teculians, in gracli tenw 
 Innexus teneris te, pia, fasciis 
 Blandus, Virgo, puellus ? 
 Cai primos adhibes cibos. 
 Dives munditiis? &c. 
 
 In Juliam Barmen. Ode viii. lib 2. 
 
 UUa SI juris tibi pejerati 
 
 Pcena, Barlne, nocuisset unquam, 
 
 Dente si nigro fieres, vel imo 
 
 Turpior unqui. 
 Crederem — Sed tu sinml obligasti 
 Pertidum volis caput, enitescis 
 Pulchrior miilto, jnvenuinque prodis 
 
 Publica cura, &c. 
 
 [l(io<r<pavn(ris Christi ad Peccatorem. Parodia 
 ix. lib. 2. 
 
 Ulla si juris tibi pejerati 
 
 Culpa, peccator, doluisset unquam 
 
 Mente, si tantum fieres vel uua 
 
 Tristior bora 
 Plauderem — Sed tu, simul obligasti 
 Pertidum votis caput, ingemiscis 
 Ob scelus n unquam, scelerumque prodis 
 
 Publicus autor, &c. 
 
 Li Bacchum. Ode xxiii. lib. 3, 
 
 Quo me, Bacche, rapis tui 
 Plenum, Quae in nemora, aut quod agor in specus, 
 
 Velox mente nov4 ; quibui 
 Antris, egregie Caesaris audiar 
 
 jEternum meditans decus 
 Steilis inserere et consilio Jovis, &c. 
 
 Ad Christum. Parodia xxiii. lib. 3. 
 
 Quo me, Christe, feram mail 
 Plenum, Quae in nemora, aut quos fugiam in specus, 
 
 Pressus mole gravi? Quibus 
 Antris ob maculam criminis occultar 
 
 iEternana meditans facem 
 Infernum eflfugere, et simplicium Stygis ? &c. 
 
 A GENTLEMAN'S FASHION. 
 
 In the reign of Henry VIL sir Philip 
 Calthrope, a Norfolk knight, sent as much 
 cloth, of fine French tauney, as ■would 
 make him a gown, to a tailor in Norwich. 
 It happened one John Drakes, a shoe- 
 maker, coming into the shop, liked it so 
 well, that he went and bought of the same 
 as much for himself, enjoining the tailor to 
 make it of the same fashion. The knight 
 was informed of this, and therefore com- 
 .nanded the tailor to cut his gown as full 
 of holes as his sheers could make. John 
 Drakes's was made " of the same fashion," 
 out he vowed he never would be of the 
 gentlemans fashion agair. 
 
 iBi^robtru^ 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 
 
 No. VII. 
 
 In the present stage of the inquiry wil, 
 be adduced examples of the knowledge or 
 tlie ancients, respecting the essential prin- 
 ciples that " uphold the world." 
 
 Gravity, Attraction — the Law o> 
 Squaring the Distances — Centripj;- 
 TAL AND Centrifugal Force. 
 
 The moderns, who imagine that the\ 
 were the first to discover universal gravita 
 tion, have only trod in the paths of the an 
 cients. It is true, that they have demon 
 strated the laws of gravitation, but this is all 
 
 Besides universal gravitation, the an- 
 cients knew that the circular motion de- 
 scribed by the planets in their courses, is 
 the result of two moving forces combined — 
 a rectilinear and a perpendicular ; which, 
 united together, form a curve. They knew 
 also why these two contrary forces retain 
 the planets in their orbs; and explained 
 themselves, as the moderns do, excepting 
 only the terms of " centripetal" and " cen- 
 trifugal;" instead of which, however, ihey 
 used what was altogether equivalent. 
 
 They also knew the inequality of the 
 course of the planets, ascribing it to the 
 variety of their weights reciprocally consi- 
 dered, and of their proportional distances; 
 or, which is the same thing, in moie modern 
 terms, they knew the " law of the inverse 
 ratio of the square of the distance from the 
 centre of the revolution." 
 
 Some have thought, that in Empedocles's 
 system the foundation of Newton's was to 
 be found ; imagining, that under the name 
 of " love," he intended to intimate a law, 
 or power, which separated the parts oi 
 matter, in order to join itself to them, and 
 to which nothing was wanting but the name 
 of attraction ; and that by the term " dis- 
 cord, " he intended to describe another 
 force, which obliged the same parts to 
 recede from one another, and which New- 
 ton calls a repelling ybrce. 
 
 The Pythagoreans and Platonics per 
 ceived the necessity of admitting the force 
 of two powers, viz. projection and gravity, 
 in order to account for the revolution of tht 
 planets. Timseus, speaking of the soi-1 oi 
 the world, which animates all nature, says, 
 that " God hath endowed it with t>vv 
 
 585 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 powers, which, in combination, act accord- 
 ing to certain numeric proportions." 
 
 Plato clearly asserts, that God had im- 
 pressed upon the planets " a motion which 
 was the most proper for them." This 
 could be nothing else than that perpendi- 
 cular motion, which has a tendency to the 
 centre of the universe, that is, gravity ; and 
 wliKt coincides with it, a lateral impulse, 
 rendering the whole circular 
 
 Diogenes Laertius says, that at the be- 
 ginning, the bodies of the universe were 
 agitated tumultuously, and with a disor- 
 derly movement ;• but that God afterwards 
 regulated their course, by laws natural and 
 proportional. 
 
 Anaxagoras being asked what it was 
 that retained the heavenly bodies in their 
 orbit, notwithstanding their gravity, re- 
 markably answered, that " the rapidity of 
 their course preserved them in their sta- 
 tions; and that should the celerity of their 
 motions abate, the equilibrium of the woild 
 being broken, the whole machine would 
 fall to ruin." 
 
 Plutarch, who knew almost all the shin- 
 ing truths of astronomy, in explaining what 
 it was that made bodies tend towards the 
 earth, attributes it to " a reciprocal attrac- 
 tion, whereby all terrestrial bodies have 
 this tendency, and which collects into one 
 the parts constituting the sun and moon, 
 and retains them in their spheres." He 
 afterward* applies these particular pheno- 
 mena to others more geneial; and, from 
 what happens in our gh'be, deduces, ac- 
 cording to the same principle, whatever 
 must thence happen respectively in each 
 celestial body; and then considers them in 
 their relative connections one towards ano- 
 ther. He illustrates this general relation- 
 ship and connection, by instancing what 
 happens to our moon in its revolution 
 round the earth, comparing it to " a store 
 in a sling, which is impressed by two 
 powers at once ;" that of projection, which 
 would carry it away, were it not retained 
 by the embrace of the shng ; which, like 
 the central force, keeps it from wandering, 
 whilst the combination of the two moves it 
 in a circle. In another place, he speaks 
 " of an inherent power in bodies, that is, 
 in the earth, and other planets, of attract- 
 ing to themselves whatever is within their 
 reach." In these two passages, there is a 
 plain reference to the centripetal force, 
 which binds the planets to their proper, or 
 common centres ; and to the centrifugal, 
 •vhich makes them roll in circles at a dis- 
 
 tance. 
 
 The ancients, then, attribute to the celes- 
 
 tial bodies a tendency towards one common 
 centre, and a reciprocal attractive power. 
 It appears also, that they knew, as well as 
 the moderns, that the cause of gravitation, 
 that attracted all things, did not reside 
 solely in the centre of the earth. Their 
 ideas were even more philosophic ; foi 
 they taught, that " this power was diffused 
 through every particle of the terrestrial 
 giobe, and compounded of the various 
 energy residing in each." 
 
 It remains to inquire, whether they knew 
 the law by which gravity acts upon the 
 celestial bodies, that it was in an inverse 
 proportion of their quantity of matter, and 
 the square of» their distance. Certainly 
 they were not ignorant, that the planets in 
 their courses observed a constant and in- 
 variable proportion; though some sought 
 for it in the difference of the quantity of 
 matter contained in the masses, of which 
 the planets were composed ; and others, 
 in the difference of their distances. Lucre- 
 tius, after Democritus and A'ristotle, thought 
 that " the gravity of bodies was in propor- 
 tion to the quantity of matter of which they 
 were composed." It is true, that the 
 penetration and sagacity of a Newton, a 
 Gregory, and a Macla'irin, were requisite 
 to perceive and discover, in the few frag- 
 ments of the ancients now remaining, the 
 inverse law respecting the squares of the 
 distances, a doctrine which Pythagoras had 
 taught ; but they acknowledge that it was 
 contained in those writings ; and they 
 av'ail themselves of the authority of Pytha- 
 goras, to give weight to their system. 
 
 Plutarch, of all the philosophers who 
 have spoken of Pythagoras, had a better 
 opportunity of entering into the ideas of 
 that great man, and has explained them 
 better than any one besides. Pliny, Ma- 
 crobius, and Censorinus, have also spoken 
 of the harmony which Pythagoras observed 
 to reign in the course of the planets ; but 
 Plutarch makes him say, that it is probable 
 that the bodies of the planets, their dis- 
 tances, the intervals between their spheres, 
 the celerity of their courses and revolutions, 
 are not only proportionable among them- 
 selves, but to the whole of the universe. 
 Dr. Gregory declares it to be evident, tha 
 Pythagoras understood, that the gravitation 
 of the planets towards the sun was in a 
 reciprocal ratio of their distance from that 
 luminary ; and that illustrious modern, 
 followed herein by Maclaurin, maKes tha* 
 ancient philosopher speak thus : — 
 
 " A musical string, says Pythagc^s, 
 yields the very same tone with any other 
 of twice its length, because the tension ol 
 
 586 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 the latter, or the force whereby it is ex- 
 tended, is quadruple to that of the former ; 
 and the gravity of one planet is quadruple 
 to that of any other, which is at double the 
 distance. In Efeneral, to bring a musical 
 string into unison with one of the same 
 kind, shorter than itself, its tension ought 
 to be increased in proportion as the square 
 of its length exceeds that of the other ; and 
 that the gravity of any planet may become 
 equal to that of any other nearer the sun, 
 it ought to be increased in proportion as 
 tlic square of its distance exceeds that of 
 Ihe other. If, therefore, we should suppose 
 musical 'Strings stretched from the sun to 
 each of the planets, it would, be neeessary^ 
 in order to bring them all to unison, to 
 augment or diminish their tensions, in the 
 very same proportion as would be requisite 
 to render the planets themselves equal in 
 gravity. This, in all likelihood, gave 
 foundation for the repcits, that Pythagoras 
 drew his doctrine of harmony from the 
 spheres."* 
 
 Galileo duly honours Plato, by acknow- 
 ledging that he is indebted to him for his 
 first idea of the method of determining, how 
 the different degrees of velocity ought to 
 produce that uniformity of motion discern- 
 ible in the revolutions of the heavenly 
 bodies. His account is, that " Plato being 
 of opinion that no movable thing could 
 fSL^b from a stale of rest to any determinate 
 degree of velocity, so as perpetually and 
 equably to remain in it, without first pass- 
 ing through all the inferior degrees of cele- 
 rity or retardation ; he thence concludes, 
 that God, after having created the celestial 
 bodies, determining to assign to each a 
 particular degree of celerity, in which they 
 should always move, impressed upon them, 
 when he drew them from a state of rest, 
 such a force as made them run through 
 their assigned spaces, in that natural and 
 direct way wherein we see the bodies 
 around us pass from rest into motion, by a 
 continual and successive acceleration. And 
 ne adds, that having brought them to that 
 degree of motion, wherein he intended 
 they should perpetually remain, he after- 
 wards changed the perpendicular into a 
 lirculary direction, that being the only 
 course that can preserve itself uniform, and 
 make a body without ceasing keep at an 
 equal distance from its proper centre." 
 
 'This acknowledgment of Galileo is re- 
 markable. It is a homage to antiquity 
 
 * Greforii Astrono.Tiiee Elementa; and Maclanrin's 
 Systenis of the Philosopliers, in a discourse pretixed to 
 liis philosophy of Newton, p. 32. Wallis, vol. iii. p. 138. 
 md :£0. 
 
 from an inventive genius, who least of any 
 owes his eminence to the aid of the an- 
 cients. It is the disposition of noble minds 
 to arrogate to themselves as little as pos- 
 sible any merit, but what they have the 
 utmost claim to ; and thus Galileo and 
 Newton, the greatest of modern philoso- 
 phers, set an example, which will never be 
 imitated but by men of distinguished 
 greatness. 
 
 AVON MILL, WILTS. 
 The Gleaning ok Leasing Cake. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — It may not be deemed an intrusion 
 to inform your readers, that when Avon 
 Mill was devoted to the grinding of corn 
 it was very centrally situated for the con- 
 venience of the poor gleaners^ This mill 
 then kept by a family of the name of Tan- 
 ner, (the sons were renowned swimmers,) 
 had also much business with the neighbour- 
 ing farmers and maltsters. At the time, 
 dame Tanner, one of the best-hearted wo- 
 men then living, had a custom of her own, 
 (perhaps to discharge the dictates of a good 
 conscience for the double toll taken by the 
 millers.) She made after the harvest-season 
 a cake, somewhat after the manner of the 
 Jews' passover cakes, given to their Gentile 
 friends, which she called the " Gleaning 
 cake," and gave it to every poor person that 
 brought gleaned corn to be ground at ihe 
 mill. A few years after her death the mill 
 was purchased (I think a chancery suit was 
 pendlns^) for a clothing manufactory, (one 
 pair of stones only being kept,) which it 
 still remains. When the shearing machines 
 were here first introduced to cut and dress 
 cioth by water, detachinents of troops were 
 nightly stationed in the lanes and mill to 
 prevent large bodies of the shearmen, then 
 out of employ, from setting fire to the pre- 
 mises. At subsequent periods much busi- 
 ness has been done here in the manufacture 
 of superfine broadcloth, but owing to the 
 fluctuation of trade Avon Mill has not 
 generally done half the work of its water 
 power. 
 
 A neighbouring mill, once also a great 
 corn mill, at Christian Malford, but which 
 is now a spacious edifice, has shared nearly 
 the same fate and devotedness. The water- 
 wheels being partly undershot on this beau- 
 tiful river, the water in autumn is ofteii 
 insufficient to the demand ; but when afte. 
 heavy rains the floods are out, the meadows 
 
 587 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 present a sneet of blue expanse truly pic- 
 turesque, and the bridges, by the depth and 
 rapidity of the current near the mills, are 
 nearly impassable. Many peasants return- 
 ing home, and farmers riding from market, 
 nave by their adventure missed their way 
 and been drowned. 
 
 A " pretty considerable number " of 
 ghost stories are floating in the memories 
 of the aged cottagers, of persons appearmg 
 after death on the Avon and its banks in 
 this part of the country. 
 
 I am, sir. 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 An Old Correspondent. 
 
 T n, T e, 
 
 August 21, 1827. 
 
 TRASHING. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [ long to forget thee ! but every sweet scene 
 Reminds me too strongly of days thai have beeo ? 
 VVhere can I look round me, but something recalls 
 Our friendship, our love, — and my spirit enthralla .' 
 Each nook of the mountain — each cot of the gill — 
 The rush of the river — the flow of the rill — 
 The trees of the forest — the gems of the lea — 
 All whisper of childhood, of virtue, and thee. 
 
 When in spring-time the violets and primroses bloom, 
 When in summer the wild thyme is wafting perfume ; 
 When autumn is mellowly tinging the trees, 
 And in winter's cold blast when the mountain streams 
 
 freeze ; 
 When bright glows the sun-ray — when soft moon-light 
 
 shines 
 On the aged church tower, and dark waving pines — 
 Each season shall tell of some ever-fled bliss. 
 Of the presi of thine hand, or the balm of thy kiss. 
 
 Thou wert long the sole theme of my earliest lays. 
 And my wild harp's first breathings were all in thy 
 
 praise ; 
 When in fancy that wild harp I hung on the yew, 
 I thought not the fancy would eVr prove untrue. 
 [ ileem'd not the form that beside me reclln'd 
 In the haunt of the green-wood would e'er prove nn- 
 
 kind — 
 Unkind t>) a heart that but liv'd for thy love. 
 And has pray'd for thy weal to the spirit above. 
 
 Tis evening I the hues of the sun-set are fled — 
 
 A deep sombre mist o'er the valley is spru-d — 
 
 The tall cliffs are wrapp'd in the shades of the nighr, 
 
 Vnd Uemebrook no longer is lapsing in light : 
 
 Tne b-.^rst of the morning the gloom shall dispel, 
 
 \.na a haio of glory gild valley and fell — 
 
 Vet a shade o'er my destiny ever will be. 
 
 And, Knuna I that shade is — remembrance of thee I 
 
 T. a M. 
 
 A BaiDAt Custom in Yorkshiee. 
 To the Editor. 
 Morley, near Leeds, July 21, 1827 
 
 Sir, — There is a custom prevalent lu 
 various parts of Yorkshire, which I do not 
 remember to have seen noticed in the 
 works of Strutt, Brand, Fosbioke, or any 
 other learned writer upon such subjects. 
 It is called " trashing," which signifies pelt- 
 ing people with old shoes on their return 
 fiom church on the wedding-day. There 
 were certain offences which subjected the 
 parties formerly to this disagreeable lia- 
 bility ; such as refusing to contribute to 
 scholars' " potations," or other convivi- 
 alities ; but in process of time the reason 
 of the thing became forgotten, and " trash 
 ing" was indiscriminately practised among 
 the lower orders. Turf-sods or mud beinu 
 substituted for lack of old shoes, and gene- 
 rally thrown in jest and good-humour rather 
 than in anger or ill-will. 
 
 Although it is true that an old shoe is to 
 tins uay called " a trash," yet it did not, 
 ce.'tb.niy, give the name to the nuisance 
 To " trash" originally signified, to clog 
 incumber, or impede the progress of any 
 one; (see Todd's Johnson;) and agreeablj 
 to this explanation we find the rope tied h-^ 
 sportsmen round the necks of fleet pointers 
 to tire them well, and check their speed, is 
 hereabouts universally called the " trash- 
 cord," or dog trash. But why old shoes 
 in particular were selected as the mis- 
 siles most proper for impeding the pro- 
 gress of new married persons, it is nov 
 perhaps impossible to discover. 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 N. S. 
 
 BILBOCQUET. 
 
 In 1585, Henry III. of France diverted 
 himself, when passing through the streets 
 of Paris, by playing with a "bilbocquet," 
 a cup and ball. The dukes d'Epernon and 
 de Joyeuse accompanied him in his child- 
 ish frolic, which, by this example, became 
 so general, that gentlemen, pages, lackeys, 
 and all sorts of people, great and small, 
 made the management of the " bilbocquet'' 
 a serious and perpetual study. The same 
 king traversed his capital with a basket 
 hanging by a girdle fiom his neck, out ol 
 which peeped the heads of half a dozen 
 DUDpies, 
 
 588 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 REMARKABLE CHARACTERS. 
 1. — Erasmus. 
 
 ii.rasnius, while a schoolboy, composed 
 a paiiegyric on king Philip, (father of 
 Charles V.,) on his coining out of Spain 
 into Germany. His majesty took such 
 notice of his early wit, that he honoured 
 him with a yearly pension during his life. 
 
 King Henry VIII. of England wrote to 
 him with his own hand, ordered him several 
 very valuable presents, offered him a house 
 and land, with six hundred florins a year, 
 if he would reside in England. 
 
 Francis I., king of France, also wrote to 
 him, offering him a bishopric, and one 
 thousand florins a year, if he would live in 
 France. 
 
 The emperor Charles V. offered him a 
 bishopric in Sicily, made him one of his 
 privy council, allowed him a pension of 
 four hundred florins a year, and promised 
 to make it five hundred, if he would occa- 
 sionally reside in his court. 
 
 Sigismond, king of Poland, and Ferdi- 
 nand, king of Hungary, were very bounti- 
 ful to him, and I'epeatedly invited him to 
 dwell in their dominions. 
 
 Ann, princess of Verona, allowed him a 
 pension of one hundred florins a year. 
 
 Frederick, duke of Saxony, and William, 
 duke of Gulick, made him several presents. 
 
 Pope Adrian VI. wrote to him three 
 times with his own hand ; and pope Cle- 
 ment VII., on being raised to the purple, 
 sent him five hundred florins, and invited 
 him to Rome. 
 
 Pope Paul ITT. 'led to have raised 
 
 him to the rank ^^ --dmal, if death had 
 not prevented him. 
 
 Williarp Warham, archbishop of Canter- 
 bury, gave him an exhibition. 
 
 Cardinal Wolsey allowed him a pension 
 out of a prebend at York. 
 
 The bishops of Lincoln and Rochester 
 '■berally supplied him with money, &c. on 
 ai' occasions. 
 
 Polidore Virgil sent him money to buy 
 a horse, and the lord Cromwell sent him 
 thirty angels. 
 
 Lord Mountjoy, sir Thomas More, bishop 
 Tonstall, and dean Collet, were his constant 
 benefactors. 
 
 Cardinal Mattheo offered him a pension 
 of five hundred a year to live in Rome, 
 and sent him a cup of pure gold. 
 
 Albeitus, archbishop, cardinal, and elec- 
 tor of Mentz, sent him also a cup of gold, 
 richly ornamented with precious stones. 
 
 Cardinal Campegius, among other pre- 
 sents, sent him a ring of great value. 
 
 Stanislaus Olmucensis sent him a silvei 
 bowl, double gilt, with four pieces of gold 
 ancient coin. 
 
 The bishop of Basil offered him half th ; 
 revenue of his bishopric. 
 
 Thurxo, bishop of Uratislavo, went six 
 days' journey out of his way to see him. 
 
 William, earl of Eyrenberg, gave him a 
 dagger, which by the inscription " he 
 wished in the hearts of all his enemies." 
 
 II. — Nicholas Wood, the Glutton. 
 
 One Nicholas Wood, of Harrison, in the 
 county of Kent, yeoman, did eat with ease 
 a whole sheep of sixteen shillings price, 
 and that raw, at one meal. Another time 
 he eat thirty dozen of pigeons. At sii 
 William Sedley's he eat as much as would 
 have sufficed thirty men. At loid Wot- 
 ton's in Kent, he devoured in one meal 
 eighty-four rabbits ; another time eighteen 
 yards of black pudding, London measure. 
 He once eat sixty pounds of cherries, and 
 said they were but wastemeat. He eat a 
 whole hog, and afterwards swallowed three 
 peck of damsons : this was after breakfast, 
 at which he had taken a pottle of milk and 
 pottage, with bread, butter, and cheese. 
 
 " He eat in my presence," saith Taylor, 
 the water-poet, " six penny wheaten loaves, 
 three sixpenny veal-pies, one pound o' 
 fresh butter, one good dish of thornback, 
 and a sliver of a peck household loaf, an 
 inch thick, all wiihin the space of an hour ; 
 the house yielding no more he retired un 
 satisfied." 
 
 One John Dale, at Lenham, laid him p 
 wager, he could fill his belly for him witl 
 pood wholesome victuals for two shillings- 
 He took this wager and said, when he had 
 finished the two shillings worth, he wouh 
 eat up a sirloin of beef. Dale, however, 
 brought six pots of mighty ale and twelvi 
 new penny white loaves, which he sopped 
 tlierein, the powerful fume whereof con 
 quered this gluttonous conqueror, and laic 
 him asleep before he had finished his meal 
 whereby the roast beef was preserved and 
 the wager lost. 
 
 Wood spent all his estate in provendei 
 for his enormous stomach, and, although a 
 landed man and a true labourer, he died 
 very poor in 1630. 
 
 Sam Sam's Son. 
 
 589 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 JUST JUDGMENT. 
 
 A GOOD Judge, and a good Jury. 
 
 It is of most essential importance to the 
 3ue administration of justice that juries 
 should be sensible of their own dignity ; 
 and, when occasion requires, that they 
 should not implicitly and servilely bow to 
 lie opiaion of any judge, however high he 
 may be held in estimation. An instance of 
 the beneficial result of a jury asserting, in 
 a respectful manner, the privilege of having 
 an opinion of their own, occurred, not at 
 the assizes now holding, but not very long 
 ago. Two men were indicted for a bur- 
 glary : after the counsel for the prosecution 
 had opened, the amiable and learned judge 
 who presided, addressing the jury, said, 
 " Gentlemen, there does not appear to me 
 any probability that a case of burglary can 
 be made out against the prisoners, it is 
 therefore needless to occupy your time any 
 further." The jury having, however, con- 
 ferred for a short time, the foreman replied, 
 " With perfect deference to your lordship's 
 opinion we should rather prefer hearing 
 the evidence." To this his lordship readily 
 assented : the case went on, and the guilt 
 of the prisoners was proved beyond the 
 possibility of a doubt. After the verdict 
 was returned, the learned judge said, 
 " Well, gentlamen of the jury, I will not 
 say that you are better lawyers than I am, 
 but I am quite sure that in the present in- 
 stance you have proved yourself to be 
 htXier jndge.s."* 
 
 OLD ENGLISH ALE. 
 
 About 1620 some doctors and surgeons, 
 during their attendance on an English 
 gentleman, who was diseased at Paris, 
 discoursed on wines and other beverages ; 
 and one physician, who had been in Eng' 
 land, said, " Tlie English had a drink whicl 
 they call ale, and which he thought the 
 wholesomest liquor that could be drank ; 
 for whereas the body of man is supported 
 by natural heat and radical moisture, there 
 is no drink conduceth more to the preser- 
 vation of the one, and the increase of the 
 jther, than ale : for, while the Englishmen 
 drank only ale, they were strong, brawny, 
 able men, and could draw an arrow an ell 
 ,ong; but when they fell to wine and 
 beer, they are found to be much impaired 
 in their strength and age :" and so the ale 
 bore away the bell among the doctors.f 
 
 * Times, August 27, 182?. 
 t Honrea. 
 
 A SOLDIER'S AGE. 
 
 Napoleon, in his Italian successes, took 
 a Hungarian battalion prisoners. The 
 colonel, an old man, complained bitteily of 
 the French mode of fighting — by rapid and 
 desultory attacks, on the flank, the rear, 
 the lines of communication, &c., concluding 
 by saying, " that he fought in the army of 
 Maria Theresa." 
 
 " You must be oW?" said Napoleon. 
 
 " Yes, I am either sixty or seventy." 
 
 " Why, colonel, you have certainly lived 
 long enough to know how to count years a 
 little more closely V 
 
 " General," said the Hungarian, " I 
 reckon my money, my shirts, and my hoises ; 
 but as for my years, I know that nobody 
 will want to steal them, and that I shall 
 never lose one of them 1" 
 
 COUNSELS AND CAUTIONS 
 
 By Dr. A. Hunter. 
 
 Beware ! 
 
 Leave your purse and watch at home 
 wheo you go to the playhouse or an auction 
 room. 
 
 Travelling. 
 
 When you take a journey in winter put 
 on two shirts; you will find them much 
 warmer than an additional waistcoat. 
 
 Building Repairs. 
 
 If you mean to buy a house that you 
 intend to alter and improve, be sure to 
 double the tradesman's estimate. 
 
 Your Staircase. 
 
 Paint the steps a stone colour; it will 
 save scouring and soap. 
 
 Housekeeping. 
 
 If you are in trade keep no more houses 
 than you can support ; a summer-house and 
 a winter-nouse have forced many a man 
 into a poor-house. 
 
 Enough should suffice. 
 
 A man who has obtained a competency, 
 and ventures upon a speculation that may 
 be capable of consuming all that he has 
 already got, stakes ease and comfort against 
 beggary and disgrace. 
 
 Loquacity. 
 A gossio has no home. 
 
 590 
 
THE TA.BLE BOOK. 
 
 THE NOTED JOHN COOKE OF EXETER. 
 
 "DEAWN FKOM NATURE.' 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Corporations in old times kept fools, 
 and there are still traces of the custom. 
 The antiquary admires the carving of a 
 
 fool, " a motley fool," at the porchway of 
 the King John tavern at Exeter, and con- 
 templates it as probably the faithful repre- 
 sentation of an obsolete servant of that 
 ancient city j while the traveller endeavours 
 
 Vol. in. 
 
 591 
 
 2Q 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 to obtain a sight of the "noted Captaia 
 Cooke, all alive ! alive !" — the most public, 
 and not the least important officer of its 
 lively corporation. 
 
 A tract, published without a title-page, 
 yet symbolically, as it were, bearing a son 
 of half-head, whereby it is denominated 
 " A Pamphlet called Old England for 
 Ever!" is the production of captain Cooke 
 himself; and a lithographed piint represents 
 that " noted " personage " drawn from na- 
 ture," in his full costume, as " Captain of 
 the Sheriffs troop at 74 assizes for the 
 county of Devon.'' An engraving from 
 the print is at the head of this article ; the 
 original is " published by George Rowe, 
 38, Paris-street, Exeter," price only a 
 shilling. The present representation is 
 merely to give the reader some notion of 
 the person of the captain, previously to in- 
 troducing so niucii of his " particular con- 
 fession, life, character, and behaviour," as 
 can be extracted fiom his aforesaid printed 
 narrative. 
 
 The tract referred to, though denomi- 
 nated " Old England for Ever," seems in- 
 tended to memorialize " Captain Cooke — for 
 ever." Aspiring to eclipse the celebrated 
 autobiography of " P. P. Clerk of this 
 Parish," tlie captain calls his literary 
 production " a pamphlet of patriotic home 
 achievements during the late direful war 
 from 1793 to 1813;" and, accordingly, it 
 is a series, to adopt his own words, of 
 "tv/enty-two years multifariousbut abridged 
 memoirs, novelties, anecdotes, genealogy, 
 ind bulletins, by the author's natural in- 
 stinct.'' 
 
 The first most important information re- 
 sulting from the captain's " natural in- 
 stinct," is this : — that" the duke of Welling- 
 ton, marshal Blucher, the allied officers, 
 and armies, defeated the atheist, the enemy 
 of the Sabbath and of peace to the world, 
 on Sunday, 18th of June 1815, at half after 
 eight o'clock in the evening :" which day 
 the captam, therefore, calls " an indelible 
 day ;" and says, " I built a cottage that 
 year, and have a tablet over my door — 
 JVaterloo Cottage, in memory of Europe's 
 victory, Sunday, \Qth June, 1815; and I 
 went to Wellington-hill to see the founda-- 
 tion-stone laid for a Wellington column, 
 in honour of the duke. So nauch for Buo- 
 naparte's fanfaronade! — At daybreak of 
 the 15th of Jijly, he (Buonaparte) surren- 
 dered himself to the English captain Mait- 
 j'and, of the Bellerophon — an appropo 
 name to the refugee. — I was called up the 
 next morning at one o'clock; I wrote 
 twenty letters to country gentlemen of the 
 
 592. 
 
 O !-be-joyful news, by the same morning' 
 post. 1 have been often called up o;. 
 express news." 
 
 Erom hence may be deduced the value 
 cf the captain and his opinions in the citv 
 of Exeter; and, no doubt, due importance 
 will be attached to his proposition, tha. 
 " parliament should always meet of a Fri- 
 day or Saturday, and prorogue of a Mon- 
 day, to prevent sabbath-breaking as little 
 as possible;" and that " the mails should 
 be prohibited from blowing their horns in 
 the dead of the night or morning, i-n towns 
 or villages." It was contemplated to carry 
 these measures into effect by joint stock 
 companies, wherein all the captam's friends 
 were shareholders, when the " panic" came 
 down from London by an opposition coach. 
 and destroyed public confidence in the 
 captain's plans. They are noticed here in 
 the order wherein he states them himself; 
 and, pursuing the like order, it is proper to 
 state, in the first place, something of the 
 house wherein this self-eminent person 
 was born ; then, something respecting 
 •' Ashburton Pop ;" and, lastly, something 
 respecting his apprenticeship, and his ser- 
 vices as a loyal man and a saddler to " the 
 city of Exeter, and the corporation and 
 trade thereof." 
 
 "I was born,"says the captain," at the Rose 
 and Crown public-house on the old bridge, 
 in the borough town of Ashburton, 1765; 
 where a good woollen-manufactory has 
 been carried on ; and it has produced a 
 great character, or so, for learning :" and 
 " has been as famous for a beverage, called 
 Axhbnrton Pop, as London is for porter. 
 1 recollect its sharp feeding good taste, far 
 richer than the best small beer, more of 
 the champaign taste, and wh;it was termed 
 a good sharp bottle. When you untied 
 and hand-drew the cork, it gave a report 
 louder than a pop-gun, to which I attribute 
 its name ; its contents would fly up to the 
 ceiling ; if you did not mind to keep the 
 mouth of the stone bottle into the white 
 quart cup, it filled it with froth, but not 
 over a pint of clear liquor. Three old 
 cronies would sit an afternoon six hours, 
 smdke and drink a dozen bottles, their 
 reckoning but eight-pence each, and a 
 penny for tobacco. The pop was but two- 
 pence a bottle. It is a great novel loss to 
 *he town ; because its receipe died with its 
 brewer about 1785." 
 
 From the never-enough-sufficiently to be 
 ,amented and for-ever-departed " Pop," 
 the captain returns to himself. " My 'mo- 
 ther," says he, " put me apprentice at fif- 
 teen to the head saddler in Exeter, the lai;e 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Mr. Charter, whom I succeeded -when I 
 tame of age, and have lived in the same 
 no-use thirty-seven years, up to 1817, where 
 my son now lives, under the firm of Cooke 
 and Son." He evidently takes great 
 pleasure in setting forth the names of hi* 
 customers ; and he especially relates, " I 
 got to be saddler, through the late Charles 
 Fanshawe, recorder of Exeter, to the late 
 lord Elliott Heathfield, colonel of dragoons. 
 His lordship was allowed to be one of the 
 first judges of horses and definer of saddlery 
 in the kingdom ; his lordship's saddle- 
 house consisted from the full bristed to the 
 demy pick, shafto, Hanoverian, to the 
 Dutch pad-sad<lles ; and from the snaffle, 
 Pelham, Weymouth, Pembroke, Elliott, 
 Mameluke, and Chifney bridles. Chifney 
 was groom to the prince regent. Besides 
 all this, the vast manage horse-tackling, 
 tomies, dumb-jockies, hobbles, lunging, 
 lifting, and side reins. His lordship's sad- 
 •dle and riding-house was a school for a 
 saddler and dragoon. And 1 had the 
 honour of being saddler to other colonels 
 of dragoons, connoisseurs of saddlery, when 
 they were at Exeter quarters.** 
 
 Here the captain's enthusiasm increases: 
 ' I could write," says he, " a treatise on 
 all the parts of the bearmgs and the utility 
 of all the kinds of saddles, bridles, stirrups, 
 and harness-collars, made for the last thirty 
 years, for the benefit of horse or rider ; 
 from the bullock-back horse to the finest 
 withered." With just judgment, while on 
 I he saddle, the captain expatiates on the 
 mode of riding to the best advantage. " As 
 's said, keep your head cool, feet warm, 
 and live temperate, and you won't need 
 the doctor, without something is amiss ; so 
 let your saddle clear your finger with all 
 your weight in the stirrups going down 
 hill ; the same on the hind part with all 
 your weight on the seat going up hill ; you 
 won't need the saddler without some- 
 thing is amiss." A miss is as good as a 
 mile, and the captam diverges to a " great 
 mystery," which must be related in his 
 own words : — 
 
 " The great mystery to know a horse's 
 age is between five and eight years old. 
 A horse may live to thirty ; but not one 
 out of a thousand but what are worked out 
 of their lives at fifteen. From their sucking 
 first teeth, they loose, and get their perma- 
 nent teeth at five years old ; at six they 
 have a small pit-hole, a bean's eye, a cavity 
 in two of their outer lower teeth ; at seven 
 they have this mark but in one, the out- 
 side tooth ; at eight years old the teeth are 
 all filled up; then the mark is out of the 
 
 mouth. But dealers and judges look to tfie 
 upper teeth ; there is a mark to tweUo 
 years old, but no vestige afterward. An 
 old horse has long large teeth, worn oflT on 
 the top edge. The prime of a horse is 
 between six and twelve years of age. He 
 is weak and faint before six, and stiff' and 
 dull after twelve. Some say a horse is out 
 of mark at seven ; but it is at eight. The 
 average age of horses is at twelve years — 
 the average of man not at the half of his 
 time appointed on earth 1'' 
 
 To a posey of poesy, occupying nearly 
 a page in this part of the pamphlet, it is 
 impossible to do justice with equal satis- 
 faction to the reader and the captain ; yel, 
 in courtesy, it is proper to cull 
 
 ■ — a twig. 
 
 Or two, to stick about his wig. 
 
 As a specimen of the materials whereon 
 he relies for a laurel crown, the following 
 lines are drawn out from his " snarl *' of 
 versifyings : — 
 
 As few began the world, so I multiplied. 
 
 Plain, at twenty-one, I did begin 
 
 Which in my manuscript was seen. 
 
 Tho' I did not know the use of grammar, 
 
 I was well supported by my hammer. 
 
 I stifiked to my King, leather, and tools ; 
 
 And, for order, wrote a set of shop rules. 
 
 Working with the hands only is but part. 
 
 The head's the essential to make the work smart. 
 
 After this poetical effusion the captain 
 rises to " the height of his great argument," 
 his undying doings. " Now," says the 
 captain, " now for my sixtt/ home achieva- 
 inaits during the late war for my king and 
 country." Alas! the captain seems to have 
 disdained the " use of numbers," except 
 when inspired by the muses, or the "sweet 
 voices" of the people of Exeter, when they 
 honoured him with a " Skimmington," 
 which he passes over with a modesty equal 
 to that of the Roman general who never 
 mentioned his great ovafion. The captain's 
 " sixty achievements " are doubtless in his 
 pamplilet; but they in " icrong order go," 
 and are past the arithmetician's ai't to enu- 
 meiate. The chief of them must be 
 gathered from his own account. F'oremost 
 stands " the labour I took in pleasing and 
 accommodating my customers;"' and almost 
 nf-xt, " the many hours I have knocked 
 my head, as it were, against Samuel John- 
 son, to find words for handbills and adver- 
 tisements all at my own expense, to avoid 
 inflammatory pamphlets. I gloried in the 
 name of ' John Bull,' and shall to my life's 
 end. I went into the pot-houses at Exetei. . 
 
 593 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 and treated with mugs round, and gave 
 ioyal toasts and sentiments. I became a 
 volunteer in the infantry, before the cavalry 
 were equipped by my brother tradesmen, 
 that they should not say my loyalty was 
 for trade. After this, I joined the second 
 troop of the first Devon Royal Cavalry. 
 One of my advertisements in the difficult 
 times, at a guinea each, m the Exeter, 
 Sherborne, and Sun, which was then the 
 ministerial paper, was reprinted for its loy- 
 alty and novelty in Philadelphia, and in 
 tv"o miscellaneous volumes of Literary Lei- 
 sure, by Solomon Sumpter, Esq. ; and 
 from the attention I paid to the nobility, 
 gentry, dragoon and militia officers, &c. 
 when they tarried at Exeter or its neigh- 
 bourhood, it was a pleasure and an honour 
 mixed with fatigue. Besides my own 
 ousiness, I procured for them, gratis, ma- 
 nors, estates, houses, lodgings, carriages, 
 horses, servants, fish, fowl, hunting, shoot- 
 ing, and trout fishing. I may say John 
 Cooke, the saddler of Exeter, is known from 
 England to the Indies ; on the Continent, 
 Ireland, in Scotland, by the lord chief 
 baron Dundas, from Berwick-upon-Tweed 
 to Penzance. I had two direction-posts at 
 my door during the war, that no one had 
 in the kingdom beside ; one to the various 
 places and distances, from Exeter to Lon- 
 don 170 miles, &c. &c. ; the other a large 
 sheet of paper written as a daily monitor 
 gratis, a bulletin of news, to cheer people 
 in the worst of times, to guide them in the 
 constitutional road. / even made myself a 
 direction-post, and wore a conspicuous 
 breastplate painted with this motto, ' Fear 
 God, honour the king, and revere his mi- 
 nisters ;' which made not only the auditory, 
 but the judges, sheriff, and counsel stare at 
 me. I went from Exeter to London, to 
 the funeral of lord Nelson, the late hero of 
 .he Nile, in 1803." The truth of the latter 
 of the captain's achievements " nobody can 
 deny." He did go to the funeral, and sat 
 on a wall in solemn silence, fast asleep, 
 while it passed, and then returned to Exe- 
 ter, great as the great Bourbon, who 
 
 with forty thousand men. 
 
 Went up the hill, and then came down again 
 
 From hence the captain diverges to other 
 of his achievements. " I used to rise, be- 
 fore we had firemen, at the dead of night 
 or morning with my apprentices at any 
 alarm of lire, desiring all women, children, 
 and lookers on, if they did not help they 
 were of harm, being in the way. I put in 
 my bulletins, you are to take the left 
 
 of ail you meet in riding, and toe 'ight m 
 walking. I was the means of the watering 
 cart to lay the dust of the streets in sum- 
 mer. Lhave subscribed to all the institu- 
 tions at Exeter, and at rejoicings of news 1 
 was not behindhand. When I saw the 
 allied sovereigns in London, I compared 
 colonel Hain of the North Devon, if he 
 wore mustachios, to marshal Blucher, who 
 came forward to his window at signals ; 
 Mr. Chubb, of St. Thomas, Exeter, and 
 Mr. Gribble, attornies, of Newton Bushel, 
 to the emperor Alexander in face ; the king 
 of Prussia and his sons like healthy Eng- 
 lish country esquires in their best clothes. 
 I saw the duke of Wellington, who looked 
 thinner than his picture. I saw Buonaparte 
 at Torbay, exact like bis picture ; a huge 
 stiff broad back, strong neck, big calf to 
 his legs, he looked about fifty, and about 
 five feet eight, resembling a country mastei 
 builder, a sturdy one, full of thought as 
 about a building. — I end this pamphlet. 
 Four words : thought is the quickest ; time 
 the wisest ; the laws of necessity the strong- 
 est; truth the most durable. 
 
 " This from a Devonshire Jog-trot, who 
 has done enough to be termed a public 
 character in his way ; a John Bull trades- 
 man. 
 
 " John Cooke." 
 
 " IVaterloo Cottage, 
 
 i^th Feb. 1819." 
 
 So end the achievements of the chief ot 
 the javelin-men of Exeter, written by him- 
 self, concerning whom, give me leave, Mr. 
 Editor, to inquire, if there be any thing 
 more to be told than is set down in his 
 book. I think that captain Cooke's 
 " Skimmington " took place after he fa- 
 voured the public with appearing in print ; 
 and I remember to have heard that the 
 procession was highly ludicrous, and ho- 
 noured by every shop in the High-street of 
 Exeter being closed, and every window- 
 above being filled. I may venture to affirm 
 in behalf of your readers, that an account 
 of it would be highly amusing; and if it be 
 agreeable to your inclination, as I think it 
 may, that such a narrative of the recent 
 celebration of a very ancient custom should 
 be permanently recorded, do me the favour 
 to let me express an earnest hope that some 
 of your Exeter readers will enable you tc 
 give particulars in the Table Book 
 
 I. V 
 
 [Communications respectmg the ceremony referred it 
 in the preceding letter will be very acceptable, ani 
 are therefore solicited. — Editor.] 
 
 594 
 
THE TABLE B0©K. 
 
 Warrick ^lapsf* 
 
 No. XXXIV. 
 
 [From the " Antipodes," further extracts : 
 see No. XX.J 
 
 A Doctor humours his patient, who is 
 crazed with reading lying books of travels, 
 liy pretending that he himself has been a 
 great traveller in his time. 
 
 Peregrine, the patient. Doctor. Lady. 
 
 Peregrine. All the world over hare you been ? 
 
 Doctor. Over and under too. 
 
 Per. In the Antipodes ? 
 
 Doct. Yes, through and through. 
 Nor isle nor angle in the other world 
 But I have made discovery of. Do you 
 Think, Sir, to the Antipodes such a journey ? 
 
 Per. I think there's none beyond it, and that Man- 
 devil 
 Was the only man came near it. 
 
 Doct. Mandevil went far. 
 
 Per. Beyond all English legs that I can read of. 
 
 Doct. What think you, Sir, of Drake, our lamous 
 countryman ? 
 
 Per. Drake was a Dldapper to Mandevil. 
 Candish and Hawkins, Frobisher, all our voyagers 
 Went short of Mandevil : but had he reach'd 
 To this place — here — yes here — this wilderness ; 
 And seen the trees of the sun and moon, that speak. 
 And told King Alexander of his death ; 
 He then 
 
 Had left a passage ope for travellers. 
 That now is kept and guarded by wild beasts ; 
 Dragons and serpents, elephants white and blue ; 
 Unicorns and lions, of many colours ; 
 And monsters more, as numberless as nameless. 
 
 Doct. Stay there — 
 
 Per. Read here else : can you read? 
 Is it not true ? 
 
 Doct. No truer, than I have seen it 
 You hear me not deny that all is true. 
 That Mandevil delivers of his travels; 
 Yet I myself may be as well believed. 
 
 Per. Since you speak reverently of him, say on. 
 
 Doct. Of Europe I'll not speak, 'tis too near home ; 
 Who's not familiar with the Spanish garb, 
 Th' Italian cringe, French shrug, and German iiug ? 
 Nor will! trouble you with my observations 
 Fetch'd from Arabia, Paphlagonia, 
 Mesopotamia, Mauritania, 
 Syria, Thessalia, Persia, India ; 
 All still is too near home : tho' I hare touch'd 
 The clouds upon the Pyrenean mountains ; 
 And been on Paphos hill, where I have kiss'd 
 The image of bright Venus ; all is still 
 Too near home to be boasted. They sound 
 In a far traveller's ear. 
 Like the reports of those, that beggingly 
 Hare put out on returns from Edinburgh. 
 P«rife, or Venice ; or porhaps Madrid, 
 
 Whither a Millaner may with half a n«jsc 
 
 Smell out his way : and is not near so difficuli. 
 
 As for some man in debt, and unprotected. 
 
 To walk from Charing Crossi to the Old £xck.tng«. . 
 
 No, I will pitch no neare than the Antipodes ; 
 
 That which is furthest distant ; foot to foot 
 
 Against our region. 
 
 Lady. What, with their heels upwards ? 
 Bless us, how 'scape they breaking of their necKS ? 
 
 Doct. They walk upon firm earth, as we do here ; 
 And have the firmament over their heads, 
 As we have here. 
 
 Lady. And yet just under usl 
 "Where is Hell then? if they, whose feet are to 
 At the lower part of the world, hnve Heaven too 
 Beyond their heads, where's Hell ? , 
 
 Doct. You may find that 
 Without enquiry. 
 
 Scene, at the Antipodes, 
 
 N.B. In the Antipodes, every thing goes 
 contrary to our manners : wives rule 
 their husbands ; servants govern their 
 masters ; old men go to school again,&c 
 
 Son. Servant. Gentleman, and Lady, na- 
 tives. English Traveller. 
 
 Servant (to his young Master.) How well you saw 
 Your father to school to day, knowing how apt 
 He is to play the truant 
 
 Son. But is he not 
 Yet gone to school ? 
 
 Servant. Stand by, and you shall see. 
 
 Enter three old men with satchels. 
 
 All tiueec. (singing) Domine, doraine, duster: 
 Three knaves in a cluster. 
 
 Son. t. Ais is gallant pastime. Nay, come on 
 Is tUis your school ? was that your lesson, lia ? 
 
 1st old man. Pray now, good son, indeed, inde^d — 
 
 Son. Indeed 
 You shall to school. Away with him; and take 
 Their wagships with him, the whole cluster of 'em. 
 
 2d old man. You sha'nt send us now, so you sha'nt — 
 
 3d old man. We be none of your father, so we be'nt — 
 
 Son. Away with 'em, I say ; and tell their school 
 mistress 
 What truants they are, and bid her pay 'em soundly.' 
 
 All three. Oh, oh, oh I 
 
 Lady. Alas I will nobody beg pardon for 
 Tlie poor old boys ? 
 
 English Traveller. Do men of such fair years her« 
 go to school ? 
 
 Gentleman. They would die dunces else. 
 These were great scholars m their youth , Mt when 
 Age grows upon men here, their learning wastes. 
 And so decays, that if they live nntil 
 Threescore, their sons send them to school again ; 
 They'd die as speechless else as new-born children. 
 
 English Traveller. Tis a wise nation ; . rd the piet> 
 Of the voung men most rare ai^d commendab^.e. 
 Yet give me, as a straug«r, leave to \tg 
 Theix liberty this A**-. 
 
 59^ 
 
fcn 
 
 THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 Son. Tis granted. 
 Hold up your heads, and tliank the gentleman, 
 f .ike scholars, with your heels now. 
 
 All three. Oratias, gratias. gratias. (exeunt singing.) 
 
 [From the "Asparagus Garden," a 
 Comedy, by the same Author, 1634.] 
 
 Private Conference. 
 
 Father-in- Law. You'll not assault me in my own 
 house, nor urge me beyond my patience with your 
 borrowing attempts. 
 
 Spendthrift A tight. I have not used the word of 
 loan or borrowing; 
 Only some private conference 1 requested. 
 
 Fath. Private conference ! a new-coined word for 
 borrowing of money. I tell you, your very face, your 
 countenance, tho' it be glossed with knighthood, looks 
 ■10 borrowingly, that the best words you give me are as 
 dreadful as Stand and Deliver. — Your riotousnesB 
 abroad, and her long night-watchings at home, sliort- 
 ened my daughter's days, and cast her into her grave ; 
 and 'twas not long before all her estate was buried 
 too. 
 
 Spend. I wish my life might have excused 
 tier's far more precious ; never haii a uian 
 A j aster cause to mourn. 
 
 Fath. Nor mourn'd more justly, it is your only 
 wearing; you have just none other ; nor have had any 
 means to purchase better any time these seven years, 
 [ take it ; by which means you have got the name of 
 the Mourning Knight. 
 
 Timothy Hoyden, the Yeoinans Son, de- 
 sires to be made a Gentleman. He consults 
 with his friends. 
 Muncylack. Well, Sir, we will take the speediest 
 
 course with you. 
 Huyd. But must I bleed ? 
 
 Mon. Yes, you must bleed ; your father's blood 
 must out. 
 He was but a Yeoman, was he ? 
 Huyd. As rank a Clown (none dispraised) as any in 
 
 Somersetshire. 
 Mon. His foul rank blood of bacon and pease por- 
 ritch 
 Must out of you to the last dram — 
 
 Springe. Fear nothing. Sir. 
 Your blood shall be taken out by degfrees ; and your 
 veins replenished vvith pure blood still, as you lose the 
 puddle. 
 
 Hoyd. I was bewitch'd, I think, before I was begot, 
 to have a Clown to my father. Yet my mother said 
 she was a Gentlewoman. 
 
 Spr. Said I what will not women say ? 
 Man. Be content. Sir; here's half a labour saved : 
 you shall bleed but of one side. The Mother vein shall 
 aot be pricked. 
 
 Old Striker, after a quarrelling bout 
 with old Touchwood. 
 
 Touchwood. I have put him into these fits this forty 
 rears, and hope to choke him at last, (aside ; and 
 
 SHrHtr. HnV, hnh, huh! so bei?gone,tne villain's 
 gone in hopes that he has killed me, when my comfort 
 is he has re'-overed m'?. I was heart-sick with a con 
 ceit, which lay so mingled with my flegm, that I had 
 perished if I had not broke it, and made me spit it out; 
 hem, he is gone, and I'll home merrily. I would not 
 he should know the good he has done me for half my 
 estate ; nor would I be at peace with him to save at 
 all. I would not lose his hatred for all the good 
 neighbourhood of the parish. 
 His malice works upon me 
 Past all the drugs and all the Doctors' counsels. 
 That e'er I eopea with ; he has been my vexation 
 E'er since my wife died; if the rascal knew it. 
 He would be friends, and I were instantly 
 But a dead man ; I could not get another 
 To anger me so handsomely. 
 
 BEAR AND TENTER. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 Morley, near Leeds, July, 1827. 
 
 Sir, — On surveying the plays and pas- 
 times of children, in these northern parts 
 especially, it has often struck me with re- 
 sped' to some of them, that if traced up to 
 their origin, they would be r'ctind to ha\e 
 been " political satires to ridicule such 
 follies and corruptions of the times, as it 
 was, perhaps, unsafe to do in any other 
 manner." In this conjecture I have lately 
 been confirmed, by meeting with a curious 
 paper, copied from another periodical wort 
 by a contributor to the old London Maga- 
 zine, vol. for 1738, p. .^Q. It is an article 
 which many would doubtless be glad to 
 find in the Table Book, and nobody more 
 so than myself, as it would be a capital 
 accompaniment to my present remaiks. 
 
 To come at once to the point ; we have, 
 or rather had, a few years ago, a game 
 called the " bear and tenter," (or bear and 
 bear warden, as it would be called in the 
 south,) which seems, certainly, to have 
 been one of the sort alluded to. A boy is 
 made to crawl as a bear upon his hands 
 and knees, round whose neck is tied a rope 
 which the keeper holds at a few yards' dis- 
 tance. The bystanders then buffet the 
 bear, who is protected only by his keeper, 
 who, by touching any of the assailants, 
 becomes liberated ; the other is then the 
 bear, and the buffeted bear becomes the 
 keeper, and so on. If the " tenter" is 
 sluggish or negligent in defence of his 
 charge, it is then that the bear growls, and 
 the blows are turned upon the guardian, 
 wholly or partially, as the bearbaiters elect. 
 
 Now, my conjecture as to the origin c 
 
 ^596 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 the game of " bear and tenter" is this. — 
 Our English youths and their tutors, or 
 companions, were formerly distinguished 
 in foreign countries by the names of the 
 bear and the bear leader, from the absurd 
 custom of sending out the former, (a bois- 
 terous, ungovernable set,) and putting them 
 under the care of persons unfit to accom- 
 pany them. These bears were at first 
 generally sprigs of royally or nobility, as 
 headstrong as need be; and the tutor was 
 often some needy scholar, a Scotsman, or a 
 courtier, who knew little more of the world 
 than his pupil ; but who, when he had put 
 on his bag-wig and sword, was one of the 
 most awkward and ridiculous figures ima- 
 ginable. While these people were abroad, 
 there can be no doubt that they were for 
 
 GLANCES AT BOOKS ON MY TABLE. 
 The History and Antigiiities o/Weston 
 Favell, in the Cotinty of Northamp- 
 ton. By John Cole, Editor of ' Her- 
 
 veiana,' &c. Scarborough : Printed 
 (only 50 copies) and published by John 
 Cole ; and Longman and Co. London, 
 1827. — 8vo. pp. 74. 
 According to Mr. Cole, Weston Favell Is 
 entered in Domesday book as " Westone," 
 and the addition of Favell was derive*, 
 from a family of that name, who formerly 
 possessed the manor. From each of three 
 mansions standing there at the commence- 
 ment of the last century, but not one of 
 which remained at its close, the important 
 equipage of a " coach and six " formerly 
 
 -eriy the dupes and laughingstocks of Issued to the admiration of tne villagers, 
 those who dealt with them" and that, m The church is dedicated to St. Peter "e-^ 
 exchange for the cash out of which thev T'''^' °^ ^ ^""^^^ '°"'^' P°'"*=^' ^"^"^^ 
 
 ana 
 an- 
 
 were cheated, they brought home a stock ^el, with a coped tower at the west end, con 
 
 of exotic follies, sufficient to render the 
 completely preposterous characters in the 
 eyes of their own countrymen. Consider- 
 ing therefore how much good English gold 
 was wasted and lost in these travels, how 
 hurtful to the national pride the practice 
 was, and how altered for the worse were 
 both guardian and ward, it is not to be 
 wondered at if the middling and lower 
 classes of Englishmen were hie;hly in- 
 censed or disgusted. But as complaints 
 would, at least, be unavailing when such 
 persons as " Baby Charles" and " Stenny" 
 Buckingham were the " bear and tenter," 
 the people revenged themselves, as far as 
 they dared, by the institution of this game, 
 in which they displayed pretty well what 
 hard knocks, ill treatment, derision, and 
 scorn, awaited those wiio forsook their 
 homes to wander in a land of strangers. 
 And not only so, but they illustrated, at 
 the same time, the contamination which 
 ensued the touch of bad tutors, and the 
 general character of the parties ridiculed. 
 
 I am well aware, Mr. Editor, that there 
 was formerly a pastime of buffeting tne 
 bear; but that, as I apprehend, was a very 
 diflferent sport from that of " bear and 
 tenter," and had not a political origin. 
 That this had, I am well assured, from the 
 game being kept up in these parts, where 
 the Stuarts were ever almost universally 
 execrated ; where patriotism once shone 
 forth in meridian splendour, and the finest 
 soldiers that the world ever saw, were ar- 
 ranged under the banners of Cromwell, of Favell, of which living he was the patron 
 Fairfax, or of Lambert. and incumbent, as his father had been. 
 
 I remain, yours respectfully, Hervey was not born in that parish, but in 
 
 N. S. the neighbouring one of Hardingston. 
 
 597. 
 
 taining five bells." Mr. C. remarks, on 
 the authority of tradition, that the tower 
 had once a spire to it, which was many 
 years ago destroyed by lightning ; and this 
 observation induces him to cite, by way ol 
 note, that " Tradition is a very poetical, a 
 very pleasing personage ; we like to meet 
 him in our travels, and always ask him a 
 question. You will find him grey and 
 blind, sitting among old ruins, and ' Death 
 standing, dim, behind.' " 
 
 Mr. Cole copies several monumental in- 
 scriptions within the church, chiefly in 
 memory of the Hervey family, and one 
 especially on his favourite, viz. : — 
 
 HERE LIE THE REMAINS 
 
 OF THE REV. JAMES HERVEY, A. M. 
 
 LATE RECTOR OF THIS PARISH : 
 
 THAT VERY PIOUS MAN 
 AND MUCH ADMIRED AUTHOR ! 
 
 WHO DIED DEC. 25th J 738 
 
 IN THE 45th year OF HIS AGE. 
 
 Reader expect no more to make him known 
 Vain the fond Elegy and fijfur'd Stone, 
 A name more lasting shall his Writings give ; 
 There view displayed his heavenly Soul, and live 
 
 Such are the lines on the tomb of the 
 author of the " Meditations among the 
 Tombs ; Reflections on a Flower Garden ; 
 and Contemplations on the Night, and on 
 the Starry Heavens." He was buried under 
 the middle of the communion-table in the 
 chancel : when his body was conveyed to 
 the church it was covered, according to his 
 express desire, with the poor's pall. He 
 was the mosl popular rector of Weston 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 HEEVEY'S BIETH-PLACE AT HAKDINGSTOK 
 
 In this bouse (the representation of which 
 IS derived from Mr. Cole's History of Wes- 
 ton Favell) the author of the " Meditations" 
 first saw light. He was instructed by his 
 mother in reading till the age of seven, 
 and then sent to the free grammar-school 
 at Northampton, where he remained till 
 seventeen, at which age his father placed 
 him at Lincoln college, Oxford, and there 
 he resided seven years, and gained an ex- 
 hibition of twenty pounds. In 1736 he 
 returned to his father, who was then rectur 
 of Weston Favell, and became his curate. 
 In May, 1737, he succeeded the celebrated 
 George Whitefield in the curacy of Dum- 
 mer, Hampshire, and in about a twelve- 
 month removed to Stoke Abbey, Devon, 
 where he lived with his friend, Mr. Orchard, 
 upwards of two years. In 1739 he ac- 
 cepted the curacy of Bideford, which he 
 retained till his final settlement at Weston 
 Favell, where he 
 
 To ampler plenitude and sweeter days 
 Proceeded hourly. 
 
 It was in Hervey's native parish, Hard- 
 nigston, that the battle of Northampton 
 was fought on the 10th of July, 1460, and 
 king Henry VI. taken prisoner by the earl 
 nf Warwick : the duke of Buckingham, 
 
 the earl of Shrewsbury, and other noble- 
 men were killed : and many of the slain 
 were buried in the convent of Delapre, and 
 at St. John's hospital, Northampton. In 
 Hardingston parish is a military work, sup- 
 posed to have been raised by the Danes, 
 and therefore called the Danes' camp. 
 
 The wake of Weston Favell is held on the 
 next Sunday after St. Peter's day. In the 
 afternoon the rector preaches an appropri- 
 ate sermon, the choristers prepare suitable 
 psalms, and throngs of visitants from the 
 neighbouring villages attend the service in 
 the church. During the first three or four 
 days of the feast-week there are dances at 
 the inns, with games at bowls and quoits, 
 and throughout the week there are dinner 
 and tea-parties from the environs, whose 
 meetmgs usually conclude with a ball. On 
 St. Valentine's day the village lads and 
 lasses assemble, and go round with a wish 
 of " Good morrow, morrow, Valentine!'' 
 to the principal inhabitants, who give mo- 
 ney to the juvenile minstrels. On Shrove 
 Tuesday, at noon, it is the custom to ring 
 one of the church-bells, called the " Pan- 
 cake bell ;" its sound intimates a holiday 
 and allowance of sport to the village young- 
 sters. The fifth of November is jovially 
 celebrated with a bonftie, \vhich may b« 
 
 598 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 'iewed throughout a circuit of many miles. 
 Christmas is kept merrily, but the ancient 
 asages of the season have passed away, ex- 
 •ept the singing by the church-choir, of 
 'vhose carols Mr. Cole produces three, 
 ' which may serve," he says, " as an ad- 
 lition to Mr. Gilbert's collection." 
 
 In this " history " there is an engravingf 
 of two " figures on bricks, near the pulpit :" 
 the other engravings are from a former 
 work by Mr. Cole, entitled " Herveiana," 
 [2 vols, foolscap 8vo. 1822,) wherein is 
 collected a large number of particulars 
 concerning- Hervey from various sources. 
 The latter work enumerates from Ilervey's 
 •' Theron and Aspasio," the plants of the 
 parish, and agreeably describes the common 
 hut beautiful plant, called Cuckoo-pint, or 
 Wake Robin, which abounds under t'ne 
 liedge-rows. It is spoken of by its scientific 
 name : " Arum — a wild herb, which un- 
 folds but one leaf, formed after a very sin- 
 gular pattern, bearing some resemblance to 
 the hare's ear. It is really one of the pret- 
 tiest fancies in Nature's wardrobe, and is 
 so much admired by the country-people, 
 that they have dignified it with the appel- 
 iation of lords and ladies; because it looks, 
 I suppose, somewhat like a person of qua- 
 lity, sitting with an air of ease and dignity 
 in his open sedan. In autumn, after both 
 flowers have vanished, a spike of scarlet 
 berries, on a simple stalk, is all that re- 
 mains." 
 
 On the first publication of Ilervey's 
 " Meditations and Contemplations," and 
 for several years afterwards, they were 
 highly popular, and are still greatly ad- 
 mired by young persons, and others who 
 are delighted by a florid interjectional man- 
 ner of writing. Hervey's work occurs in 
 Mr. Bohn's " Catalogue of the Library of 
 the late reverend and learned Samuel Parr, 
 LL.D." with the following remarkable note 
 attached to the volume — " This book was 
 the delight of Dr. Parr, when he was a 
 boy; and, for some time, was the model 
 on which he endeavoured to form a style." 
 
 ARUM— CUCKOO- PINT— STARCH- 
 WORT. 
 
 Old John Gerard, who was some time 
 gardener to Cecil lord Burleigh, in the 
 reign of queen Elizabeth, says, in his 
 " Herbal," that " beares, after they have 
 liei .n their dens forty dayes without any 
 niai-ner of sustenance, but what they get 
 
 with licking and sucking their owne feet, 
 do, as soon as they come forth, eate thi 
 herbe Cuckoo-pint, through tlie windie na 
 ture whereof the hungry gut is opened, and 
 made fit againe to receive sustenance." 
 
 Gerard further tells, that " the most pure 
 and white starch is made of the roots oi 
 Cuckow-pint; but is most hurtful to the 
 hands of the laundresse that hath the hand- 
 ling of it, for it choppeth, blistereth, and 
 maketh the hands rough and rugged, and 
 withall smarting." From this ancient do- 
 mestic use of the arum, it was called 
 " Starch-wort:" it bore other and homeliei 
 names, some of them displeasing to a mo 
 dern ear. 
 
 Gerard likewise relates of the arum, 
 medically, that after being sodden in two 
 or three waters, whereby it may lose its 
 acrimony, and fresh put to, being so eaten, 
 it will cut thick and tough humours in the 
 chest and lungs ; " but, then, that Cuckow- 
 pint is best that biteth most — but Diagon't. 
 is better for the same purpose." 
 
 I know not whether I have fallen in with 
 tlie sort of arum " that biteth most," but, a 
 summer or two ago, walking early in the 
 afternoon through the green lanes to Wills- 
 den, and so to Harrow on the Hill, its 
 scarlet granulations among the way-side 
 browse and herbage, occasioned me to re- 
 collect the former importance of its root to 
 the housewife, and from curiosity I dug up 
 one to taste. The piece I bit off was 
 scarcely the size of half a split pea, yet it 
 gave out so much acrid milk, that, for more 
 than an houi, my lips and tongue were in- 
 flamed and continued to burn, as if cau- 
 terized by hot iron ; nor did the sensation 
 wholly cease till after breakfast the next 
 morning. Gerard says that, according to 
 Dioscorides, " the root hath a peculiar vir- 
 tue against the gout," by way of cataplasm, 
 blister-wise. 
 
 Hervey introduces the flower of the 
 Cuckoo-pint as one of the beautiful pro- 
 ducts of the spring. " The hawthorn in 
 every hedge is partly turgid with silken 
 ji;ems, partly diffused into a milk-white 
 bloom. Not a strangling furze, nor a soli- 
 tary thicket on the heath, but wears a rural 
 nosegay. Even amidst that neglected dike 
 the arum rises in humble state ; most cu- 
 riously shrouded in her leafy tabernacle, 
 and surrounded with luxuriant families, 
 each distinguished by a peculiar livery of 
 green." I am almost persuaded that I 
 have seen the fruited arum among the or- 
 naments of gothic architecture, surmount' 
 ing pinnacles of delicate shrine-work. 
 
 b9d 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 MEMORIALS OF JOHN KEATS. 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — The anecdote of Keats, which ap- 
 peared in a late number of your Table 
 Book* recalled his image to my " mind's 
 eye" as vividly, through the tear of regret, 
 as the long-buried pictures on the walls of 
 Pompeii appear when water is thrown over 
 them ; and I turned to reperuse the writ- 
 ten record of my feelings, at hearing him 
 spoken of a few months since. These lines 
 i trouble you with, thinking they may gra- 
 tify the feelings of some one of his friends, 
 and trusting their homeliness may be par- 
 doned for the sake of the feelmg which 
 dictated them. 
 
 I should also be glad of this opportunity 
 to express the wishes of many of his ad- 
 mirers for a portrait of Keats. There are 
 two in existence; one, a spirited profile 
 sketch by Haydon ; the other, a beautitul 
 miniature by his friend Severn; but nei- 
 ther have been engraved. Mr. Severn's 
 return to England will probably produce 
 some memorial of his " span of life," and a 
 snore satisfactory account of his last mo- 
 ments than can be gleaned from report. 
 The opportunity that would thus be afforded 
 of giving to the world the posthumous 
 remains of his genius, will, it is to be 
 hoped, not be neglected. Such a volume 
 would be incomplete without a portrait ; 
 which, if seen by the most prejudiced of 
 his literary opponents, would turn the 
 laugh of contempt into a look of thoughtful 
 regret. Hoping my rhymes will not frus- 
 trate my wishes, I remain, sir, 
 
 Your obliged correspondent, 
 
 and humble servant, 
 Sept. 13, 1827. Gaston. 
 
 Extemporaneous Links, sttggested by 
 some thoughts and recollections of 
 John Keats, the Poet. 
 
 Thy name, dear Keats, is not forgotten quite 
 
 E'en in this dreary pause — Fame's dark twilight — 
 
 The space betwixt death's starry-vaulted sky, 
 
 And the bright dawn of immortality. 
 
 That time when tear and elegy lie cold 
 
 Upon the barren tomb, and ere enrolled 
 
 Thy name upon the list of honoured .men. 
 
 In the world's volume writ with History's lasting pen. 
 
 No ! there are some who in their bosom's haven 
 
 Cherish thy mem'ry — on whose hearts are graven 
 
 The living recollections of thy worth — 
 
 Tfcy frank sincerity, thine ardent mirth ; 
 
 Ttat nobleness of spirit, so allied 
 
 To those high qualities it quick descried 
 
 • Col. 249. 
 
 .n others' natures, that by sympathies 
 
 It knit with them in friendship's strongest ties — 
 
 Th' enthusiasm which thy soul pervaded — 
 
 The deep poetic feeling, which invaded 
 
 The narrow channel of thy stream of life. 
 
 And wrought therein consuming, inward strife. — 
 
 All these and other kindred excellencies 
 
 Do those who knew thee dwell upon, and thence is 
 
 Derived a cordial, fresh remembrance 
 
 Of thee, as though thou wert but in a trance. 
 
 I, too, can think ofthee, with friendship's glow. 
 Who but at distance only didst thee know ; 
 And oft thy gentle form flits past my sight 
 In transient day dreams, and a tranquil light, 
 Like that of warm Italian skies, comes o'er 
 My sorrowing heart — I feel thou art no more — 
 Those mild, pure skies thou long'st to look upon. 
 Till friends, in kindness, bade thee oft " Begone 
 To that more genial clime, and breathe the air 
 Of southern shores; thy wasted strength repair." 
 Then all the Patriot burst upon thy soul ; 
 Thy love of country made thee shun the goal 
 (As thou prophetically felt 'twould be,) 
 Of thy last pilgrimage. Thou cross'd the sea. 
 Leaving thy heart and hopes in England here 
 And went as doth a corpse upon its bier ! 
 
 Still do I see thee on the river's strand 
 Take thy last step upon thy native land — 
 Still feel the last kind pressure of thy hand. 
 A calm dejection in thy youthful face. 
 To which e'en sickness lent a tender grace — 
 A hectic bloom — the sacrificial flower. 
 Which marks th' approach of Death's all-withei'.c? 
 power. 
 
 Oft do my thoughts keep vigils at thy tomb 
 
 Across the sea, beneath the walls of Rome ; 
 
 And even now a tear will find its way. 
 
 Heralding pensive thoughts which thither stray. — 
 
 How must they mourn who feel what I but knuw f 
 
 What can assuage their poignancy of woe, 
 
 If I, a stranger, (save that 1 had been 
 
 Where thou wast, and thy gentleness had seen,) 
 
 Now feel mild sorrow and a welcome sadness 
 
 As then I felt, whene'er I saw thee, gladness ? — 
 
 Mine was a friendship all upon one side ; 
 
 Thou knewest me by name and nought beside. 
 
 In hdmble station, I but shar'd the smile 
 
 Of which some trivial thought might thee beguile I 
 
 Happy in that — proud but to hear thy voice 
 
 Accost me : inwardly did I rejoice 
 
 To gain a word from thee, and if a thought 
 
 Stray'd into utterance, quick the words I caught. 
 
 I laid in wait to catch a glimpse of thee. 
 
 And plann'd where'er thou wert that I mif;bt be. 
 
 I look'd on thee as a superior being. 
 
 Whom I felt sweet content in merely seeing 
 
 With thy fine qualities I stor'd my mind ; 
 
 And now thou'rt gone, their mem'ry stays behind. 
 
 Mixt admiration tills my heart, nor can 
 
 I tell which most to love— the I'oet or the Man. 
 
 Gaston 
 
 November, 1826. 
 
 eoO' 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 FUNERALS IN CUMBERLAND. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — It is usual at the funeral of a per- 
 son, especially of a householder, to invite 
 persons to attend the ceremony ; and in 
 Carlisle, for instance, this is done on the 
 day of interment by the bellman, who, in 
 a solemn and subdued tone of voice, an- 
 nounces, that " all friends and neighbours 
 
 of , deceased, are requested to 
 
 take notice, that the body will be lifted at 
 
 o'clock, to be interred at 
 
 church." On this occasion the relatives 
 and persons, invited by note, repair to the 
 dv.'elling of the deceased, where they usually 
 partake of a cold collation, with wine, &c. ; 
 and at the outside of the door a table is 
 set out, bountifully replenished with bread 
 and cheese, ale and spirits, when " all 
 friends and neighbours" partake as they 
 think proper. When the preparations for 
 moving are completed, the procession is 
 accompanied by those persons who are 
 disposed to pay their last mark of respect 
 to the memory of the deceased. This 
 custom, it has been remarked, gives an 
 opportunity for " that indulgence which 
 ought to belonjjf to the marriage feast, and 
 that it is a practice savouring of the gothic 
 and barbarous manners of our unpolished 
 ancestors." With deference to the writer's 
 opinion, I would say that the custom is 
 worthy of imitation, and that the assem- 
 bling together of persons who have only 
 this opportunity of expressing their respect 
 for the memory of the deceased, cannot fail 
 to engage the mind to useful reflections, 
 and is a great contrast to the heartless 
 mode of conducting interments in many 
 other places, where the attendants frequently 
 do not exceed half a dozen. 
 
 The procession used often to be preceded 
 by the parish clerk and singers, who sang 
 a portion of the Psalms until they arrived 
 at the church. This part of the ceremony 
 is now, I understand, seldom performed. 
 
 I am, 
 Newcastle upon Ti/ne, Yours, &c. 
 August, 1827. W. C. 
 
 BIDDEN WEDDINGS 
 In Cumberland. 
 
 Sir, — It was a prevalent custom to have 
 'bidden weddings" when a couple of re- 
 spectability and of slender means were on 
 tlie eve of marriage ; in this case they gave 
 
 publicity to their intentions throug-h the 
 medium of the '■ Cumberland Pacquet," a 
 paper published at Whitehaven, and which 
 about twenty-nine years ago was the only 
 newspaper printed in the county. The 
 editor, Mr. John Ware, used to set off the 
 invitation in a novel and amusing manner, 
 which never failed to ensure a large meet- 
 ing, and frequently the contributions made 
 on the occasion, by the visitors, were of so 
 much importance to the new married cou- 
 ple, that by care and industry they were 
 enabled to make so good " a fend us niver 
 to look ahint them."'* 
 
 A long absence from the county pre- 
 cludes me from stating whether this " good 
 old custom" continues to be practised : per- 
 haps some of your readers will favour ynu 
 With additional information on this subject, 
 and if they would also describe any other 
 customs peculiar to this county, it would to 
 me, at least, be acceptable. 
 
 The following is a copy of an advertise- 
 ment, as it appeared in the Cumberland 
 Pacquet in a number for June, 1803 : — 
 
 A PUBLIC BRIDAL. 
 
 JONATHAN and GRACE MUS- 
 GRAVE purpose having a PUBLIC 
 BRIDAL, at Low Lort«n Bridge End, 
 nearCockermouth, on THURSDAY, the 
 16th of June, 1803; when they will be 
 glad to see their Friends, and all who may 
 please to favour them with their Company; 
 — for whose Amusement there will be 
 various RACES, for Prizes of different 
 Kinds; and amongst others, a Saddle, and 
 Bridle ; and a Silver-tipt Hunting Horn, 
 for Hounds to run for. — There will also be 
 Leaping, Wrestling, &c. &c. 
 
 ^^" Commodious ROOMS are likewise 
 engaged for DANCING PARTIES, in the 
 Evening. 
 
 Come, haste to the BRIDAL ! — to Joys we invite You. 
 Which, help'd by the Season, to please You can't 
 fail: 
 But should LOVE, MIRTH, and SPRING strive ir 
 vain to delight You, 
 You've still the mild Comforts of Lorton's sweel 
 Vale. 
 
 And v/nere does the Goddess more CDarmir.e;.y reve. ? 
 Where, Zephyr dispense a more health-chearing 
 Gale, 
 Than where the pure Cocher, meandring the Level, 
 Adorns the calm Prospects of Loston's sweel 
 Vale ? 
 
 • An endeavour as to render any additonsi ^njntv 
 80ce unnecessary. 
 
 '601 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Vo the BRIDAL then come ; — taste the Sweets of our 
 Valley ; 
 Your Visit, good Cheer and kind Welcome shall hail. 
 Round the Standard of Old Knolish Custom, we'll 
 rally,— 
 And be blest in Love, Friendship, and Lorton's 
 sweet Vale. 
 
 With this, the conclusion of the bridal 
 bidding,' I conclude. Sir, 
 
 Your constant reader, 
 
 w. c. 
 
 Newcastle upon Tyne, 
 August, 1827. 
 
 JBisiroberied 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 
 
 No. VIII. 
 
 The Milky Way. 
 
 That lucid whitish zone in the firmament 
 among the fixed stars, which we call the 
 " Milky Way," was supposed by the Py- 
 thagoreans to have once been the sun's 
 path, wherein he had left that trace of 
 white, which we now observe there. The 
 Peripatetics asserted, after Aristotle, that 
 it was formed of exhalations, suspended 
 high in air. These were gross mistakes; 
 but all the ancients v/ere not mistaken. 
 Democritus, without the aid of a telescope, 
 preceded Galileo in remarking, that " what 
 we call the milky way, contained in it an 
 innumerable quantity of fixed stars, the 
 mixture of whose distant rays occasioned 
 the whiteness which we thus denominate ;" 
 or, to express it in Plutarch's words, it was 
 ' the united brightness of an immense 
 number of stars." 
 
 The Fixed Stars — Plurality of 
 Worlds. 
 
 The conceptions of the ancients respect- 
 ing the fixed stars were not less clear than 
 ours. Indeed, the opinions of the moderns 
 on this subject have been adopted within a 
 century from those great masters, after 
 laving been rejected during many ages. 
 It would be reckoned almost an absurdity 
 at present, to doubt of those stars leing 
 suns like ours, each respectively having 
 planets of their own, revolving around 
 ihem, and forming various solar systems, 
 more or less resembling ours. Philosophy, 
 ■it present, admits this theory, derived from 
 
 the ancients, and founded on the mos' 
 solid reasonings of astronomical science 
 The elegant work of Fontenelle, on th^ 
 " Plurality of Worlds," first rendered the 
 conception familiar to common minds. 
 
 This notion of a plurality of worlds was 
 generally inculcated by the Greek philo^ 
 sophers. Plutarch, after giving an account 
 of It, says, that " he was so far from find- 
 ing fault with it, that he thought it highly 
 probable there had been, and were, like 
 this of ours, an innumerable, though not 
 absolutely infinite, multitude of worlds ; 
 wherein, as well as here, were land and 
 water, invested by sky." 
 
 Anaximenes was one of the first who 
 taught, that " the stars were immense 
 masses of fire, around which certain ter- 
 restrial globes, imperceptible to us, ac- 
 complished their periodic revolutions." 
 By these terrestrial globes, turning round 
 those masses of fire, he evidently meant 
 planets, such as ours, subordinate to their 
 own sun, and forming a solar system. 
 
 Anaximenes agreed with Thales in this 
 opinion, which passed from the Ionic to 
 the Italic sect ; who held, that every star 
 was a world, containing in itself a sun and 
 planets, all fixed in that immense space, 
 which they called ether, 
 
 Heraclides, and all the Pythagoreans 
 likewise taught, that " every star was a 
 world, or solary system, having, like this 
 of ours, its sun and planets, invested with 
 an atmosphere of air, and moving in the 
 fluid ether, by which they were sustained." 
 This opinion seems to have been of still 
 more ancient origin. There are traces of 
 it in the verses of Orpheus, who lived in 
 the time of the Trojan war, and taught 
 that there was a plurality of worlds ; a 
 doctrine which Epicurus also deemed very 
 probable. 
 
 Origen treats amply of the opinion of 
 Democritus, saying, that " he taught, that 
 there was an innumerable multitude of 
 worlds, of unequal size, and differing in 
 the number of their planets; that some of 
 them were as large as ours, and placed at 
 unequal distances ; that some were inha- 
 bited by animals, which he could not take 
 upon him to describe ; and that some had 
 neither animals, nor plants, nor any thing 
 like what appeared among us." The phi- 
 losophic genius of the illustrious ancient 
 discerned, that the different nature of those 
 spheres necessarily required inhabitants of 
 diflFerent kinds. 
 
 This opinion of Demociitus surprised 
 Alexander into a sudden declaration of his 
 unbounded ambition, .^lian reports, that 
 
 602 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 this young pnnce, upon hearing Democri- 
 tus's doctrine of a plurality of worlds, 
 burst into tears, upon reflecting that he 
 had not yet so much as conquered one of 
 them. 
 
 It appears, that Aristotle also held this 
 opinion, as did likewise Alcinoiis, the 
 Platonist. It is also ascribed to Plotinus ; 
 who held besides, that the earth, compared 
 .0 the rest of the universe, was one of the 
 meanest globes in, it. 
 
 Satellites. — Vortices. 
 
 In consequence of the ancient doctrine 
 of the plurality of worlds, Phavorinus re- 
 markably conjectured the possibility of the 
 existence of other planets, besides those 
 known to us. " He was astonished how it 
 came to be admitted as certain, that there 
 were no other wandering stars, or planets, 
 but those observed by the Chaldeans. As 
 for his part, he thought that their number 
 was more considerable than was vulgarly 
 ij;iven out, though they had hitherto escaped 
 our notice." Here he probably alludes to 
 the satellites, which have since been mani- 
 fested by means of the telescope ; but it 
 required singular penetration to be capable 
 of forming the supposition, and of having, 
 as it were, predicted this discovery. Seneca 
 mentions a similar notion of Democritus ; 
 who supposed, that there were many more 
 of them, than had yet come within our 
 view. 
 
 However unfounded may be the system 
 of vortices promulgated by Descartes, yet, 
 as there is much of genius and fancy in it, 
 the notion obtained great applause, and 
 ranks among those theories which do 
 honour to the moderns, or rather to the 
 ancients, from whom it seems to have been 
 drawn, notwithstanding its apparent no- 
 velty. In fact, Leucippus taught, and 
 after him Democritus, that " the celestial 
 bodies derived their formation and motion 
 from an infinite number of atoms, of every 
 sort of figure ; which encountering one 
 another, and clinging together, threw them- 
 selves into vortices ; which being tho- 
 roughly agitated and circumvolved on all 
 sides, the most subtile of those particles 
 that went to the composition of the whole 
 mass, made towards the utmost skirts of 
 the circumferences of those vortices ; whilst 
 the less subtile, or those of a coarser ele- 
 ment, subsided towards the centre, forming 
 themselves into those spherical concretions, 
 which compose the planets, the earth, and 
 the sun." They said, that "those vortices 
 w»>re actuated by the rapidity of a fluid 
 
 matter, having he earth at \\\e centre of 
 it ; and that the planets were moved, each 
 of them, with more or less violence, in pro- 
 portion to their respective distance from 
 that centre." They affirmed also, that the 
 celerity with which those vortices moved 
 was occasionally the cause of their carrying 
 off one another; the most powerful and 
 rapid attracting, and drawing into itse'f) 
 whatever was less so, whether planet or 
 whatever else. 
 
 Leucippus seems also to have knowii 
 that grand principle of Descartes, that " all 
 revolving bodies endeavour to withdraw 
 from their centre, and ily ofl' in a tangent.'' 
 
 RELIQUI^ THOMSONIANA. 
 To tha Editor. 
 
 Sir, — The article relating to Thomson, in 
 a recent number of the J'able Book, cannot 
 fail to have deeply interested many of your 
 readers, and m the hope that further similar 
 communications may be elicited, I beg to 
 offer the little I can contribute. 
 
 The biographical memoranda, the sub- 
 ject of the conversation in the article refer- 
 red to, are said to have been transmitted to 
 the earl of Buchan by Mr. Park. It is not 
 singular that no part of it appears in his 
 lordship's " Essays on the Lives and Writ- 
 ings of Fletcher of Saltoun, and the Poet 
 Thomson, 1792." 8vo. Mr. Park's commu- 
 nication was clearly too late for the noble 
 author's purpose. The conversation pro- 
 fesses to have been in October, 1791 ; to 
 my own knowledge the volume was finished 
 and ready for publication late in the pre- 
 ceding September, although the date 1792 
 is affixed to the title. 
 
 Thomson, it is believed, first tuned his 
 Doric reed in the porter's lodge at Dry- 
 burgh, more recently the residence of David 
 Stuart Erskine, earl of Buchan ; hence the 
 partiality which his lordship evinced for 
 the memory of the poet. At p. 194 of the 
 Essays are verses to Dr. De (la) Cour, in 
 Ireland, on his Prospect of Poetry, which 
 are there ascribed to Thomson, and ad- 
 mitted as such by Dr. Thomson, who 
 directed the volume through the press; 
 although it is certain that Thomson in his 
 lifetime disavowed them. The verses to 
 Dr. De la Cour appeared in the Daily 
 Journal for November 1734; and Cave, the 
 proprietor and editor of the Gentleman's 
 Magazine, at the end of the poetical de- 
 partment in that miscellany for August, 
 1736, states himself "assured, from Mr 
 
 503 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Hiomson, that, though the verses to Dr. De 
 a Cour have some lines from his Seasons, 
 lie knew nothing of the piece till he saw it 
 in the Daily Journal." 
 
 The appellation of the " oily man of 
 God," in the Essays, p. 258, was intended 
 by the earl of Buchan for Dr. Murdoch, 
 who was subsequently a biographer of 
 Thomson. Such designations would puzzle 
 a conjuror to elucidate, did not contempo- 
 rary peisons exist to afford a clue to them. 
 
 The recent number of the Table Book is 
 not at hand, but from some MS. papers 
 now before me, — James Robertson, sur- 
 geon to the household at Kew, who mar- 
 ried the sister of Amanda, was the bosom 
 friend of Thomson for more than twenty 
 years. His conversation is said to have 
 been facetious and intelligent, and his 
 character exemplarily respectable. He died 
 at his residence on Richmond Green after 
 four days' illness, 28th October, 1791, in 
 his nighty-fourth year. 
 
 The original MS. of the verses to Miss 
 Young, the poet's Amanda, on presenting 
 her with his " Seasons,'' printed in the 
 Essays, p. 280, were communicated by a 
 Mr. Ramsay, of Ocherlyne, to his lordship. 
 Some other presentation lines, with the 
 Seasons, to the poet Lyttleton, were tran- 
 scribed from a blank leaf of the book at 
 Hagley, by Johnstone, bishop of Worces- 
 ter, and transmitted by his son to the earl 
 of Buchan in 1793 or 1794, consequently too 
 late for publication. They follow here : — 
 
 Go, little book, and find our friend. 
 
 Who Nature and the Muses loves ; 
 Whose cares the public virtues blend, 
 
 With all the softness of the groves, 
 
 A fitter time thou can'st not choose 
 His fostering friendship to repay : — 
 
 Go then, and try, my rural muse. 
 To steal his widowed hours away. 
 
 Among the autograph papers which I 
 pcissess ot Ogle, who published certain ver- 
 sifications of Chaucer, as also a work on 
 the Gems of the Ancients, are some \erses 
 by Thomson, never yet printed; and their 
 transcripts, Mr. Editor, make their obei- 
 sance before yo;: : — 
 
 Come, gentle god of soft desire ! 
 
 Come and possess my happy breast ; 
 Not fury like, in flam :s and tire. 
 
 In rapture, rage and nonsense drest. 
 
 These are the va:n disguise of love. 
 
 And, or bespeak dissembled pains, 
 Or else a fleeting fever prove. 
 
 The frantic passion of the veins. 
 
 But come in Friendship's angel-gnisa, 
 Yet dearer thou than friendship art. 
 
 More tender spirit at thine eyes. 
 More sweet emotions at thy heart. 
 
 Oh come ! with goodness m thy train ; 
 
 With peace and transport, void of storia. 
 And woiild'st thou me for ever gain? 
 
 Put ou Amanda's waning form. 
 
 The following, also original, were wntteE 
 by Thomson in commendation of his much 
 loved Amanda : — 
 
 Sweet tyrant Love, but hear ine now i 
 And cure while young this pleasing smart. 
 
 Or rather aid n.y trembling vow. 
 And teach me to reveal my heart. 
 
 Tell her, whose goodness is my bane. 
 
 Whose looks have smil'd my peace away. 
 
 Oh ! whisper how she gives me pain. 
 Whilst undesigning, frank, and gay. 
 
 'Tis not for common charms I sigh. 
 For what the vulgar, beauty call ; 
 Tis not a cheek, a lip, an eye. 
 But 'tis the soul that lights them all. 
 
 For that I drop the tender tear. 
 For that I make this artless moan ; 
 
 Oh I sigh it. Love, into her ear. 
 And make the bashful lover known. 
 
 In the hope that the present may draw 
 forth furthpr reliqnice of the poet of the 
 '• Seasons " in your excellent publication, i 
 beg leave to subscribe myself, 
 Sir, &;c. 
 
 VV ILL o' THE WlSP. 
 
 Sept. 17, 18^7. 
 
 THE BERKSHIRE MISER. 
 
 The economy and parsimony of the Rev 
 Morgan Jones, late curate of Blewbury, a 
 y)arish about six miles from Wallingfbrd. 
 were almost beyond credibility ; he having; 
 outdone, in many instances, the celebrated 
 Eivves, of Marcham. 
 
 For many of the last years of Mr. Jones'^ 
 ministerial laboiirs, he had no servant to 
 attend any of his domestic concerns; and 
 he never had even the assistance of a fe- 
 male within his doors for the last twelve 
 years. The offices of housemaid, chamber- 
 maid, cook, and scullion, and even most 
 part of his washing and mending, were 
 performed by himself; he was frequent!) 
 known to beg needles and thread at some 
 of the farm-houses, to tack together hi. 
 tattered garments, at which, from practire. 
 
 604 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 he had become very expert. He was curate 
 of Blewbury upwards of forty-three years ; 
 and the same hat and coat served him for 
 his every-day dress during the whole of 
 that period. The brim of his hat had, on 
 one side, (by much handling,) been worn 
 oft' quite to the crown, but on coming one 
 day from the hamlet of Upton across the 
 fields, he luckily met witli an old left-off 
 hat, stuck up for a scarecrow. He imme- 
 diately secured the prize, and with some 
 tar-twme, substituted as thread, and a 
 piece of the brim, quite repaired the defi- 
 ciencies of his beloved old one, and ever 
 after wore it in common, although the old 
 one was of a russet brown, and the new- 
 brim nearly as black as jet. His coat, 
 when he first came from Ashton Keyns in 
 1781, was a surtout much the worse for 
 wear; after some time he had it turned in- 
 side out, and made up into a common one. 
 Whenever it became rent or torn, it was as 
 speedily tacked together with his own 
 hands : at length pieces fell out and were 
 lost, and, as he found it necessary, he 
 cut pieces off the tail to make good the 
 upper part, until the coat was reduced to a 
 jacket, stuck about with patches of his own 
 applying. In this hat and coat, when at 
 home on working days, he was constantly 
 decorated, but he never wore it abroad or 
 before strangers, except he forgot himself, 
 as he several times had been much vexed 
 at the ridicule his grotesque appearance 
 had excited when seen by those with whom 
 he was not much acquamted. This extra- 
 ordinary coat (or more properly jacket) is 
 now in the possession of one of the parish- 
 ioners, and prized as a curiosity. His 
 stockings were washed and mended by 
 himself, and some of them had scarcely a 
 vestige of the original worsted. He had a 
 great store of new shirts, which had never 
 been worn, but for many years his stock 
 became reduced to one in use ; his parsi- 
 mony would not permit him to have this 
 washed more than once in two or three 
 months, for which he reluctantly paid a 
 poor woman fourpence. He always slept 
 without his shirt, that it might not want 
 washing too often, and by that means be 
 worn out; and lie always went without one 
 while it was washed, and very frequently 
 at other times. This solitary shirt he 
 mended himself, and as fast as it required 
 to be patched in the body he ingeniously 
 supplied it by cutting off the tail ; but, as 
 nothing will last for ever, by this constant 
 clipping it unfortunately became too short 
 to reach down his small-clothes. This, of 
 course, was a sad disaster, and there was 
 
 some fear least one of the new ones vinxi 
 be brought into use; but. after a diligeu? 
 search, he fortunately found in one of iiii 
 drawers the top part of a shirt with a fril 
 on, which had probably lain by ever since 
 his youthful and more gay days. This 
 with his usual sagacity, he tacked on, to the 
 tail of the old one, with the frill down- 
 wards, and it was thus worn until the day 
 before he left Blewbury. Latterly h)s 
 memory became impaired. He severa. 
 times forgot to change his dress, and was 
 more than once seen at the burial of a 
 corpse dressed in this ludicrous and curious 
 manner, with scarcely a button on any part 
 of his clothes, but lied together in various 
 parts with string. In this state he was by 
 strangers mistaken for a beggar, and barely 
 escaped being offered their chaiity. 
 
 His diet was as singular as his dress, for 
 he cooked his pot only once a week, which 
 was always on a Sunday. For his sub- 
 sistence he p\irchased but three articles, 
 which he denominated two necessaries and 
 a luxury :" • — the necessaries were bread 
 and bacon, the luxury was tea. For many 
 years his weekly allowance of bread was 
 half a gallon per week ; and in the season, 
 when his garden produced fruit, or when 
 he once or twice a week procured a meal al 
 his neighbours', his half-gallon loaf lasted 
 him a day or two of the following week ; 
 so that in five weeks he often had no more 
 than four half-gallon loaves. He was also 
 equally abstemious in his other two arti- 
 cles. He frequently ate with his parish- 
 ioners; yet for the last ten years there was 
 but a solitary instance of a person eating 
 with him in return, and that a particular 
 fiiend, who obtained only a bit of bread 
 with much difficulty and importunity. Foi 
 the last fifteen years there was never within 
 his doors any kind of spirits, beer, butcher's 
 meat, butter, sugar, lard, cheese, or m.ilk ; 
 nor any niceties, of which he was particu- 
 larly fond when they came fiee of expense, 
 but which he could never find the heart to 
 purchase. His beverage was cold water; 
 and at morning and evening weak tea, 
 without milk or sugar. 
 
 However cold the weather, he seldom 
 had a fire, except to cook with, and tha! 
 was so small that it mig-ht easily have 
 been hid under a half-gallon measure 
 He was often seen roving the churchyard 
 to pick up bits of stick, or busily lopping 
 his shrubs or fruit-trees to make this fire, 
 while his woodhouse was crammed with 
 wood and coal, which he could not prevai 
 upon himself to use. In very cold weathei 
 he would frequently get by some of his 
 
 605 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 neighbours' fires to warm his shivering 
 iimbs ; and, when evening came, retire to 
 bed for warmth, but generally without a 
 candle, as he allowed himself only the 
 small bits left of those provided for divine 
 service in the church by the parish. 
 
 He was never known to keep dog, cat, or 
 any other living creature : and it is certain 
 the whole expenses of his house did not 
 amount to half a crown a week for the last 
 twenty years ; and, as the fees exceeded 
 that sum, he always saved the whole of 
 his yearly salary, which never was more 
 than fifty pounds per annum. By con- 
 stantly placing this sum in the funds, and 
 the interest, with about thirty pounds per 
 annum more, (the rent of two small estates 
 left by some relations,) he, in the course of 
 forty-three years, amassed many thousand 
 pounds, as his Ijankers, Messi-s. Child and 
 Co., of Fleet-street, caa testify. 
 
 In his youthful days he made free with 
 the good things of this life; and when he 
 first came to Blewbury, he for some time 
 boarded with a person by the week, and 
 during that time was quite corpulent : but, 
 as soon as he boarded and lived by himself, 
 his parsimony overcame his appetite, so 
 that at las^ he became reduced almost to a 
 living skeleton. He was always an early 
 riser, being seldom in bed after break of 
 day ; and, like all other early risers, he 
 enjoyed an excellent state of health ; so 
 that for the long space of forty-three 
 years he omitted preaching only two Sun- 
 days. 
 
 His industry was such, that he composed 
 with his own hand upwards of one thousand 
 sermons ; but for the last few years his 
 hand became tremulous, and he wrote but 
 little ; he therefore only made alterations 
 and additions to his former discourses, and 
 this generally on the back of old marriage 
 licenses, or across old letters, as it would 
 have been nearly death to him to have 
 purchased paper. His sermons were usually 
 plain and practical, and his funeral dis- 
 courses were generally admired; but the 
 fear of being noticed, and the dread of ex- 
 pense, was an absolute prohibition to his 
 sending any thing to the press, although he 
 was fully capable, being well skilled in the 
 English and Latin languages. The ex- 
 pense of a penny in the postage of a letter 
 has been known to deprive him of a night's 
 rest ! and yet, at times, pounds did not 
 grieve him. He was a regular and liberal 
 subscriber to the Bible, Missionary, and 
 the other societies for the propagation of 
 the Gospel and the conversion of the Jews ; 
 atid more than on?e he was srenerous 
 
 enough to ^ive a pound or Xwu to assist a 
 distressed fellow-creature. 
 
 Although very fond of ale, he spent only 
 one sixpence on that liquor during the 
 forty-three years he was curate of Blew- 
 bury ; but it must be confessed he used to 
 partake of it too freely when he could have 
 it without cost, until about ten years ago, 
 when at a neighbour's wedding, having 
 taken too much of this his favourite beve- 
 rage, it was noticed and talked of by some 
 of the persons present. Being hurt by 
 this, be made a vow never more to taste a 
 drop of that or any other strong liquor; 
 and his promise he scrupulously and 
 honestly kept, although contrary to his 
 natural desires, and exposed to many 
 temptations.* 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 " A very fine gentleman treads the lawn, 
 
 He passes our cottage duly ; 
 We met in the grove the other morn, 
 
 And he vow'd to Jove me truly ; 
 He call'd me his dear, bis love, his life, 
 
 And told me his heart was burning ; 
 But he never once said — will you be my wife? 
 
 So I left him his ofifers spurning." 
 
 " And what were his offers to thee, my child'" 
 
 Old Woodland said to Nancy — 
 " Oh many things, which almost beguil'd 
 
 Vour simple daughter's fancy ; 
 He tall^'d of jewels, laces, and gold. 
 
 Of a castle, servants, and carriage ; 
 And I could have lov'd the youth so bold. 
 
 But he never talk'd of marriage. 
 
 " So I drew tack my hand, and saved my lips. 
 
 For 1 cared not for his money ; 
 And I thought he was like the bee which sips 
 
 From ev'ry flower its honey • 
 Yet I think his heart is a little bent 
 
 Towards me," said Nancy, " and marriage ; 
 For last night, as soon as to sleep 1 went, 
 
 I dream'd of a castle and carriage." 
 
 " 'Twere wrong, my child," old Woodland said, 
 
 " Such idle dream to cherish 
 The roses of life full soon will fade. 
 
 They never should timeless perish ; 
 The flower that's pluck'd will briefly die, 
 
 Tho' placed on a peerless bosom ; 
 And ere you look with a loving eye. 
 
 Think, think on a fading blossom." 
 
 August 22, 1827. 
 
 C. CoLI- 
 
 • Devizes Gawttn, Sept. 1827. 
 
 60^ 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 VIEW IN HAGBUSH LANE, ISLINGTON. 
 
 A HUT, ERECTED BT WILLIAM CORRALL, A POOR AND AGED LABOURER, 
 
 AFTER THE VIOLENT AND LAWLESS DESTRUCTION OP HIS COTTAGE, 
 
 EARLY IN THE MORNING OF THE SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER, 1827. 
 
 " 'Twas strange ; 'twas passing strange I 
 
 'Twas pitiful 1 'twas wond'rous pitiful 1 ' 
 
 I thought, in the Every-Day Book, that I 
 had done with "Hagbush-lane" altogether — 
 the tale of the poor man's wrongs, when 
 " the proud man's contumely " grew into 
 open aggression, had passed from me ; and 
 I presumed that, for his little while on this 
 
 side the grave, the oppressed might "go 
 free," and " hear not the voice of the op- 
 pressor " — but when selfishness is unwatch- 
 ed it has a natural tendency to break forth, 
 and a sudden and recent renewal of an out- 
 rage, which every honest mind had con- 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 607 
 
 2R 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 demned, famishes a fresh story. It is well 
 related in the following letter : — 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — In the first volume of the Every- 
 Day Book you have favoured the lovers of 
 rural scenery with an historical and descrip- 
 tive notice of Hagbush-lane, Islington., 
 accompanied with an engraving of the 
 " mud edifice" which formerly stood there ; 
 of which you have given " the simple an- 
 nals :" — its erection by a poor labourer who, 
 else, had no shelter for himself, wife, and 
 child, to " shrink into," when " pierced 
 by wintry winds ;" — its demolition by the 
 wealthy occupants of the neighbouring 
 fields ; — the again-houseless man's endea- 
 vour to rebuild his hovel ; — the rich man's 
 repetition of the destruction of his half- 
 finished hut; — and finally, the labourer's 
 succeeding in the erection of a cottage, 
 more commodious than the first, where he 
 continued unmolested to sell small beer to 
 poor workmen and wayfarers. — Allow me, 
 sir, the melancholy task of informing you 
 of the " final destruction " of this sample 
 of rusticity. — Hagbush-lane is despoiled of 
 its appropriate ornament. 
 
 I have ever been an admirer of the beau- 
 tiful scenery that is to be met with on that 
 side of the metropolis; and never, since 
 reading your interesting narrative and de- 
 scription , have I strolled that way, without 
 passing through Hagbush-lane. On enter- 
 ing the wide part from the field by Copen- 
 hagen-house, one day last week, I was sadly 
 astonished at the change — the cottage, with 
 its garden-rails and benches, had disap- 
 peared ; and the garden was entirely laid 
 waste : trees, bushes, and vegetables rudely 
 torn up by the roots, lay withering where 
 they had flourished. Upon the site of his 
 demolished dwelling stood the poor old 
 man, bent by affliction as much as by age, 
 .eaning on his stick. From the heart- 
 broken expression of his features, it did 
 not take me a moment to guess the cause 
 of this devastation : — the opulent land- 
 holder has, for the third time, taken this 
 unoentle expedient to rid his pastures of a 
 neighbouring " nuisance " — the hut of 
 cheerless poverty. 
 
 The distressed old rustic stated, that on 
 Thursday, (which was the sixth of Septem- 
 ber,) at about six o'clock in the morning, 
 before the inmates had arisen, a party of 
 workmen came to the cottage ; and, merely 
 informing them that " they must disturb 
 them," instantly commenced the work of 
 destruction. His dwelling was soon level- 
 led with the ground ; and the growth of 
 
 nis garden torn up, and thrown in a heap 
 into the lane. He declared, with a tear, 
 that " it had ruined him for ever, and 
 would be the death of him." I did not 
 ask him many questions : it had been a sir 
 to probe his too deeply wounded feelings. 
 
 Proceeding up the lane, to where it i.^ 
 crossed by the new road, I perceived that. 
 in the open space by the road-side, at the 
 entrance into the narrow part of the lane, 
 the old man had managed to botch up, with 
 pieces of board and old canvass, a misera- 
 ble shed to shelter him. It was surrounded 
 with household utensils, and what materials 
 he had saved from the ruins of his cottage 
 — a most wretched sty — but little larger 
 than the dog-kennel that was erected neai 
 it, from which a faithful cur barked loudly 
 at the intruder's footstep. 
 
 Being a stranger in the neighbourhood, 1 
 cannot pretend to know any thing of the 
 motives that have induced his rich neigh- 
 bours thus to distress the poor and aged 
 man ; — perhaps they are best known to 
 themselves, and it is well if they can justify 
 them to any but themselves '.—but surely, 
 surely he will not be suff"erevl to remain 
 thus exposed in the approaching season, 
 
 " —all amid the rigours of the year. 
 
 In the wild depth of winter, while without 
 
 The ceaseless winds blow ice," 
 
 Perhaps, sir, I give too much room to 
 my feelings. My intention was but to in- 
 form you of a regretted change in a scene 
 which you have noticed and admired in the 
 E^ery-Day Book. Should you consider it 
 worthy of further notice in the Table Book, 
 you will oblige me by putting it forward in 
 what form best pleases yourself. 
 I remain, &c. 
 
 Sept. 19, 1827. So and So. 
 
 This communication, accompanied by 
 the real name and address of its warm- 
 heatted writer, revived my recollections 
 and kindled my feelings. I immediately 
 wrote to a friend, who lives in the vicinage 
 of Hagbush-lane, requesting him to hasten 
 to the site of the old cottage, which was 
 quite as well known to him as to me, and 
 bring me a drawing of the place in its pre- 
 sent state, with such particulars of the 
 razing of the edifice as he could obtain 
 His account, as I collect it from verbal nar 
 ration, corroborates that of my correspond- 
 ent. 
 
 So complete has been the devastation, 
 that a drawing of the spot whereon the 
 cottage stood would merely be a view oi 
 the level earth. My friend walked over it 
 
 608 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 
 ind along Hagbush-lane, till he came into 
 l)e new road, (leading from the King's 
 tit ad at. Hoiloway to the lo^er road from 
 L-ondon to Kentish Town.) Immediately at 
 ;he corner of the continuation of Hagbu.-^h- 
 ane, which begins on the opposite side of liie 
 new road, he perceived a new hut, and near 
 t the expelled occupant of the cottage, 
 >vhich had been laid waste in the other 
 part of the lane. On asking the old man 
 ■especting the occasion and manner of his 
 ijpctment, he cried. It was a wet and 
 Ireary day ; and the poor fellow in tears, and 
 lis hastily thrown up tenement, presented 
 I cheerless and desolate scene. His story 
 ivas short. On the Thursday, (mentioned 
 n the letter,) so early as five in the morning, 
 5ome men brought a ladder, a barrow, and 
 I pickaxe, and ascending the ladder began 
 to untile the roof, while the old man and 
 his wife were in bed. He hastily rose; 
 .hey demanded of him to unlock the door; 
 on his refusing they burst it open with the 
 pick-axe, and having thus forced an en- 
 trance compelled his wife to get up. They 
 then wantonly threw out and broke the few 
 household utensils, and hewed down the 
 walls of the dwelling. In the little garden, 
 they rooted up and destroyed every tree, 
 shrub, and vegetable ; and finally, they 
 levelled all vestiges which could mark the 
 place, as having been used or cultivated for 
 the abode and sustenance of human beings. 
 Some of the less destructible requisites of 
 the cottage they trundled in the barrow 
 up the lane, across the road, whither the 
 old man and his wife followed, and were 
 left with the few remnants of their miser- 
 able property by the housebreakers. On 
 that spot they put together their present 
 hut with a few old boards and canvass, as 
 represented in the engraving, and there 
 (liey remain to tell the story of their un- 
 redressed wrongs to all who desire the par- 
 ticulars. 
 
 The old man represents the " ringlead- 
 er," as he calls him, in this last work of 
 ruin, to be the foreman of a great cow- 
 Keeping landholder and speculator, to 
 whose field-possessions the cottage on the 
 waste was adjacent. Who employed this 
 " ringleader " and his followers ? Who 
 was the instigating and protecting accessary 
 before and after this brutal housebreaking, 
 and wilful waste? 
 
 The helpless man got his living by sell- 
 ing small beer, and a little meat, cooked 
 by his wife, to others as poor and helpless 
 as themselves ; and they eked out their 
 existence by their garden produce. In the 
 summer of 1825 I heaid it said, that their 
 
 cottage was the resort and drinking-place 
 of idle and disorderly persons. I took some 
 pains to ascertain the fact; but could never 
 trace it beyond — the mostdubitable autho- 
 rity — general report. It is quite true, that 
 I saw persons there whom I preferred not 
 to sit down with, because their manners 
 aiid habits were different from my own ; 
 yet I not unfrequently took a cup of the 
 old Bean's beer atnong them, and silently 
 watched them, and sometimes talked with 
 them ; and, for any thing that I could ob- 
 serve — and I know myself to be a close 
 observer — they were quite as honourable 
 and moral, as persons of more refined lan- 
 guage and dress, who frequent respectable 
 coffee-houses. I had been, too, withinside 
 the cottage, which was a place of rude ac- 
 commodation for no more than its settled 
 occupants. It was on the outside that the 
 poor couple entertained their customers, 
 who usually sat on the turf seat against the 
 foot-path side of the hut, or on an empty 
 barrel or two, or a three-legged milking- 
 stool. On the hedge side of the cottage 
 was a small low lean-to, wherein the old 
 man kept a pig to fatten. At the front end 
 was an enclosure of a few feet of ground, 
 with domestic fowls and their callo'.v 
 broods, which ran about cackling, and 
 routing the earth for their living. In the 
 rear of the cottage was a rod or two of 
 ground banked off, and well planted with 
 potatoes, cabbages, and other garden stuff, 
 where I have often seen the old man fully 
 employed in weeding and cultivating; 
 digging up old, or preparing for new crops, 
 or plashing and mending his little fences. 
 Between his vegetables, and his live stock, 
 and his few customers, he had enough to 
 do; and I never saw him idle. I never 
 saw him sitting down to drink wi,th them ; 
 and if he had, there was nothing among 
 them but the small beer. Froiji the early 
 part of the spring to the end of the year jusi 
 mentioned, I have been past and loitered 
 near the cottage at all hours of the day, 
 from the early dawn, before even the sun, 
 or the inmates had risen, till after they had 
 gone to rest, and the moon was high, and 
 the stars were in their courses. Never in 
 the hours I spent around the place by 
 day or night, did I see or hear any persons 
 or practices that would be termed disor- 
 derly by any but the worst judges of human 
 nature and morals — the underbred overpj- 
 lite, and vulgarly overdressed. There I have 
 seen a brickmaker or two with their wives 
 and daughters sitting and regaling, as much 
 at home, and as sober and innocent, as parties 
 of French ladies and gentlemen atChedron'? 
 
 6Q9 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 in Leicester-square; and from these peo- 
 ple, if spoken to civilly, there was lan- 
 guage as civil. Tliere I have seen a com- 
 fortably dressed man, in a clean shirt, and 
 a coat and hai as good as a Fleet-street 
 tradesman's, with a jug of small " entire" 
 before him, leisurely at work on a pair of 
 shoes, joining in the homely conversation, 
 and in choruses of old English songs, raised 
 by his compeers. There, too, I have heard 
 a company of merry-hearted labourers' and 
 holiday -making journeymen, who had 
 straggled away from their smithies and 
 fur' aces in the lanes of London, to breathe 
 the fresh air, pealing out loud laughter, 
 while the birds whistled over their heads 
 from the slender branches of the green 
 elms. In the old man I saw nothing but 
 unremitting industry ; and in his customers 
 nothing but rude yet inoffensive good-nature. 
 He was getting his bread by the sweat of 
 nis brow, and his brow was daily moistened 
 by labour. 
 
 When I before related something of this 
 poor man's origin,* and his former endur- 
 ances, I little suspected that I should have 
 to tell that, after the parochial officers of Is- 
 iingtoij had declined to receive him into the 
 poor-house, the parish would suffer him to 
 be molested as a labourer on its waste. He 
 has been hunted as a wild beast ; and, pei- 
 haps, had he been a younger man, and with 
 vindictive feelings, he might have turned 
 round upon his enemies, and lawlessly 
 avenged himself for the lavi-less injuries in- 
 flicted on him. Vagrancy is easily tempted 
 to criminality, and the step is short. 
 
 It is scarcely three weeks since the old 
 cottager was in a snug abode of his own 
 handmaking, with a garden that had yielded 
 support to him and his wife through the 
 summer, and roots growing in it for their 
 winter consumption. These have been 
 mercilessly laid waste at the coming-in of 
 the inclement season. Will no one further 
 investigate the facts, and aid him in obtain- 
 ing " indemnity for the past, and security 
 for the future ?" 
 
 Respecting the rights of the parish of 
 Islington in Hagbush-lane, as the ancient 
 and long disused north road into London, 
 I do not pretend to d.?termine; because, 
 after the warm discussic^us and strong reso- 
 lutions of its vestries, >ometime ago, re- 
 specting a part of this to id wliich had been 
 partially appropriated to private use, the 
 parish may have thoroughly good reasons 
 for acquiescing in the entire stopping up 
 
 • In tte first volume of the Every-Dajf BooT), No. 
 S8, ivhich contains the account «.f Hagbush-lane and 
 \U vicinage, ool. 857 to 873. 
 
 of a carriage thoroughfare, between the back 
 road to HoUoway and Islington upper 
 street, which, if now open, woukd be of great 
 use. Many of the inhabitants, however 
 may not be so easily satisfied as a few 
 that the individual, who has at lengtli 
 wholly enclosed it, and shut it against the 
 public, has any more right to stop up, and 
 take the ground of this highway to himself, 
 than to enclose so much of the road to 
 Holloway through which the mails pass. 
 
 I have often perambulated Hagbush-lane, 
 as the old London north road, from Old- 
 street across the City-road, the Lower and 
 Upper Islington, and Holloway roads, b\ 
 the Islington workhouse, on to the Bull ring 
 ffeld ; (which is in private hands, no one 
 knows how ;) from thence, over the site ol 
 the destroyed cottage to the old man's ore- 
 sent hut ; then along the meadows; across 
 the Highgate-archway-cut into other mea- 
 dows, through which it winds back again, 
 and recrosses the archway-cut, and after- 
 wards crosses the London road, between 
 stately elms, towards Hornsey. 
 
 Perhaps the Commissioners of Crown 
 Lands, or Woods and Forests, may find ii 
 convenient and easy to institute an inquiry 
 into the encroachments of Hagbush-lane. 
 as a disused public road ; and devise r 
 method of obtaining its worth, in aid o 
 the public service. 
 
 Meantime, the aggression on the old cot- 
 tager must not be forgotten The privati 
 wrong he has sustai.Tcd is in the nature o' 
 a public wrong ; and it is open to ever\ 
 one to consider of the means by which 
 these repeated breaches of the peace may 
 be prevented, and redress be obtained fo 
 the poor man's injuries. ^ 
 
 Darnell ^la|)^* 
 
 No. XXXV. 
 
 [From the " Hectors," a Comedy ; by 
 Edmund Prestwick, 1641.] 
 
 A JVaiting Maid wheedles an old Justice 
 info a belief, that her Lady is in love with 
 him. 
 
 Maid. I think there never was Woman of so strange 
 a humour as she is for the world ; for from her infancy 
 she ever doted on old men. I have heard her say, thM 
 in these her late law troubles, it has been no sma 
 comfort to her, that she hath been conversant with 
 grave counsellors and seijeants ; and what a happines^ 
 she had sometimes to look an hour together npon th* 
 Judges. She will go and walk a whole afternoon ii 
 Charter House Garden, on purpose to view the ancuni 
 Gentlemen there. Not long ago there was a youn/ 
 Gentleman here about the town who. hearing of hf 
 
 610 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 rchps, ar-l kiiowmp: this her hntnonr, had almost gut 
 f>er, by co-interfeiting himself to be an old man. 
 
 justice. And how came he to miss her? 
 
 Maid. The straiigliest that eve- you heard ; for all 
 tilings were agreed, the very writings drawn, and when 
 le came to seal them, because he set his name without 
 ■ising a pail of spectacles, she would never se« him more. 
 
 Justice, Nav, if she ?an love an old man so — well — 
 
 Tfie IVaiting Maid places the Justice, 
 where he can overhear a sham discourse of 
 the Lady with a pretended Brother. 
 
 Brother. What is the matter. Sister ? you do not 
 use to be so strange to me. 
 
 Lady. I do not indeed; but now methinks I cannot 
 conceal any thing; yet I could wish you could now 
 guess my thoughts, and look into my mind; and see 
 what straige passions have ruled there of late, without 
 forcing me to strain my modesty. 
 
 Broth. What, are you in love with anybody ? Corr.e, 
 tet me know the party ; a brother's advice may do you 
 no harm. 
 
 Sist. Did you not see an ancient gentleman with me, 
 when you came in ? 
 
 Broth. What, is it any son or kinsman of his? 
 
 Sist. No, no. (She weeps.) 
 
 Broth. Who then ? 
 
 Sist. I have told vou — 
 
 Broth. What, that feeble and decrepit piece of age— 
 
 Sist. Nay, brother — 
 
 Broth. That sad effect of some threescore years and 
 ten — that antic relique of the last century — 
 
 Sist. Alas, dear brother, it is but too true. 
 
 Broth. It is impossible. 
 
 Sist. One would think so indeed. 
 
 Broth. I grant, you may bear a reverence and re- 
 gard, as to your father's ashes, or your grandsi re's tomb. 
 
 Sist. Alas, brother, you know 1 never did affect 
 those vain though pleasing braveries of youth, but still 
 have set ray mind on the more noble part of man, 
 which age doth more refine and elaborate, than it doth 
 lepress and sink this same contemptible clod. 
 
 Justice. I see, she loves me. 
 
 Stationers Preface before the Play. 
 Reader, this is a pleasant Cdmedy, though sotie 
 may judge it satirical, 'tis the more like Aristophanes 
 the father; besides, if it be biting, 'tis a biting age we 
 live in; then biting for biting. Again, Tom Randal, 
 the adopted son of Ben Jonson, being the Translate! 
 hereof, followed his father's steps. They both of them 
 loved Sack, and harmless mirth, and here they shew 
 It ; and I, that know myself, am not averse from ii 
 neither. This I thought good to acquaint thee with. 
 Farewell. Thine, F.J. 
 
 [From " Hey for Honesty," a Comedy, 
 7 T.Randolph, 1651.] 
 
 To Plufus. 
 
 Did not Will Summers break his wind for thee ? 
 And Shakespeare therefore writ his comedy ? 
 All things acknowledge thy vast power divine. 
 Great God of Money, whose most powerful shine 
 Gives motion, life ; day rises from thy sight. 
 Thy setting though at noon makes pitchy night. 
 Sole catholic cause of what we feel and see. 
 All in this all are but the efiFects of thee. 
 
 Riches above Poverty ; a syllogism. 
 
 j — My major. That which is most noble, is most 
 honorable. But Poverty is more noble. My minor I 
 prove thus. Whose houses are most ancient, those are 
 most noble. But Poverty's houses are most ancient; 
 fcr some of them are so old, like Vicarage houses, they 
 are every hour in danger of falling. 
 
 [From the " Example," a Tragi-Comedy, 
 by Jas. Shirley, 1638.] 
 
 The humour of a ivary Knight, who sleeps 
 all day, and wakes all night, for security. — 
 He calls up his Household at midnight. 
 
 Plot. Dormant, why Dormant, thou eternal sleeper 
 Who would be troubled with these lethargies 
 About him ? are you come, dreamer ? 
 
 Dormant (entering.) Would I were so happy. 
 There's less noise in a steeple upon a Coronation-day. 
 O sleep, sleep, tho' it were a dead one, would be com- 
 fortable. Your Worship might be pleased to let my 
 fellow Old-rat watch as well as I. 
 Plot. Old-rat I that fellow is a drone. 
 Dorm. He has slept this half hour on the iron chest. 
 Would I were in my grave to take a nap ; death would 
 do me a courtesy ; I sliould be at rest, and hear no 
 noise of " Dormant." 
 
 Plot. Hah ! what's the matter? 
 Dorm. Nothing but a yawn. Sir, I do all I can to 
 keep myself waking. 
 
 Plot. 'Tis done considerately This heavy dulness 
 Is the disease of souls. Sleep in the night 1 
 Dorm. Shall I wake my fellow Old-rat ? he is re- 
 freshed. 
 Plot. Do ; but return you with him: I have business 
 
 with both — 
 Dorm. To hear us join in opinion cf what's a clock 1 
 They talk of Endymion : now could I sleep three lives. 
 
 (exit.) 
 Plot. When other men measure the hours with sleep. 
 Careless of where they are and whom they trust. 
 Exposing their condition to danger 
 Of plots, I wake and wisely think prevention. 
 Night was not made to snore in ; but so calm. 
 For our imaginations to be stirring 
 About the world ; this subtle world, this world 
 Of plots and close conspiracy. There is 
 No faith in man nor woman. Where's this Dormant ? 
 Dorm, (re-entering with Old-rat.) Here is the sleep yr 
 
 vermin. 
 Old. It has been day this two hours. 
 Plot. Then 'tis time for me to go to bed. 
 Dorm, Would my hour were once come ! 
 Plot. Keep out daylight, and set up a fresh taper. 
 Dorm. By that time we have dined, he will nsve 
 
 slept out his first sleep. 
 Old. And after supper call for his breakfast. 
 Plot. You are sure 'tis morning ? 
 Dorm. As sure as I am sleepy. 
 
 C L. 
 
 611 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 IMPERIAL FATE. 
 
 • Let us sit upon the ground. 
 
 And tell sad stories of the death of Kings :— 
 How Borae have been depos'd, some slain in war ; 
 Some haunted by the ghosts they liave depos'd : 
 Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping Ivilled ; 
 All marder'd : — For within the hollow crown, 
 That rounds the mortal temples of a king, 
 Keeps Death his court — 
 
 Richard II. 
 
 Does any man envy the situation of 
 monarchs ? Let him peruse the following 
 statement, which particularizes the deaths 
 of the forty-seven Roman emperors, from 
 Julius Caesar to Constantine the Great ; 
 only thirteen of whom encountered " the 
 last enemy " in the ordinary course of na- 
 ture : — 
 
 B. C. 
 
 42. 
 
 ■A. D. 
 
 15. 
 
 39. 
 
 42. 
 
 55. 
 69. 
 
 69. 
 
 70. 
 
 70. 
 
 79. 
 81. 
 
 96. 
 
 Julius Ccesar was murdered by Brutus 
 and others in the senate-house. 
 
 Augustus C^sar died a natural 
 death. 
 
 Tiberius was smothered with pillows, 
 at the instigation of Macro, the 
 friend of Caligula. 
 
 Caligula was stabbed by Cherea and 
 other conspirators, when retiring 
 from the celebration of the Pala- 
 tine games. 
 
 Claudius was poisoned by the artifice 
 of his wife Aggrippina. 
 
 Nero in the midst of a general revolt 
 was condemned to death by the 
 senate. Upon hearing of which 
 he killed himself with a dagger. 
 
 Sergius Galba conspired against by 
 Otho, by whose partisans he was 
 beheaded. 
 
 Otho destroyed himself, to avoid fur- 
 ther contest with his competitor 
 Vitellius. 
 
 yitelliu.1 was massacred by the popu- 
 lace, who threw his dead body 
 into the Tiber. 
 
 Vespasian died a natural death. 
 
 Titus. It is suspected that his death 
 was hastened by his brother Do- 
 mitian. 
 
 Domitian was murdered by Stephanus 
 and other conspirators. 
 
 98. 'ii^v.VK died a natural death.^ 
 117. Trajan ditto. 
 138. Adrian ditto. 
 
 161. Titus Antoninus, called Antoninus 
 Pius, ditto. 
 
 180. Marcus AuRELius, called Antoninus 
 the Philosopher, ditto. 
 
 192. Commodus was strangled by Narcissus 
 and other conspirators. 
 
 192. Pertinax was murdered by the sol- 
 diers. 
 
 195. Didius Julian was beheaded by the 
 soldiers. 
 
 211. Septimus Severus died a natural 
 death. 
 
 217. Caracalla and Geta, joint emperors. 
 
 Geta was killed by his brother 
 Caracalla, who was afterwards 
 killed by Martial. 
 
 218. OpilUus Macrinus was killed by the 
 
 partisans of Heliogabalus. 
 
 222. Heliogabalvf was murdered by the 
 sold i ' o threw his dead body 
 
 into uiv. -.^er. 
 
 235. Alexander was beheaded by the s*>l- 
 
 diers. 
 
 238. Maximin was murdered by his own 
 guards. • 
 
 238. Maximus and Balbinus, joint e>npe 
 rors, were both murdered by the 
 praetorian guards. 
 
 243. Gordian was murdered by order of 
 Phi'ip, whom he had associated 
 with him in the command of the 
 empire. 
 
 248. Philip was murdered by the soldiers. 
 
 251. Decius destroyed himself, after having 
 
 been defeated by the Goths. 
 
 253. Gallus was slain in battle, with his 
 competitor Emilianus. 
 
 259. Valerian was taken prisoner by Sapc, 
 king of Persia, who caused him 
 to be cruelly murdered. 
 
 268. Galienus was slain by his own sol- 
 diers. 
 
 270. Claudius died a natural death. 
 
 275. Aurelian was murdered by Menesthus 
 and other conspirators. 
 
 275. Tacitus died a natural death. 
 
 252. Probus was murdered by his sol iiers 
 
 612 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 284, Catus and his sons, Carinus and 
 Numerian, joint emperors. The 
 father was struck dead by light- 
 ning, and both his sons were 
 murdered. 
 
 304. Dioclesian and Maximian, joint em- 
 perors. Dioclesian resigned the 
 empire, and died either by poison 
 or madness. Maximian also re- 
 signed, but was afterwards con- 
 demned to death by Constantine. 
 
 :^06. CoNSTANTrus and (f '"* ^^"JP^^^'-s^ 
 311. Galerius, -jboth rf^.d a na- 
 
 ' y-tural death. 
 
 343. Constantine the Great died a na- 
 tural death. 
 
 Where did these events occur? Among 
 the savage tribes of interior Africa, or the 
 rude barbarians of modern Europe? No: 
 but in Rome — imperial Rome — in her 
 " high and palmy state," when she was 
 mistress of the world, and held within her 
 dominion all the science and literature of 
 which the earth conld boast. Surely we 
 may with reason doubt, whether the moral 
 improvement of mankind invariably keeps 
 pace with their intellectual advancement. 
 
 o. z. 
 
 ILL-FATED ROYAL FAMILIES. 
 The Line of Charlemagne. 
 
 The successors of Charlemagne in his 
 French dominions, were examples of a 
 melancholy destiny. 
 
 His son, Louis le Debonnaire, died for 
 want of food, in consequence of a supersti- 
 tious panic. 
 
 His successor, Charles the Bald, was 
 poisoned by his physician. 
 
 The son of Charles, Louis the Stutterer, 
 fell also by poison. 
 
 Charles, king of Aquitaine, brother to 
 Louis, was fatally wounded in the head by 
 a lord, named Albuin, whom he was en- 
 deavouring, by way of frolic, to terrify, in 
 disguise. 
 
 Louis III., successor to Louis the Stut- 
 terer, riding through the streets of Tours, 
 pursued the handsome daughter of a citizen 
 named Germond, till the terrified girl took 
 refuge in a house ; and the king, thinking 
 more of her charms than of the size of the 
 gateway, attempting to force his horse after 
 her, broke his back, and died. 
 
 His successor, Carloman, fell by an ill 
 directed spear, thrown, by his own servant, 
 at a wild boar. 
 
 Charles the Fat perished of want, grief, 
 and poison, all together. 
 
 His successor, Charles the Simple, died 
 in prison of penury and despair. 
 
 Louis the Stranger, who succeeded him, 
 was bruised to death as he was hunting. 
 
 Lotharius and Louis V., the two last 
 kings of the race of Charlemagne, were 
 both poisoned by their wives. 
 
 After a revolution of two hundred and 
 thirty years, there remained of the whole 
 line of Charlemagne, only Charles, duke 
 of Lorrain ; and he, after ineffectually 
 struggling in defence of his rights against 
 Hugh Capet, sunk beneath the fortune of 
 his antagonist, and ended his life and race 
 in solitary confinement. 
 
 The French historians observe, that the 
 epithets given to the princes of the line of 
 Charlemagne, were, almost all, expressive 
 of the contemptuous light in which that 
 family was held by the people over whom 
 it reigned. 
 
 The Stuarts. 
 
 The royal line of Stuart was as steadily 
 unfortunate as any ever recorded in history. 
 Their misfortunes continued with unabated 
 succession, during three hundred and ninety 
 years. 
 
 Robert III. broke his heart, because his 
 eldest son Robert was starved to death, 
 and his youngest, James, was made a cap- 
 tive. 
 
 James I., after having beheaded three of 
 his nearest kinded, was assassinated by his 
 own uncle, who was tortured to death 
 for it. 
 
 James II. was slain by the bursting of a 
 piece of ordnance. 
 
 James III., when flying from the field 
 of battle, was thrown from his horse,, and 
 murdered in a cottage, into which he had 
 been carried for assistance. 
 
 James IV. fell in Flodden field. 
 
 James V. died of grief for the wilful ruin 
 of his army at Solway Moss. 
 
 Henry Stuart, lord Darnley, was as- 
 sassinated, and then blown up in his pa- 
 lace 
 
 Mary Stuart was beheaded in England. 
 
 James I. (and VI. of Scotland) died, 
 not without suspicion of being poisoned 
 by lord Buckingham. 
 
 Charles I. was beheaded at Whitehall. 
 
 Charles II. was exiled for many years ; 
 and v,hen he ascended the throne becan 
 
 613 
 
THE TABLE BOOK, 
 
 a slave to his pleasures : he lived a sen- 
 sualist, and died miserably. 
 
 James II. abdicated the crown, and died 
 in banishment. 
 
 Anne, after a reign, which though glo- 
 rious, was rendered unhappy by party dis- 
 putes, died of a broken heart, occasioned 
 by the quarrels of her favoured servants. 
 
 The posterity of James 11. remain pro- 
 scribed and exiled. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 TALES OF TINMOUTHE PRIORIE. 
 No. .1. 
 THE MAIDEN OP THE SEA. 
 
 " Al maner Mynstralcye, 
 " That any man kan specifye, 
 • • « • 
 
 " And many unkouth notys new, 
 " Offe swiche folke als lovid trewe." 
 
 John LiDaATX, 
 
 loud howls the wind o'er the blue, blue deep. 
 And loud on the shore the dashing waves sweep. 
 And merk is the night by land and by sea, 
 A.nd woe to the stranger that's out on the lea. 
 
 Closed fast is the gate of the priory hall,* 
 Unscathed stand the towers of the castle* so tall. 
 High flare the flames on the hearth-stane so wide, 
 But woe to the stranger that crosses the tide. 
 
 Hark ! hark I at the portal who's voice is so bold — 
 ft cannot be open'd for silver or gold — 
 The foeman is near with his harrying brand. 
 And brent are the homes of Northumberland. 
 
 I'm no foeman, no Scot, in sooth now to say, 
 But a minstral who weareth the peaceful lay ; 
 Wynken de Mowbray the Prior doth know, 
 Then open the gate, for the north winds blow. 
 
 Who hath not heard De Mowbray's song f 
 The softest harp in the minstrel throng ; 
 O many a true love tale can he sing. 
 And touch the heart with his melting string. 
 
 Now while the welkin with tempest raves, 
 And the angry ocean maddens his waves. 
 Around the hearth-stane we'll listen to thee. 
 And beguile the long night with minstralcye. 
 
 • Tynemouth castle and priory, which stand together 
 on a bleak promontory. 
 
 O »weet and wild is the harper's strain. 
 As its magic steals o'er the raptur'd braia. 
 And hush'd is the crowd of hearers all. 
 As thronged they sit in the priory hall. 
 
 " O what is sweeter and softer than thou 
 
 " Heather-bell on the mountain brow ? 
 
 " And what is more pure than the sparklin/ dew 
 
 " That kisses that heather-bell so blue ? 
 
 " Yes ! far far sweeter and purer is she, 
 
 " The dark-eyed Maiden of the Sea. 
 
 " W^hat is nriore sweet in the leafy grove 
 
 •* Than the nightingale's plaintive song of love ? 
 
 " And what is more gay than the lark of spring, 
 
 '* As he carrols lightly on heaven-bent wing? 
 
 " yes, more swee: and more gay is she, 
 
 " The dark-eyed Maiden ot the Sea. 
 
 " Her raven-tresses in ringlets flow, 
 "Her step is more light than the forest doe, 
 " Her dark eyes shine 'neath their silken lash. 
 " Like the bright but lambent light'ning flash 
 •* Of a summer eve, as noiseless it plays 
 " 'Midst a million stars of yet softer rays. 
 
 *' The beauteous Eltha's evening song 
 " Is wafted o'er the swelling wave, 
 
 *' And it catches the ear, as it steals along, 
 " Of wondering seamen, while billows lave 
 
 " In gentle murmurs his 'Vessel's prow, 
 
 " As he voyages to where the cedars grow. 
 
 " A shallop is riding upon the sea, 
 " With her broad sail furl'd to the mast ; 
 
 " A pennon brave floats fair and free 
 " On the breeze, as it whispers past : 
 
 ** And who is that stranger of lofty mien 
 " Who is rock'd ou the salt, salt tide ? 
 
 " He is from a foreign land I ween, 
 
 " A stranger of meikle pride. 
 
 •' He has heard the beauteous Eltha's, notes 
 " Borne far on the eventide breeze, 
 
 " Like the eastern perfume that distant floats 
 " O'er the silver surfac'd seas. 
 
 " The stranger hath seen dark Eltha's eye, 
 
 " As it glanc'd o'er the wave so green ; 
 " And mark'd her tresses of raven-dye, 
 
 " (More beauteous than golden sheen,) 
 " Interwoven with sea-flowers of whiten'd hue, 
 " Such flowers as never in garden grew, 
 " But pluck'd from the caverns of ocean deep 
 " By the last stormy waves' fast rushing sweep, 
 " And left on the strand as a tribute to thee, 
 *• Thou dark-eyed Maiden of the Sea. 
 
 " The stranger lov'd dark Eltha's lay, 
 " And he lov'd her bright, bright eye ; 
 
 -* And he sued for the love of that maiden gay, 
 " As she wander'd the ocean nigla, 
 
 " He gain'd her love, for his form had g]|>oe, 
 " And stately was his stride ; 
 
 ei4 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 flis gentle'.'se show'd him of noble race, 
 " Tho' roaming on billows wide :— 
 But fair skims the breeze o'er the placid sea. 
 And the stranger must hie to a far countrie. 
 
 Dark Eltha still sings but her song is slow, 
 And the west wind catches its mournful 
 The mariners wonder the changed lay. 
 As their slothful barks calm lingering stay : 
 The songstress' cheek is wan and pale. 
 And her tresses neglected float on the gale ; 
 The sea flower is thiown on its rocky bed. 
 The once gay Klrha's peace is fled. 
 The eye of the Maiden is dark and bright. 
 But it rivals no more the diamond's light. 
 
 Now many a day thou hast gaz'd o'er the sea 
 
 " For the bark of thy loTer in vain, 
 ' And many a storm thou hast shudder'd to see 
 
 " Spread its wings o'er the anger'd main : 
 — " Is he faithless the stranger ? — forgetful of.thee ? 
 ■' Thou beauteous Maiden of the Sea. 
 
 • On many a whiten'd sail hast thou gaa'd, 
 " Till the lazy breeze bore it on, 
 
 But they pass, and thy weary eyes arc glaz'd, 
 
 " As they trace the bark just gone : 
 , None have the pennou, so free and fair, 
 ' As the stranger ship which once tarried there 
 
 On yon tall cliff to whose broken base 
 " Loud surging waves for ever race, 
 ' A form is bent o'er the fearful height, 
 ' So eager, that a feaiher's weight 
 ' Would cast its poised balance o'er, 
 
 And leave a mangled corse oa the shore. 
 
 ' 'Tis Eltha's form, that with eager glance, 
 
 ' Scans the wide world of waves, as they dance, 
 ' Uprais'd by the sigh of the east wind chill, 
 ' Which wafts to the ear the scream so shrill 
 
 • Of the whirling sea mews, as landward they fly, 
 ' — To seamen a mark that the storm is nigh. 
 
 ' And what is yon distant speck on the sea, 
 
 " That seems but a floating beam, 
 ' Save that a pennon fair and fiee 
 
 " Waves in the sun's bright gleam ? 
 
 ' A bark is driven with rapid sail, 
 
 ' Its pennon far spread on the moaning gale, 
 
 ' A foamy track at its angry keel, 
 
 ' And the billows around it maddening reel ; 
 
 ' The white fring'd surges dash over its prow 
 
 ' As its masts to the pressing canvass bow — 
 
 ' But O with rapid, fiend-liko, haste, 
 ' The breeze rolls o'er the watery waste, 
 ' And louder is heard the deaf'ning roar 
 ' Of Ihe waves dashing fierce on tlie trembling shore, 
 Ten thousand eddying billows recede, 
 And return again with an arrow's speed, 
 ' Till the flaky foam on the wind is spread. 
 Far, far above their ocean bed. 
 And boom o'er the clifFwhere Eltba's form 
 Ib seen to await the deadly storm. 
 
 " Keep to the wind with a taughten'd sheet.* 
 
 '• Thou bark from a stranger land, 
 •' No daring northern pilot would meet 
 
 " A storm like this near the strand ; 
 " No kindly haven of shelter is here, 
 " Then whilst thou may, — to seaward steer ; 
 ■* But thou com'st, with a wide and flowing sail. 
 
 To a rock bound coast in an eastern gale, 
 • Thou wilt see the danger around thee at las'., 
 " When the hour of safety for ever is past ; 
 
 " And it is past, thou an now embay'd, 
 
 " And around thee gathers the evening shade, 
 " T\y last sun has set in a red, red sky, 
 " Tny last Vesper hymn is the fearful cry 
 " Of the ominous sea bird shrieking on high. 
 " The night and the storm have hidden from view 
 " The fated ship and her gallant crew, 
 " And the last sight seen on the foamy sea 
 " Was a pennon broad streaming fair and frea. 
 • ••••••• 
 
 " The morrow is come and the storm is o'er, 
 
 " And the billows more slowly dash, 
 " But shatter'd timbers are spread on the shore 
 
 " Beyond the ebb-waves' wash : 
 " Still are the hearts of the gallant baud 
 
 " Which erst did beat so true ; 
 " They'll never more see their fatherland, 
 
 " Where their playful childhood grew. 
 
 " And on a shelving rock is seen, 
 
 " Enwrapp'd in a shroud of sea-weed green, 
 
 " A noble corse, whose marble brow 
 
 " Is cluster'd with locks of auburn hue ; 
 
 •' And even in death, his manly form 
 
 " Seems to mock the rage of the nortliern storm. 
 
 " In his hand is clasp'd a jewel rare 
 
 " Enshrining a lock of black, black hair : 
 
 " And on his cold breast, near his heart, is display'{^ 
 
 " A golden gift of the dark-ey'd maid. 
 
 " The lovely Eltha's smiles are fled, 
 
 " And she wildly looks o'er the ocean-bed 
 
 " With sunken glance and a pale, pale cheek, 
 
 " And her once bounding step is slow and weak ; 
 
 "On the wave she launches the blue sea-shell 
 
 " Which swims for a moment then sinks in the swell 
 
 " And wilder'd she bends o'er the chrystal biilow 
 
 " As it eddying whirls to its coral pillow : 
 
 " She fancys a faCry bark is sped 
 
 " To bring her cold love from the land of the dead ; 
 
 " But no tears on her sunken eye-lids quiver, 
 
 •' Her reason is fled for ever 1 — for ever 1 — " 
 
 De Mowbray's soft harp ceas'd the mournful strain 
 
 But awaken'd the broken notes once again. 
 
 Like the throb of the heart strings when dying they 
 
 sever. 
 They stop — thrill — stop — and are silent for ever. 
 
 Alpha. 
 Sejrtcmber, 1S27. 
 
 * Keep to the wind. &c This line is a teehnicn 
 description of the sails of a vessel when contendia, 
 fcgaiost the wind. — aX^o, 
 
 615 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 MY POCKET-BOOK. 
 
 I crave good Mr. Du B 's pardon 
 
 for my " flat burglary " with regard to the 
 title of the present little paper. It is very 
 far from my intention to endeavour in any 
 way to place myself in competition with 
 that great satirical genius, of whose very 
 superior talents and brilliant wit I am 
 pleased to be thus afforded an opportunity 
 of avowing myself an ardent admirer : but 
 as tliis title suits my purpose, I must en- 
 treat his permission to appropriate it, and 
 merely remind h'im of the poet Puff's ex- 
 cuse on a somewhat similar occasion 
 
 ■" All that can be said is — that two people 
 happened to hit upon the same thought, 
 
 (title,) and Shakspeare (Du B ) made 
 
 use of it first, that is all." 
 
 Pocket-books (as implied by theirname) 
 were originally intended as portable recep- 
 tacles for our different memoranda, remarks 
 and communications. But now it is no 
 Songer honoured by an immediate attend- 
 ance on our person ; its station at present 
 is confined to the bureau, desk, or private 
 drawer. What man who can boast of being 
 d'un assez ban air would consent to injure 
 his exquisite adonisation of coat, by wear- 
 ing a pocket-book in his side-breast pocket, 
 and thus ungratefully frustrate all poor 
 Mr. Slultz's efforts at an exact and perfect 
 at. The ladies, for some reason, concern- 
 ing which I do not so much as venture 
 even a surmise, (for Heaven forefend that 
 I should attempt to dive into these sacred 
 mysteries, or, as " Uncle Selby" would call 
 them, femalities,) have entirely given up 
 the use ot pockets, therefore I would ad- 
 vise that memorandum-books destined for 
 the use of the fair sex should in future be 
 styled — reticule-hooks. 
 
 Old pocket-books are like some old la- 
 dies' chests of drawers — delightful things 
 to rummage and recur to. Looking over 
 an old pocket-book is like revisiting scenes 
 of past happiness after a lapse of years. 
 Recollections and associations of both a 
 painful and pleasurable nature are vividly 
 recalled, or forcibly present themselves to 
 our mind. Treasured letters, private re- 
 marks, favourite quotations, dates of days 
 spent in peculiar enjoyment, all these meet 
 our eye, and rise up like the shadows of 
 those past realities connected with them, 
 whose memory they are intended to per- 
 petuate to us. 
 
 Pocket-books are indexes to their 
 
 owner's mind — were '1 an allowable ac- 
 
 tion to inspect another s pocket-book, 
 ■\\e might form a tolerably shrewd guess at 
 the character and disposition of its pos- 
 sessor. On picking up a lost pocket-booit 
 by chance in the streets, one can be at na 
 loss to divine the quality of its former pro- 
 prietor. A large rusty black leather pocket- 
 book, looking more like a portmanteau than 
 a memorandum book, stuffed with papers 
 half printed, half written, blank stamp re- 
 ceipts, churchwarden's orders and direc- 
 tions, long lists of parishioners, with a 
 small ink-horn in one corner — denotes the 
 property of a tax-gatherer. The servant- 
 maid's is an old greasy red morocco one — 
 in the blank leaf is written in straggling 
 characters reaching from the top of one 
 side to the bottom of the other — 
 
 Sarah Price her book, 
 
 God give her grace therein to look. 
 
 In the part designated " cash account" are 
 various items, for the most part concerning 
 tea, sugar, and ribbon. Among the me- 
 moranda are the following : — " Spent last 
 Easter Monday was a twel'month with Tom 
 Hadley, at Greenwich — in great hopes 1 
 shall get leave to go again this year. My 
 next wages comes due 4tli August, 18 — . 
 Jane Thompson says she pays only 4s. foi 
 the best sowtchong tea ; and 1 pay 4s. 6d. — 
 to speak to Mr. Ilfoid the grocer about it.'' 
 — The pockets are crammed full of songs 
 and ballads, of which her favourites are 
 " Black eyed Susan," " Auld Robin Gray," 
 and " Lord William and Fair Margaret." 
 Perhaps a letter from Tom Hadley, an old 
 silver coin, his gift, and a lucky penny 
 with a hole in it. — The young lady's i? 
 elegantly bound in red and gilt. In the 
 blank leaf is written in a little niminy 
 piminy hand-writing — " To my sweet 
 friend Ellen Woodmere, from her affection- 
 ate Maria Tillotson." Quotations from 
 Pope, Young, Thomson, Lord Byron, and 
 Tom Moore, occupy the blank pages — 
 "Memoranda. June 16th saw Mrs. Sid- 
 dons riding in her chariot in Hyde Park. 
 Mem. Wonder why pa' won't let me read 
 dear lord Byron's new work the ' Don 
 Juan ' — there must be something odd in it. 
 Mem. To remember and ask Maria what 
 she paid a yard for that beautiful lace round 
 her collar. Mem. What a horrid wretch 
 that Robespierre must have been ! I'm glad 
 he was killed himself at last. Mem. To 
 tell pa' that it is quite impossible for me to 
 go to the ball next Tuesday without a new 
 lutstring dress. Mem. How I wish I had 
 been Joan of Arc ! — But I would not have 
 put on the men's clothes agairi in prison— 
 
 616 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 r wonder why she did so— How silly !" — 
 In the pockets are some of her dear Ma- 
 ria's letters — a loose leaf torn out of sir 
 Charles Grandison describing Miss Harriet 
 Byron's dress at the masquerade — and 
 several copies of verses and sonnets, the 
 productions of some of her former school- 
 fellows. 
 
 The old bachelor's pocket-book is of 
 russia leather, glossy with use, yet still re- 
 taining its grateful and long-enduring odour. 
 The memoranda chiefly consist of the dates 
 of those days on which he had seen or 
 spoken to remarkable or celebrated people. 
 Opposite the prognostics concerning wea- 
 ther, which he has since found incorrect, are 
 to be seen the words : " No such thmg- " — 
 " Pshaw, the fellow talks about what he 
 does not understand" — " Absurd folly," &,c. 
 — In the pockets are sundry square scraps 
 of paper cut out at different periods from 
 old newspapers — a copy of " The Means 
 to be used for the recovery of persons ap- 
 parently drowned" — a watch-paper cut out 
 for him by his little grand-niece — and, 
 (wrapped up in several folds of silver pa- 
 per,) a long ringlet of auburn hair with its 
 wavy drop, and springy relapse as you hold 
 it at full-length between your finger and 
 thumb. Among the leaves is a small sprig 
 of jasmin which she had worn in her bosom 
 a whole evening at a party, and which he 
 had gently possessed himself of, on taking 
 
 leave of her for the night. 
 
 M. H. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 That venerable people — who were the 
 ancients to those whom we call the an- 
 cients — the wise Egyptians, in the disposi- 
 tion which they allotted to the genders of 
 their nouns, paid a singular and delicate 
 compliment to the fair sex. In the four 
 elements, beginning with water, they a.p- 
 pointed the ocean, as a rough boisterous 
 existence, to the male sex ; but streams 
 and fountains tbej left to the more gentle 
 females. As to earth, they made rocks 
 and stones male ; but arable and meadow 
 lands female. Air they divided thus : to 
 the masculine gender, rough winds and 
 hurricanes of every kind ; to the female, 
 the sky and the zephyrs. Fire, when of a 
 consuming nature, they made male, but 
 artificial and harmless flames they rendered 
 feminine. 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 
 No. IX. 
 
 Co tt)e Bcalifr. 
 
 In the present volume has been comnr.enced, and wilj 
 be concluded, a series of Articles under this title 
 which to some readers may not have been suffi- 
 c'lently attractive. It is therefore now re-stated, 
 that they present very curious particulars concern- 
 ing the extent to which the ancients were ac- 
 quainted with several popular systems and theo- 
 ries, usu;illy supposed to liave originated in modern 
 times. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton's Theory of Colours appears, by 
 the succeeding paper, to have been imagined above 
 tivo thousand years ago. The History of Ancient 
 Philosophy is pregnant witli similar instances ol 
 discrimination. It is hoped that this may justity 
 the present attempt to familiarize the reader with 
 the knowledge of the Ancients in various branchet 
 of Natural Philosophy, and the Elements of the 
 Human Mind. Succeeding papers will be found 
 to relate to their acquaintance with the Motion of 
 the Earth — the Antipodes — Planetary Revolution.- 
 — Comets — the Moon — Air — Air-guns — Thunder- 
 Earthquakes — the Magnet — the Tides— the Circu 
 lation of the Blood — Cliirurgery — Chemistry — 
 Malleability of Glass — Painting on Glass — Gun- 
 powder — the Sexes of Plants — the Pendulum- 
 Light — Perspective — the Quadrature of the Circl? 
 —•Burning Glasses — the Precession of the Equi- 
 noxes — Mechanics — Architecture — Sculpture — 
 Painting — Music, &c. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton's Theory of Colours 
 
 INDICATED BY PyTHAGORAS AND PlaTO. 
 
 That wonderful theory, whereby is in- 
 vestigated and distinguished from one ano- 
 ther the variety of colours that constitute 
 the uniform appearance, called light, esta- 
 blishes the glory of sir Isaac Newton, and 
 is an eternal monument of his extraordinary 
 sagacity. Its discovery was reserved foi 
 an asre when philosophy had arrived at its 
 fullest maturity ; and yet it is to be found 
 in the writings of some of the most eminent 
 men of ancient times. 
 
 Pythagoras, and his disciples after him, 
 entertained sufficiently just conceptions o\ 
 the formation of colours. They taught that 
 "they resulted solely from the different 
 modification of reflected light;" or, as a 
 modern author, in explaining the seiili 
 raents of the Pythagoreans, expresses u 
 
 617 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 "' light reflecting itself with more or less 
 vivacity, forms by that means our different 
 sensations of colour." The same philoso- 
 phers, " in assigning the reason of the dif- 
 ference of colours, ascribe it to a mixture 
 of the elements of light; and divesting the 
 atoms, or smail particles of light, of all 
 manner of colour, impute every sensation 
 of that kind to the motions excited in our 
 organs of sight.'' 
 
 The disciples of Plato contributed not a 
 lilUe to the advancement of optics, by the 
 important discovery they made, that light 
 emits itself in straight lines, and that the 
 angle of incidence is always equal to the 
 angle of reflection. 
 
 Plato terms colours " the effect of light 
 transmuted from bodies, the small particles 
 of which were adapted to the organ of sight." 
 This seems precisely what sir Isaac Newton 
 teaches in his " Optics," viz. that " the 
 different sensations of each particular colour 
 are excited in us by the difference of size 
 in those small particles of light which form 
 the several rays ; those small particles occa- 
 sioning different images of colour, as the 
 vibration is more or less lively, with which 
 they strike our sense." But the ancient 
 philosopher went further. He entered 
 into a detail of the composition of colours; 
 and inquired into " the visible effects that 
 must arise from a mixture of the different 
 rays of which light itself is composed." He 
 advances, however, that " it is not in the 
 power of man exactly to determine what 
 the proportion of this mixture stiould be in 
 certain colours." This sufficiently shows, 
 that he had an idea of this theory, though 
 he judged it almost impossible to unfold it. 
 [le says, that " should any one arrive at 
 the knowledge of this proportion, he ought 
 not to liazard the discovery of it, since it 
 would be impossible to demonstrate it by 
 clear and convincing proofs :" and yet he 
 thought " ceitain rules might be laid down 
 respecting this subject, if in following and 
 imitating nature we could arrive at the art 
 of forming a diversity of colours, by the 
 combined intermixture of others." 
 
 It is to be remarked, that Plato adds 
 what may be regarded as constituting the 
 noblest tribute that can be offered in praise 
 of sir Isaac Newton ; " Yea, should ever 
 any one,'' exclaims that fine genius of an- 
 tiquity, " attempt by curious research to 
 account for this admirable mechanism, he 
 will, in doing so, but manifest how entirely 
 ignorant he is of the difference between 
 divine and human power. It is true, that 
 Gtd can intermingle those things one with 
 another, ?nd then sever them at his plea- 
 
 sure, because he is, at the same time, all- 
 linowing and all-powerful; but there is no 
 man now exists, nor ever will perhaps, who 
 shall ever be able to accomplish things so 
 very difficult." 
 
 What an eulogium is this from the pen of 
 Plato ! How glorious is he who has suc- 
 cessfully accomplished what appeared im- 
 practicable to the prince of ancient philoso- 
 phers ! Yet what elevation of genius, what 
 piercing penetration into the most intimatf 
 secrets of nature, displays itself in thesi^ 
 passages concerning the nature and theor\ 
 of colours, at a time when Greek philosophy 
 was in its infancy ! 
 
 Light — Aristotle and Descartes. 
 
 Although the system of Descartes, re- 
 specting the propagation of light in an 
 instant, has been discarded since Cassini 
 discovered that its motion is progressive; 
 yet it may not be amiss to show Ircm 
 whence he obtained the idea. His opinioi' 
 was, that light is the mere action of a subtik 
 matter upon the organs of sight. Thi.~ 
 subtile matter he supposes to fill all thai 
 space which lies between the sun and us ; 
 and that the particle of it, which is next to 
 the sun, receiving thence an impulse, in- 
 stantaneously communicates it to all the 
 rest, between the sun and the organ of 
 sight. To evidence this, Descartes intro- 
 duces the comparison of a stick; which, 
 by reason of the continuity of its parts, 
 cannot in any degree be moved lengthways 
 at one end, without instantaneously being 
 put into the same degree of motion at the 
 other end. Whoever will be at the pains 
 to read, attentively, what Aristotle hath 
 written concerning light, will perceive that 
 he defines it to be the action of a subtile, 
 pure, and homogeneous matter. Philopo- 
 nus, explaining the manner in which this 
 action was performed, makes use of the 
 instance of a long string, which being pulled 
 at one end, will instantaneously be moved 
 at the other : he resembles the sun, to the 
 man who quills the string; the subtile mat- 
 ter, to the string itself; and the instanta- 
 neous action of the one, to the movement 
 of the other. Simplicius, in his commen- 
 tary upon this passage of Aristotle, ex- 
 pressly employs the motion of a stick, to 
 intimate how light, acted upon by the sun, 
 may instantaneously impress the organs of 
 sight. This comparison of a stick seems 
 to ha-ve been made use of first, by Chrysip- 
 pivs — lastly, by Descartes. 
 
 618 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ©url)amiana» 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 WILLEY WALKER AND JOHN 
 BOLTON. 
 
 Willey Walker, a well-known Durham 
 nharacter, who has discovered a new solar 
 system different from all others, is a beads- 
 man of the cathedral ; or, as the impudent 
 boys call a person of his rank, from the 
 dress he wears, " a blue mouse." It is 
 Wil ley's business to toll the curfew : but 
 to our story. In Durham there are two 
 clocks, which, if I may so express myself, 
 ire both ojicial ones; viz. the cathedral 
 clock, and the gaol or county clock. The 
 admirers of each are about equal : some of 
 the inhabitants regulating their movements 
 by one, and some by the other. Three or 
 four years ago it happened, during the 
 middle of the winter, that the two clocks 
 varied considerably; there was onhj three 
 quarters of an hour's difference between 
 tliem. The citizens cared very little 
 about this slight discrepancy, but it was 
 not at all relished by the guard of the 
 London and Edinburgh mail, who spoke 
 on the subject to the late John Bolton, 
 the regulator of the county clock. John 
 immediately posted off to the cathedral, 
 where he met Willey Walker, and the fol- 
 lowing dialogue is said to have passed be- 
 tween them. 
 
 Bolton. Willey, why doa'nt ye keep t' 
 abba clock reel — there's a bit difference 
 between it and mine? 
 
 IFilley. Why doa'nt ye keep yours so — 
 it never gans reet? 
 
 Bolton. Mine's set by the sun, Willey ! 
 (Bolton was an astronomer.) 
 
 JVilley. By the sun 1 Whew ! whew ! 
 whew! Why, are ye turned fule ? Nebody 
 would think ye out else ! and ye pretend 
 to be an astronomer, and set clocks by 't' 
 5un in this windy weather ! — ther's ne de- 
 pending on it: the winds, man, blaw sa, 
 they whisk the sun about like a whirligig! 
 
 Bolton, petrified by the outpouring of 
 Willey's astronomical knowledge, made no 
 answer. 
 
 Bolton was a very eccentric character, 
 and a great natural genius : from a very 
 obscure origin he rose to considerable pro- 
 vincial celebrity. Such was his contempt 
 of London artists, that he described himself 
 on his sign as being " from Chester-le- 
 Street, not London." He was an indefati- 
 gable collector of curiosities ; and had a 
 
 valuable museum, which most strangers 
 visited. His advertisemeiits were curious 
 compositions, often m doggerel verse. He 
 was a good astronomer and a believer in 
 astrology. He is interred in Elvet church- 
 yard : a plain stone marks the place, with 
 the following elegant inscription from the 
 classic pen of veterinary doctor Marshall. 
 I give it as pointed. 
 
 Ing-enious artist ! few thy skill surpast 
 In works of art. Yet death has beat at last. 
 Tho' conquerd. Yet thy deeds will ever shine, 
 lime cant destroy a genius large as thine ! 
 
 Bolton built some excellent organs and 
 turret clocks. For one of the latter, which he 
 made for North Shields, he used to say, he 
 was not paid : and the following notice in 
 his shop, in large characters, informed his 
 customers of the fact — " North Shields 
 clock never paid for 1" 
 
 R. I. ?. Preb. Butt. 
 
 A SENSUALIST AND HIS CON- 
 SCIENCE. 
 
 Tlie following lines, written in the ye;'.! 
 Ifi09, are said, in the " Notes of a Book- 
 worm," to have induced Butler to pursue 
 their manner in his " Hudibras." 
 
 Dialogue. 
 
 Glutton, My belly I do deify. 
 
 Echo. Fie I 
 
 67. Who curbs his appetite's a fool. 
 
 Echo. Ah I fool I 
 
 Gl. I do not like this abstincjice. 
 
 Echo. Hence 1 
 
 Gl. My joy's a feast, my wish is wine. 
 
 Echo. Swine. 
 
 Gl. We epicures are happy truly. 
 
 Echo. You lie. 
 
 Gl. May I not, Echo, eat my fill ? 
 
 Echo. 111. 
 
 Gl. Will it hurt me if I drink too much ? 
 
 Echo. Much. 
 
 Gl. Thou uiock'st me, nymph, I'll not beliere it. 
 
 Echo. Believe it. 
 
 Gl. Do'st thou condemn, then, what I do ? 
 
 Echo. I do. 
 
 Gl. Is it that which brings infirmities ? 
 
 Echo. It is. 
 
 Gl. Then, sweetest Temperance, I'llkvc !h<?c. 
 
 Echo. I love thee. 
 
 01. If all be true which thon doBt leU. 
 
 To gluttony I bid farfcwej. 
 Echo. Farewell I 
 
 619 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 PLAYWRIGHT-ING. 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — The following short matter-of-fact 
 narrative, if inserted in your widely circu- 
 lated miscellany, may in some degree tend 
 to lessen the number of dramatic aspir- 
 ants, and afford a little amusement to your 
 readers. 
 
 I was, at the age of sixteen, apprenticed 
 to a surgeon, and had served but two years 
 of my apprenticeship, when I began to 
 conceive that I had talents for something 
 superior to the profession I had embraced. 
 [ imagined that literature was my furte ; 
 and accordingly I tried my skill in the 
 composition of a tale, wherein I was so far 
 successful, as to obtain its insertion in a 
 " periodical" of the day. This was suc- 
 ceeded by others ; some of which were 
 rejected, and some inserted. In a short 
 tmie, however, I perceived that I had 
 gained but little fame, and certainly no 
 protit. I therefore determined to attempt 
 dramatic writing, by which 1 imagined 
 that [ should acquire both fame and for- 
 tune. Accordingly, after much trouble, I 
 concocted a plot, and in three months com- 
 pleted a farce ! I submitted it to my friends, 
 all of whom declared it to be " an excellent 
 thing ;" and that if merit met with its due 
 reward, my piece would certainly be 
 brought out. Flattered and encouraged by 
 their good opinion, I offered it, with con- 
 fidence of success, to the proprietors of 
 Drury-lane theatre. In the space of a 
 week, however, my piece was returned, 
 with a polite note, informing me, that it 
 was " not in any way calculated for repre- 
 sentation at that theatre." I concluded 
 that it could not have been read ; and hav- 
 ing consoled myself with that idea, I trans- 
 mitted it to the rival theatre. One morn- 
 ing, after the lapse of a few days, my hopes 
 were clouded by a neat parcel, which I 
 found to contain my manuscript, with the 
 same polite but cutting refusal, added to 
 which was an assurance, " that it had been 
 read most attentively." I inwardly exe- 
 crated the Covent Garden " reader" for a 
 fool, and determined to persevere. At the 
 suggestion of my friends I made numerous 
 alterations, and submitted my farce to the 
 manager of the Haymarket theatre, relying 
 upon his liberality ; but, after the usual 
 delay of a week, it was again returned. 
 At the Lyceum it also met with a similar 
 fate. I was much hurt by these rejections, 
 yet determined to persevere. The minor 
 theatres remained for me, and I applied to 
 
 the manager of one of these establishments 
 who, in the course of time, assured me 
 that my piece should certainly be produced 
 I was delighted at the brilliant prospects 
 which seemed to open to me, and I fuucica 
 that I was fast approaching the summit ot 
 my ambition. Three tedious months en- 
 sued before I was summoned to attend 
 the rehearsal ; but I was then much 
 pleased at the pains the actors appeared tc 
 have taken in acquiring their parts. The 
 wished-for night arrived. I never dreamed 
 of failuie ; and I invited a few of my select 
 friends to witness its first representation — 
 it was the last : for, notwithstanding the 
 exertions of the performers, and the ap- 
 plause of my worthy friends, so unanimous 
 was the hostility of the audience, that ray 
 piece was damned ! — damned, too, at a 
 minor theatre ! I attributed its failure en- 
 tirely to the depraved taste of the audience. 
 I was disgusted; and resolved, from th;it 
 time, never more to waste my talents in 
 endeavouring to amuse an unappreciating 
 and ungrateful public. I have been firm 
 to that resolution. I relinquished the 
 making up of plays for the more profitable 
 occupation of making up prescriptions, and 
 am now living in comfort upon the pro- 
 duce of my profession. 
 
 AUCTOH. 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 A few years ago a sign of one- of the 
 Durham inns was removed, and sent to 
 Chester-le-Street, by way of a frolic. It 
 was generally supposed that the feat was 
 achieved by some of the legal students then 
 in that city ; and a respectable attorney 
 there was so fully persuaded of it, that he 
 immediately began to make inquiries cor- 
 roborative of his suspicions. The circum- 
 stances drew forth the following epigram 
 from our friend T. Q. M., which has never 
 appeared in print. 
 
 From one of our inns was a sig^i taken down, 
 And sent by some waps to a neighbouring to«'n. 
 To a limb of the law the freak caus'd much vexation. 
 And he went through the streets making wild lament- 
 ation ; 
 And breathing revenge on the frolicsome sparks, 
 Whc, he had not a doubt, were the " gentlemer 
 
 clerks." * 
 From the prophets methinks we may inference draw 
 To prove how perverse was this man of the law. 
 For we find it inscrib'd in the pages divine — 
 " A perverse generation looks after a sign I" 
 
 * A favourite expression of the legal gentleman al 
 luded to. 
 
 620 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE ROMANS. 
 
 Tlie whole early part of the Roman his- 
 tory is very problematical. It is hardly 
 possible to suppose the Romans could have 
 made so conspicuous a figure in Italy, and 
 not be noticed by Herodotus, who finished 
 his history in Magna Grsecia. Neither is 
 Rome mentioned by Aristotle, though he 
 particularly describes the government of 
 Carthage. Livy, a writer by no means 
 void of national prejudice, expressly says, 
 they had never heard of Alexander ; and 
 here we surely may say in the words of the 
 poet, 
 
 " Not to know him, argues themselves unknown." 
 
 Pliny, it is true, quotes a passage of Theo- 
 phrastus, to show that a certain Greek 
 writer, named Clitarchus, mentions an em- 
 bassy from the Romans to Alexander ; but 
 this can never be set against the authority 
 of Livy, especially as Quintilian gives no 
 very favourable opinion of the veracity of 
 the Greek historian in these words, — 
 " Clitarchi, probatur ingenium, fides infa- 
 matur." * 
 
 A LITERARY BLUNDER. 
 
 When the Utopia of sir Thomas More 
 was first published, it occasioned a pleasant 
 mistake. This political romance represents 
 a perfect, but visionary republic, in an 
 island supposed to have been newly dis- 
 covered in America. As this was the age 
 of discovery, (says Granger,) the learned 
 Bud«us, and others, took it for a genuine 
 history ; and considered it as highly expe- 
 dient, that missionaries should be sent 
 thither, in order to convert so wise a nation 
 to Christianity. 
 
 TREASURE DIGGING. 
 
 A patent passed the great seal in the 
 fifteenfh year of James I., which is to he 
 found in Rymer, " to allow to Mary Mid- 
 dlemore, one of the maydes of honor to 
 our deerest consort queen Anne, (of Den- 
 mark,) and her deputies, power and autho- 
 rity, to enter into the abbies of Saint Al- 
 bans, Glassenbuty, Saint Edmundsbury, 
 and Ramsay, and into all lands, houses, 
 and places, within a mile, belonging to said 
 abbies;" there to dig, and search after 
 treasure, supposed to be hidden in such 
 olaces. 
 
 PERSONAL CHARMS DISCLAIMED 
 
 By a Lady. 
 
 If any human being was free from per- 
 sonal vanity it must have been the second 
 duchess d'Orleans, Charlotte Elizabeth ol 
 Bavaria. In one of her letters, (dated 9th 
 August, 1718,) she says, " I must certainly 
 be monstrously ugly. I never had a good 
 feature. _ My eyes are small, my nose short 
 and thick, my lips broad and thin. These 
 are not materials to form a beautiful face. 
 Then I have flabby, lank cheeks, and long 
 features, which suit ill with my low stature. 
 My waist and my legs are equally clumsy. 
 Undoubtedly I must appear to be an odious 
 little wretch; and had I not a tolerably 
 good character, no creature could enduer 
 me. I am sure a person must be a con- 
 juror to judge by my eyes that I have a 
 grain of wit." 
 
 FORCIBLE ABDUCTION. 
 
 The following singular circumstance is 
 related by Dr. Whitaker in his History oi 
 Craven : — 
 
 Gilbert Plumpton, in the 21 of Henry II., 
 committed something like an Irish marriage 
 with the heiress of Richard Warelwas, and 
 thereby incurred the displeasure of Ranulph 
 de Glanville, great justiciary, who meant to 
 have married her to a dependant of his 
 own. Plumpton was in consequence in- 
 dicted and convicted of a rape at Worces- 
 ter ; but at the very moment when the rope 
 was fixed, and the executioner was drawing 
 the culprit up to the gallows, Baldwin", 
 bishop of Worcester, running to the place, 
 forbade the officer of justice, in the name 
 of the Almighty, to proceed : and thus 
 saved the criminal's life. 
 
 • H. J. Pye. 
 
 POLITENESS. 
 
 A polite behaviour can never be long 
 maintained without a real wish to please ; 
 and such a wish is a proof of good-nature. 
 No ill-natured man can be long well-bred. 
 No good-natured man, however unpolished 
 in his manners, can ever be essentially ill- 
 bred. From an absurd prejudice with re- 
 gard to good-nature, some people affect to 
 substitute good temper for it ; but no quali- 
 ties can be more distinct: man) good- 
 tempered people as well as many fools, 
 are very ill-natured ; and many men oi 
 first-rate genius — with which perhaps entire 
 good temper is incompatible — are perfectly 
 good-natured. 
 
 621 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 A FRENCH TRIBUTE TO ENGLISH 
 INTEGRITY. 
 
 The Viscount de Chateaubriand grate- 
 fully memorializes his respect for the virtue 
 of a distressed family in London by the 
 followina; touching narrative prefixed to 
 his Indian tale, entitled " The Natchez :" — 
 
 When I quitted England in 1800 to 
 return to France, under a fictitious name, 
 [ durst not encumber myself with too 
 much baggage. I left, therefore, most of 
 my manuscripts in London. Among these 
 manuscripts was that of The Natchez, no 
 other part of which 1 brought to Paris but 
 Ren^, Atula, and some passages descriptive 
 of America. 
 
 Foyteen years elapsed before the com- 
 munication with Great Britain was re- 
 newed. At the first moment of the Re- 
 stoj-ation 1 scarcely thought of my papers; 
 and if I had, how was I to find them again ? 
 They had been left locked up in a trunk 
 with an Englishwoman, in whose house 
 I had lodged in London. I had foryot- 
 ten the name of this woman ; the name of 
 the street and the number of the house 
 bad likewise escape<i my memory. 
 
 in consequence of some vague and even 
 contradictory information which ] trans- 
 mitted to London, Messrs. de Thuisy took 
 the trouble to make inquiries, which they 
 prosecuted with a zeal and perseverance 
 rarely equalled. With infinite pains they 
 at length discovered the house where I 
 resided at the west end of the town; but 
 my landlady had been dead several years, 
 and no one knew what had become of her 
 children. Pursuing, however, the clue 
 which they had obtained, Messrs. de Thuisy, 
 after many fruitless excursions, at last 
 Found out her family in a village several 
 miles from London. 
 
 Had they kept all this time the trunk of 
 an emigrant, a trunk full of old papers, 
 which could scarcely be deciphered? Might 
 they not have consigned to the flames such 
 a useless heap of French manuscripts? On 
 the other hand, if my name, bursting from 
 its obscurity, had attracted, in the London 
 iournals, the notice of the children of my 
 former landlady, might they not l.ave been 
 disposed to make what profit they could of 
 those papers, which would then acquire a 
 certain value ? 
 
 Nothing of the kind had happened. The 
 manuscripts had been preserved, the trunk 
 had not even been opened. A religious 
 fidelity had been shown by an unfortunate 
 family towards a child of misfortune. I 
 bad committed with simplicity the result 
 
 of the labours ot part ot my life to the 
 honesty of a foreign trustee, and my trea- 
 sure was restored to me with the same 
 simplicity. I know not that I ever met 
 with any thing in my life which touched 
 me more than the honesty and integrity ol 
 this poor English family. 
 
 DEVONSHIRli WRESTLING. 
 
 For the Table Booh. 
 
 Abraham Cann, the Devonshire cham 
 pion, and his brother wrestlers of that 
 county, are objected to for their play with 
 the foot, called " showing a toe" in Devon- 
 shire ; or, to speak plainly, " kickino." 
 Perhaps neither the objectors, nor Abraham 
 and his fellow-countrymen, are aware, that 
 the Devonshire custom was also the custom 
 of the Greeks, in the same sport, three 
 tliousand years ago. The English reader 
 may derive proof of this from Pope's trans- 
 lation of Homer's account of the wrestling 
 match at the funeral of Patroclus, between 
 Ulysses and Ajax, for prizes offered by 
 Achilles : — 
 
 Scarce did the chief the vignrous strife propose, 
 
 When tower-like Ajax and Ulysses rose. 
 
 Amid the ring each nervous rival stands. 
 
 Embracing rigid, with implicit hands: 
 
 Cloue lock'd above, their heads and arms are mixt ; 
 
 Below, their planted feet, at distance fixt. 
 
 Now to the prasp each manly body bends ; 
 
 The humid sweat from every pore descends; 
 
 Their bones resound with blows ; sides, shoulders 
 
 thighs 
 Swell to each gripe, and bloody tumours rise. 
 Nor could t?lysses, for his art renown'd, 
 O'erturn the strength of Ajax on the ground ; 
 Nor could the strength of Ajax overthrow 
 The watchful caution of his artful foe. 
 While the long strife e'en tir'd the lookers on. 
 Thus to Ulysses spoke great Telamon : 
 Or let me lift thee, chief, or lift thou me ; 
 Prove we our force, and Jove the rest decree : 
 He said, and stra'ining, heav'd him off the ground 
 With matchless strength ; that time Ulysses found 
 The strength t' evade, and, whern the nerves combine, 
 His ancle struck the giant fell supine ; 
 Ulysses following, on his bosom lies ; 
 Shouts of applause run rattling through the skies. 
 Ajax to lift, Ulysses next essays ; 
 He barely stirr'd him but he could not raise : 
 His knee lock'd fast, the foe's attempt deny'd. 
 And grappling close, they tnrable side by side. 
 
 Here we find not only " the lock," h'\* 
 that Ulysses, who is described as renownsa 
 for his art, attains to the power of throwing 
 his antagonist by the device of Abrahan: 
 Cann's favourite kick near the ancle. 
 
 L V 
 
 622 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 PENN AND THE INDIANS.. 
 
 Yet thus could, iaa savage-sty] ei land, 
 A few — reviled, scorn'd, hi t;d of the whole — • 
 
 St etch forth for Peace the une rjmonious hand,. 
 And stamp Truth, even on a sealed scroll. 
 
 Tliey call'd not God, or men, in proof to stand : 
 T ley pray'd no vengeance on the perjured soul : 
 
 But Heaven look'd down, and, moved with wonder, saw 
 
 A compact fram'd, where Time might bring no flaw. 
 
 Tins stanza k in- a delightful little volume^ 
 entitled "The Desolation of Eyam ; the 
 Emigrant, a tale of the American Woods ; 
 and other poems : By William and Mary 
 Howitt, authors of the Forest Minstrel, &c." 
 The feeling and beauty of one of the poems, 
 " Penn and the Indians," suggested the 
 present engraving, after a celebrated print 
 from a picture by the late Benjamin West. 
 The following particulars are chiefly related 
 Dv Mr. Clarkson, respecting the scene it 
 represents. 
 
 King Charles II., in consideration of a 
 ionsiderable sum due from the crown for 
 the services of admiral sir William Penn, 
 f;ranted to his son, the ever-memorable 
 
 William Penn, and his heirs, in perpetuity 
 a great tract of land on the river Delaware, 
 in America ; with full power to erect a 
 new colony there, to sell lands, to make 
 laws, to create magistrates, and to pardon 
 crimes. In August, 1682, Penn, after hav. 
 ing written to his wife and children a letter 
 eminently remarkable for its simplicity and 
 patriarchal spirit, took an afff Gtionate leave 
 of them ; and, accompanied by severa. 
 friends, embarked at Deal, on board the 
 Welcome, a ship of three hundred tons 
 burthen. The passengers, including him- 
 self, were not more '♦han a hundred. They 
 were chiefly quakers, and most of then. 
 from Susses, in which county his house et 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 623 
 
 2S 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Warininghurst was seated. They sailed 
 about the first of September, but had not 
 proceeded far to sea, when the small-pox 
 broke out so virulently, that thirty of their 
 number died. In about six weeks from 
 the time of their leaving the Downs they 
 came in sight of the American coast, and 
 shortly afterwards landed at Newcastle, in 
 the Delaware river. 
 
 William Penn's first business was to ex- 
 plain to the settlers of Dutch and Swedish 
 extraction the object of his coming, and 
 the nature of the government he designed 
 to establish. His next great movement was 
 to Upland, where he called the first general 
 assembly, consisting of an equal number, 
 for the province and for the territories, of 
 all such freemen as chose to attend. I'l 
 this assembly the frame of government, and 
 many important regulations, were settled ; 
 and subsequently he endeavoured to settle 
 the boundaries of his territory with Chdrles 
 lord Baltimore, a catholic nobleman, who 
 was governor and proprietor of the adjoin- 
 ing province of Maryland, which had been 
 settled with persons of iiis own persuasion. 
 
 Penn's religious principles, which led 
 him to the practice of the most scrupulous 
 rmrality, did not permit him to look upon 
 th« king's patent, or legal possession ac- 
 cording to the laws of England, as sufficient 
 to establish his right to the country, without 
 purchasing it by fair and open bargain of 
 the natives, to whom, only, it properly be- 
 longed. He had therefore instructed com- 
 missioners, who had arrived in America 
 before him, to buy it of the latter, and to 
 nake with them at the same time a treaty 
 jf eternal friendship. This the commis- 
 sioners had done ; and this was the time 
 ivhen, by mutual agreement between him 
 ind the Indian chiefs, it was to be publicly 
 atified. He proceeded, therefore, accovi- 
 aanied by his friends, consisting of men, 
 >vomen, and young persons of both sexes, 
 o Coaquar.Tioc, the Indian name for the 
 jlace where Philadelphia now stands. On 
 .is arrival there he found the Sachems and 
 heir tribes assembling. They were seen 
 in the woods as far as the eye could carry, 
 Old looked frightful both on account of 
 their number and their arms. The quakers 
 are reported to have been but a handful in 
 comparison, and these without any weapon ; 
 <o that dismay and terror had come upon 
 hem, had they not confided in the righte- 
 jusness of their cause. 
 
 It IS much to be regretted, when we have 
 iccounts of minor treaties between William 
 Penn and the Indians, that there is not in 
 4ny historian an account of tliis, though so 
 
 many mention it, and though all concur ir 
 considering it as the most glorious of any 
 in the annals of the world. There are 
 however, relations in Indian speeches, anc 
 traditions in quaker families, descended 
 from those who were present on the occa- 
 sion, from which we may learn something 
 concerning it. It appears that, though the 
 parties were to assemble at Coaquannoc, 
 the treaty was made a littl-e higher up, ai 
 Shackaraaxon. Upon this Kensington now 
 stands ; the houses of which may be con- 
 sidered as the suburbs of Philadelphia. 
 There was at Shackamaxon an elm tree of 
 a prodigious size. To this the leaders on 
 both sides repaired, approaching each othei 
 under its widely-spreading branches. Wil- 
 liam Penn appeared in his usual clothes. 
 He had no crown, sceptre, mace, sword, 
 halberd, or any insignia of eminence. He 
 was distinguished only by wearing a sky- 
 blue sash* round his waist, which was 
 made of silk net- work, and which was of 
 no larger apparent dimensions than an 
 officer's military sash, and much like it 
 except in colour. On his right hand 
 was colonel Markham, his relation and 
 secretary, and on his left his friend 
 Pearson ; after whom followed a train 
 of quakers. Before him were carried 
 various articles of merchandise ; which, 
 when they came near the Sachems, were 
 spread upon the ground. He held a roll 
 of parchment, .containing the confirmation 
 of the treaty of purchase and amity, in his 
 hand. One of the Sachems, who was the 
 chief of them, then put upon his own head 
 a kind of chaplet, in which appeared a 
 small horn. This, as among the primitive 
 eastern nations, and according to Scripture 
 language, was an emblem of kingly power; 
 and whenever the chief, who had a right to 
 wear it, put it on, it was understood that 
 the place was made «acred, and the persons 
 of all present inviolable. Upon putting on 
 this horn the Indians threw down their 
 bows and arrows, and seated themselves 
 round their chiefs in the form of a half- 
 moon upon the ground. The chief Sachem 
 then announced to William Penn, by means 
 of an interpreter, that the nations were 
 ready to hear him. 
 
 Having been thus called upon, he began. 
 The Great Spirit, he said, who made him 
 and them, who ruled the heaven and the 
 earth, and who knew the innermost thoughts 
 of man, knew that he and his friends had a 
 hearty desire to live in peace and friendship 
 
 • This sash is now in the possession of Thomas Kelt 
 Esq. of S«ething-hall, near Norwich. 
 
 G2i 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 with them, and to serve thetn to the utmost 
 of their power. It was not their custom to 
 use hostile weapons against tlieir fellow-crea- 
 tures, for which reason they had come un- 
 armed. Their object was not to do injury, 
 and thus provoke the Great Spirit, but to 
 do good. They were then met on the broad 
 pathway of good faith and good will, so 
 that no advantage was to be taken on either 
 side, but all was to be openness, brother- 
 hood, and love. After these and other words, 
 he unrolled the parchment, and by means 
 of the same interpreter, conveyed to 
 them, article by article, the conditions of the 
 purchase, and the words of the compact 
 then made for their eternal union. Among 
 other things, they were not to be molested 
 in their lawful pursuits even in the territory 
 they had alienated, for it was to be common 
 to them and the English. They were to 
 have the same liberty to do all things 
 therein relating to the improvement of their 
 grounds, and providing sustenance for their 
 families, which the English had. If any 
 disputes should arise between the two, they 
 should be settled by twelve persons, half of 
 whom should be English and half Indians. 
 He then paid them for the land, and made 
 them many presents besides, from the mer- 
 chandise which had been spread before 
 them. Having done this, he laid the roll 
 of parchment on the ground ; observing 
 again, that the ground should be common 
 lo both people. He then added, that he 
 would not do as the Marylanders did ; that 
 is, call them children or brothers only ; for 
 often parents were apt to whip their chil- 
 dren too severely, and brothers sometimes 
 would differ: neither would he compare 
 the friendship between him and them to a 
 chain ; for the rain might sometimes rust 
 it, or a tree might fail and break it ; but lie 
 should consider them as the same flesh and 
 blood with the Christians, and the same as 
 if one man's body were to be divided into 
 two parts. He then took up the parchment, 
 and presented it to the Sachem who wore 
 the horn in the chaplet, and desired him 
 and the other Sachems to preserve it care- 
 fully for three generations ; that their chil- 
 dren might know what had passed between 
 them, just as if he had remained himself 
 with them to repeat it. 
 
 That William Penn must have done and 
 said a great deal more on this interestin-g 
 occasion than has now been represented, 
 there can be no doubt. What has been 
 related may be depended upon. It is 
 to be regretted, that the speeches of the 
 Indians on this memorable day have not 
 come do\vii to us. It is only known, that 
 
 they solemnly pledged themselves, accord- 
 ing to their country manner, to live in lov-e 
 with William Penn and his children as 
 long as the sun and moon should endure. 
 
 Thus ended this famous treaty, of which 
 more has been said in the way of praise 
 than of any other ever transmitted to pos- 
 terity. " This," said Voltaire, " was the 
 only treaty between those people and the 
 Christians that was not ratified by an oath_ 
 and that was never broken." " William 
 Penn thought it right," says the abbe Ray- 
 nal, " to obtain an additional right by a 
 fair and open purchase from the abori- 
 gines; and thus he signalized his arri\al 
 by an act of equity, which made his person 
 and principles equally beloved. Here it is 
 the mind rests with pleasure upon modern 
 history, and feels some kind of compensa- 
 tion for the disgust, melancholy, and hor- 
 ror, which the whole of it, but particularly 
 that of the European settlements in Ame- 
 rica, inspires." Noble, in his Continuation 
 of Granger, says, " He occupied his domains 
 by actual bargain and sale with the Indians. 
 This fact does him infinite honour, as no 
 blood was shed, and the Christian and the 
 barbarian iTiet as brothers. Penn has thus 
 taught us to respect the lives and properties 
 of the most unenlightened nations." — 
 " Being now returned," says Robert Proud, 
 in his History of Pennsylvania, " from 
 Maryland to Coaquannoc, he purchased 
 lands of the Indians, whom he treated with 
 great justice and sincere kindness. It was 
 at this time when he first entered person- 
 ally into that friendship with t^em, which 
 ever afterwards continued between them, 
 and which for the space of more than 
 seventy years was never interrupted, or so 
 long as the quakers retained power in the 
 government. His conduct in general to 
 these people was so engaging, his justice in 
 particular so conspicuous, and the counsel 
 and advice which he gave them were so 
 evidently for their advantage, that he be- 
 came thereby very much endeared to them ; 
 and the sense thereof made such deep im- 
 pressions on their understandings, that his 
 name and memory will scarcely ever be 
 effaced while they continue a people." 
 
 The great elm-tiee, under which this 
 treaty was made, became celebrated from 
 that day. When in the American war the 
 British general Simcoe was quartered at 
 Kensington, he so respected it, that when 
 his soldiers were cutting down every tree 
 for fire-wood, he placed a sentinel under it, 
 that not a branch of it might be touched. 
 In 1812 it was blown down, wVtii its trunk 
 was split into wood, and cuds and othei 
 
 625 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 articles were made of it, to be kept as me- 
 morials of it. 
 
 LINES 
 
 On receiving from Dr. Rush, of Philadel- 
 phia, a piece of the Tree under which 
 William Penn made his Treaty with the 
 Indians, and which ivas bloivn down in 
 1812, convened to the purpose of an 
 Inkstand 
 
 BY WILLIAM ROSCOE, ESQ. 
 
 From clime to clime, from shore to shore. 
 The war-fiend raised his hateful yell. 
 
 And midst the storm that realms deplore, 
 Penn's honour'd tree of concord fell. 
 
 And of that tree, that ne'er agam 
 Shall Spring's reviving influence know, 
 
 A relic, o'er th' Atlantic mam. 
 Was sent — the gift of foe to foe I 
 
 But though no more its ample shade 
 Wave green beneath Col,umbia's sky. 
 
 Though every branch be now decay'd. 
 And all its scatter'd leaves be dry ; 
 
 Vet, midst this relic's sainted space, 
 A health-restoring flood shall spring, 
 
 In which the angel-form of Peace 
 May stoop to dip her dove-like wing. 
 
 So. once the staff the prophet bore. 
 By wondering eyes again was seen 
 
 To swell with life through every pore^ 
 And bud afresh with foliage green. 
 
 The wither'd branch again shall grow. 
 Till o'er the earth its shade extend — 
 
 And this — the gift of foe to foe — 
 Become the gift of friend to friend. 
 
 In the " Conditions " between Wilham 
 Penn, as Proprietary and Governor of 
 Pennsylvania, and the Adventurers and 
 Purchasers in the same province, " in be- 
 half of the Indians it was stipulated, that, 
 as it had been usual with planters to over- 
 reach them in various ways, whatever was 
 sold to them in consideration of their furs 
 should be sold in the public market-place, 
 and there suffer the test, whether good or 
 bad : if good, to pass ; if not good, not to 
 be sold lor good ; that the said native In- 
 dians might neither be abused nor pro- 
 voked. That no man should by any ways 
 or means, in word or deed, affront or wrong 
 any Indian, but he should mcur the same 
 penalty of the law as if he had committed 
 it against his fellow-planter; and if any 
 Indian should abuse, in word or deed, any 
 planter of the province, that the said planter 
 should not be his own judge upon the said 
 
 Indian, but that he should make hrs com- 
 plaint to the governor of the province. 01 
 his deputy, or some inferior magistrate neaf 
 him, who should to the utmost of his powei 
 take care with the king of the said Indian, 
 that all reasonable satisfaction should be 
 made to the said injured planter. And that 
 all differences between planters and Indians 
 should be ended by twelve men, that is, by 
 six planters and six Indians, that so they 
 might live friendly together, as much as in 
 tiiem lay, preventing all occasions of heart- 
 burnings and mischief. These stipulations 
 in favour of the poor natives will for ever 
 immortalize the name of William Penn 
 for, soaring above the prejudices and cus- 
 toms of his time, by which navigators and 
 adventurers thought it right to consider the 
 inhabitants of the lands they discovered as 
 their lawful prey, or as mere animals of the 
 brute-creation, whom they might treat, use, 
 and take advantage of at their pleasure, he 
 regarded them as creatures endued with 
 reason, as men of the like feelings and 
 passions with himself, as brethren both by 
 nature and grace, and as persons, there- 
 fore, to whom the great duties of humanity 
 and justice were to be extended, and who, 
 in proportion to their ignorance, vere the 
 more entitled to his fatherly protectioa asd 
 care."* 
 
 The identical roll of parchment given by 
 William Penn to the Indians was shown by 
 their descendants to some English officers 
 some years ago. This information, with 
 the following passages, will be found in 
 the "Notes" to " Penn and the Indians," the 
 poem, by " William and Mary Howitt,"' 
 from whence the motto is taken : — 
 
 " What shows the scrupulous adherence 
 of the Indians to their engagements in the 
 most surprising light is, that long after tho 
 descendants of Penn ceased to possess poli- 
 tical influence in the state, in compara- 
 tively recent times, when the Indian cha- 
 racter was confessedly lowered by their 
 intercourse with the whites, and they were 
 instigated both by their own injuries and 
 the arts of the French to make incursions 
 into Pennsylvania, the ' Friends ' were 
 still to them a sacred and inviolable people. 
 While the tomahawk and the scalping 
 knife were nightly doing their dreadfa 
 work in every surrounding dwelling — 
 theirs were untouched ; while the rest ck 
 the inhabitants abandoned their houses and 
 fled to forts for security, — they found 
 
 • Mr. Clarksou's Life of W. Penn. 
 
 626 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ^ore perfect security in that friendship 
 which the wisdom and virtue of Penn had 
 eoncMiated, and whicli their own disinter- 
 ested principles made permanent." 
 
 In endeavouring to conclude with a spe- 
 cimen of the elegant poem of " William 
 and Mary Howitt," an unexpected difficulty 
 of selection occurs — it is a piece of con- 
 tinuous beauty that can scarcely be extracted 
 from, without injury to the stanzas selected ; 
 and therefore, presuming on the kind in- 
 dulgence of the amiable authors, it is here 
 presented entire : — 
 
 PENN AND THE INDIANS. 
 
 " I will not compare our friendship to a chain ; for 
 the rain might sometimes rust it, or a tree might fall 
 and break it; but I shall consider you as the same 
 flesh and blood as the Christians; and the same as if 
 one man's body were to be divided into two parts." 
 W. Penn's Speech to the Indians. 
 
 There was a stir in Pennsylvanian woods 
 A gathering as the war-cry forth had gone; 
 
 Ind, like the sudden gush of Autumn floods, 
 Stream'd from all points the warrior-tribes to one. 
 
 Ev'n in the farthest forest solitudes. 
 The hunter stopped the battle-plume to don. 
 
 And turn'd with knife, with hatchet, and with bow 
 
 dack, as to bear them on a sudden foe. 
 
 Swiftly, but silently, each dusky chief 
 
 Sped 'neath the shadow of continuous trees ; 
 
 And files whose feet scarce stirr'd the trodden leaf; 
 And infant-laden mothers, scorning ease ; 
 
 And childhood, whose small footsteps, light and brief. 
 Glanced through the forest, like a fluttering breeze, 
 
 Followed — a numerous, yet a silent band, — 
 
 As to some deed, high, fateful, and at hand. 
 
 But where the foe? By the broad Delaware, 
 Where flung a shadowy elm its brandies wide, — 
 
 Ln peaceful garments, and with hands that bare 
 No sign of war, — a little band they spied. 
 
 Could these be whom they sought? And did they fare 
 Forth from their deserts, in their martial pride. 
 
 Thus at tlieir caWi They did. No trumpet's tongue 
 
 Had pierced their wild-woods with a voice so strong. 
 
 Who were they ? Simple pilgrims : — it may be, 
 Scarce less fhan outcasts from their native i«les, — 
 
 From Britain, — birth- place of the great and free. 
 Where heavenly lot e rhrew roundits brightest smiles. 
 
 Then why depart ? Oh seeming mockery ! 
 Were they not here, on this far shore, exiles, 
 
 Simply because, unawed by power or ban, 
 
 I'hey worshipped God but would not bow to man ? 
 
 ■^h ! Truth I Immortal Truth ! on what wild ground 
 Still halt thou trod through this unspiritual sphere I 
 
 The strong, the brutish, and the Tile surround 
 Thy presence, lest thy streaming glory cheer 
 
 The poor, the many, without price or bound. 
 Drowning thy voice, they fill the popuiar ear. 
 
 In thy high name, with canons, creeds, and laws, 
 
 Feigning to serve, that they may mar thy cause. 
 
 And the great multitude doth orouch, and bear 
 The burden of the selfish. That emprize, 
 
 That lofty spirit of virtue which can dare 
 To rend the bands of Error from all eyes ; 
 
 And from the freed soul pluck each sensual care. 
 To them is but a fable. Therefore lies 
 
 Darkness upon the mental desert still; 
 
 And wolves devour, and robbers walk at will. 
 
 Yet, ever and anon, from thy bright quiver. 
 The flaming arrows of thy might are strown ; 
 
 And, rushing forth, thy dauntless children shiver 
 The strem^th of foes who press too near thy throne. 
 
 Then, like the sun, or thy Almighty Giver, 
 
 Thy light is through the startled nations shown : 
 
 And generous indignation tramples down 
 
 The sophist's web, and the oppressor's crown. 
 
 Oh might it burn for ever I But in vain— 
 For vengeance rallies the alarmed host, 
 
 Who from men's souls draw their dishonest gain. 
 For thee they smite, audaciously they boast, 
 
 Even while thy sons are in thy bosom slain. 
 Yet this is thy sure solace, — that, not lost, 
 
 Eauh drop of blood, each tear, — Cadmean seed, 
 
 I5hall send up armed champions in thv need. 
 
 And these were of that origin. Thy stamp 
 
 Was on their brows, calm, fearless, and sublime. 
 
 And they had held aloft thy heavenly lamp; 
 And borne its odium as a fearful crime. 
 
 And therefore, through their quiet homes the tramp 
 Of R»in passed,— laying waste all that Time 
 
 Gives us of good ; and, where Guilt fitly dwells, 
 
 Had made them hoings in execrable cells. 
 
 We dwell in peace -.—they purchased it with blood. 
 
 We dwell al large ; — 'twas they who wore the chain, 
 And broke it. Like the living rocks tLey stood. 
 
 Till their invincible patience did restrain 
 The billows of men's fury. Then the rude 
 
 Shock of the past diffused a mild disdain 
 Through their pure hearts, and an intense desire 
 For some calm land where freedom might respire. 
 
 Some land where they might render God his due. 
 Nor stir the gall of the blind zealot's hate. 
 
 Some land where came Thought's soul-refreshing dev.' 
 And Faith's sublimer visions. Where elate. 
 
 Their simple-hearted children they might view. 
 Springing in joy, — heirs of a blest estate : 
 
 And where each worn and weary mind might come 
 
 From every realm, and find a tranquil home. 
 
 Aid they sought this. Yet, as they now descried 
 From the near forest, pouring, horde on horde. 
 
 Armed, painted, plumed in all their martial pride. 
 The dwellers of the woods — the men abhorred 
 
 627 
 
THE TABLE BOOX. 
 
 is fierce, perfidlons, and with Hood bedyed. 
 Felt they no dread ? No ;— ;for their breasts were 
 stored 
 With confidence which pure designs impart, 
 A.nd faith in Him who framed the human heart: 
 
 And they— the children of the wild— v.ny came 
 They at this summons ? Swiftly it had flOwn 
 
 Far throiigh their woods, like wind, or wind-sent flame. 
 Followed by rumours of a stirring tone. 
 
 Which told that, all unlilie, except in name. 
 To those who yet had on tlieir shores been known, 
 
 These white men'— wearers of the peaceful vest, — 
 
 Craved, in their vales, a brother's home and rest. 
 
 On the red children of the desert, fell 
 
 The tidings, like spring's first delicious breath ; 
 
 For they had loved the strangers all too well ; 
 And still — though reaping ruin, scorn, and death 
 
 For a frank welcome, and broad room to dwell. 
 Given to the faithless boasters of pure faith, — 
 
 Their wild, warm feelings kindled at the sight 
 
 Of Virtue arm'd but with her native might. 
 
 What term we savage ? The untutored heart 
 Of Nature's child is but a slumbering fire ; 
 
 Prompt at each breath, or passing touch, to start 
 Into quick flame, as quickly to retire : 
 
 Ready alike, its pleasance to impart. 
 Or scorch the hand which rudely wakes its ire • 
 
 Demon or child, as impulse may impel ; 
 
 Warm in its love, but in its vengeance fell. 
 
 Ard these Columbian w&rnors to their strand 
 Had welcomed Europe's sons, — and rued it sore. 
 
 Men with smooth tongues, but rudely armed hand ; 
 Fabling of peace when meditating gore ; 
 
 Who, their foul deeds to veil, ceased not to brand 
 The Indian name on every Christian shore. 
 
 VVhat wonder, on such heads, their fury's flame 
 
 Burst, till its terrors gloomed their fairer fame. 
 
 For they were not a brutish race, unknowing 
 Evil from good ; their fervent souls embraced 
 
 With virtue's proudest homage to o'erflowing 
 The mind's inviolate majesty. The past 
 
 To them was not a darkness ; but was glowing 
 With splendour which all time had not o'ercast ; 
 
 Streaming unbroken from creation's birth. 
 
 When God communed and walked with men on earth. 
 
 Stupid idolatry had never dimmed 
 The Almighty image in their lucid thought. 
 
 To him alone their jealous praise was hymned ; 
 And hoar Tradition, from her treasury, brouglit 
 
 Glimpses of far-off times, in which were limned 
 His awful glory: and their prophets taught 
 
 Precepts sublime, — a solemn ritual given, 
 
 In clouds and thunder, to their sires from heaven. 
 
 And, in the boundless solitude which fills. 
 Even as a mighty heart, their wild domains ; 
 
 In cavefc and glens of the unpeopled hills ; 
 Aad the deep shadow tha< for ever reigns 
 
 Spirit like in therr woods ; where, roarwg, s^H* 
 
 The giant eataract to the astounded plains,. 
 Nature, in her &nblimest moods, had given, 
 Not man's weak lore, — but a quick flash from heavoi^ 
 
 Koaming, in their free lives, by lake and stream ; 
 
 Beneath the splendour of their gorgeous sky ; 
 Encamping, while shot down night's starry gleain^ 
 
 In piny glades, where their forefathers lie ; 
 Voices would come, and breathing whispers seem; 
 
 To rouse within the life which may not die; 
 Begetting valorous deeds, and thoughts intense. 
 And a wild gush of burning eloquence. 
 
 Sach were the men who round the pilgrims came. 
 
 Oh ! righteous heaven ! and thou, heaven-dwelhng 
 sno 1 
 How fr<mi my heart spnng tears of grief and shame. 
 
 To think how runs — and quickly shall have run 
 O'er earth, for twice a thousand years, your flame. 
 
 Since, for man's weal, Christ's victories were won j 
 Since dying, to his sons, love's gift divine 
 He gave, (he bond of brotherhood and the sign. — 
 
 Where shines the symbol ? Europe's mighty states, 
 The brethren of the cross — from age to age. 
 
 Have striven to quench in blood their quenchless 
 hates; 
 Or — cease their armed liosts awhile their rage, 
 
 'Tis but that Peace may half unclose her gates 
 In mockery; that each diplomatic sage 
 
 May treat and sign, while War recruits his power 
 
 And grinds the sword fresh millions to devour. 
 
 Yet thns could, in a savage-styled land, 
 A few, — reviled, scorn'd, hated of the whole. 
 
 Stretch forth for peace the unceremonious hand, 
 And stamp Truth, even upon a sealed scroll. 
 
 They called not God, or men, in proof to stand: 
 They prayed no vengeance on the perjured soul : 
 
 But heaven look'd down, and moved with wonder sa» 
 
 A compact framed, where time might bring no flaw. 
 
 Yet, through the land no clamorous triumph spread. 
 
 Some bursts of natural eloquence were there : 
 Somewhat of his past wrongs the Indian said ; 
 
 Of deeds design'd which now were given to air. 
 Some tears the mother o'er her infant shed. 
 
 As through her soul pass'd Hope's depictions fairv 
 And they were gone — the guileless scene was o'er; 
 And the wild woods absorb'd their tribes once more. 
 
 Ay, years have rolled on years, and long has Penn 
 Pass'd, with his justice, from the soil he bought ; 
 
 And the world's spirit, and the world's true men 
 Its native sons with different views have sought 
 
 Crushing them down till they have risen again 
 With bloodiest retribution ; yet have taught. 
 
 Even while their hot revenge spread fire and scatk. 
 
 Their ancient, firm, inviolable faith. 
 
 When burst the war-whoop at the dead of night. 
 And the blood curdled at the dreadful sound; 
 
 And morning brought not its accustomed light 
 To thousands slumbering in their gore around; 
 
 628 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Then, like oases in the desert's Wight, 
 
 The tomes of Penii's peculiar tribe were found : 
 And still the scroll he gave, in lore and pride. 
 Their hands preserve,— earth has not such beside. 
 Yes ; prize it, waning race, for never more 
 
 Shall your wild glades another Penn behold: 
 Pure, dauntless legislator, wlio did soar 
 
 Higher than dared snblimest thought of old. 
 That antique lie which bent the great of yore. 
 
 And ruleth still — Expedience stern and cold, 
 He pluck'd with scorn from its usurped car 
 And sliowed Truth strong, and glorious as a star. 
 The vast, the ebbless, the engulphing tide 
 
 Of the white population still rolls on 1 
 And quail'd has your romantic heart of pride, — 
 
 The kingly spirit of the woods is gone. 
 Farther, and farther do ye wend to hide 
 
 Your wasting stren;<th ; to mourn your glory flown. 
 And sigh to think how soon shall crowds pursue 
 Down the lone stream where glides the still canoe. 
 And ye, a beautiful nonentity, ere long, 
 
 Shall live but with past marvels, to adorn 
 Some fabling theme, some unavailing song. 
 
 But ye have piled a monument of scorn 
 for trite oppression's sophistry of wrong. 
 
 Proving, by all your tameless hearts have born«, 
 •Vhat novv ye might have been, had ye but met 
 iVith love like yours, and faith unwavering yet. 
 
 The authors of " Pepn and the Indians" 
 iustly observe in the last note upon their 
 exalted poem, that " it is William Penn's 
 peculiar honour to stand alone as a states- 
 nan, in opposing principle to expedien-ce, 
 in public as well as in private life. Even 
 Aristides, the very beau-ideal of virtuous 
 integrity, failed in this point. Tiie success 
 of the experiment has been as splendid as 
 the most philosophic worshipper of abstract 
 morals could have hoped for or imagined." 
 These sentences exemplify an expression 
 elsewhere — " Politics are Morals." ^ 
 
 QUAKERS. 
 
 ORrCIN OF THE TeRM. 
 
 On the 30th of October, 1650, the cele- 
 brated George Fox being at a lecture de- 
 livered in Derby by a colonel of the par- 
 liament's army, after the service was over 
 addressed the congregation, till there came 
 an officer who took him by the hand, and 
 said, that he, and the other two that were 
 with him, must go before the magistrates. 
 They were examined for a long time, and 
 then George Fox, and one John Fretwell 
 of Staniesby, a husbandman, were com- 
 mitted to the house of correction for six 
 months upon pretence of blasphemous ex- 
 pressions. Gervas Bennet, one of the two 
 justices who sig^ned their niittimus, hearing 
 that Fox bade him, and those about him. 
 
 " tremble at the word of the Lord," regarded 
 this admonition so lightmindedly, that from 
 that time, he called Fox and his friends 
 Quakers. This new and unusual denomi- 
 nation was taken up so eagerly, that it soon 
 ran over all England, and" from thence to 
 foreign countries.* It has since remained 
 their distinctive name, insomuch, tiiat to the 
 present time they are so termed in acts of 
 parliament; and in their own declarations 
 on certain public occasions, and in ad 
 dresses to the king, they designate them- 
 selves " the people called Quakers." The 
 community, in its rules and minutes, for 
 government and discipline, denominates 
 itself " The Society of Friends" » 
 
 E^t Mill 
 
 OF JOHN KEATS, THE POET. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 Sir, — Underneath I send you a copy of 
 a document which " poor Keats " sent to 
 
 Mr. , in August, 1820, >ust before 
 
 his departure for Italy. 
 
 This paper was intended by him to 
 operate as his last will and testament, but 
 the sages of Doctors' Commons refused to 
 receive it as such, for reasons which to a 
 lawyer would be perfectly satisfactory, 
 however the rest of the world might deem 
 them deficient in cogency : — 
 Coifv. 
 " My share of books divide amongst my 
 friends. In case of my death this 
 scrap of paper may be serviceable in 
 your possession. 
 "AH my estate, real and personal, con- 
 sists in the hopes of the sale of books, 
 published or unpublished. Now I 
 
 wish and you to be the first 
 
 paid creditors — the rest is in nubibus — 
 
 but, in case it should shower,, pay 
 
 the few pounds I owe him." 
 Although too late to afford him any 
 satisfaction or comfort, it did " shower "at 
 last ; and that, too, from a source which, 
 in its general aspect, bears all the gloomi- 
 ness of a cloud, without any of its refresh- 
 ing or fertilizing anticipations — I mean the 
 Court of Chancery. This unexpected 
 " shower'^ was sufficiently copious to enable 
 the fulfilment of all the wishes expressed in 
 the above note. His friends have therefore 
 tile gratification of knowing that no pecu- 
 niary loss has been (or need have been) 
 sustained, by any one of those with whom 
 he was connected, either by friendship or 
 otherwise. I am, Sir, &c. O. Z. 
 
 • SeweL 
 
 629 
 
Fine Writiag Ink ! Buy an Iron Fork, or a ShoTel? 
 
 OLD LONDON CEIES. 
 
 These ene:ravings pretty well describe 
 the occupations of the figures they repre- 
 sent. The cry of *' Fine writing-ink" has 
 ceased long ago ; and the demand for such 
 a fork as the woman carries is disconti- 
 nued. They are copied from a set of etch- 
 ings formerly mentioned — the " Cries ot 
 London," by Lauron. The following of 
 that series are worth describing, because 
 they convey some notion of cries which we 
 hear no longer in the streets of the metro- 
 polis. 
 
 Buy a new Almanack F 
 
 A woman bears book-almanacks before 
 her, displayed in a round basket. 
 
 London's Gazette here . 
 A woman holds one in her hand, and 
 seems to have others in her lapped-up 
 apron. 
 
 Buy any JVax or Wafers ? 
 A woman carries these requisites for 
 
 correspondence m a small hand-basket, or 
 frail, with papers open in the other hand. 
 
 My Name, and your Name, your Father i 
 Name, and Mother's Name, 
 
 A man bears before him a square box. 
 slung from his shoulders, containing type- 
 founders' letters, in small cases, each on a 
 stick ; he holds one in his hand. I well 
 remember to have heard this very cry when 
 a boy. The type-seller composed my own 
 name for me, which I was thereby enabled 
 to imprint on paper with common writmg 
 ink. I think it has become wholly extinct 
 within the last ten years. 
 
 Old Shoes for some Brooms 
 
 A man with birch-brooms suspended lie- 
 hind him on a stick. His cry intimates, 
 that he is willing to exchange them for old 
 shoes ; for which a wallet at his bacK, de- 
 pending from his waist, seems a recept«cie. 
 
 630, 
 
THE TABLE BOOK:. 
 
 Remember the poor Prisoners! 
 
 A man, with a capacious covered basket 
 •uspended at his back by leather handles, 
 through which his arms pass ; he holds in 
 nis right hand a small, round, deep box with 
 I slit in the top, through which money may 
 be put : in his left hand is a short walking- 
 staff for his support. In former times the 
 prisoners in different gaols, without allow- 
 ance, deputed persons to walk the streets an J 
 solicit alms for their support, of passengers 
 and at dwelling-houses. The basket was 
 For broken-victuals. 
 
 Fritters, piping hot Fritters. 
 
 A woman seated, frying the fritters on 
 •in iron with four legs, over an open fire 
 lighted on bricks ; a pan of batter by her 
 ;ide : two urehins, with a small piece of 
 money between them, evidently d^sir* to 
 fritter it. 
 
 But/ my Dutch Biskets t' 
 
 A woman carries them open in a large, 
 round, shallow arm-basket on her right 
 arm ; a smaller and deeper one, covered 
 with a cloth, is on her left'. 
 
 IVho's for a Mutton Pie, or a Christmas 
 Pie ? 
 
 A woman carries them in a basket hang- 
 ing on her left arm, under her cloak; she 
 rings a bell with her right hand. 
 
 Lilly white Vinegar, Threepence a Quart. 
 
 The vinegar is in two barrels, slung 
 across the back of a donkey ; pewter mea- 
 sures are on the saddle in the space between 
 them. The proprietor walks behind — 'he is 
 a jaunty youth, and wears flowers on the left 
 side of his hat, and a liUy white apron; he 
 cracks a whip with his left hatnd ; and 
 his right fingers play with his apron strings. 
 
 Old Satin, oid Taffety, or Velvet. 
 
 A smart, prett} -looking lass, in a high- 
 peaked crowned-hat, a black hood care- 
 lessly tied under her chin, handsomely 
 stomachered and ruffled, trips along in 
 !iigh-heeled shoes, with bows of ribbons on 
 the insteps ; a light basket is on her right 
 arm, and her hands are crossed with a 
 'juality air. 
 
 Scotch or Russia Cloth. 
 
 A comfortably clothed, stout, substantial- 
 looking, middle-aged man, in a cocked hat, 
 i'liie fashion of those days,) supporting with 
 his left liand a pack as Jarge as his body. 
 
 slung at his back ; his right hand holds his 
 yard measure, and is tucked into the open 
 bosom of his buttoned coat ; a specimen 
 of his cloth hangs across his arm. Irish 
 and Holland linen have superseded Scotch 
 and Russia. 
 
 Fotir pair for u Shilling, Holland Socks. 
 
 A woman cries them, with a shilling's- 
 worth in her hand ; the bulk of her ware is 
 in an open box before her. Qui: ancestors 
 took great precautions against wet fron 
 without — they took much within. The} 
 were soakers and sockers. 
 
 Long I'hread Laces, long and strong. 
 
 A miserably tattered-clothed girl and 
 boy carry long sticks with laces depending 
 from the ends, like cals-o"-nine tails. This 
 cry -was extinct in London for a few years, 
 while the females dressed naturally — now, 
 when some are resuming the old fashion of 
 stiff stays and tight-lacing, and pinching 
 their bowels to inversion, looking unmo- 
 therly and bodiless, the cry has been par- 
 tially revived. 
 
 Pretty Maids, pretty Pins, pretty fVomen. 
 
 A man, with a square box sideways 
 under his left arm, holds in his right hand 
 a paper of pins opened. He retails 
 ha'p'orths and penn'orths, which he cuts off 
 from his paper. I remember when pins 
 were disposed of in this manner in the 
 streets by women — ^their cry was a musical 
 distich — 
 
 Three-rows-a-pemiy, pins. 
 
 Short whites, and mid — dl — mgs ! 
 
 Fine Tie, or a fine Boh, sir 1 
 
 A wig-seller stands with one on his hand,, 
 combing it, and talks to a customer at his 
 door, which is denoted, by an inscription to 
 be in " Middle-row, Holbourn." Wigs on 
 blocks stand on a bracketed board outside 
 his window. This was when every body, 
 old and young, wore wigs — when the price 
 for a common one was a guinea, and a 
 journeyman had a new one every year — 
 when it was an article in every apprentice's 
 indenture that his master should find him 
 in " one good and sufficient wig, yearly, and 
 every year, for, and during, and unto the ex- 
 piration, of the full end, and term, of his 
 a,pprenticeship." 
 
 Bny my fine Singing Glasses ! 
 
 They were trumpet-formed glass tubes, 
 of various lengths. The crier blows one 
 
 631 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 of half his own height. He holds others 
 m his left hand, and has a little box, and 
 two or three basitets, slung about his waist. 
 
 Japan your Shoes, your honour I 
 
 A shoeblack. A boy, with a small 
 basket beside him, brushes a shoe on a 
 stone, and addresses himself to a wigged 
 beau, who carries his cocked-hat under his 
 left arm, with a crooked -headed walking- 
 stick in his left hand, as was the fashion 
 among the dandies of old times. I recol- 
 lect shoeblacks formerly at tlie corner of 
 almost every street, especially in great 
 thoroughfares. There were several every 
 morning on the steps of St. Andrew's church 
 Holborn, till late in the forenoon. But the 
 greatest exhibition of these artists was on 
 the site of Finsbuiy-square, when it was 
 an open field, and a depository for the 
 stones used in paving and street-masonry. 
 There, a whole army of shoeblacks inter- 
 cepted the citizens and their clerks, on their 
 way from Islington and Hoxton to the 
 counting houses and shops in the city, with 
 " Shoeblack, your honour l" " Black your 
 shoes, sir!" 
 
 Each of them had a large, old tin-kettle, 
 containing his apparatus, viz. a capacious 
 
 ipkin, or other large earthen-pot, contain- 
 mg the blacking, which was made of ivory 
 black, the coarsest moist sugar, and puie 
 water with a little vinegar — a knife — two or 
 three brushes — and an old wig. The old 
 wig was an indispensable requisite to a 
 shoeblack ; it whisked away the dust, or 
 thoroughly wiped ofi' the wet dirt, which 
 his knife and brushes could not entirely 
 detach ; a rag tied to the end of a stick 
 smeared his viscid blacking on the shoe, 
 and if the blacking was " real japan," it 
 shone. The old experienced shoe-wearers 
 preferred an oleaginous, lustreless blacking. 
 A more liquid blacking, which took a 
 polish from the brush, was of later use and 
 invention. Nobody, at that time, wore 
 boots, except on horseback ; and every 
 body wore breeches and stockings: panta- 
 loons or trousers were unheard of The 
 old shoeblacks operated on the shoes while 
 they were on the feet, and so dexterously 
 as not to soil the fine white cotton stocking, 
 which was at one time the extreme of 
 fashion, or to smear the buckles, whch were 
 universally worn. Latterly, you were ac- 
 commodated with an old pair of shoes to 
 stand in, ani the yesterday's paper to read, 
 while your shoes were cleaning and polish- 
 ing, and your buckles were whitened and 
 brcshed. When shoestrings first came 
 
 into vogue, the prince of Wales (now the 
 king) appeared with them in his shoes, and 
 a deputed body of the buckle-makers of 
 Birmingham presented a petition to his 
 royal highness to resume the wearing of 
 buckles, which was good-naturedly com- 
 plied with. Yet in a short time shoestrings 
 entirely superseded buckles. The first in- 
 cursion on the shoeblacks was by the 
 makers of " patent cake-blacking," on 
 sticks formed with a handle, like a small 
 battledoor; they suffered a more fearful 
 invasion from the makers of liquid blacking 
 in bottles. Soon afterwards, when " Day 
 and Martin " manufactured the nr. plus 
 ultra of blacking, private shoeblacking 
 became general, public shoeblacks rapidly 
 disappeared, and now they are extinct. 
 The last shoeblack that I remember iu 
 London, sat under the covered entrance of 
 Red Lion-court, Fleet-street, within the 
 last six years. 
 
 ANTIQUARIAN MEMORANDUM. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Chair at Page's Lock. 
 
 At a little alehouse on the Lea, neai 
 Hoddesdon, called " Page's Lock," there is 
 a curious antique chair of oak, richly carved. 
 It has a high, narrow back inlaid with cane, 
 and had a seat of the same, which last is 
 replaced by the more durable substitute of 
 oak. The framework is beautifully carved 
 in foliage, and the top rail of the back, as 
 also the front rail between the legs, have 
 the imperial crown in the centre. The 
 supports of the back are twisted pillars, 
 surmounted with crov\ns, by way of knobs, 
 and the fore-legs are shaped like beasts' 
 paws. 
 
 The date is generally supposed to be that 
 of Elizabeth ; and this is confirmed by the 
 circumstance of the chairs in the long gal- 
 lery of Hatfield-house, in Hertfordshire, 
 being of similar construction, but without 
 the crowns. The date of these latter chairs 
 is unquestionably that of Elizabeth, who 
 visited her treasurer, Burleigh, whose seat 
 it was. The circumstance of the crowns 
 being carved on the chair above-named, 
 and their omission in those at Hatfield 
 would seem to imply a regal distinction 
 and we may fairly infer, that it once formed 
 part of the furniture of queen Elizabeth's 
 hunting-lodge situate on Epping forest, 
 not many miles from Hoddesdon. 
 
 Gaston. 
 
 632 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 MINISTER OF KIRKBY LONSDALE, 
 KIRKBY KENDAL.— LUNE BRIDGE. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — The Tenth Part of your interesting 
 publication, the Table Book, has been lent 
 to me by one of your constant readers ; 
 who, aware of the interest which I take in 
 every thing connected with Westmoreland, 
 pointed out the Notes of T. Q. M. on a 
 Pedestrian Tour from Skipton to Keswick.* 
 
 It is not my intention to review those 
 notes, or to point out the whole of his in- 
 accuracies ; but I shall select one, which, 
 in my humble judgment, is quite inexcus-, 
 able. After stating that the Rev. Mr, 
 Hunt was once the curate of KirAby (not 
 KjVby, as your correspondent spells it) 
 Lonsdale, he adds, " I believe the well- 
 known Carus Wilson is the officiating 
 minister at present." What your narrator 
 means by the appellation " well known," 
 he alone can determine — and to which of 
 the family he would affix the term, I can- 
 not possibly imagine. The eldest son is 
 rector of Whittington, an adjoining parish; 
 the second son of the same family is vicar 
 of Preston, in Lancashire ; the third is the 
 curate of Tunstal, in the same county. 
 These are all the gentlemen of that family 
 who are, or ever were, " officiating mini- 
 sters :" and I can safely assure your cor- 
 respondent, that not one of them ever waa 
 the officiating minister of Kirkby Lonsdale. 
 The vicar is the Rev. Mr. Sharp ; who the 
 curate is I forget, but an inquirer could 
 have easily ascertained it; and an inquiry 
 would have furnished him with some very 
 curious details respecting the actual incum- 
 bent. 
 
 By the way, let me mention the curious 
 fact of this town retaining its ancient name, 
 while Kendal, a neighbouring town, has 
 lost, in common parlance, a moiety of its 
 name. In all legal documents Kendal is 
 described as Kirkby Kendal, as the former 
 is Kirkby Lons-dale ; and thp orthography 
 is important, as it shows at once tne deri- 
 vation of these names. Kirk-by-Lon's-dale, 
 and Kirk-by-Ken or Kent-dale, evidently 
 show, that the prominent object, the 
 thurches of those towns on the banks of 
 their respective river, the Lune, Loyne, 
 or Lon, as it is variously written, and the 
 Kent or Ken, and their dales, or vallies, 
 furnished the cognomen. 
 
 I should be much obliged to T. Q. M. il 
 he would point out the house where my 
 friend Barnabee 
 
 ■ viewed 
 
 An hall, which like a taverne shewed 
 Neate gates, white walls, noug'ht was sparing. 
 Pots brimful, no thought of caring. 
 
 If a very curious tradition respecting the 
 very fine and remarkable bridge over the 
 river Lune, together with a painting of it 
 done for me by a cobbler at Lancaster, 
 would be at all interesting to you, I shall 
 be happy to send them to your publishers. 
 The picture is very creditable to the artist; 
 and after seeing it, I am sure you will say, 
 that however (if ever) just, in former days, 
 the moderns furnish exceptions to the well- 
 known maxim — 
 
 Ne sutor ultra crepidam. 
 
 I am, sir, 
 
 your obedient servant, 
 London, Sept. 25, 1827. Bob Short. 
 
 • Col. 871. &i. 
 
 IBidrobnn'ed 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 
 
 No. X. 
 
 The Copernican System that of the 
 Ancients. 
 
 Copernicus places the sun in the centre 
 of our system, the fixed stars at the circum- 
 ference, and the earth and other planets 
 in the intervening space ; and he ascribes 
 to the earth not only a diurnal motion 
 around its axis, but an annual motion round 
 the sun. This simple system, which ex- 
 plains all the appearances of the planets 
 and their situations, whether processional, 
 stationary, or retrograde, was so fully and 
 distinctly inculcated by the ancients, that 
 it is matter of surprise it should derive it? 
 name from a modern philosopher. 
 
 Pythagoras thought that the earth was a 
 movable body, and, so far from being the 
 centre of the world, performed its revolu- 
 tions around the region of fire, that is the 
 sun, and thereby formed day and night. 
 He is said to have obtained this knowledge 
 among the Egyptians, who represented the 
 sun emblematically by a beetle, becp.uso 
 that insect keeps itself six months undei 
 
 633 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 ground, and six above ; or, rather, because 
 having formed its dung into a ball, it after- 
 wards lays itself on its back, and by means 
 of its feet whirls that ball round in a circle. 
 
 Philolaiis, the disciple of Pythagoras, 
 was the first publisher of that and several 
 other opinions belonging to the Pythago- 
 rean school. He added, that the earth 
 moved in an oblique circle, by which, no 
 doubt, he meant the zodiac. 
 
 Plutarch intimates, that Tima;us Locren- 
 sis, another disciple of Pythagoras, held 
 the same opinion; and that when he said 
 the planets were animated, and called them 
 the different measures of time, he meant no 
 other than that they served by their revolu- 
 tions to render time commensurable; and 
 that the earth was not fixed to a spot, but 
 was carried about by a circular motion, as 
 Aristarchus of Samos, and Seleucus after- 
 wards taught. 
 
 This Aristarchus of Samos, who lived 
 about three centuries before Jesus Christ, 
 was one of the principal defenders of the 
 doctrine of the earth's motion. Archimedes 
 informs us, " That Aristarchus, writing on 
 this subject against some of the philoso- 
 phers of his own age, placed the sun im- 
 movable in the centre of an orbit, described 
 by the earth in its circuit." Sextns Empi- 
 ricus cites him, as one of the principal 
 supporters of this opinion. 
 
 From a passage in Plutarch it appears, 
 that Cleanlhes accused Aristarchus of im- 
 piety and irreligion, by troubling the repose 
 of Vesta and the Larian gods ; when, in 
 giving an account of the phenomena of the 
 planets in their courses, he taught that 
 heaven, or the firmament of the fixed stars, 
 was immovable, and that the earth moved 
 in an oblique circle, revolving at the same 
 time around its own axis. 
 
 Theophrastus, as quoted by Plutarch, 
 says in his History of Astronomy, which 
 has not reached our times, that Plato, when 
 advanced in years, gave up the error he 
 liad been in, of making the sun turn round 
 the earth ; and lamented that he had not 
 placed it in the centre, as it deserved, in- 
 stead of the earth, which he had put there 
 contrary to the order of nature. Nor is it 
 at all strange that Plato should reassume an 
 opinion which he had early imbibed in the 
 schools of the two celebrated Pythagoreans, 
 Archytas of Tarentum, and Timacus the 
 Locrian, as we see in St. Jerome's Christian 
 apologfv against Rufinus. In Cicero we 
 find, that Heraclides of Pontus, who was a 
 Pythagorean, taught the same doctrine. It 
 may be added, that Tyclio Braclie's system 
 was known to Vitruvius, as well as were 
 
 the motions of Venus and Mercury about 
 the sun. 
 
 That the earth is round, and inhabited on 
 all sides, and of course that there are Anti- 
 podes, or those whose feet are directly op- 
 posite to ours, is one of the most ancient 
 doctrines inculcated by philosophy. Dio- 
 genes Laertius, in one part of his history, 
 says, that Plato was the first who called the 
 inhabitants of the earth opposite to us 
 "Antipodes." He does not mean that Plato 
 was the first who taught this opinion, but 
 only the first who made use of the term 
 " Antipodes ;" for, in another place, he 
 mentions Pythagoras as the first who taught 
 of When Plutarch wrote, it was a point 
 in controversy ; and Luctetius and Pliny, 
 were oppose this notion, as well as St. Au- 
 gustine, serve as witnesses that it must have 
 prevailed in their time. 
 
 The proofs which the ancients broughi 
 of the sphericalness of the earth, were the 
 same that l-he moderns use. Pliny on this 
 subject observes, that the land which retires 
 out of sight to persons on the deck of 3 
 ship, appears still in view to those who are 
 upon the mast. He thence concludes, that 
 the earth is round. Aristotle drew this 
 consequence not only from the circular 
 shadow of the earth on the disk of the 
 moon in eclipse, but also from this, that, 
 in travelling south, we discover other stars, 
 and that those which we saw before, whether 
 in the zenith or elsewhere, change their 
 situation with respect to us. 
 
 On whatever arguments the ancients 
 founded their theory, it is certain they 
 clearly apprehended that the planets re- 
 volved upon their own axis. Heraclides of 
 Pontus, and Ecphantus, two celebrated 
 Pythagoreans, said, that the earth turned 
 from west to east, just as a wheel does upon 
 its axis or centre. According to Alticus, 
 the platonist, Plato extended this observa- 
 tion from the earth to the sun and other 
 planets. " To that general motion which 
 makes the planets describe a circular course, 
 he added another, resulting from their 
 spherical shape, which made each of them 
 move about its own centre, whilst they per- 
 formed the general revolution of their 
 course." Plotinus also ascribes this senti- 
 ment to Plato ; for speaking of him he 
 says, that besides the grand circular course 
 observed by all the stars in general, Plato 
 thought " they each performed another 
 about their own centre.'' 
 
 The same notion is ascribed to Nicetas 
 of Syracuse by Cicero, who quotes Theo- 
 phrastus to warrant what he advances 
 This Nicetas is b*; whom Diogenes Laertius 
 
 634 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 names Hycetas, whose opinion, he says, 
 was, ihat " the celerity of the earth's mo- 
 tion about its own axis, and otherwise, was 
 the only cause and reason of the apparent 
 revolutions of the heavenly bodies." 
 
 How useful the invention of telescopes 
 has been to the astronomical observations 
 3f the moderns is particularly evident from 
 their discovery, that the planets revolve on 
 their axis, a discovery founded on the 
 periodical revolution of the spots observed 
 on their disks ; so that every planet per- 
 forms two revolutions, by one of which it 
 is carried with others about a common cen- 
 tre ; and, by the other, moves upon its axis 
 round its own. Yet all that the moderns 
 have advanced in this respect, serves only 
 to confirm to the ancients the glory of being 
 the first discoverers, by the aid of reason 
 alone. The moderns in this are to the an- 
 cients, as the French philosophers to sir 
 Isaac Newton ; all whose labours and tra- 
 vail, in visiting the poles and equator to 
 determine the figure of the earth, served 
 '^nly to confirm what sir Isaac had thought 
 of it, without so much as stirring from his 
 closet. 
 
 GllAVESEND. 
 A Mother and her Children. 
 To the Editor. 
 Rochester, Sept. 29, 1827. 
 
 Sir, — On the beach at Gravesend yesterday 
 morning, I saw a gaily dressed young female 
 walking and fondling an infant in her arms, 
 whom she called Henry ; with a fine, lively, 
 bluff boy of about three years old running 
 before, who suddenly venturing to interrupt 
 the gravity of a goat, by tickling his beard 
 with a switch, became in immediate 
 danger of over-punishment from the pro- 
 voked animal. I ran to " the rescue," and 
 received warm thanks for its achievement. 
 After the manner of mothers she kissed and 
 scolded her " dear Lobski," as she called 
 the little rogue; and I involuntarily and 
 inquisitively repeated the appellation. "Sir," 
 said she, — and slie smiled — " it is perfectly 
 ridiculous; but his father and I so frequently 
 give him that name in joke, that we some- 
 times let it fall when in earnest — his 
 real Christian name is Robert." I laughed 
 at the whim, shook hands with young 
 " Lobski," wished his mother good morning, 
 set off by the first conveyance to London, 
 and wholly forgot ray little adventure. 
 
 It was brought to my recollec- 
 
 tion this afternoon through an incident on the 
 roof of a stage-coach, by which I was tia- 
 VfeUing to Rochester with several passen- 
 gers ; all of whom, except myself, alighttd 
 at Gravesend. One of them, a Londoner, 
 a young man of facetious remark, let an 
 expression or two fall, from whence 1 
 strongly suspected he was the husband of 
 Lobski"s mother. He had sat next to me 
 at the back of the coach, and had been 
 particularly anxious respecting the safety 
 of a goose— whereon, as I learned, he an- 
 ticipated to regale with his wife in honour 
 of Michaelmas. Being left to pursue the 
 short remainder of my journey alone, I was 
 proceeding to change my place in the rear, 
 for the box-seat, when 1 perceived a letter, 
 with the direction so obliterated by friction, 
 as to be undecipherable. There could noi 
 be a doubt that it had escaped from ni) 
 late fellow-traveller's pocket; and as ii 
 seemed to have been left to me as an air- 
 loom, I took the libeity to examine the 
 contents. It was from his wife; and in 
 connection with my surmise, and with m\ 
 beach-story, it furnished the strongest pre- 
 sumptive evidence that I had rightly con- 
 jectured his identity. He was an "entirt 
 stranger to the driver; and I am scarceh 
 sorry that the absence of all clue to his ad- 
 dress at Gravesend, or in London, aliows^ 
 me a fair opportunity of laying before the 
 readers of the Table Book a sprightly epis- 
 tle, from a mother who leaves her home in 
 the metropolis to visit Gravesend, as a 
 watering place, with a couple of young 
 children whom she loves, and with the 
 pleasure of expecting and receiving an 
 occasional pop-visit from her good man. 
 
 CorY OF THE Letter. 
 
 Gravesend, Thursday aft. 
 
 Dear Henry, — We arrived here after 
 a very pleasant voyage in one of the 
 Calais steamers. Lobski, as usual, was 
 and is, quite at home. He really appears 
 to be the flower of Gravesend. He spars 
 with all the sailors who notice him, which 
 are not a few — nods to the old women — 
 halloes at the boys, and runs off with their 
 hoops — knocks at the windows with his 
 stick— hunts the fowls and pigs, because 
 they run away from him — and admires the 
 goats, because they are something new 
 As we walk on the beach he looks out for 
 " anoner great ship" — kisses the little girls 
 — thumps Mary— and torments me. The 
 young ones in the road call him " Cock- 
 Robin." He is, indeed, what E. D. calls 
 " a tainted jne." 
 
 635 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 'Jp'?n first coming down I immediately 
 commenced inquiries about the bathing, 
 ind found some who talked of miid-rub/jiug. 
 "^o one gave it such a character as Mrs. E. 
 — I met with a lady on the beach, who 
 -old me she had brought a little boy of hers 
 iown last year to be mud-rubbed ; but after 
 1 month's stay his legs were no way im- 
 oroved — she then bathtd him for a month, 
 ind the boy is a fine little fellow. I con- 
 iidered, as LohskPs legs really brought us 
 lere, it was best to bathe him at once ; and 
 iccordingly paid 5s. 3d. for a month, other- 
 vvise it is 1*. each time. Since eoing in, 
 vhich he took pretty well, considering the 
 instantaneous plunge, he calls to me when 
 le looks at the sea, " There is my tub, Ma." 
 tie was rather frightened, and thought he 
 I'ell into the water, but not near so much, 
 :he guide says, as most children are. 
 tlarry is getting fatter every day, and very 
 ealous of Bob when with me — but, out of 
 doors, the little fellow glories in seeing 
 L bski run on before. They grow very 
 fond of each other. 
 
 Monday will be a grand day here in 
 choosing the mayor, and at night a mock 
 election takes place, with fireworks, &c. — 
 and this day month Greenwich-fair is held 
 m the fields. The people here are any 
 thing but sociable, and " keep themselves 
 to themselves." The sailors are the most 
 obliging, and very communicative — they 
 usually carry Bob over any dirty place or so 
 forme — and, to tell the truth, I have almost 
 changed my mind from a parson to asailoi. 
 
 If you can, do come down on Sunday ; 
 but, by no means, empty-handed, or rather, 
 erapty-pocketed— ray cash is now very low, 
 though I have been as saving as possible. 
 I find no alteration in the price of provi- 
 sions except potatoes and milk — every thing 
 else I think is as in London. I should like 
 some pens, paper, and a book or two- — for 
 one, ihe Duchfss D'Orleans' Court of Louis 
 the XIV., I think it is — and any thing, as 
 
 poor Mrs. says, w'ery amusing ; for 
 
 the evenings are " cursedly " dull — stop — 
 .I's your own word — and as I have said it, 
 It may relieve a little of this evening's 
 innui. Whatever you bring you can put 
 into the little portmanteau, which I shall 
 iind very useful when we return. Bob 
 and Harry send you a kiss apiece, and 
 mine " I will twist up in a piece of paper, 
 and bring with me when I come to town." 
 
 This is a scribble — but Bob is asleep on 
 my lap. 
 
 I ;tin, my dear Harry, 
 
 Youis, very affectionately, 
 
 ««»«• *.»*« 
 
 N.B. Please to send .ne word the day of 
 the month, and what's o'clock. 
 
 Can you, Mr. Editor, imagine any thmg 
 more expressive of lonelines*', and desire for 
 intelligence, than this young wife's capital 
 N.B., with the execratory citation from her 
 husband's vocabulary — or more sportively 
 affectionate than the " twist op " of hei 
 kiss, with " Bob" Lobski asleep on her lap. 
 I like a letter, and a letter writer of this 
 sort mightdy : one with a fearless and 
 strong expression of feeling — as in the 
 epithet about the dull evenings, which 
 a female can scarcely extenuate, except 
 by such a confession and assignment to 
 its right owner, implying its impropriety, 
 as this female makes. How oddly, and 
 yet how well, her fondness for reading 
 and her domestic management collocate— 
 the Memoirs of the Court of Louis XIV. 
 and the price of provisions. How natural 
 is her momentary hesitation between mud- 
 rubbing and bathing. Then the instant 
 determination, so essential when there is 
 no time to spare, marks such "decision 
 of character!' — even the author of the, 
 excellent essay on that noble quality would' 
 admire it. I presume that " Lobski" may' 
 be rickety; and I take this opportunity of' 
 observing, on the authority of a medical' 
 friend, that town-bred children, who eai 
 profusely of sugar, and are pampe-'--' • ■♦'! 
 sweets, usually are. Sugar has the ci 
 of softening the bones, and causes the rick- 
 ets : it should form no pan of the food of | 
 rickety chddren, or only in a small degree ; '• 
 and such children should be allowed and 
 encouraged to eat common salt freely. 
 
 To return however to the letter. — 1 
 should really like to know the secret of the 
 allusion respecting' the " parson'' and the 
 " sailor," so naturally called forth by the 
 playful services of the tars; which, I have 
 observed, are ever exerted on such occa- 
 sions, and remind one of the labours of 
 Hercules with the distaff. Her account of 
 Lobski's " animated nature'' is so pretty 
 and true a sketch of boyish infancy, that 
 you may perceive the hand of the mo- 
 ther in every line. In the anticipation 
 of the mayoralty show and the fair, and 
 the unsociableness of Gravesend society, I 
 think I can trace something of the woman. 
 I hope she may live to see her boys " good 
 men and true," gladdening her heart by 
 fearless well-doing. She must look well to 
 Lobski: — he's a "Pickle.'' It is in the 
 power of a mother to effect more in the 
 formation of a child's early disposition 
 than the father. 
 
 eae 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 I>astly, that you may be assured of the 
 genuineness of the letter 1 found, and 
 have copied, the original accompanies this 
 communication to your publishers ; with 
 authority, if its ownership be claimed, to 
 deliver it to the claimant, on the production 
 of a line in the handwriting of the epistle 
 itself. 
 
 I am, Sir, &c. 
 
 Curio So. 
 
 " POOR BILLY W ." 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Some years ago my pen was employed to 
 attempt the sketch of a Character, but ap- 
 prehending that the identity might be too 
 strong and catch his eye, — he was my 
 friend, and agreatreader of "periodicals" — 
 I desisted. I meant to say nothing ill- 
 natured, yet I feared to offend a harmless 
 and inoffensive man, and I destroyed what 
 had given me an hour's amusement. The 
 reason no longer exists — death has re- 
 moved him. Disease and a broken spirit, 
 occasioned by commercial misfortunes and 
 imprudences, weighed him down, and the 
 little spliere in which he used to shine has 
 lost its chief attraction. 
 
 What a man he was ! — of the pure, 
 
 real London cut. Saint Paul's was stamped 
 on his forehead. He was the great oracle 
 of a certain coffee-house, not a hundred 
 miles from Gray's Inn ; where he never 
 dmed but in one box, nor placed himself 
 but in one situation. His tavern dignities 
 were astounding — the waiters trembled at 
 his approach — his orders were obeyed with 
 the nicest precision. For some years he 
 was the king of the room — he was never 
 deposed, nor did he ever abdicate. His 
 mode of calling for his pint of wine, and 
 the bankrupt part of the Gazette, had a 
 peculiar character past describing. I have 
 now and then seen a " rural,'' in the same 
 coffee-room, attempt the thing — but my 
 friend was " Hyperion to a satyr." 
 
 I have him in my eye now — tra- 
 versing to the city and back — regulating 
 his watch by the Royal Exchange clock 
 daily ; and daily boasting he had the best 
 '' goer" in England. Like his watch, he 
 was a curious piece of mechanism. He 
 seldom quitted London, for he was per- 
 suaded every thing would " stand stil. " 
 in his absence. It seemed, as though he 
 imagined that St. Paul's clock would not 
 strike — that the letters by the seneral post 
 would not be delivered. — "Was he not 
 
 right ? To me, the city was a " void " 
 
 without him. 
 
 What a referee he was ! He would 
 
 tell you the price of stocks on any past 
 day ; and dilate for hours on the interesting 
 details in the charters of the twelve city 
 companies. He had a peculiar mode oi 
 silencing an antagonist who ventured to 
 obtrude an opinion — by adducing a scriptu- 
 ral maxim, " Study to be quiet," and " mmd 
 your own business;" and now and then a 
 few Latin mottos, obtamed from the Tablet 
 of Memory, would be used with great feli- 
 city. His observations were made in an 
 elevated tone, ihey commanded attention — 
 he used to declare that " money was mo- 
 ney ; ' that " many people were great 
 fools;" and that " bankrupts could not be 
 expected to pay much." After a remark of 
 this kind he would take a pinch of snuff, 
 with ^rrave self-complacency, and throw his 
 snuffbox on the table with inimitable im- 
 portance — a species of dignified ingenuity 
 that lived and died with him. His medical 
 panacea was a certain " vegetable sirup," 
 whereon he would descant, by the hour 
 together, as a specific for all human mala- 
 dies, and afKim " your physicians and 
 
 apothecaries — mere humbugs !" 
 
 Then, he would astound the coffee-room 
 by declaring he once bid the king of Spain 
 £'700,000 for the island of Porto Rico— 
 this was his grandest effort, and if his ear 
 ever caught the question "Who is he?" 
 uttered by a country listener, his thrown- 
 back shoulders and exparjsion of chest be- 
 trayed the delight he felt, that his bounce 
 had been overheard. 
 
 Now and then, on a Saturday, he would 
 break his city chains, and travel to " The 
 Spaniard " at Hamj stead for a dinner; but 
 no argument or persuasion could get him 
 to Richmond. His reply was always the 
 same—" the hotels at Richmond employ 
 too much capital." He was an economist. 
 In his pleasantest humours, and he had 
 few unpleasant ones, after dining wkh him 
 I have sometimes importuned him to paj 
 the trhole bill ; his answer was peculiar and 
 conclusive; "My good friend," said he, 
 " if I had adopted the plan of paying for 
 others, I might have kept company with all 
 tiie princes and nobles in the land, instead 
 of plebeians like you." 
 
 His Sunday, till one o'clock, was passed 
 in "spelling the newspapers;" after that 
 he walked on the north side of Lincoln's 
 Inn Fields, with his hands behind him, till 
 three — he then entered Lincoln's Inn cha- 
 pel, and returned to boiled beef and suet 
 pudding at five, which were always brought 
 
 637 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 to hirii first. — If an old friend or two drop- 
 ped in. his happiness was complete. 
 
 He was a philosopher too, at least he in- 
 dulged in a sort of philosophy, and I am 
 not sure that it was not a good sort, although 
 not a very elevated or poetical one. He 
 evinced a disregard for life. The sooner 
 " we are all dead the better " was one of 
 his favourite phrases. And now he is dead. 
 — Peace to his ashes I 
 
 This is the orily tablet raised to his me- 
 mory; the inscription is feeble, but it has 
 the novelty of truth, and may occasion 
 some of his many acquaintances to remem- 
 ber the quaintness and eccentricities of 
 
 " Poor Billy W ." 
 
 W. H. 
 
 ABORIGENES. 
 
 This word is explained in every diction- 
 ary, English, Latin, or French, as a general 
 name for the indigenous inhabitants of a 
 country; when in reality it is the proper 
 name of a peculiar people of Italy, who 
 were not indigenous, but supposed to have 
 been a colony of Arcadians. The error 
 has been founded chiefly on the supposed 
 derivation of the word from ah origine. 
 Never (except in Swift's ludicrous work) 
 was a more eccentric etymology — a prepo- 
 sition, with its governed case, made plural 
 by the modern final s ! The university of 
 Oxford, some years ago, added to this sole- 
 cism by a public prize poem on the Abo- 
 riginal Britons. 
 
 The most rational etymology of the word 
 seems to be a compound of the Greek 
 words ivo, i^os, and yitos, a race of moun- 
 taineers. So Virgil calls them, 
 
 " — Genus indocile so dispersum montibus altis." 
 
 It seems more probable, that the name of 
 the oldest settlers in Italy should have a 
 Greek than a Latin derivation. 
 
 The preceding remarks are by a late 
 poet-laureate, Mr. Pye, who concludes by 
 inquiring, what should we say of the ety- 
 mologist vvho were to deduce the name of 
 an ancient British tribe from the modern 
 English? 
 
 TASTING DAYS. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — Few men enjoy, or deserve better 
 iving than the citizens of London. When 
 
 they are far on the journey of life, and have 
 acquired a useful fame in their respective 
 companies, their elevation is delightful 
 and complacent. Not a subject is pro- 
 posed, nor a matter of reference considered, 
 but, as a living author has observed, " i| 
 must begin or finish with a dinner.'' Thuj 
 originated a most exquisite anticipation to 
 the select few, the " Tasting Day," — a 
 day which precedes all good general tdiiing 
 and drinking days. Mr. Abernethy (who, by 
 the by, is not afraid of dish or glass) may 
 lecture profitably on abstinence, and the 
 " Lancet" may breathe a satirical vein, yet, 
 in compliance with social fellowship and 
 humane gourmanderie, London citizens 
 proudly patronise the preceding and suc- 
 ceeding engagements of" Tasting Days." 
 I am, sir. 
 
 Your brother cit. 
 
 An Old Taster. 
 
 CURIOUS SIGN. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 " A little learning is a dangerous thing." 
 
 So said Pope, and so say I. At Halton 
 East, near Skipton-in Craven, the following 
 inscription arrests the attention of every 
 passer-by : — 
 
 Watkinson's 
 
 ACADAM>" 
 
 Whatever man has done man may do 
 
 Also 
 
 Dealer in Groceries, 
 
 &c. 
 
 Tim. T 
 
 ORDERS TO MARCH. 
 
 The following parody, on a stanza of the 
 " Blue Bonnets over the Border,'" is' put 
 forth, as an advertisement, by a hatter, at 
 Brighton, named March. 
 
 March ! March ! has the best hats to sell, 
 
 Try him, you'll find him no wily deceiver; 
 March ! — march! go and he'll use you well. 
 His IS the warehouse for buying a beaver. 
 Come then, my masters, 
 Doff your old castors, 
 Raggett and torn, or howe'er in disorder: 
 For a new topper, a 
 Round hat or opera, 
 March is the man, so give him an order. 
 March 1 Mareii I has the best hats to sdl, «:c 
 
 638, 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 TUB BLOOM-MAKERS AT SHIRLEY COMMON, SURRET., 
 
 A homely picture of a homely place, 
 "Where rustic labour plies its honest toil. 
 And gains a competence. 
 
 On a fine snmmei i 'lay I a'iglited, with 
 my friend W , fi-om llie roof of a stage- 
 coach at Croydon, for a by-way walk, in 
 a part unknown to both. We struck to 
 the eastward throus^h Addiscombe — it 
 IS scarcely a village, and only remarkable 
 for the East India Company having seated 
 k with a military establishment ; which, as 
 peaceable persons, we had r.o desire to 
 see, though we could not help observing 
 some cannon in a meadow, as smooth- 
 shaven, and with as little of nature-like 
 aspect, as a drill-sergeant's face. Further 
 onward we oiet a well-raounted horseman, 
 whom some of my old readers may easily 
 imagine 1 could not fail to remember — 
 
 '< mine host " of the <' Swar. " at West 
 Wickham — the recognition was mutual 
 and being in search of an adventure, I 
 asked him for a direction to any little pub- 
 lie-house within a mile or two, that was 
 worth looking at on account of its antiquity 
 and rustic appearance. He despaired ol 
 any thing " absolutely" of the kind in the 
 neighbourhood; but, from his description 
 of what he thought might be "something" 
 Sear it, we took a lane to the left, and soon 
 came to the house. Like too many of oui 
 ancient churches it had been " repaired 
 and beautified " — deprived ot every thing 
 venerable — and was as unpicturesque as 
 the overseers of tiie reparations could make 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 639 
 
 2T 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 .t We foand belter entertainment within 
 than without — a cheerful invitation to the 
 bar, where we had a cool glass of good ale 
 with a biscuit, and the sight of a fine healthy 
 family as they successively entered for 
 something or other that was wanted. Having 
 refreshed and exchanged " good^morning " 
 with the good-natured proveditors of " good 
 entertainment for man and horse," we 
 turned to the left, and at a stone's throw 
 crossed into a lane, having a few labourers' 
 cottages a little way along on the right, and 
 soon came to the Broom-maker's, represented 
 in the engraving. 
 
 We had a constant view all the way up 
 tiie lane, from beyond the man climbing 
 the ladder, of the flickering linen at the 
 point of the rod waving on the broom- 
 :j£ack. The flag was erected by the labourers 
 on the carrying of the last shoulder-load 
 of the rustic pile — an achievement quite as 
 important to the interests of the Broom- 
 maker, as the carrying of Seringapatam to 
 the interests of the " Honourable Com- 
 pany." 
 
 llaving passed the Broom-maker's, which 
 stands at the corner of the lane we had 
 come up, and being then in the roac^ across 
 Shirley Common towards Addington, we 
 interchanged expressions of regret that we 
 had not fallen in with any thing worth no- 
 tice. A look-back induced a halt ; we 
 returned a few steps, and taking seats at 
 the angle on the bank, I thought I perceived 
 "capabilities," in the home-view before our 
 eyes, for a Table Book notice. The loaded 
 man, near the pile of poling, is represented 
 proceeding towards a spot at some thirty 
 yards distance, where a tean.ed waggon- 
 frame was standing. It belonged to *he 
 master of the place- — a tall, square-snoul- 
 dered, middle-aged, active man, who looked 
 as one having authority — who laboured, 
 and was a master of labourers. He, and 
 another man, and a lad, were employed, 
 " all w-thout hurry or care," in loading 
 the wain with poling. As I stood observ- 
 ing their progress he gave ine a frank 
 " Good-day, sir !" and I obtained some in- 
 formation from him respecting his business. 
 His name is on his carts " John Bennett, 
 Shirley Common." He calls himself a 
 " Broom-maker and Wood-dealer," and he 
 has more the character of a Wood-cutter 
 than the figure of the Wood-man in the 
 popular print. He and his men cut the 
 materials for broom-making chiefly from 
 the neighbouring common, and the wood 
 he deals in from adjacent woods and copses. 
 He sells the greater part of his brooms to 
 shopkeepers and other consumers in Streat- 
 
 ham and Camberwell. Much of his poling 
 is sent farther off. A good deal, he told 
 me, had gone to the duke of Devonshire 
 for fencing; the load then preparing wa? 
 for like use on a farm at Strentham, belong- 
 ing to Mr. Hoare, of the Golden Cross, 
 
 Charing Cross. He eyed W seated 
 
 on the bank, sketching the spot, and said, 
 that as soon as he had finis.hed loading the 
 wain, he would show us what was '' going 
 on in-doors." Accordingly when he had 
 
 concluded he walked with me to W , 
 
 who, by that time, had nearly finished. 
 Seeing what had been effected in that way, 
 he had " a sort of notion that the gentleman 
 might like, perhaps, to take off an old 
 broom-maker, then at work, inside — as 
 curious an old chap as a man might walk 
 a summer's day without seeing — one that 
 nobody could make either head or tail of — 
 what you call an origiual." 
 
 W and I were as desirous of some- 
 thing new as were the ancient inhabitants 
 of Athens ; and in search of it we entered 
 the broom-manufactory — a small, warm, 
 comfortable barn, with a grateful odour in 
 it from the heath and birch-wood. Four or 
 five persons were busy at work. Foremost 
 within the door was the unmistakeable old 
 *' original." Like his fellow-workmen he 
 wore a leathern apron, and a heavy leathern 
 sleeve on the left arm ; and with that hand 
 and arm he firmly held and compressed the 
 heath into round bundles, of proper con- 
 sistency and size, and strongly bound them 
 with the other. He was apparently between 
 sixty and seventy years of age, and his 
 labour, which to a young man seemed light, 
 was to him heavy, for it required muscular 
 strength. There was some difficulty in 
 getting him to converse. He was evidently 
 suspicious ; and, as he worked, his appre- 
 hensions quickened him to restlessness and 
 over-exertion. To " take him off" while 
 thus excited, and almost constantly in a 
 bending posture, was out of the question. 
 I therefore handed him a jug of his master's 
 home-brewed, and told him our wish. His 
 countenance liehted up, and I begged him 
 to converse with me for a few minutes, 
 and to look me full in the face ; I also 
 assured him of the " wherewithal " for a 
 jug of ale at night. He willingly entered 
 into the compact, but the inquietude natural 
 to his features was baffling to the hand that 
 held the pencil. By this time the rumour 
 that " Old Davy " was having his head 
 " taken off" brought his master's wife, and 
 her daughters and sons, from the cottage, 
 and seveial workmen from another out- 
 house, to witness the execution. Oppo- 
 
 640 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ^!te 10 hira was W with his sketdi- 
 
 hook ; his desire for a " three-quarter " 
 view of the " original " occasioned me to 
 seat myself on a heap of birch sideways, 
 that the old man's face might be directed 
 to me in the required position. The group 
 around us was numerous and differently 
 interested ; some kept their eyes upon " Old 
 Davy ;" others upon me, while I talked to 
 hira; as many as could command a view of 
 the sketch-book were intent upon the pro- 
 gress of the portrait; and a few, who were 
 excluded, endeavoured on tiptoe, and with 
 outstretched necks, to obtain peeps at what 
 was g"oing on. W. steadily employed on 
 the likeness — the old man " sitting," cun- 
 ningly smiling, looking unutterably wise at 
 me, while W was steadily endeavour- 
 ing for the likeness — the surrounding spec- 
 tators, and the varied expressions of their 
 various faces — the gleams of broken light 
 from the only opening that admitted it, 
 the door-way — the broad masses of shadow, 
 and the rich browns of the shining birch 
 and spreading heath, rudely and unequally 
 piled, formed a picture which I regretted 
 
 that W was a prominent figure in, 
 
 because, engaged as he was, he could nei- 
 ther see nor sketch it. 
 
 This old labourer's eccentricity was ex- 
 ceedingly amusing. He slid his name was 
 David Boxall ; he knew not, or would not 
 know, either where he was born, or where 
 he had worked, or any thing more of him- 
 self, than that there he was ; " and now," 
 said he, " make of me what you can." 
 " Ah !" said his master, in a whisper, " if 
 you can make anything of him, sir, it's more 
 than we have been able to do." The old 
 fellow had a dissenting" humph " for every 
 thing advanced towards him — except the 
 ale-jug. The burthen of his talk was — he 
 thought about nothing, cared about nothing 
 —not he — why should he ? Yet he was a 
 perpetual inquirer. Craftily leering his 
 c|Uick-glancing eye while he asked a ques- 
 tion, he waited, with a sarcastic smile, for an 
 answer; and when given, out came his 
 usual gruff " humph," and " how do you 
 know .y He affected to listen to explana- 
 tions, while he assumed a knowing grin, to 
 persuade-his hearers that he knew better. 
 His knowledge, however, was incommuni- 
 cable, and past all finding out. He conti- 
 nually indulged in " hum !" and " ha !" and 
 a sly look ; and these, to his rustic auditors, 
 M'ere signs of wisdom. He was what they 
 called a "knowing old chap." He had 
 been the best broom-maker in the manu- 
 fiJCtory, and had earned excellent wages. 
 When I saw him he was infirm, and did 
 
 not get more than fourteen or sixteen shil- 
 lings a week. Mr. Bennett's men are paid 
 piece-work, and can easily earn a guinea 
 week. After the sketching was over, and 
 his people had retired to their labour, we 
 walked with him through his little garder 
 of fiuit-trees and vegetables to another shed, 
 where they fashioned broom-handles, and 
 some common husbandry implements of 
 wood. On recrossing the garden he ga- 
 thered us cherries from the trees, and dis- 
 coursed on his hives of bees by the hedge- 
 side. Having given something to his men 
 to spend in drink, and to " Old Davy" some- 
 thing especially, we brought off his head, 
 which would cost more to exhibit than a 
 better subject, and therefore it has since 
 rested without disturbance. 
 
 From the Broom-maker's at Shirley 
 Common, we had a pleasant walk into Ad- 
 Jington, where there is a modern-buili 
 palace of the archbishop of Canterbury, 
 with extensive old gardens and large hot- 
 houses, and several good houses. VVe had 
 passed Mr. Maberly's seat and grounds on 
 our way. A turn in the road gave us a 
 view of Addington church in a retired 
 spot, beyond a row of town-built dwellings, 
 with little gardens in front, and a shop or 
 two. The parish clerk lives in one oi 
 them. Upon request he accompanied us, 
 with the keys, to the church, of ancient struc- 
 ture, lately trimmed up, and enclosed by a 
 high wall and gates. There was nothing 
 within worth seeing, except a tomb wiih 
 disfigured effigies, and a mutilaled ill-kep* 
 register-book, which, as it belonged to the 
 immediate parish of the archbishop, seem- 
 ed very discreditable. The " Cricketers," 
 nearly opposite to the church, accommo- 
 dated us with as good refreshment as the 
 village afforded, in a capacious parlour. The 
 house is old, with a thatched roof. We 
 found it an excellent resting-place ; every 
 way better, as an inn, than we could have 
 expected in a spot so secluded. We had 
 rambled and loitered towards it, and fell 
 ourselves more wearied wheri about to de- 
 part than we wished ; and, as a farmer's 
 family cart stood at the door, with the farmer 
 himself in it, I proposed to W. to attempt 
 gaining a lift. The farmer's son, who drove 
 it, said, that it was going our way, and that 
 a ride was at our service. The driver got 
 up m front, W. followed, and when I had 
 achieved the climbing, I found him in con 
 llict with a young calf, which persisted in 
 licking his clothes. He was soon reiievea 
 from the inconvenience, by its attentions, in 
 like manner, being shifted to me. The o!a 
 farmer was a little more tij'ji " fresh," aiio 
 
 641 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 his son a little less. We had a laughable jolt 
 upstanding, along a little frequented road ; 
 and during our progress I managed to bind 
 the calf to good behaviour. Leaving West 
 Wjckham on our left, and its pleasant 
 church and manor-house on the right, we 
 ascended Keston Common, and passed over 
 it, as we had nearly all the way, in merry 
 conversation with the old farmer, who 
 dwelt with great glee on his youthful fame, 
 as one of the best cricket-players in Kent. 
 We alighted before we came to the " Fox " 
 public-house, where our companions ac- 
 cepted of a magnum of stiff grog in recom- 
 pense for their civility. From thence we 
 skirted llolwood, till we arrived at my old 
 " head-quarters, the " Cross " at Keston ; 
 and there we were welcomed by " mine 
 host," Mr. Young, and took tea. A walk to 
 Bromley, and a stage from thence, brought 
 us to " the Elephant" — and so home. ,„ 
 
 THE WOOD FEAST. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — In the autumn it is customary at 
 Templecoomb, a small village in Somerset- 
 shire, and its neighbourhood, for the stew- 
 ard of the manor to give a feast, called the 
 " Wood feast," to farmers and other con- 
 sumers that buy their wood for hurdles, 
 rick-fasts in thatching, poles, spikes, and 
 sundry other uses. 
 
 When .the lots are drawn in the copses, 
 and each person has paid down his money, 
 the feast is provided " of the best," and 
 few attend it but go home with the hilarity 
 which good cheer inspires. This annual 
 treat has its uses ; for the very recollection 
 of the meeting of old friends and keeping 
 of old customs gives an impetus to industry 
 which generally secures for his lordship his 
 tenants' Wood money — most excellent fuel 
 for the consumption of the nobility. 
 
 I am, Sir, your constant leader, 
 
 Sept. 1827. *, *, *. 
 
 CHOOSING COMMON CONSTABLES. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 It is annually the custom to hold a meet- 
 mg, duly summoned, on Hartley Common, 
 Wilts, for the choice of new constables for 
 the hundreds of the county. Lots are cast 
 for those who are to serve for the ensuing 
 year; and afterwards the parties present 
 adjourn to a house for refreshment, which 
 CQSts each individual about seventeen shil- 
 lings. This mtiy almost be regarded as an 
 equivalent for serving the office — the lots 
 mostly fall ou the absentees. 
 
 #arn'flt ^Blapd^ 
 
 No. XXXVL 
 
 [From " Love's Dominion,'' a Dramatic 
 Pastoral," by Richard Flecknoe, 1634.] 
 
 Invocation to Silence, 
 
 81111-1)070 Silence, thon that art 
 FLoodgate of the deeper heart ; 
 Oflfspring of a heavenly kind ; 
 Frost o' th' mouth and thaw o' th' miud ; 
 Secresy's Confident, and he 
 That makes religion Mystery ; 
 Admiration's speaking'st tongne, — 
 Leave thy desart shades, among 
 Reverend Hermits' hallow'd cells. 
 Where retir'd'st Devotion dwells: 
 With thy Enthusiasms come ; 
 Seize this Maid, and strike her dumb. 
 
 Fable. 
 
 Love and Death o' th' way once meetmg, 
 Having past a friendly greeting. 
 Sleep their weary eye-lids closing. 
 Lay them down, themselves reposing ; 
 When this fortune did befall 'era. 
 Which after did so much appal 'em ; 
 Love, whom divers caros molested. 
 Could not sleep ; but, whilst Death rested, 
 All away in haste he posts him. 
 But his haste full dearly costs him ; 
 For it chanced, that, going to sleeping. 
 Both had giv'n their darts in keeping 
 Unto Night ; who (Error's Mother) 
 Blindly knowing not th' one from th' other, 
 Gave Love Death's, and ne'er perceiv'd it, 
 Whilst as blindly Love receiv'd it : 
 Since which time, their darts confounding, 
 Love now kills, instead of wounding ; 
 Death, our hearts with svveetness filling. 
 Gently wounds, instead of killing. 
 
 P. 
 
 [From " Andronicus," a Tragedy, by Phi- 
 louax Lovekin, lb61.] 
 
 Effect of Religioxts Structures on dif- 
 ferent mind's. 
 
 Crato. I grieve the Chapel was defaced ; 'twas 
 stately. 
 
 Cleohulus. I love no such triumphant Churches — 
 They scatter my devotion ; whilst my sight 
 Is courted to observe their sumptuous cost, 
 I find my heart lost in my eyes ; 
 Whilst that a holy horror seems to dwell 
 Within a dark obscure and humble cell. 
 
 Crato. But I love Churches, mount up to the skio* 
 For my devotion rises with their roof : 
 Tbsreia mv soul doth heav'ti anticipate 
 
 64i 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Song for Sleep. 
 
 Come, Somnus, with thy potent charms, 
 And seize this Captive in thy arms; 
 Ana sweetly drop on every sense 
 Thy soul- refreshing influence. 
 His sight, smell, hearing, touch, and taste. 
 Unto the peace do thou bind fast. — 
 On working brains, at school all day, 
 At night thou dost bestow a play. 
 And troubled minds thou dost set free ; 
 Thou mak'st both friends and foes agree : 
 All are alike, who live by breath. 
 In thee, and in thy brother Death. 
 
 From " Don Quixote," a Comedy, in three 
 parts, by Thomas D'Urfey, 1 694.] 
 
 Dirge, at the hearse of Chrysostom. 
 
 Sleep, poor Youth, sleep in peace. 
 Relieved from love and mortal care ; 
 
 Whilst we, that pine in life's disease, 
 Uncertain-bless'd, less happy are. 
 
 Couch'd in the dark and silent grave. 
 No ills of fate thou now can'st fear ; 
 
 Iji vain would tyrant Power enslave. 
 Or scornful Beauty be severe. 
 
 Wars, that do fata] storms disperse. 
 Far from thy happy mansion keep ; 
 
 Earthquakes, that shake the uE-ivexse, 
 Can't rock thee into sounder sleep. 
 
 With all the charms of peace possest. 
 
 Secure from life's torment or pain. 
 Sleep, and indulge thyself with rest ; 
 
 Nor dream thou e'er shall rise again.* 
 
 C. L. 
 
 ^SOP IN RUSSIA. 
 
 Peter the Great's Summer Garden. 
 
 Schrseder, a celebrated Swedish gardener, 
 was employed by the czar to execute a plan 
 he had approved of, for the gardens of his 
 summer palace. The work was already 
 far advanced, and among the difi'erent parts 
 that were finished, were two large divi- 
 sions adjoining to the principal avenue, 
 opposite to each other, enclosed with a 
 hedge, and covered with turf. The czar, 
 who came often to see the progress of his 
 undertaking, on observing the two grass- 
 plots, conceived a design of converting this 
 place of mere amusement into a kind of 
 
 • i. c. " may thy sleep be so profound, as not even 
 by dreams of a resurrection to be disturbed:" iue 
 iBOgnage of passion, not of liincere profaneness. 
 
 school. ** I am very well satisfied," saja 
 the czar to the gardener, " with your per- 
 formance, as well 2.A with the variety and 
 beauty of the several divisions that are 
 finished : however, you must not be angry 
 if I change the form of these two spots of 
 ground. I should wish that the persons 
 who walk in the garden might find the 
 m«ans of cultivating their minds ; but in 
 what way can we contrive this ?" 
 
 " Sire," said the gardener, " I know no 
 other than to put books on the seats, pro- 
 tected from the rain, that those who walk 
 in the garden may read when they sit 
 down." 
 
 " This is not far from my meaning," 
 said the czar, laughing, " but, books m a 
 public garden ! that will never do. Ano- 
 ther idea has struck me. I should like to 
 erect statues here, representing the different 
 subjects of ^sop's fables. For this pur- 
 pose the giound must be differently laid 
 out, that the division of the several parts 
 may correspond- with the fables 1 am 
 speaking of.'' 
 
 Schrgeder executed his orders with all 
 possible intelligence and despatch, and 
 much to the satisfaction of the emperor. 
 
 The garden consisted of four squares, 
 with walks in the form of labyrinths lead- 
 ing to them. The angles were ornamented 
 with figures, representing different subjects 
 from .ftlsop's fables, with a jet d'eau con- 
 cealed in a little basin, under *noss or 
 ruins, and surrounded with shells brought 
 from lake llmen, or that of Novogorod. 
 Most of the animals were as large as life, 
 and of lead, gilt. They ejected water from 
 their mouths, according to their various 
 attitudes. In this way the walks were 
 ornamented with sixty fables, forming as 
 many jets d'eau. At the entrance was a 
 statue of ./3i,sop, likewise of lead, and gilt. 
 
 The czar very naturally supposed that 
 few people would be able to discover the 
 meaning of these figures, and that fewer 
 would comprehend the instruction they 
 were designed to convey. His majesty 
 therefore ordered a post to be placed near 
 each of them, and to these posts sheets of 
 tin were fastened, on which the fables and 
 their morals were written in the Ilussian 
 language. 
 
 This place was the czar's favourite walk; 
 in its shades he often passed whole hours, 
 recreating himself among these creatures oi 
 his creation. 
 
 This garden was afterwards nearly de- 
 stroyed by a terrible tempest and inunda- 
 tion. The trees it contained were torn up 
 by the roots, and the green hedges and 
 
 643 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 fip;ures of animals aamaged, either by the 
 fall of the timber or by the elements. The 
 trees were raised, put into their places 
 again, and propped up ; but as it was not 
 possible to repair the injuries done to the 
 hgures, the czar's " summer garden." ceased 
 *o be a " garden of instruction." 
 
 LOVE OF GARDENS 
 
 In distinguished Men. 
 
 Juvenal represents Lucan reposing in 
 a garden.* Tasso pictures llinaldo sitting 
 beneath the shade in a flagrant meadow: 
 Virgil describes Anchises seated beneath 
 sweet-scented bay-trees ; and Eneas, as 
 reclining, remote from all society, in a 
 deep and winding valley.f Gassendi, 
 who ingrafted the doctrine of Galileo on 
 the theory of Epicurus, took not greater 
 pleasure in feasting his youthful imagina- 
 tion by gazing on the moon, than Cyrus, 
 in the cultivation of flowers. — " I have 
 measured, dug, and planted the large 
 garden, which I have at the gate of Baby- 
 lon," said that prince ; " and never, when 
 my health permit, do I dine until I have 
 laboured two hours in my garden : if there 
 is nothing to be done, 1 labour in my 
 orchard." Cyrus is also said to have 
 planted all the Lesser Asia. Ahasuerus 
 was accustomed to quit the charms of the 
 banquet to indulge the luxury of his 
 bower :| and the conqueror of Mithridates 
 enjoyed the society of- his friends, and the 
 wine of Falernium, in the splendid gar- 
 dens, which were an honour to his name. 
 Dion gave a pleasure-garden to Speucip- 
 pus as a mark of peculiar regard. § Lin- 
 naeus studied in a bower : Buffon in his 
 summer-house; and when Demetrius Po- 
 liorcetes took the island of Rhodes, he 
 found Protogenes at his palette, painting 
 in his arbour. Petrarch was never hap- 
 pier than when indulging the innocent 
 yjleasures of his garden. — " I have made 
 myself two," says he, in one of his epis- 
 
 • The epithet he applies to hurtis is sufficiently 
 curious. The scholiast cites Pliny, 1. xxxvi. c. 1, 2. 
 The style of the Roman gardens in Trajan's time is 
 expressively marked ; 
 
 Contentus fama jaceat Lucanus in hortis 
 Marmoreis. Juv. Sat. vii. I. 79. 
 
 It was very well said by one of the first women of the 
 present age, (Mrs. Grant,) that Darwin's Botanic Garden 
 IS an Hesperian garden, glittering all over; the fruit 
 gold, the leaves silver, and the stems brass. 
 
 t Eneid, lib. vi. 1. 679- lib. viii. 6u9. 
 
 \ Esther, vii. 7. Tissaphernes had a garden, much 
 nsemblirg an English park, which he called Alcibiades, 
 
 I Plutarch in Vit. Dion. 
 
 ties ; " I do not imagine they are to be 
 equalled in all the world : I should feel 
 myself inclined to be angry with fortune^ 
 if there were any so beautiful out of Italy." 
 Many of the wisest and the best of men 
 have signalized their love of gardens and 
 shrubberies, by causing themselves to be 
 buried in them ; a custom once in frequent 
 practice among the ancient Jews.* Plato 
 was buried in the groves of Academus; 
 and sir William Temple, though be ex- 
 pected to be interred in Westminster abbey, 
 gave orders for his heart to be enclosed in 
 a silver casket, and placed under a sun- 
 dial, in that part of his garden immediately 
 opposite the window of his library, from 
 which he was accustomed to contemplate 
 the beauties and wonders of the creation, 
 in the society of a beloved sister, f 
 
 DUTCH ROYAL GARDEN 
 
 AND SCHEVELING SCENERY. 
 
 Described by the Deputation of thi 
 Caledonian Horticultural Society. 
 
 August 26, 1817. Late in the afternoon, 
 we took a walk to the northward of the 
 Hague, on the Amsterdam road, and en- 
 tered a forest of large and ancient trees, by 
 much the finest which we have seen on 
 the continent, and evidently several cen- 
 turies old. Many oaks, elms, and beeches 
 were magnificent. Some of the oaks, at 
 two feet from the ground, measured twelve 
 feet in circumference, and had free and 
 clean boles to the height of about forty 
 feet. This wood, in all probability, gave 
 rise to the name of the city ; for haag (the 
 Dutch for Hague) signifies thicket or wood. 
 It was originally a seat of the counts oi 
 Holland, and is oftert to this day called 
 GraaPs Haag, or Earl's Wood .J 
 
 Although we had no guide, we easily 
 found the palace called the " House in the 
 Wood," about two miles distant from the 
 Hague ; and having inquired for the gar- 
 dener, Mr. Jacobus Munts, we readily 
 procured access to the royal garden. It is 
 kept in good order, and is now arranged 
 in what is here reckoned the English style, 
 the old formal hedges, and fantastically 
 shaped trees, having been in a great mea- 
 
 • In the middle of the Campo Santo, which is th( 
 most ancient burying-place at Pisa, is a garden form- 
 ed of earth, brought from the neighbourhood of Jeru 
 salem. 
 
 t Philosophy of Natnre. 
 
 % Haag., hag, haigh, &c. are explained in the Evtrji 
 Day-Booh. Art, Hagbush-lane. — Ed. 
 
 644 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 sure removed. The grounds are now tra- 
 versed by serpentine walks, laid witli sand : 
 these wind among groves of forest-trees, 
 which have never been subjected to the 
 shears; but the flexures are much too 
 regular. Water, as usual, is the only de- 
 fence, or line of separation, from the con- 
 terminous* fields, or from the high road. 
 These ditches, though broad, brimful, and 
 kept tolerably clean, have a dull aspect. 
 Shrubs and flowers are planted in small 
 compartments, cut out in the grassy cover- 
 ing of the lawn. The figures of these com- 
 partments are different, circles, ovals, and 
 crescents. A bed of dahlias was now in 
 flower, but presented nothing uncommon. 
 Indeed, we learned that the collection had 
 been procured from Antwerp only the year 
 before. The plants in the borders and 
 shrubberies were in general of the more 
 common kinds ; but some rarities also 
 appeared. Among these the passijlora 
 ccerulea was here displaying its gorgeous 
 flowers in the shrubbery"; but we observed 
 that it was contained in a pot sunk in the 
 earth, and not well concealed. Rosa Penn- 
 sylvanica was very abundant, and seemed 
 not only to be healthy, but to produce its 
 flowers freely. 
 
 Close by the palace is a small green- 
 house, erected in 1815 for the princess of 
 Orange. It contains a few pretty good 
 plants ; but there is nothing becoming 
 royalty either in the size of the house or 
 the choice nature of the collection. Datura 
 arborea was now in flower, and filled the 
 place with its odour; and the white variety 
 of vinca rosea was in bloom. There are 
 here no hot-houses for the forcing of fruit ; 
 nor did there appear to be any thing re- 
 markable among the hardy fruits cultivated 
 in the garden. 
 
 This garden at the House in the Wood, 
 is the only one worth visiting at the Hague, 
 with the exception perhaps of Mr Fagel's. 
 The Portland gardens, belonging to the 
 Bentincks, though celebrated in former 
 times, are now in a neglected and even 
 ruinous condition. 
 
 SCHEVELING. 
 
 Avenues of Trees. 
 
 August 27, 1817. Early this morning 
 we walked towards the fishing village of 
 Scheveling, by a grand avenue lined with 
 trees, of which all Dutchmen are justly 
 proud. The length of this avenue is nearly 
 
 • Conterminous i bordering. — Johnson. Ed. 
 
 a mile and a half; and it is so straight ahci 
 so level, that the village church very soon 
 appeared at the termination of the vista 
 next the sea. The tallest and finest trees 
 are Dutch elm, abele, oak, and beech. 
 Many of these are of great size, and have 
 probably seen more than two centuries.* 
 Sycamore, hornbeam, birch, and different 
 species of willow, are occasionally inter- 
 spersed. There are properly three roads 
 ill this noble avenue : a central one for 
 carriages, one for horsemen, and another 
 for foot-passengers. The breadth of the 
 plantation, on each side, is on an average 
 about seventy feet. In some places, the 
 old trees appear to have been cut down ; 
 but their places are now supplied by others. 
 Almost all the new-planted trees are white 
 poplars, which are of rapid growth. 
 
 Fishery — Fishing Vessels, &c. 
 
 We breakfasted in the Hoffvan Holland 
 inn, the windows of which look out upon 
 the ocean. In addition to the usual repast 
 of coffee and rolls, a countryman of our 
 own, whom we chanced here to meet, had 
 shrimps served to breakfast, which had 
 been shown to him all alive a few minutes 
 before : by our desire, we had tongvischen, 
 or soles, fresh from the sea. While at 
 breakfast, we observed, that more than two 
 dozen of small sloops, which we easily 
 recognised to be fishing-busses, were mak- 
 ing directly for the low sandy beach, al- 
 though it was at present a lee-shore, with 
 a considerable surf. The sails were of 
 various hues ; Isabella yellow, chocolate 
 brown, and milk white; and this intermix- 
 ture of colours, set off by the brilliancy of 
 a clear morning sun, increased the pictu- 
 resque effect. Not a little to our surprise, 
 the crews did not shorten sail, till their 
 barks were just involved among the waves 
 and breakers; and in this odd situation, 
 generally after taking the ground, we saw 
 them deliberately cast anchor. The pro- 
 priety of the shape given to the hulls of 
 these busses, was now manifest to us ; a 
 small British-built sloop would have been 
 in danger of breaking up, while they shoved 
 along among the breakers in perfect secu- 
 rity. Indeed, that Dutch vessels in gene- 
 ral should, of design, be built strong or 
 clumsy, and have their hulks well rounded 
 below, can only appear surprising to those 
 who have not witnessed the nature of the 
 
 • I-e Lonp. indeed, puts this beyond doubt; for, 
 writing in 1630, he describes this avenue as beingf then 
 " adorned with fine trees." Kabinct van Outhadan, 
 ice. p-iblished in 1732. 
 
 645 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 seas which they have to navigate at home, 
 where they ii;ust often take the ground, 
 and where they not unfrequently sail right 
 against the shore. As soon as the anchors 
 were cast, the boatmen, wading up to the 
 middle in the waves, brought out the fish 
 on their shoulders ; the sands were covered 
 with persons of both sexes and of all ages, 
 who began to carry off the cargoes, in broad 
 baskets, on their heads. The principal 
 kinds of fish were plaice, turbot, sole, 
 skate, and thornback ; a very few cod and 
 smelts made up the list. The Dutch gave 
 the name schol to our plaice : and our sole 
 they call tong. Their name for the smelt 
 is spiering ; which nearly approaches that 
 by which this little fish is distinguished in 
 the Edinburgh market, viz. spirliug. 
 
 Coast — Fishwomen — Cap.t Dogs.^ 
 
 A continuous broad and high lank of 
 sand lines the coast as far as we could see, 
 and forms the powerful protection of this 
 part of Holland against the inroads of tho 
 ocean. Without this provision of nature^ 
 the country would be inundated by ever/ 
 extraordinary tide and gale ; for it may be 
 truly said, " the broad ocean leans again^.t 
 the land." On the sand-hills, the same 
 kind of plants prevail as in similar situa- 
 tions in England ; sea-holly and buckthorn, 
 usparago and Galium verum, with sea-mar- 
 ran, arundo arenaria, which last is encou- 
 raged here, being found very useful in 
 binding the sand. In some places wheat- 
 straw had been dibbled in, as at Ostend, 
 in order to promote the same object. Con- 
 sidering Scheveling- as a fishing-village, we 
 were greatly pleased with it : it was ex- 
 tremely neat and clean, and formed a per- 
 fect contrast with our Newhaven and Fish- 
 errow,* the lanes of which are generally 
 encumbered with all sorts of filth. We 
 must confess, too, that in tidiness of dress 
 and urbanity of manners, the fishwomen of 
 Scheveling are equally superior to those of 
 the Scottish villages just mentioned. 
 
 n^ ,ve returned to the Hague, numbers 
 of the inhabitants were also on their way to 
 the fish-market, some carrying baskets of 
 fish on their heads, and others employing 
 three or four dogs to convey the fish in 
 small light carts. We had read in books, 
 of these draught dogs being well used, and 
 fat and sleek ; but we regret to say, that 
 those which we saw were generally poor 
 half-starved looking animals, bearing no 
 
 • Two small towns on the shore of the Frith of 
 Forth, near Edinburgh, chiefly inhabited by fishermen 
 nd their families. 
 
 equivocal marks of ill usage. The diligence 
 with which they sped their way to town, 
 with their cargoes, in a sultry day, with 
 tongues lolling to the ground, seemed to 
 entitle them to better treatment. 
 
 Fish-market — Stork.s 
 
 We traced the steps of some of out 
 Scheveling companions to the fish-market. 
 As might be expected, the market proved 
 '\ommodious and clean, and well supplied 
 vith water. Salmon was pretty common; 
 carp was plentiful; and a single John Dory 
 and a single sturgeon appeared on a stall. 
 At some seasons, we believe, sturgeons are 
 abundant, being taken in numbers at the 
 mouths of the Rhine, when about to ascend 
 that river. Four tame storks were stalking 
 up and down in the market. They were 
 ill full plumage ; and did not appear to 
 liave been pinioned, so as to disable them 
 kovn flying. Their fooa consists wholly of 
 the garbage which they pick up about the 
 ■P.sh-stalls. A small house, like a dog's 
 kennel, is appropriated to their use; tor 
 the stork seems to be held as sacred by the 
 Dutch as by the Mahomedans.* 
 
 CRABBING FOR HUSBANDS 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — At this season " village maidens " 
 in the west of England go up and down 
 the hedges gathering Crab-apples, which 
 they carry home, putting them into a loft, 
 and form with them the initials of their 
 supposed suitors' names. The initials, 
 which are found on examination to be most 
 perfect on old " Michaelmas Day," are 
 considered to represent the strongest at- 
 tachments, and the best for the choice of 
 husbands. This custom is very old, and 
 much reliance is placed on the appearances 
 and decomposition of the Crabs. Should 
 this trifle be worthy of being added toyoui 
 extensive notices of manners and localities, 
 I shall be encouraged to forward you other 
 little remembrances of like tendency. In 
 the interim, give me leave to assure you 
 Sir, that I am your gratified r'^ader, 
 
 PCCERON. 
 
 • Caledonian HortioultaraJ Toor. 
 
 646. 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 A YOUNG ASH TREE, 
 SHIRLEY HEATH, WAEWICKSHIEE, 
 
 USED FOR CHARMS. 
 
 Mr. Brand mentions, as a popular super- 
 stition, that if a tree of any kind is split — 
 and weak, rickety, or ruptured cliildren 
 drawn through it, and afterwards the tiee 
 IS bound, so a.3 to make it unite, as the tree 
 heals and grows together, so will the ciiild 
 acquire strength. 
 
 Sir John Cullum, who saw this operation 
 twice performed, thus describes it : — " For 
 this pujj^ose a ^oung ash was each time 
 
 selected, and split longitudinally, about fi^t 
 feet : the fissure was kept wide open by m\ 
 gardener; whilst the friend of the child, 
 having first stripped him naked, passeo 
 him thrice through it, almost head fore- 
 most. As soon as the operation was per- 
 formed, th« wouuded tree was bound u| 
 with a packthread; and, as the bark heal- 
 ed, tht child was to recover. The first o 
 the young patients was to be cured of tin 
 rickets, the second of a rupture." This i 
 a very ancient and extensive piece of supei 
 stilion. 
 
 In the Gentleman's Magazine, for Octo 
 ber, 1804, is an engraving of an ash tret 
 then growing by the side of Shirley-street 
 (the road leading from Hockley House ti 
 Birmingham,) at the edge of Shirley-heath 
 in th* parish of Solihull, Warwickshire, 
 It is staled that this trte is " close to the 
 cottage of Henry Kowe, whose infant son 
 Thomas Rowe, was drawn through the 
 trunk or body of it in the year J 79), tc 
 cure him of a rupture, the tree being theti 
 split open for the purpose of passing thf 
 child through it." The writer proceeds u. 
 say, "The boy is now thirteen years and 
 six months old: I have this day, June 10, 
 1 804, seen the ash tree and Thomas Kowe, 
 ns well as his father, Henry Rowe, from 
 whom I have received the above account ; 
 and he superstitiously believes that his son 
 Thomas was cured of the rupture, by being 
 drawn through the cleft in the said ash tree, 
 and by nothing else." 
 
 Another wiiter concerning the same tree 
 says, " The upper part of a gap formed by 
 the chisel has closed, but the lower remains 
 • ipen. [As represented in the plate, from 
 whence the engraving at the head of this 
 aiticle is taken] The tree is healthy and 
 flourishing. Thomas Chillingworth, son 
 of the owner of an adjoining farm, now 
 about 34, was, when an infant of a year 
 old, passed through a similar tree, now 
 peifectly sound, which he preserves with 
 so much care that he will not suffer a single 
 branch to be touched, for it is believed the 
 life of the patient depends on the life of the 
 tree; and that the moment it is cut down, 
 be the patient ever so distant, the rupture 
 returns, and a mortification ensues, and 
 terminates in death. Rowe's son was 
 passed through the present tree in 1792, at 
 the age of one or two. It is not, hov\ever, 
 uncommon for persons to survive for a time 
 the felling of the tree. In one case the 
 rupture returned suddenly, and mcrlihca- 
 tion followed. These trees are left to close 
 of themselves, or are closed with nails. 
 The wood-cutters very frequently meet wiU'j 
 
 647 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 l\w. latter. One felled on Bunnan's farm 
 was found full of nails. This belief is so 
 prevalent in this part of the country, that 
 instances of trees that have been employed 
 in the cure are very common. The like 
 notions obtain credit in some parts of 
 Essex." 
 
 The same writer proceeds to observe a 
 superstition " concernins^ the power of ash 
 trees to repel other maladies or evils, such 
 is Shrew-mice ; the stopping one of which 
 animals alive into a hole bored in an ash is 
 imagined an infallible preventive of their 
 ravages in lands." 
 
 On this there are some particulars in 
 point related by the Rev. Gilbert White, in 
 his " Natural History and Antiquities of 
 Selborne," a parish near Alton, in Hamp- 
 shire. " In a farm-yard near the middle 
 of this village stands, at this day, a row of 
 pollard-<M/i(?.?, which, by the seams and long 
 cicatrices down their sides, manifestly show 
 that in former times they have been cleft 
 asunder. These trees, when young and 
 flexible, were severed and held open by 
 wedges, while ruptured children, stripped 
 naked, were pushed through the apertures, 
 under a persuasion that, by such a process, 
 the poor babes would be cured of their in- 
 firmity. As soon as the operation was 
 over, the tree, in the suffering part, was 
 plastered with loam, and carefully swathed 
 up. If the parts coalesced and soldered 
 together, as usually fell out, where the feat 
 was performed with any adroitness at all, 
 the party was cured ; but where the cleft 
 continued to gape, the operation, it was 
 supposed, would prove ineffectual. Having 
 occasion to enlarge my garden not long 
 since, I cut down two or three such trees, 
 one of which did not grow together. We 
 have several persons now living in the vil- 
 lage, who, in their childhood, were sup- 
 posed to be healed by this superstitious 
 ceremony, derived down perhaps from our 
 Saxon ancestors, who practised it before 
 their conversion to Christianity." 
 
 Again, as respects shrew-mice, Mr. White 
 says, " At the south corner of the plestor, 
 or area, near the church, there stood, about 
 twenty years ago, a very old grotesque hollow 
 pollard-««A, which for ages had been looked 
 on with no small veneration as ?ishrew-^&\\. 
 Now a shretv-2,s\i is an ash, whose twigs or 
 branches, when gently applied to the limbs 
 of cattle, are immediately to relieve the pains 
 which a beast suffers from the running of 
 a skreic-moHge over the part affected : for 
 it is supposed that a shrew-mouse is of so 
 baneful and deleterious a nature, that 
 wherever it creeps over a beast, be it horse. 
 
 cow, or sheep, the suffering animal is af- 
 flicted with cruel anguish, and threatened 
 with the loss of the use of the limb. Against 
 this accident, to which they were conti 
 nually liable, our provident forefathers 
 always kept a shretv-SLsh at hand ; which, 
 when once medicated, would maintain its 
 virtue for ever. A shrew-ash was made 
 thus : — Into the body of the tree a deep 
 hole was bored with an auger, and a poor 
 devoted shrew-mouse was thrust in aiive, 
 and plugged in, no doubt, with several 
 quaint incantations long since forgotten. 
 As the ceremonies necessary for such a 
 consecration are no longer understood, all 
 succession is at an end, and no such tree is 
 known to subsist in the manor or hundred. 
 As to that on the plestor, the late vicar 
 stubbed and burnt it, when he was way- 
 warden, regardless of the remonstrances of 
 the by-standers, who interceded in vain for 
 its preservation, urging its power and effi- 
 cacy, and alleging that it had been 
 
 ' Religioue patrum niultos servata per annos.' " 
 
 Mr. Ellis, in a note on this practice of 
 enclosing field-mice, cites a letter to Mr. 
 Brand, dated May 9, 1806, from Ro- 
 bert Studley Vidal, Esq. of Cornborough, 
 near Biddeford, a gentleman to whom Mr. 
 Brand was much indebted for informa- 
 tion on the local customs of Devonshire. 
 Mr. Vidal says : — " An usage of the super- 
 stitious kind has just come under my notice, 
 and which, as the pen is in my hand, I will 
 shortly describe, though I rather think it is 
 not peculiar to these parts. A neighbour 
 of mine, on examining his sheep the othei 
 day, found that one of them had entirely 
 lost the use of its hinder parts. On seeing 
 it, I expressed an opinion that the animal 
 must have received a blow across the back, 
 or some other sort of violence which Imd 
 injured the spinal marrow, and thus ren 
 dered it paralytic : but I was soon given 
 to understand, that my remarks only served 
 to prove how little I knew of country affairs, 
 for that the affection of the sheep was no- 
 thing uncommon, and that the cause of it 
 was well known ; namely, a mouse having 
 crept over its back. I could not but smile 
 at the idea; which my instructor consider- 
 ing as a mark of incredulity, he proceeded 
 very gravely to inform me, that I should be 
 convinced of the truth of what he said by 
 the means which he would use to restore 
 the animal ; and which were never known 
 to fail. He accordingly despatched his 
 people here and there in quest of a field- 
 mouse; and having procured one, he told 
 me that he should carry it to a particular 
 
 648 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 tree at some distance, and, enclosing it 
 within a hollow in the trunk, leave it there 
 to perish. He further informed me, that 
 he should bring back, some uf the branches 
 of the tree wuh him, for the purpose of 
 their being drawn now and then across the 
 sheep's back ; and concluded by assuring 
 me, with a very scientific look, that 1 should 
 soon be convinced of the efficacy of ti is 
 process ; for that, as soon as the poor de- 
 voted mouse had yielded up his life a prey 
 to famine, the sheep would be restored to 
 its former strength and vigour. I can, 
 however, state, with certainty, that the 
 sheep was not at all benefited by this mys- 
 terious sacrifice of the mouse. The tree, I 
 find, is of the sort called witch-elm, or 
 witch-hazel." 
 
 TREES 
 
 Poetically and Nationally kegarded. 
 
 A gentleman, who, on a tour in 1790, 
 visited the burial-place of Edmond Waller, 
 in the church-yard of Beaconsfield, de- 
 scribes the poet's splendid tomb as en- 
 closed, or cradled, with spiked iron pali- 
 sadoes, inserted into a great old ash tree, 
 under which his head reposes, " This 
 umbrageous tree overshadows the whole 
 mausoleum. As the pagan deities had 
 each their favourite tree — Jupiter, the oak ; 
 Apollo, the lauiel; Venus, the myrtle; 
 Minerva, the olive; &c. — so poets and 
 literary men have imitated them herein ; 
 and all lovers of solitude are, like the Lady 
 Grace of Sir John Vanbrugh, fond of a cool 
 retreat from the noon-day's sultry heat 
 under a great tree."* 
 
 A modern author, whose works are ex- 
 pressive of beauty and feeling, and from 
 whom an elegant extract on " Gardens" in 
 a former page has been derived, adverts to 
 the important use which the poets have 
 made of trees by way of illustration. He 
 says — 
 
 Homer frequently embellishes his sub- 
 jects with references to them; and no pas- 
 sage in the Iliad is more beautiful, than the 
 one where, in imitation of Musaeus, he 
 compares the falling of leaves and shrubs 
 to the fall an-d renovation of great and 
 ancient families. — Illustrations of this sort 
 are frequent in the sacred writin.s. — " I 
 am exalted like a cedar in Libanus," says 
 tne author of Ecclesiastes, " and as a cy- 
 press tree upon the mountain of Hermon. 
 
 • Mr. T. Gosling, in the Gent. Mag. Sept. 1790. 
 
 I was exalted like a palm tree in Engeddi, 
 and as a rose plant in Jericho ; as a fail 
 olive in a pleasant field, and grew up as a 
 plane tree by the water ; as a turpentine 
 tree I stretched out my brandies, and my 
 branches are the branches of honour and 
 grace; as a vine brought I forth pleasant 
 savour, and ray flowers are the fruits oi 
 honour and victory." — In the Psalms, in a 
 fine vein of allegory, the vine tree is made 
 to represent the people of Israel : " Thou 
 hast brought a vine out of Egypt; thou 
 hast cut out the heathen, and planted it. 
 Thou didst cause it to take deep root, and 
 it filled the land. The hills were covered 
 with its shadow, and the boughs thereof 
 were like the goodly cedars." 
 
 In Ossian, how beautiful is the follow- 
 ing passage of Malvina's lamentation for 
 Oscar: — " I was a lovely tree in thy pre- 
 sence, Oscar, with all my branches round 
 me; but thy death came like a blast from 
 the desert, and laid my grerm head low ; 
 the spring returned with its showers, but 
 no green leaf of mine arose." Again, where 
 old and weary, blind and almost destitute 
 of friends, he compares himself to a tree 
 that is withered and decayed : — " But 
 Ossian is a tree that is withered ; its 
 branches are blasted and bare ; no green 
 leaf covers its boughs: — from its trunk no 
 young shoot is seen to spring; the breeze 
 whistles in its grey moss; the blast shakes 
 its head of age; the storm will soon over- 
 turn it, and strew all its dry branches with 
 thee. Oh Dermid, and with all the rest of 
 the mighty dead, in the green winding vale 
 of Cona." 
 
 That traveller esteemed himself happy, 
 who first carried into Palestine the rose of 
 Jericho from the plains of Arabia ; and 
 many of the Uoman nobility were gratified, 
 in a high degree, with having transplanted 
 exotic plants and trees into the orchards of 
 Italy. Pompey introduced the ebony on 
 the day of his triumph over Mithridates; 
 Vespasian transplanted the balm of Syria, 
 and LucuUus the Pontian cherry. Auger 
 de Busbeck brought the lilac from Con- 
 stantinople ; Hercules introduced the 
 orange into Spain ; Verton the mulberry 
 into England : — and so great is the love of 
 nations for particular trees, that a traveller 
 never fails to celebrate those by which his 
 native province is distinguished. Thus, the 
 native of Hampshire prides himself upon 
 his oaks ; the Burgundian boasts of his 
 vines, and the Herefordshire farmer of his 
 apples. Normandy is proud of her pears ; 
 Provence of her olives : and Dauphin^ of 
 her mulberries ; while the Maltese are lu 
 
 649 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 lOve with their own orange trees. Norway 
 and Sweden celebrate their pines ; Syria 
 her palms ; and since they have few other 
 trees of which they can boast, Lincoln cele- 
 brates her alders, and Cambridge her wil- 
 lows ! The Paphians were proud of their 
 myrtles, the Lesbians of their vines ; Rhodes 
 loudly proclaimed the superior charms of 
 her rose trees; Idumea of her balsams; 
 Media of her citrons, and India of her 
 ebony. The Druses boast of their mul- 
 berries ; Gaza of her dates and pomegra- 
 nates; Switzerland of her lime trees; 
 Bairout of her tigs and banai is ; Damascus 
 of her plums; Inchcnnaugar of its birch, 
 and Inchnolaig of its yews. The inhabit- 
 ants of Jamaica never cease to praise the 
 beauty of their manonenillas ; while those 
 of Tobasco are as vain of their cocoas. — 
 The natives of Madeira, whose spring and 
 autumn reign together, take pride in their 
 cedars and citrons ; those of Antigua of 
 their tamarinds, whiie they esteem their 
 mammee sappota to be equal to any oak in 
 Europe, and their mangos to be superior 
 to any tree in America. Equally partial 
 are the inhabitants of the Plains of Tahta 
 to their peculiar species of tan palm ; and 
 those of Rous to their odoriferous orchards. 
 The Hispaniolans, with the highest degree 
 of pride, challenge any one of the trees of 
 Europe or Asia to equal the height of their 
 cabbage trees — towering to an altitude of 
 tv/o hundred and seventy feet : — Even the 
 people of the Bay of Honduras have ima- 
 gination sufficient to conceive their logwood 
 to be superior to any trees in the world ; 
 while the Huron savages inquire of Euro- 
 peans, whether they have any thing to com- 
 pare with their immense cedar trees. * 
 
 I3i0roben'ed 
 
 THE PEARL. 
 
 A Persian Fable. 
 
 Imitated from the Latin of Sir JV. Jones. 
 
 Whoe'er his ir.erit underrates, 
 Tl.e worth which he disclaims creates. 
 It chanc'd a single dnip of rain 
 Fell from a cloud into the "Vi in : 
 Abash'd, dispirited, annaz'd. 
 At last her modest voice she rais'd : 
 " Where, and what am I ? Woe is me I 
 What a mere drop in such a sea !" — 
 An oyster yawning, where she fell, 
 Kntrapp'd the vagrant in his shell; 
 In that alembic wrought — for he 
 Was deeply vers'd in alchemy — 
 This drop became a pearl ; and now 
 Aaoms the crown on Geoboe's brow. 
 
 • The Philosophy of Nature. 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS 
 
 No. XL 
 
 Comets. 
 
 Cassini, and after him sir Isaac Newton, 
 by their close observations and accurate 
 calculations respecting the nature and 
 courses of comets, have given certainty to 
 the opinions of the old philosophers; or 
 to speak with more propriety, they have 
 recalled and fixed onr attention upon what 
 had before been advanced by the ancients 
 on these subjects. For, in treating of the 
 nature of these stars, their definitions of 
 them, the reasons they assign for the rarity 
 of their appearance, and the apologies they 
 make for not having yet formed a more 
 exact theory, are all in the very terms that 
 Seneca had already used. In the time of 
 that philosopher, the observations previ- 
 ously made of the returns of comets, were 
 not sufficiently collected to establish the 
 theory of these phenomena. Their appear- 
 ances were so very rare, that they had not 
 afforded an opportunity to determine, whe- 
 ther their course was regular or not. The 
 Greeks, however, before Seneca's time, had 
 remarked to the same effect, and were 
 applying themselves to researches of this 
 kind. 
 
 Seneca says, that the Chaldeans looked 
 upon comets as planetary bodies; and 
 Diodorus Siculus, in giving an account of 
 the extent of knowledge among the Egyp- 
 tians, praises them for the application with 
 which they studied the stars and their 
 courses ; and remarks, that they had col- 
 lected observations very ancient and very 
 exact, fully informing them of the several 
 motions, orbits, stations, &c. of tlie planets. 
 He adds, that they could foretell earth- 
 quakes, inundations, and " the return of 
 comets." 
 
 Aristotle says, that Anaxagoras appre- 
 hended comets to be an assemblage of many 
 wandering stars ; which, by their approxi- 
 mation, and the mutual blending of their 
 rays, rendered themselves visible to us. 
 This notion, though far from being philo- 
 sophical, was yet far preferable to that 
 of some great moderns, such as Kepler and 
 Hevelius, who supposed that comets were 
 formed out of air, as fishes are out of water. 
 
 Pythagoras, however, who approached 
 very near to the times of Anaxag 
 
 650 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 an opinion worthy of the most enlightened 
 age. He looked upon " comets as stars, 
 which circulated regularly, though eUiplic- 
 a'.ly, about the sun, and which appeared 
 to us only in particular parts of their orbit, 
 and at considerable distances of time." 
 
 Seneca, more than any other, has dis- 
 cussed this subject like a true philosopher. 
 He relates all the different opinions respect- 
 ing comets, and seems to prefer that of 
 Artemidorus, who imagined, " that there 
 was an immense number of them, but that 
 their orbits were so situated, that, so far 
 from being always within view, they could 
 only be seen at one of the extremities " He 
 reasons upon this with equal elegance and 
 solidity. " Why should we be astonished," 
 says he, " tliat comets, which are so rare a 
 spectacle in the world, have not yet come 
 under certain rules; or that vve have not 
 hitherto !)een able to determine, where 
 begins or ends the course of planets, as an- 
 cient as the universe, and ichuse returns are 
 lit such distant intervals P The time will 
 come," he exclaims, with enthusiasm, "when 
 posterity will be amazed at our ignorance 
 in things so very evident ; for what now 
 appears to us obscure, will one day or 
 other, in the course of ages, and through 
 the industry of our descendants, become 
 manifestly clear; but, a small number of 
 years, passed between study and the indul- 
 gence of passion, are not of avail for re- 
 searches so important, as those which pro- 
 pose to themselves the comprehension of 
 natures so remote." 
 
 The moderns have said nothing satisfac- 
 toiy respecting comets, but what is to be 
 found in the writings of the ancients ; ex- 
 cept what later observations have furnished 
 them with, which Seneca judged to be so 
 necessary, and which only could be col- 
 lected through a long succession of ages. 
 
 The Moon. 
 
 The ancients discovered very early, that 
 " the moon had no light of its own, but 
 shone with that which it reflected from the 
 sun." This, after Thales, was the sentiment 
 of Anaxagoras, and that of Empedocles, 
 who thence accounted not only for the 
 mildness of its splendour, but the imper- 
 ceptibility of its heat, which our modem 
 experiments confirm : for with all the 
 aid of burning glasses, we have never yet 
 found it practicable to obtain the least 
 warmth from any combination of its rays. 
 
 With a telescope, we easily discern in 
 the moon parts more elevated and more 
 nriflfht than others, which are judged to be 
 
 mountains ; and means have been found 
 to measure their elevation. We discern 
 also otherparts, lower and less bright, which 
 must be vallies, lying between those moun- 
 tains. There are other parts, which re- 
 flecting less light, and presenting one uni- 
 form smooth surface, may therefore be 
 supposed large pieces of water. As the 
 moon, then, has its collections of water, its 
 atmosphere, its mountains, and its vallies ; 
 it is thence inferred, that there may also 
 be rain there, and snow, and all the other 
 aerial commotions which are natural to 
 such a situation; and our idea of the wis- 
 dom and power of God suggests to us, tha* 
 he may have placed creatures there to in- 
 habit it. 
 
 Tlie ancients, who had not the aid 
 of the telescope, supplied the defect of 
 that instrument by extraordinary penetra- 
 tion. They deduced all those consequences 
 that are admitted by the moderns; for they 
 discovered long before, by the mental eye, 
 whatever has since been presented to bodily 
 sight through the medium of telescopes. 
 We have seen in how sublime a manner 
 they entered into the views of the Supreme 
 Being in his destination of the planets, and 
 the multitude of stars placed by him in the 
 firmament. We have already seen, that 
 tliey looked upon them as so many suns, 
 about which rolled planets of their own, 
 such as those of our solar system ; maiii- 
 taining that those planets contained inha- 
 bitants, whose natures they presume not to 
 describe, though they suppose them not to 
 yield to those of ours, either in beauty or 
 dignity. 
 
 Orpheus is the earliest author whose 
 opinion on this subject hath come down to 
 us. Proclus presents us with three verses 
 of that eminent ancient, wherein he posi- 
 tively asserts, that " the moon was another 
 earth, having in it mountains, vallies," &c. 
 
 Pythagoras, who followed Orpheus in 
 many of his opinions, taught likewise, that 
 " the moon was an earth like ours, replete 
 with animals, whose nature he presumed 
 not to describe," though he was persuaded 
 they were of a more noble and elegant kind 
 than ours, and not liable to the same in- 
 firmities. 
 
 Cicero ascribes a similar sentiment to 
 Democritus, when, in explaining his the- 
 ory, he says, that, according to it, Quin- 
 tus Luctatius Catulus, for instance, might 
 without end be .nultiplied into an infinity 
 of worlds. It were easy to multiply quo- 
 tations, in proof that this opinion was 
 common among the ancient philosophers. 
 There is a very remarkable passage of Sto- 
 
 t>51 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 1 
 
 8a;us, wherein he gives us Democritus's 
 apiuion about the nature of the moon, and 
 he cause of those spots which we see upon 
 its disk. That great philosopnei' imagined, 
 that " those spots were no other than 
 shades, formed by the excessive iieight of 
 the lunar mountains," which inteicepted 
 the light from the lower parts of chat 
 planet, where the vallies formed tl^emselves 
 into what appeared to us as shades or 
 spots. 
 
 Plutarch went still farther, alleging, that 
 there were embosomed in the moon, vast 
 seas and profound caverns. These, his 
 conjectures, are built upon the same foun- 
 dation with those of the moderns. He 
 says, that those deep and extensive shades 
 winch appear upon the disk of that planet, 
 must be occasioned by the " vast seas" it 
 contains, which are incapable of reflecting 
 so vivid a light, as the more solid and 
 opaque parts; or " by caverns extremely 
 wide and deep, wherein the rays of the sun 
 are absorbed," whence those shades and 
 that obscurity which we call the spots of 
 the moon. Xenophanes said, that those 
 immense cavities were inhabited by another 
 race of men, who lived there, as we do 
 upon this earth. 
 
 MEDICAL AND LEGAL DUALITY. 
 
 Two Physicians. 
 
 A gentleman calling on a friend, found 
 two physicians with him : he wrote the 
 following lines on the back of his card : — 
 
 " By one physiciap might your work be done. 
 But two are like a double-barrell'd gun ; 
 From one discharge sometimes a bird has flown, 
 A second barrel always brings it down." 
 
 Two Lawyers. 
 
 An opulent farmer applied about a law- 
 suit to an attorney, who told him he coul-d 
 not undertake it, being already engaged on 
 the other side; at the same time he said, 
 that he would give him a letter of recom- 
 mendation to a professional friend, which 
 he did. The farmer, out of curiosity, opened 
 .t, and read as follows : 
 
 " Here are two fat wethers fallen out together, 
 
 If you'll fleece one, I'll fleece the other, 
 
 And niake 'era agree like brother and brother." 
 
 The farmer carried this epistle to the per- 
 son with whom he was at variance. Its 
 perusal cured both parties, and terminated 
 »iih dispute. 
 
 THE HAUNTED MILL. . 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Can such things be, 
 
 And overcome us like a summer's cloud, 
 Wiihout our special wonder ? 
 
 At the basis of the Wolds, in the no/th 
 riding of Yorkshire, creeps a sluggish 
 stream, on whose bank may be seen the 
 ruins of a mill, which our good forefathers 
 supposed to be haunted. 1 often gaze up- 
 on those ruins with great interest; not so 
 much for its picturesque beauty, which, like 
 a flower in the wilderness, makes solitude 
 less lonely, as for the many endearing 
 claims it has upon my memory, by way ot 
 association. It stands near the home of mj 
 childhood, it reminds me of the companions 
 of my youth, and tells of pleasures long 
 departed. 
 
 It is now nearly ten years since I listened 
 to a story, which haunts me like the recol- 
 lection of a fearful dream ; perhaps, because 
 of its locality, or rather, of its having been 
 told me as "d-fact. Be it as it may, I have 
 thought it worth the relating ; and trust 
 that the readers of the Table Book will a 
 least be iutereisted. 
 
 The mill, at the time referred to, had 
 been uninhabited for some ten or twelve 
 years. It had found an occupier in the 
 person of Joe Davis. The inhabitants of 
 the distant, though nearest village, endea- 
 voured to frighten Joe, the mdler, by tell- 
 ing him of its being haunted. He laughed 
 at what he called their idle fears, bade them 
 keep their superstitious nonsense for their 
 children's ears ; and laughingly added, 
 that if nought but ghosts visited the mill, 
 he stood a good chance of getting what he 
 most required after a hard day's work — a 
 quiet rest. 
 
 When Joe took possession of the mii' 
 he was as jolly a fellow as ever lived, and 
 a fine buxom wife had he, and three rosy 
 children. His cup of happiness was filled 
 to the brim ; his song, merry as the lark's 
 and his loud, hearty laugh, were alternately 
 to be heard above the rush of the dam, and 
 the click-clacking of the wheel. When his 
 work was done, it was a treat to see him 
 playing with his children at blindman's- 
 buff, or hide and seek, or dandling them 
 upon his knee. 
 
 All went on well for some time; but in 
 a few months Joe became an altered man. 
 There was a visible drtference in his face 
 and mai ner. At first, a shade was seen tc 
 overcast his hitherto unclouded biow — then 
 
 652 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 his cheek became robbed of its bloom, and 
 his step lost its buoyancy. His laughter 
 (when he did laugh, which was seldom) 
 seemed laboured, and was followed by a 
 sigh ; and the song — thu*' favourite song, 
 which he had so often sung to Mary in his 
 courtship — faltered on his lips, instead of 
 clinging to his home and family as usual, 
 he deserted them; and when the straying 
 •villager kind4y questioned him as to the 
 change, he would not answer, but shake 
 his head, and hurry onwards. 
 
 One day Mary found her husband un- 
 usually "depressed. " Come, come," said 
 she," I'm sure all is not right within." She 
 hung fondly upon his neck — kissed him, 
 and besought him to make her the partner 
 of his sorrow ; he raised his head, gazed 
 at her affectionately, and endeavoured to 
 smile away her apprehensions — but it would 
 not do. He dashed the tear from his eye, 
 and rushed out of the room. 
 
 Joe Davis had dreamed a dream ; or, as 
 my narrator informed me, had seen a vision. 
 Sitting one evening in his little parlour, 
 with his wife and children before him, he, 
 on a sudden, leaned back in his chair — his 
 eyes became glazed, and were rivetted on 
 the picture of his wife holding three roses 
 in her hand, which hung over the mantel- 
 piece — he thought that he beheld a shadow 
 .of himself bend over the picture, that the 
 iroses began to fade, and, in fading, he dis- 
 tinctly saw the faces of his children, while 
 the portrait of his wife by degrees became 
 colourless. Such was the dream which gave 
 him so much concern — sucli was the pro- 
 phecy which ere long was to be fulfilled. 
 
 Joe left his house, telling Mary he would 
 return before night. The darkness set in, 
 but he did not make his appearance. Poor 
 Mary, as the night advanced, became mis- 
 trustful — she looked at the clock, and list- 
 ened for his approaching step. It was 
 nearly midnight; and, save the melancholy 
 monotonous ticking of the clock, and the 
 low breathing of her sweet children, who 
 were sleeping near, all was silent as the 
 grave — when, on a sudden, the eldest child 
 cried out, " Father, how cold you are !" — 
 Mary started, and beheld the death-pale 
 face of her husband kissing her children — 
 she shrieked wildly, and fell senseless on 
 the floor. 
 
 When Mary came to herself the fire was 
 out, and the clock had stopped. She en- 
 deavoured to calm her agitated mind, and 
 thought she heard the noise of the dam, and 
 her husband singing the chorus — 
 
 We'll always be merry together, together, 
 We'U always he merry together. 
 
 She listened, and thought of her children, 
 whom (by the revealment of one of the 
 secrets of her priy n-house) she knew were 
 dead. The rest oi that horrible night was 
 a( ) 
 
 The morning came with its beautiful 
 purple light — the lark hailed it with his 
 matin-song — the flower bloomed at the 
 very doar-stone of the mill — the schoolboy 
 whistled as he passed, as if in mockery of 
 her woe. The light of reason had passed 
 from Mary Davis. In the course of the 
 day the body of her husband was found in 
 the dam, but Mary knew it not. — 
 
 Say, gentle reader, did not Heaven deal 
 kindly to her in bidding her taste the waters 
 of oblivion ? , 
 
 I shall never forget the story. 
 
 Q. T. M. 
 
 COUNSELS AND SAYINGS, 
 By Dr. A. Hunter. 
 
 Accustom yourself to reflect. 
 
 Seek wisdom, and you will be sure to 
 find her ; but if you do not look for her, 
 ^he will not look for you. 
 
 Do, AS YOU WOULD EE DONE BY. 
 
 Use yourself to kindness and compas- 
 sion, and you may expect kindness and 
 compassion in return. 
 
 Have YOU a Friend ? 
 
 If you have a grievance on your mind 
 you may tell it to your friend, but first be 
 sure that he is your friend. 
 
 Educate your Children properly. 
 
 An university implies a seminary, where 
 all the young men go the same way. What 
 that way is, fathers and grandfathers best 
 know. 
 
 Obstinacy is Weakness. 
 
 Obstinacy of temper proceeds from 
 pride, and, in general, from ignorant pride, 
 that refuses to be taught. 
 
 Regulate your Temper. 
 
 We can bear with a man who is only 
 peevish when the wind is in the east ; but 
 it is intolerable to live with one who is 
 peevish in every point of the compass. 
 
 True Generosity is delicately minded. 
 
 Blame no man for what he cannot help. 
 We must not expec' >f the dial to tell us 
 the hour after the sw i is set. 
 
 653 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 GERMAN EPIGRAMS 
 Honourable Service. 
 
 If one have serv'd thee, tell the deed to many: 
 llast thou serv'd many — tell it not to any. — Opitz. 
 
 A Mother's Love. 
 
 E'er yet her child has drawn its earliest breat'n 
 A mother's love begins — it glovvs till death — 
 Uves before life — with death not dies— but seems 
 The very substance of immortal dreauis. — JVemivllo, 
 
 Epitaph. 
 
 What thou art reading o'er ray bonea, 
 
 I've often ri-ad on other stones ; 
 
 And others soon shall read of thee. 
 
 What thou art reading now of me. — Fleming. 
 
 Adam's Sleep. 
 
 He laid him down and slept;— and from bis side, 
 
 A woman m her magic beauty rose, 
 Dazzled and charm'd he call'd that woman " Bride' 
 
 And his first sleep became his last repose. — Besscr. 
 
 Epitaph. 
 
 Here lies, thank God, a woman, who 
 Quarrell'd and storm'd her whole life through : 
 Tread gently o'er her mouldering form. 
 Or else you'll rouse another storm. — fVeckhcrhn. 
 
 PRUSSIAN COURT MOURNING. 
 
 Frederick the first king of Prussia was 
 an extremely vain man, and continually en- 
 gaged in frivolous pursuits. His queen, So- 
 phia Charlotte, the sisterof our George I. was 
 a woman of a very superior mind. In her 
 last illness she viewed the approach of death 
 with much calmness and serenity; and when 
 one of her attendants observed how severely 
 it would afflict the king, and that the mis- 
 fortune of losing her would plunge his 
 majesty into the deepest despair, the queen 
 said, with a smile, " With respect to him, I 
 am perfectly at ease. Hit mind will be 
 completely occupied in arianging the ce- 
 "emonial of my funeral, and if nothing goes 
 wrong in the procession, he will be quite 
 consoled for his loss." 
 
 MI-EAU IN AMERICA. 
 
 A New York paper says, that a lad In 
 that city, on delivering his milk, was asked 
 why the milk was so warm. " I don't 
 know," he replied, with much simplicity, 
 "unless they put in warm water instead of 
 cold." 
 
 A CAPITAL EXTEMPORE 
 
 To TUE Author of some Bad Lines, on 
 THE River Dee. 
 
 Had I been U, 
 And in the Q, 
 
 As easy I might B. 
 Td let U C, 
 Whilst sipping' T, 
 
 Far better lines on D. 
 
 PETITION OF THE LETTER H 
 TO ITS DECIDED ENEMIES. 
 
 Whereas, by you I have been driven 
 
 From House, from Home, from Hope, and Heaven, 
 
 And placed, by your most learn'd society, 
 
 In Evil, Anguish, and Anxiety ; 
 
 And used, without the least pretence, 
 
 With Anogance and Insolence. 
 I hereby ask full restitution. 
 And beg you'll change your elocution. 
 
 ANSWER. 
 
 Whereas we've rescued you, ingrate, 
 From Hell, from Horror, and from Hate— 
 From Horseponds — Hanging in a halter. 
 And consecrated you in — altar. 
 
 We think you need no restitution. 
 And sh>ill not change our elocution. 
 
 Hezekiah Hulk, Huntsman. 
 Milford, June, 1 827. 
 
 THE GLORIOUS MEMORY. 
 
 Sir Jonah Barrington lately met rather a 
 noted corporator of Dublin in Paris, and in 
 the course of conversation inquired why, 
 after the king's visit to the metropolis ot 
 Ireland, and his conciliatory admonitions, 
 the corporation still appeared to prefer the 
 " Boyne Water" and "King William.' 
 The answer was characteristic. " Lord 
 bless you, sir .Jonah," replied the corpora- 
 tor, " as for the fVather we don't care a 
 farthing about that; but if we once gave 
 up ould King fViUiam, we'd give up all 
 our enjoyments ! Only for the Glorious 
 Memory we would not have a toast to get 
 drunk with — eh ! sir Jonah?" 
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Col. 397, line 18, for " modarn Europe," read '• nortft 
 em Europe." 
 
 Col. 430. In the Will of John Keats, for " losui 01 
 the sale of books," read " Aopes of the biU« of book* 
 
 6,74 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 CATHERINE- MOMPESSON'S TOMB AT EYA2I.. 
 
 Among the verdant mountains of the Peak 
 
 There lies a quiet hamlet, where the slope 
 Of pleasant uplands wards the north- winds bleak - 
 
 Below, wild dells romantic pathways ope ; 
 
 Around, above it, spreads a shadowy cope 
 Of forest trees : flower, foliage, and clear rill 
 
 Wave from the cliffs, or down ravines elope ; , 
 It seems a place charmed from the power of ill 
 By sainted words of old : — so lovely, lone, and stilL. 
 
 And many are the pilgrim feet which tread 
 
 Its rocky steeps, which thither yearly go; 
 Yet, less by love of Nature's wonders led. 
 
 Than by the memory of a mighty woe. 
 
 Which smote, like blasting thunder, long ago,, 
 The peopled hills. There stands a sacred tomb, 
 
 Where tears have rained, nor yet shall cease to floT7;, 
 Recording days of death's sublimest gloom ; 
 Mompesson's power and pain, — his beauteous Catherine's doom. 
 
 The, Desolation of Eyam. 
 
 Through the seventeenth and half of the 
 eighteenth century the village of Eyam, 
 three miles east from Ti'loswell, in Derby- 
 shire, was populous and flourishing j and 
 all that part of the country thickly sown 
 
 with little towns and hamlets, was swarm- 
 ing with inhabitants. Owing to the ex- 
 hausted state of the lead mines the sceae is 
 altered, and Eyam is now thinly peopled. 
 It had before endured a dreadful affliction 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 ^db 
 
 2U 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The year after " that awful and terrible 
 period, when the destroyinig angel passed 
 over this island, and in the cities of London 
 and Westminster swept away three thou- 
 sand victims in one night," the visitation 
 was revived in this distant village, and 
 four-fifths of the inhabitants perished in 
 the course of the summer. This calamity 
 is the subject of the title-page to a pnetical 
 volume of eminent merit and beauty, 
 ' The Desolation of Eyam, &c. by William 
 dnd Mary llowitt, Authors of the forest 
 Minstrel and other Poems." 
 
 Eyam was the birthpliace of the late 
 Anna Seward, and in the " Gentleman's 
 Magazine" * ihere is a ktter written in 
 her youthful days, which naturally relates 
 the devoted attachm'ent of the village rector, 
 durmg the plague, to his stricken flock; 
 and the affectionate adherence of his noble 
 wife. Extracts from this letter, with" otliers 
 from the notes to " The Desolaiion of 
 Eyam," and a few stanzas from the poem 
 itself, as specimens of its worth, may here 
 suffice to convey some notion of the story. 
 The poets' " Introduction " is briefly de- 
 scriptive of " The Peak"^— its romantic rocks 
 ind glens — the roar of its flying streams — 
 the welling-up of its still waters — the 
 silence of its beautiful dells — 
 
 Such brightness fills the arched sky ; 
 
 So quietly the hill-tops lie 
 
 In sunshine, and the wild-bird's glee 
 
 Rings from the rock-nursed service trc* 
 
 Such a delicious air is thrown. 
 
 Such a reposing calm is known 
 
 On these delightful hills. 
 That, as the dreaming poet lies 
 Drinking the splendour of the skies. 
 
 The sweetness which distils 
 From herbs and flowers — a thrilling sense 
 Steals o'er his musing heart, intense, 
 Passive, yet deep ; the joy which dwells 
 Where nature frames her loneliest spells. 
 And Fancy's whispers would persuade 
 That peace had here her sojourn made. 
 And love and gladness pitched their tent, 
 When from the world, in woe, they went. 
 That each grey hill had reared its brow 
 In peaceful majesty, as now. 
 That thus these streams had traced their way 
 Throngh scenes as bright and pure as they ; 
 That here no sadder strain was heard 
 Than the free note of wandering bird ; 
 And man had here, in nature's eye. 
 Known not a pain, except, to die. 
 
 Poets may dreani — alas I that they 
 Should dream so wildly, even by day — 
 
 • Vol. Ixxi. p. 300. 
 
 Poets may dream of love and tmtb, 
 Islands of bliss, and founts of youth r 
 But, from creation's earliest birth, 
 The curse of blood has raged on earth. 
 Since the first arm was raised to smite 
 The sword has travelled like a blight, 
 From age to age, from realm to realm. 
 Guiding the seaman's ready helm. 
 Go I question well — search far and near. 
 Bring me of earth a^ portion here. 
 Look ! 13 not that exuberant soil 
 Fraught wilh the battle's bloody spoil ? 
 Turn where thou may'st, go where thou will; 
 Thy foot is on a spot of guilt. 
 
 The curse, the blight have not passed by 
 
 These dales now smiling in thine eye. 
 
 Of human ills an ample share, 
 
 Ravage, and dearth, domestic care. 
 
 They have not 'scaped. This region blest 
 
 Knew not of old its pleasant rest. 
 
 Grandeur there was, bufall that cheers, 
 
 Is the fair worK of recent years. 
 
 The Drnid-stones are standing still 
 
 On the green top of many a hill ; 
 
 The fruitful plough, with mining share, 
 
 At times lays some old relic bare ; 
 
 The Danish mell ; the bolt of stone. 
 
 To a yet ruder people known : 
 
 And oft, as on some point which lies 
 
 In the deep hush of earth and skies. 
 
 In twilight, silence, and alone, 
 
 I've sate upon the Druid-stone, 
 
 The visions of those distant times. 
 
 Their barbarous manners, creeds and crimes. 
 
 Have come, joy's brightest thrill to raise. 
 
 For life's blest boon in happier days. 
 
 But not of them — rude race — 1 sing i 
 
 Kor yet of war, whose fiery wing. 
 
 From age to age, with waste and wail. 
 
 Drove frnm wide champaign, and low vale. 
 
 Warrior and woman : child and flock. 
 
 Here, to the fastness of the rock. 
 
 The husbandman has ceased to hear 
 
 Amidst his fields the cry of fear. 
 
 Waves the green corn — green pastures rise 
 
 Around.^the lark is in the skies. 
 
 The song a later time must trace 
 
 When faith here found a dwelling-place. 
 
 The tale is tinged with grief and scath. 
 
 But not in which man's cruel wrath, 
 
 Like fire of fiendish spirit shows, 
 
 But where, through terrors, tears, and woes. 
 
 He rises dauntless, pure, refined; 
 Not chill'd by self, nor fired by hate, 
 Love in his life, — and even his fate 
 
 A blessing on his kind. 
 
 Tliese latter lines allude to the po'-.m, 
 and it immediately commences. 
 
 " Eyam," says Miss Seward, " is near a 
 mile in length ; it sweeps in a waviny 
 line amongst the mountains, on a kind oi 
 natural terrace about 303 yards btoad. 
 
 G56 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ibove vhich, yet higher mountains arise, 
 from that dale of savage sublimity, which 
 on the Buxton road from Matlock com- 
 mences at the end of Middleton, we ascend 
 a quarter of a mile up a narrow and 
 steep lane on the right hand, which con- 
 ducts us into Eyam. About the centre 
 of the village the continuance of the houses 
 IS broken by a small field on the left. From 
 its edge a deep and grassy dingle descends, 
 not less picturesque, and much more beau- 
 tiful from its softer features, than the craggy 
 dale and its walls of barren rocks from 
 which we had ascended to Eyam, and in 
 which, by a winding course, this dingle ter- 
 minates. Its ascent from the middle of 
 Kyam is a steep, smooth, and verdant turf, 
 with scattered nut-trees, alders, and the 
 mountain ash. The bottom is scarcely five 
 yards wide, so immediately ascend the 
 noble rocks on the "opposite side, curtained 
 with shrubs, and crowned with pines that 
 A-ave over their brows; only that a few 
 bare parts appear in fantastic points and 
 perforated arches. Always in winter and 
 Summer, after recent showers, a small clear 
 rill ripples along the bottom of this dell. 
 Out after long drought the channel is dry, 
 and its jjebbles are left to bleach in the sun. 
 Cliffs and fields stretch along the tops of 
 the rocks, and from their heights we de- 
 scend gradually to the upper part of Eyam, 
 which, though high, is less elevated 
 
 " Than are the summits of those hilly crofts. 
 That brow the bottom glade." 
 
 At the time of the plague, the rector of 
 Ryam, the Rev. William Mompesson, was 
 in the vigour of youth ; he had two chil- 
 dren, a boy and girl of three and four years 
 old, and his wife Catherine, a young and 
 beautiful lady : — 
 
 There dwelt they in the summer of their love. 
 
 He, the young pastor of that mountain fold, 
 For whom, not Fancy could foretell above, 
 
 Bliss more than earth had at his feet unrolled. 
 
 Yet, ceased he not on that high track to hold, 
 Upon whose bright, eternal steep is shown 
 
 Faith's starry coronal. The sad, the cold 
 Caught from his fervent spirit its warm tone. 
 And woke to loftier aims, and feelings long unknown. 
 
 And she, — his pride and passion, — slie, all sun. 
 All love, and mirth and beauty ; — a rich form 
 
 Of hnibhed grace, where Nature had outdone 
 
 Her wonted skill. Oh 1 well might Fancy's swarm 
 Of more than earthly hopes and visions, warm 
 
 His ardent mind ; for, joyous was her mood ; 
 There seemed a spirit of gladness to inform 
 
 Her happy frame, by no light shock subdued, 
 
 Which filled her home with light, and all she touched 
 imbued. 
 
 So lived, so loved they. Their life lay ensVinnM 
 Within themselves and people. They reck'd no* 
 
 How the World sped around tliem, nor divined : 
 Heaven, and their home endearments fiU'd their lot. 
 Within the charmed boundary of their cot, 
 
 Was treasured high and mulfifarions lore 
 Of sage, divine, and minstrel ne'er forgot 
 
 In wintry hours; and, carolled on their floor. 
 
 Were childhood's happy lays. Could Heaven award 
 • them more ? 
 
 Eyam, as before mentioned, had escaped 
 the contagion in the " Great Year of the 
 Plague." It was conveyed thither, how- 
 ever, in the ensuing spring by infected 
 cloths. Its appearance is vigorousl 
 sketched : — 
 
 But, as in th^ calm 
 
 Of a hot noon, a sudden gust will wake ; 
 
 Anon clouds throng ; then iiercer squalls alarm ; 
 Then-thunder, flashing gleams, and the wild ore* 
 Of wind and deluge : — till the living quake. 
 
 Towers rock, woods crash amid the teiDpest, — so 
 In their reposing calm of gladness, spake 
 
 A word of fear ; rirst whispering — dubious — low. 
 
 Then lost; — then firm and clear, a menacing of wo- 
 
 'Till out it burst, a dreadful cry of death ; 
 
 " The Plague ! tlie Plague !" The withering Ian 
 guage flew. 
 And faintness followed on its rapid breath ; 
 
 And all hearts sunk, as pierced with lightning 
 
 through. 
 " The Plague I the Plague !" No groundless panii 
 grew ; 
 But there, sublime in awful darkness, trod 
 The Pest ; and lamentation, as he slew, 
 Proclaimed his ravage in each sad abode. 
 Mid frenzied shrieks for aid — and vain appeals to God 
 
 On the commencement of the contagion, 
 Mrs. Mompesson threw herself with hei 
 babes at the feet of her husband, to suppli- 
 cate his flight from that devoted place; but 
 not even the entreaties and tears of a be- 
 loved wife could induce him to desert his 
 flock, in those hours of danger and dismay. 
 Equally fruitless were his solicitations that 
 she would retire with her infants. The 
 result of this pathetic contest was a resolve 
 to abide together the fury of the pestilence 
 and to send their children away. 
 
 They went — those lovely ones, to their retreat. 
 
 They went — those glorious ones, to their employ ; 
 To check the ominous speed of flying feet ; 
 
 To quell despair; to soothe the fierce annoy. 
 
 Which, as a stormy ocean without buoy 
 Tossing a ship distressed, twixt reef and rock, 
 
 Hurried the crowd, from years of quiet joy 
 Thus roused to fear by this terrific shock ; 
 And wild, distracted, mazed, the oastor met his flooifc 
 
 657 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Il was the immediate purpose of this 
 wise and excellent man, to stay his parish- 
 ioners from flight, lest they should bear the 
 contagion beyond their own district, and 
 desolate the country. 
 
 They heard, and they obeyed, — for, situ pie ti eai te ». 
 
 He was to them their wisdom and their tower- 
 To theirs, his brilliant spirit had imparted 
 
 All that they knew of virtue's loftier power ; 
 
 Their friend, their guide, their idolized endower 
 With daily blessings, health of mind and frame ; 
 
 They heard, and they obeyed; — but not the more 
 Obeyed the plague ; no skill its wrath could tame , 
 It grew, it raged, it spread ; like a devouring flame. 
 
 Oh I piteous was it then that place to tread ; 
 
 Where children played and mothers had looked on. 
 They lay, like flowers plucked to adorn the dead ; 
 
 The bright-eyed maid no adoration won; 
 
 Youth in its greenness, trembling age was gone ; 
 O'er each bright cottage hearth death's darkness stole ; 
 
 Tears fell, pangs racked, where happiness had shone. 
 
 From a rational belief, that assembling 
 in the crowded church for public worship 
 during the summer heats, must spread and 
 increase the contagion, he agreed with his 
 afflicted parishioners, that he should read 
 prayers twice a week, and deliver his two 
 customary sermons on the sabbath, from 
 one of the perforated arches in the rocks of 
 the dingle. By his advice they ranged 
 themselves on the grassy steep in a level 
 direction to the rocky pulpit; and the dell 
 being narrow, he was distinctly heard from 
 that arch. 
 
 The poem describes (he spot, and the 
 manner of the worship : — 
 
 There is a dell, the merry schoolboy's slmg 
 
 Whirled in the village, might discharge a stone 
 
 Into its centre ; yet. the shouts which ring 
 Forth from the hamlet travel, over blown 
 Nor to its sheltered quietude are known. 
 
 So hushed, so shrouded its deep bosom lie*. 
 It brooks no sound, but the congenial tone 
 
 Of stirring leaves, loud nil, the melodies 
 
 Of summer's breezy breath or autumn's stormier skies. 
 
 Northward, from shadowy rocks, a wila stream pours. 
 
 Then wider spreads the hollow — lofty trees 
 Cast summer shades ; it is a place of flowers. 
 
 Of sun and fragrance, birds and chiming liees. 
 
 Then higher shoot the hills. Acclivities 
 Splintered and stern, each like a castle grey. 
 
 Where ivy climbs, and roses woo the breeze. 
 Narrow the pass ; 'here, trees in close array 
 Shut, from this woodland cove, all distant, rude survey. 
 
 But its chief ornament, a miracle 
 
 Of Nature's mirth, a wondrous temple stands, 
 
 Right in the centre of this charmed dell. 
 Which every height and bosky slope commands 
 Arch meeting arch, unwrought of human hands 
 
 Vovai dome and port«l& 
 
 When hark 1 — R sound ! — it issued from the dell ; 
 
 A solemn voice, as though one did declaim 
 On some high theme; it ceased — and then the sweJl 
 Of a slow osalm-like chant on his amazement fell. 
 
 In that fantastic temple's porch was seen 
 The youthful pastor ; lofty was his mien 
 But stamped with thoughts of such appalling scope, 
 
 As rarely gather on a brow serene ; 
 And who are they, on the opposing slope. 
 To whom his solemn tones told but one awfnl hope ? 
 
 A pallid, ghost-like, melancholy crew. 
 
 Seated on scattered crags, and far-oif knolls, 
 
 As fearing each the other. They were few. 
 
 As meu whom one brief hour will from the lolU 
 Of life cut off, and toiling for their souls' 
 
 Welcome into eternity — they seemed 
 Lost in the heart's last conflict, which controls 
 
 All outward life — they sate as men who dreamed ; 
 
 No motion in their frames— no eye perception beame<? 
 
 The two following stanzas are fearfj.l) 
 descriptive of the awful interruptinr>s to th( 
 solemn service in this sequestered spot. 
 
 But suddenly, a wild and piercing cTy 
 
 Arose amongst them ; and an ancient man. 
 Furious in mood — red frenzy in his eye. 
 
 Sprang forth, and shouting, towards the hollr.w ran. 
 
 His white locks floated round his features was ; 
 He rushed impatient to the valley rill ; 
 
 To drink, to revel in the wave hegan. 
 As one on fire with thirst; then, with a shrill 
 Laugh, as of joy, he sank — he lay — and all was stiii. 
 
 Then from their places solemnly two more 
 
 Went forth, as if to lend the sufferer aid ; 
 But in their hands, in readiness, they bore 
 
 The charnel tools, the mattock and the spade. 
 
 They broke the turf — they dug — they calmly laid 
 The old man in his grave ; and o'er him threw 
 
 The earth, by prayer, nor requiem delayed ; 
 Then turned, and with no lingering adieu. 
 Swifter than they approached, from the strange scene 
 withdrew. 
 
 The church-yard soon ceased to afford 
 room for the dead. They were afterwards 
 buried in an heathy hill above the village.* 
 Curious travellers take pleasure in visiting, 
 to this day, the mountain tumulus, and in 
 examining its yet distinct remains ; also, in 
 ascending, from the upper part of Eyam, 
 those cliffs and fields which brow the dingle, 
 and from whence the descent into the con- 
 secrated rock is easy. It is called Cucklet 
 church by the villagers. 
 
 • The great ana good Howard visited Eyam tneye* 
 before he last left England, to examine in that village 
 the records of the pestilential calamity which it haii 
 endured, and of those virtues wb>ch resemblsdbis owi<. 
 
 658 
 
!~= 
 
 THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 fi-nd now hope gleamed abroad. The plague seemed 
 staid ; 
 
 And the loud winds of autumn glad uproar 
 Made in the welkin. Health their call obeyed, 
 
 And Confidence her throne resumed once more. 
 
 Nay, joy itself was in the pastor's bower ; 
 I'-or him the plague had sought, its final prey ; 
 
 And Catherine pale, and shuddering at its power. 
 Had watched, had wept, had seen it pass away, — 
 And joy shone through their home like a bright sum- 
 mer's day. 
 
 The sudden fear woke memory in her cell; 
 
 And tracing back the brightness of their being ; 
 Their loye, their bliss, the fatal shafts which fell 
 
 Around them— smote them — yet, even now were 
 fleeing ; 
 
 Death unto numbers, but to them decreeing 
 Safety ; — rich omens for succeeding years, 
 
 In that sweet gaiety of spirit seeing, 
 Theirs was that triumph which distress endears ; 
 And gladness which breaks forth in mingling s.-niles 
 and tears. 
 
 •10 passed that evening : but, still midnight falls. 
 
 And why gleams thence that lamp's unwonted glars ? 
 Oh ! there is speechless woe within those walls : 
 
 Death's stern farewell is given in thunder there. 
 
 Mompesson wrapt in dreams and fancies fair, 
 vVhich took their fashion from that evening's tone 
 
 At once sprang up in terror and despair, 
 iloused by that voice which never yet had known 
 fo wake ajght in his heart, but pure delight alcue. 
 
 ■' My William I" faint and plaintive was the r.rr. 
 
 And chill the hand which fell upon his breast, 
 ■' My dearest William, wake thee 1 Oh I that I 
 
 With such sad tidings should dispel thy rest. 
 
 But death is here 1" VVith agony possessed, 
 He snatched a light— he saw — he reeled — he fell. 
 
 There, in its deadliest form prevailed the post. 
 Too well he knew the fatal signs — too well : 
 \ moment — and to life — to happiness farewell I 
 
 The good and beautiful woman, Cathe^ 
 rine Mompesson, expired in her husband's 
 arms, in the twenty -seventh year of her age. 
 tier tomb is near an ancient cross in the 
 church-yard of Eyam. It is represented in 
 the vignette to the " Desolation of Eyam ;" 
 and by means of that print the present en- 
 graving is laid before the reader of this 
 article. 
 
 Mr. Mompesson was presented to the 
 rectory of Ea'kring, near Ollerton, in Not- 
 tinghamshire, and he quitted the fatal 
 scene. On his going, however, to take 
 possession of his living, the people, naturally 
 impressed with the terrors of the plague, in 
 tlie very cloud and whirlwind of which he 
 had so lately walked, declined admitting 
 him into the village. A hut therefore was 
 erected for him in llufford Park, where he 
 abode till the fear subsided. 
 
 To this gift were added prebends m York 
 and Southwell, and the ofierof the deanery 
 of Lincoln. But the good man, with an 
 admirable disinterestedness, declined this 
 last substantial honour, and transferred his 
 influence to his friend, the witty and 
 learned Dr. Fuller, author of " tlie Worthies 
 of England," &c. who accordingly obtained 
 It. The wish, which he expressed in one 
 of his letters, that " his children might 
 be good rather than great," sprang from a 
 iivmg sentiment of his heart. He had 
 ta:^ted the felicity and the bitterness of tiiis 
 woild ; he had seen its sunshine swallowed 
 up in the shadow of death ; and earth had 
 nothing to ofTer him like the blessedness of 
 a retirement, in which he might prepare 
 himself for a more permanent state of ex- 
 istence. 
 
 A brass plate, with a Latin inscription, 
 records his death in this pleasant seclusion, 
 March 7, 1708, in the seventieth jear of 
 las age. 
 
 Bright shines the sun upon the white walls wreathed* 
 With flowers and leafy branches, in that lone 
 
 And sheltered quiet, where the mourner breathed 
 His future anguish ; pleasant there the tone 
 Of bees ; the shadows, o'er still waters thrown. 
 
 From the broad plane-tree ; in the grey church nigh. 
 And near that altar where liis faith was known, 
 
 Humble as his own spirit we descry 
 
 The record which denotes where sacred ashes lie. 
 
 And be it so for ever; — it is glory. 
 
 Tombs, mausoleums, scrolls, whose weak intent 
 Time laughs to scorn, as he blots out their story. 
 
 Are not the mighty spirit's monument. 
 
 He builds with the world's wonder— his cement 
 Is the world's love ; — he lamps his beamy shrine. 
 
 With fires of the soul's essence, which, unspent, 
 Burn on for ever ; — such bright tomb is thine, 
 Great patriot, and so rests thy peerless Catherine. 
 
 So ends the poem of " The Desolation oi 
 E}am." Its authors, in one of the notes, 
 relate as follows : — 
 
 There are extant three letters written by 
 W. Mompesson, from the nearly depopu- 
 lated place, at a time when his wife had 
 been snatched from him by the plague, and 
 he considered his own fate inevitable. In 
 the whole range of literature, we know of 
 nothing more pathetic than these letters. 
 Ciur limits do not allow us to give them 
 entire, but we cannot forbear making a few 
 extracts. In one, he says, 
 
 " The condition of this place has been 
 so sad, that I persuade myself it did exceed 
 all history and example. I may truly say 
 that our town has become a Golgotha — the 
 place of a skull ; and, had there not been a 
 
 ' Eaknng rectory. 
 
 659 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 small remnant of us left, we nad been as 
 Sodom and Gomorrah. My ears never 
 ueard such doleful lamentations, and my 
 eyes never beheld such ghastly spectacles. 
 Here have been seventy-six families visited 
 in my parish, out of which two hundred 
 and fifiy-nine persons died ! Now, blessed 
 be God — all our fears are over : for none 
 have died of the infection since the eleventh 
 of October ; and all the pest-houses have 
 been long empty. I intend (God willing) 
 to spend most of this week in seeing all 
 t'le woollen clothes fumed and purified, as 
 well for the satisfaction, as for the safety of 
 the country." 
 
 Thus it is he announces to his children, 
 the death of their mother. 
 
 " To my dear children, George and Eli- 
 zabeth MoMPESSON, these present with 
 my blessing. 
 
 " Eyam, August, 1666. 
 " Dear Hearts, — This bring-s you the 
 doleful news of your dear mother's death — 
 the greatest loss which ever yet befell you ! 
 I am not only deprived of a kind and lov- 
 ing consort, but you also are bereaved of 
 the most indulgent mother that ever dear 
 children had. We must comfort ourselves 
 m God with this consideration, that the 
 loss is only ours, and that what is our sor- 
 row is her gain. The consideration of her 
 joys, which I do assure myself are unutter- 
 able, should refresh our drooping spirits. 
 
 " I do believe, my dear hearts, upon 
 sufficient ground, that she was the kindest 
 wife in the world ; and I do think from 
 my soul that she loved me ten times more 
 than herself. Further, I can assure you, 
 my sweet babes, that her love to you was 
 little inferior to hers for me. For why 
 should she be so desirous of my living in 
 this world of sorrows, but that you might 
 have the comfort of my life. You little 
 imagine with what delight she was wont 
 to talk of you both ; and the pains that she 
 took when you sucked on her breasts is 
 almost incredible. She gave a large testi- 
 mony of her love to you on her death-bed. 
 For, some hours before she died, I brought 
 her so.Tie cordials, which she plainly told 
 me she was not able to take. I desired 
 her to take them for your dear sakes. 
 Upon the mention of your dear names, she 
 lifted up herself and took them; which was 
 10 let me understand, that whilst she had 
 strength left, she would embrace any oppor- 
 tunity she had of testifying her affection to 
 you." 
 
 So wrote this most affectionate spirit to 
 oomfort his children : but, in a letter to a 
 
 relatire, the bitterness of nis griei bnrst 
 forth in an inconsolable agony. " I find 
 this maxim verified by too sad experience ; 
 Bonurn magis carendo quamfruendo cerni- 
 tnr. Had 1 been so thankful as my con- 
 dition did deserve, I might yet have had 
 my dearest dear in my bosom. But now, 
 farewell all happy days, and God grant J 
 may repent my sad ingratitude." 
 
 The following letter was written lo sir 
 George Saville, afterwards lord Hallifax, 
 his friend and patron, soon after this me- 
 lancholy event, and while the plague was 
 in his house, and he looked upon his own 
 death as certain, and speedily approaching. 
 
 " To Sir George Saville, Baronet. 
 " Eyam, Sept. 1, 1666. 
 
 " Honoured and dear sir, — This is the 
 saddest news that ever my pen could write ! 
 The destroying angel having taken up his 
 quarters within my habitation, my dearest 
 dear is gone to her eternal rest; and is m 
 vested with a crown of righteousness, hav- 
 ing made a happy end. 
 
 " Indeed had she loved herself as well as 
 me, she had fled from the pit of destruction 
 with her sweet babes, and might have pro- 
 longed her days, but that she was resolved 
 to die a martyr to my interest. My droop- 
 ing spirits are much refreshed with her joys, 
 which I think are unutterable. 
 
 " Sir, this paper is to bid you a hearty 
 farewell for ever — and to bring my humble 
 thanks for all your noble favours; and I 
 hope that you will believe a dying man. I 
 have as much love as honour for you ; and 
 I will bend my feeble knees to the God of 
 Heaven that you, my dear lady and your 
 children, and their children, may be blesl 
 with external and eternal happiness; and 
 that the same blessing may fall upon my 
 lady Sunderland and her relations. 
 
 " Dear sir, let your dying chaplain re- 
 commend this truth to you and your family 
 — that no happiness nor solid comfort may 
 be found in this vale of tears like living a 
 pious life ; — and pray remember ever to 
 retain this rule — never to do any thing 
 upon which you dare not first ask the bless- 
 ing of God for the success thereof, 
 
 " Sir, I have made bold in my will with 
 your name as an executor, and I hope that 
 you will not take it ill. I have joined two 
 others with you that will take from you the 
 trouble. Your favourable aspect will, I 
 know, be a great comfort tp my distressed 
 orphans. I am not desirous that they mai 
 be great, but good ; and my next request is 
 that they may be brought up in the fear 
 and admonition of the Lord. 
 
 mo 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 " I desire, sir, that you will be pleased to 
 make choice of a-n humble, pious man to 
 succeed me in my parsonage ; and, could I 
 see your face before my departure from 
 hence, I would inform you which way I 
 think he may live comfortably amongst his 
 people, which would be some satisfaction 
 to me before I die. And with tears I beg, 
 that, when you are prayinaf for fatherless 
 mfants, you would then remember my two 
 pretty babes. Sir, pardon the rude style of 
 this paper, and if my head be discomposed, 
 you cannot wonder at me. However, be 
 pleased to believe that I am 
 Dear sir, 
 
 Your most obliged, most affectionate, 
 and grateful servant, 
 " William Mompesson." 
 
 When first the plague broke out in Eyam, 
 Mr. Mompesson wrote to the then earl of 
 Devonshire, residing at Chatworth, some 
 five miles from Eyam ; stating, that he 
 thought he could prevail upon his parish- 
 ioners to confine themselves withm the 
 limits of the village, if the surrounding 
 country would supply them with neces- 
 saries, leaving such provisions as should be 
 requested in appointed places, and at ap- 
 pointed hours, upon the encircling hills. 
 The proyjosal was punctually complied 
 with ; and it is most remarkable, that when 
 the pestilence became, beyond all concep- 
 tion," terrible, not a single inhabitant at- 
 tempted to pass the deathful boundaries of 
 the village, though a regiment of soldiers 
 could not, in that rocky and open country, 
 have detained them against their will : much 
 less could any watch, which might have 
 been set by the neighbourhood, have ef- 
 fected that infinitely important purpose. 
 
 By the influence of this exemplary man, 
 obtained by his pious and affectionate vir- 
 tues, the rest of the county of Derby escaped 
 the plague ; not one of the very nearly 
 neighbouring hamlets, or even a single 
 house, being infected beyond the limits of 
 Eyam village, though the distemper raged 
 there near seven months. 
 
 Further details will hardly be required 
 respecting a story, which is as true as it is 
 sad. The manner wherein it is poetic- 
 ally related is sufficiently exemplified, and 
 therefore, without comment; and for beau- 
 ties, various as the scenery of nature, ex- 
 pressed in charmed lines, the reader of 
 feeling is referred to the exquisite little 
 volume mentioned before, under the title of 
 '• The Desolation of Eyam, and other 
 Poems; by William and Mary Howitl, 
 authors of the Forest Minstrel, fro." 
 
 A little piece, however, is ventured frotn 
 the volume, as a seasonable conclusion at 
 parting. 
 
 SUMMER AND THE POET. 
 
 POET. 
 
 Oh I golden, golden summer. 
 
 What is it thou hast done ? 
 Thou hast chased each vernal roamer 
 
 With thy fiercely burning sun; 
 
 Glad was the cuckoo's hail ; 
 
 Where may we hear it now ? 
 TBou hast driven the nightingale 
 
 From the waving hawthorn buugh. 
 
 Thou hast shrunk the mighty river; 
 
 Thou hast made the small brook flee; 
 And the light gales faintly quiver 
 
 In the d'avk and shadowy tree. 
 
 Spring waked her tribes to bloom. 
 
 And on the green sward dance. 
 Thou hast smitten them to Che tcm^ 
 
 With thy consuming glance. 
 
 And now Autumn cometh on. 
 
 Singing 'midst shocks of ccril. 
 Thou hastenest to be gone. 
 
 As if joy might not be borne. 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 And dost thou of me complain. 
 
 Thou, who, with dreamy eyes. 
 In the forest's moss hast lain. 
 
 Praising my silvery skies ? 
 
 Thou, who didst deem divine 
 
 Tlie shrill cicada's tune. 
 When the odours of the pine 
 
 Gushed through the Woods at uooll i 
 
 \ have run my fervid race ; 
 
 I have wrought my task once more; 
 I have filled each fruitful place 
 
 With a plenty that runs o'er. 
 
 There is treasure for the garner; 
 
 There is honey with the bee ; 
 And, oh! thou thankless scorner. 
 
 There's a parting boon for thee. 
 
 Soon' as, in misty sadness. 
 
 Sere Autumn yields his reign. 
 Winter, with stormy madness, 
 
 Shall chase thee from the plsna. 
 
 Then shall th«se scenes Elysian 
 
 Bright in thy spirit burn ; 
 And each summer- thought and visioa 
 
 Be thine till I return. 
 
 It may be remembered that from this 
 volume the poem of " Penn and the In- 
 dians," in a former sheet, was extract«i 
 
 661 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 MOMPESSON'S PULPIT IN THE EOCK 
 
 -Burstirg through that woody screen 
 
 What vision of strange aspect met his eyes 1 
 In that lantastic temple's porch was seen 
 The youthful pastor 
 
 • No sabbath sound 
 
 Came from the village ; no rejoicing bells 
 "Were heard ; no groups of strolling youth were found, 
 Nor lovers loitering on the distant fells, 
 No laugh, no shout of infancy, which tells 
 Where radiant health and happiness repair ; 
 But silence, such as with the lifeless dwells. 
 
 The Desolation of Eyam. 
 
 A plate in the " Gentleman's Magazine" 
 of September, 1801, presents the above 
 view, taken about three years before, ac- 
 companied by a remark from Mr. Urban's 
 correspondent, that it was " at that time 
 an exact '•esemblance of the perforated 
 rock near the village of Eyam, in which 
 the pious and worthy Mr. Mompesson, the 
 rector, punctually performed the duties of 
 his office to the distressed inhabitants dur- 
 ing the time of the plague in that village." 
 
 Here it may be well to observe, in the 
 expressive language of " William and 
 
 in, and, in a dreadful and desolating strug- 
 gle, destroyed and buried with its victims." 
 William Mompesson exercised a pow^r 
 greater than legislators have yet attained. 
 He had found the great secret of govern- 
 ment. He ruled his flock by the Law of 
 Kindness. ^ 
 
 In the summer, 1757, rive cottagers were 
 digging on the heathy mountain above 
 Eyam, which was the place of graves after 
 the church-yard became a too narrow repo- 
 sitory. Those men came to something 
 Mary Howitt," that " what a cordon of which had the appearance of having once 
 soldiers could not have accomplished was been linen. Conscious of their situation, 
 effected by the wisdom and love of one they instantly buried it again. In a fev/ 
 man. This measure was the salvation of days they all sickened of a putrid fever, 
 the country. The plague, which would and three of the five died. The disorder 
 most probably have spread from place to was contagious, and proved mortal to num 
 place may be said to have been hemmed bers of the inhabitants. 
 
 6.62, 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 (iarn'cfe ^lap5. 
 
 No. XXXVII. 
 
 Trom " Ram Alley," a Comedy, by 
 Lodowick Barry, 1611.] 
 
 In the Prologue the Poet protests the 
 innocence of his Play, and gives a promise 
 jf better things. 
 
 Mome bred luirth our Muse doth sing; ; 
 
 The Satyr's tooth, and ivaspisli sting, 
 
 ■Vhich most do liurt when least suspected. 
 
 By this PJay are not affected. 
 
 !^ut if conceit, with qiuck-turn'd scenes, 
 
 )bservin6; all those ancient streams 
 
 'Vhich from the Horse-f(ot fount do flow — 
 
 \s time, place, person — and to show 
 
 Things never done, with that true life, 
 
 That thoughts and wits shall stand at strife, 
 
 Whether the things now shewn be true ; 
 
 Or whether we ourselves now do 
 
 The things we but present : if these, 
 
 Free from the loathsonie Stage disease, 
 So over-worn, so tired and stale ; 
 
 Not satyrising, but to rail ; — 
 
 May win your favors, and inherit 
 
 But calm acceptance of his merit, — 
 
 He TOWS by paper, pen, and ink. 
 
 And by the Learned Sisters' drink. 
 
 To spend his time, his lamps, his oil. 
 
 And never cease bis b'ain to toil. 
 
 Till from the silent hours of ;iight 
 
 He doth produce, for your delight. 
 
 Conceits so new, so harmless free. 
 
 That Puritans themselves ma/ see 
 
 A Play ; yet not in public preach. 
 
 That Players such lewd doctrine teach, 
 
 That their pure joints do quake and tremble. 
 
 When they do see a man resemble 
 
 The picture of a villain. — This, 
 
 As he a friend to Muses is, 
 
 To you by me he gives his word, 
 
 is all his Play does now atford. 
 
 (From the "Royal King and Loyal Sub- 
 ject," a Tragi-comedy, by T. Ileywood, 
 1627.] 
 
 In the Prologue to this Play, Heywood 
 descants upon the variety of topics, which 
 nad been introduced upon the English 
 stage in that age, — the rich Shakspearian 
 epoch 
 
 To give content to this most curious age, 
 
 The Gods themselves we've brought down to the stage, 
 
 And figured them in Planets ; made ev'n Hell 
 
 Deliver up the Furies, by no spell 
 
 Saving the Muses' raptures : farther we 
 
 tiftve traffickt by their help ; no History 
 
 We've left unrifled ; our pens have been dipt 
 
 As well in openiu? each hid manuscnpt, 
 
 As tracts more vulgar, whether read or sung. 
 
 In our domestic oi' more foreign tongue. 
 
 Of Fairy elves. Nymphs of the Sea and Land, 
 
 The Lawns and Groves, no number can be scann'd, 
 
 Which we've not given feet to. Nay, 'tis knoivn. 
 
 That when our Chronicles have barren grown 
 
 Of story, we have all Invention stretcht ; 
 
 Dived low as to the renter, and tlien reacht 
 
 Unto the Primum Mobile above, 
 
 (Nor 'scaped Things Intermediate^, for your lor 
 
 These have been acted often ; all have past 
 
 Censure : of which some live, and seme are cast. 
 
 For this* in agitation, stay the end ; 
 
 Tho' nothing please, yet nothing can offend. 
 
 [From the " Challenge to Beauty," a Tragi 
 comedy, by T. Heywood, 163G.] 
 
 In the Prologue to this Play, Heywoori 
 commends the English Plays; not without 
 a censure of some writeis, who in his timt 
 had begun to degenerate. 
 The Roman and Athenian Dramas far 
 Differ from us : and those that frequent are 
 In Italy and France, ev'n in these days. 
 Compared with ours, are rather Jiggs than Plays. 
 Like of the Spanish may be said, and Dutch ; 
 None, versed in language, but confess them such. 
 They do not build their projects on that ground ; 
 Nor have their phrases half the weight and sound. 
 Our labeur'd Scenes have had. And yet our nation 
 (Already too much tax'd for imitation. 
 In seeking to ape others) cannot 'quit 
 Some of our Poets, who liave sinn'd in it. 
 For where, before, great Patriots, Dukes, and Kir.g», 
 Presented for some. high facinorcus thingsf 
 Were the stage subject ; now we strive to fly 
 In their low pitch, who never could soar high • 
 For now the common argument entreats 
 Of puling Lovers, crafty Bawds, or Cheats. 
 Nor blame I their quick fancies, who can til 
 These queasy times with humours flash'd in wit. 
 Whose art I both encourage and commend ; 
 I only wish that they would sometimes bend 
 To memorise the valours of such men. 
 Whose very names might dignify the pen ; 
 And that our once-applauded Rosscian strain 
 In acting such mi^ght be revived again: 
 Which you to count'nance might the Stage make proud. 
 And poets strive to key their strings more loud. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 * His own Play. 
 
 t The foundations of the English Drama were laid 
 deep in tragedy by Marlow, and others — Alarlow 
 especially — while our cumedy was yet in its lisping 
 state. To this tragic preponderance Cbrgetting h:i» 
 own sweet Comedies, and Shakspeare's), Heywoob 
 seems to refer with regret ; as in the " Roscian Strain" 
 he evidently alludes to Alleyn, who was great in the 
 " Jew of Malta," as Heywood elsewhere testities, and 
 in the principal tragic parts both of Maiiuw aui 
 Shakspeaie. 
 
 663 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 OTredtling 
 
 IN CORNWALL AND DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — The ready insertion given to my 
 letter on the above subject, in the second 
 volume of the Every-Day Book, (p. 1009,) 
 encourages me to hope thaf you will as 
 readily insert the present, -vhich enters 
 more fully into the merits of this ancient 
 sport, as practised in both counties, than 
 any other communication you have as yet 
 lain before your numerous readers. 
 
 Having been the first person to call your 
 attention to ihe merits of Polkinhorne, 
 Parkins, and Warren, of Cornwall, (to 
 which I could easily have added the names 
 of some dozen or two more, equally deserv- 
 ing of notice,) I was much amused at the 
 article you extracted from the London 
 Magazine, (into the Every-Day Book, vol. 
 ji. p. 1337,) because I was present at the 
 sport there spoken of; and being well ac- 
 quainted with the play, and an eye-witness, 
 I found the picture much too highly co- 
 loured. 
 
 I am neither a Cornwall nor a Devon man 
 myself, but have resided in both counties 
 for the last ten years, and am really an ad- 
 mirer of Abraham Cann, of Devon, whose 
 behaviour in the ring no one can at all 
 complain of: he is a fine fellow, but so is 
 Polkinhorne, and, beyond doubt, the latter 
 is " much the better man ;" he threw Cann 
 an acknowledged fair fall, and I regret he 
 left the ring on the bad advice of those 
 whom he thought then his friends. Had he 
 not, I am certain he would have thrown 
 Cann " over and over again." 
 
 In a late number of the Table Book (p. 
 416) is given an extract from Homer, to 
 show that Ulysses' mode of wrestling was 
 similar to that of Abraham Cann ; it may 
 be so ; but what does Achilles say upon the 
 subject : — 
 
 " Your nobler vigour, oli, my friends, restrain : 
 Nor weary out your gen'rous strength in vain. 
 Ye both have won : let others who excel 
 Now prove that prowess you have prov'd so well." 
 
 Now Abraham Cann, with his monstrous 
 shoe, and most horrible mode of kicking, 
 has never yet been able to throw Polkin- 
 horne, nor do I think he has the power or 
 skill to enable him to do so. His defeat of 
 Gaffney has added no laurel to his brow, 
 for the Irishman had not a shadow of 
 chance ; nor is there an Irishman or a 
 Cornishman, now in London, that would 
 
 stand any chance with Cann ; but he would 
 find several awkward opponents if he would 
 meet those from Westmoreland, Carlisle 
 and Cumberland, and play in their mode. Iv 
 the match, however, between Polkinhorne 
 and Cann the latter very properly re 
 ceived the stakes, on account of the formei 
 having quitted the ring on conceiving he had 
 won the day, by throwing two falls. The 
 second throw, on reference to the umpires, 
 was after some time deemed not a fair back 
 fall. — This, however, is foreign to my pur- 
 pose; which is to systematically explain 
 the methods of wrestling in Cornwall and 
 Devon. 
 
 I have seen in Cornwall more persons 
 present at these games, when the prize has 
 only been a gold-laced hat, a waistcoat, or 
 a pair of gloves, than ever attend the sports 
 of Devon, (where the prizes are very liberal 
 — for they don't like to be kicked severely 
 for a trifle,) or even at the famed meetings 
 of later days in London, at the Eagle in the 
 City Road, or the Golden Eagle in Mile 
 End. How is this? Why, in the latter 
 places, six, eight, and, at farthest, twelve 
 standards are as much as a day's play wil! 
 admit of; while in Cornwall 1 have seen 
 forty made in one day. At Penzance, on 
 Monday, 24th ult.,* thirty standards were 
 made, and the match concluded the day 
 following. In Devon, what with the heavy 
 shoes and thick padding, and time lost in 
 equipment and kicking, half that number 
 cannot be made in a day : I have frequently 
 seen men obliged to leave the ring, and 
 abandon the chance of a prize, owing solely 
 to the hurt they have received by kicks 
 from the knee downwards ; and let me here 
 add, that I have been present when even 
 Cann's brothers, or relations, have been 
 obliged to do so. So much for kicking. — 
 To the eye of a beholder unacquainted with 
 wrestling, the Cornish mode must appear 
 as ylay, and that of Devon barbarous. — It 
 is an indisputable fact, that no Cornish 
 wrestler of any note ever frequents the 
 games in Devon ; and that whenever those 
 from Devon have played in Cornwall, they 
 have been thrown : Jordan by Parkins, and 
 so on. 
 
 At a Cornish wrestling, a man's favourite 
 play can be seen by the hitch or holdfast he 
 takes ; as right or left, which is sure to be 
 crossed by left and right, and the struggle 
 immediately commences. The off-hand 
 play is that in which the men have each a 
 gripe on his adversary's collar, or on the 
 colhr and opposite elbow, or wrist ; when 
 
 See the West Briton paper of the &th October. 
 
 664 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 by a sudden blow against the outside of 
 liie foot, by the striker's inside, (if strong 
 enough,) or by a corresponding twist of the 
 collar, one lays the other flat on his back. 
 This is called playing with the toe ; but 
 they never wear any shoes, and are gene- 
 rally bare-legged from the knee downwards. 
 
 When the hitch is collar and elbow, one 
 mode of play is to lift with the heel placed 
 in the fork, with the back twisted round 
 towards the other's front, and pulling him 
 strongly by the elbow and collar, carry him 
 forward ; but a back fall is then uncertain. 
 Another way is to heave forward or back- 
 ward with the crook, or iulovh, or with the 
 hip. 
 
 But the struggle is on what is termed the 
 closing play, which is by hitching over and 
 under. If righthanded, the over player 
 has his right hand on the loins, or over the 
 right shoulder of his adversary, with his 
 right side towards him, and his left hand 
 on the right arm, at the wrist or elbow ; he 
 then throws forward with the hip, or back- 
 ward and forward with the crook, as before. 
 
 The tinder player has his right hand on 
 the left side of the collar, his left crossing 
 the loins on the back, or crossing the belly 
 in front, and facing his opponent's left side. 
 His defensive play is to stop the hip by the 
 clamp and the crook ; by pushing forward 
 with his left hand on the nape of the neck, 
 and then heaving ; which in the ring is con- 
 sidered the best play. A good and sure 
 heaver is a perfect player. It must be 
 done backward, if the arm crosses the 
 back ; but if it crosses the belly, either 
 backward or forward will do. Cann was 
 thrown by Polkinhorne backwards, which 
 is dangerous to the heaver to attempt ; for, 
 if he does not lift with sufficient strength, 
 and keep himself clear of his antagonist's 
 legs, he will not go far enough round, and 
 instead of throwing his adversary a fair 
 fall, he may fall on his own back, which is 
 termed throwing himself; or his adversary 
 may crook his leg within, and overbalance 
 the heaver and by a quick movement throw 
 him. Thus was Warren thrown by Cann. 
 (See the Every- Day Book, vol. ii. p. 1337.) 
 
 The forward heave, if done quickly, is 
 certain. Both arms must cross the belly, 
 and your adversary be lifted across your 
 chest; then, plunging forward, you fall on 
 him crosswise ; he has thus no chance, and 
 the fall is complete; but the in-turn, if 
 adopted before the lift from the ground 
 takes place, baffles the heaver. 
 
 The Cornish hug is a tremendous strug- 
 gle for victory. Both grasp alike, and not 
 
 uch science is required. It only takes 
 
 place where each conceives himself to be 
 the stronger of the two. It is either right 
 or left. If right, each man has his right 
 hand on the other's loins on the left side, 
 and his left hand on the right shoulder ; 
 they stand face to face, and each strives to 
 draw his adversary towards him, and grasps 
 him round the waist, till the hug becomes 
 close, and the weakest man is forced back- 
 ward — the other falling heavily upon him. 
 This is a very sure and hard fall. So much 
 for Cornish play. Now for that of Devon- 
 shire; which resembles in every rG.spect 
 (the toe and heel excepted) the off-hand 
 play of Cornwall, but goes no farther. 
 
 The Devonshire men have no under-play, 
 aor have they one heaver ; and they do not 
 understand or practise the hug. Visit a 
 Devon ring, and you'll wait a tedious time 
 after a man is thrown ere another appears. 
 After undergoing the necessary prepara- 
 tions for a good kicking, &c. he enters, 
 and shakes his adversary by the hand, and 
 kicks and lays hold when he can get a fit 
 opportunity. If he is conscious of superior 
 strength he " goes to work," and by strength 
 of arms wrests him off his legs, and lavs 
 him flat ; or, if too heavy for this, he carries 
 him round by the hip. But when the men 
 find they are " much of a muchness" it is 
 really tiresome: "caution" is the word; 
 the shoe, only, goes to work ; and after 
 dreadful hacking, cutting, and kicking, one 
 is at last thrown. The hardest shoe and 
 the best kicker carries the day. Cann is a 
 very hard kicker and a cautious wrestler. 
 The Irishman's legs bore ample testimony 
 of the effects of Cann's shoe. He left him 
 knee-deep in a stream of gore. 
 
 The Devon men never close with a 
 Cornish adversary, if they find he possesses 
 any science; because they have no under- 
 play, and cannot prevent the risk of being 
 heaved : they therefore stand off, with only 
 one hand in the collar, and kick; the 
 Cornishman then attempts to get in, and 
 the Devonman tries to confine one of his 
 opponent's arms by holding him at the 
 wrist, and keeping him from coming in 
 either over or under, and at every move of 
 his leg kicking it. Here ends the descrip- 
 tion ; by which it will be plainly seen that 
 a Cornishman cannot enter a Devon ring 
 on any thing like an equality. 
 
 Wishing well to both counties, and dis- 
 claiming undue partiality to either, I remain 
 a true lover of wrestling as a rustic sport, 
 and your obedient servant, 
 
 Sam Sam's Son 
 
 Octobers, 18-27. 
 
 665 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 
 
 No. xn. 
 
 Ether — Weight and Elasticity of the 
 Air — Air-guns. 
 
 By ether the moderns understand a rare 
 fluid, or species of matter, beyond the at- 
 mosphere, and penetrating it, infinitely 
 more subtile than the air we respire, of an 
 immense extent, filling all the spaces where 
 the celestial bodies roll, yet making no 
 sensible resistance to their motions. Some 
 suppose it to be a sort of air, much purer 
 than that which invests our globe; others, 
 that its nature approaches to that of the 
 celestial fire, which emanates from the sun 
 and other stars; others, again, suppose it 
 to be generically different from ah other 
 matter, siii generis, and its parts finer than 
 those of light ; alleging that the exceed- 
 ing tenuity of its parts renders it capable 
 i)f ttiat vast expansive force, which is the 
 source of all that pressure and dilatation 
 whence most of the phenomena in nature 
 arise ; for that by the extreme subtilty of 
 its parts it intimately penetrates all bodies, 
 and exerts its energy everywhere. This last 
 is the opinion of Newton and Locke. But 
 wiiatever be the sentiments now entertained 
 on the subject, we find the origin of all of 
 them in the ancients. 
 
 The stoics taught, that there was a subtile 
 and active fire which pervaded the whole 
 universe, that by the energy of this ethereal 
 substance, to which they gave the name of 
 ether, all the pans of nature were produced, 
 preserved, and linked together ; that it em- 
 braced every thing; and that in it the 
 celestial bodies performed their revolutions. 
 
 According to Diogenes Laertius and 
 Hierocles, Pythagoras affirmed, that the air 
 which invests our earth is impure and 
 mixed; but that the air above it is essen- 
 tially pure and healthful. He calls it " free 
 ether, emancipated from all gross matter, a 
 celestial substance that fills all space, and 
 penetrates at will the pores of all bodies." 
 
 Aristotle, explaining Pythagoras's opi- 
 nion of ether, ascribes the same also to 
 Anaxagoras. Aristotle himself, in another 
 place, understands by &A\eT,afifth element 
 pure and unalterable, of an active and vital 
 nature, but entirely different from air and 
 fre. 
 
 Empedocles, one of the most celebrated 
 disciples of Pythagoras, is quoted by Plu- 
 tarch, and St. Clemens Alexandrinus, as 
 «<lmittine an ethereal substance, which 
 
 filled all space, and contained in it all the 
 bodies of the universe, and which he calls 
 by the names of Titan and Jupiter. 
 
 Plato distinguishes air into two kinds, 
 the one gross and filled with vapours, which 
 IS what we breathe; the other "more re- 
 fined, called ether, in which the celestial 
 bodies are immerged, and where they roll." 
 
 The nature of air was not less known to 
 the ancients than that of ether. They re- 
 garded it as a general " menstruum," con- 
 taining all the volatile parts of every thing 
 in nature, which being variously agitated, 
 and diff'erently combined, produced me- 
 teors, tempests, and all the other changes 
 we experience. They also were acquainted 
 with its weight, though the experiments 
 transmitted to us, relative to this, are but 
 few. Aristotle speaks of " a vessel filled 
 with air as weighing more than one quite 
 empty." Treating of respiration, he reports 
 the opinion of Empedocles, who ascribes 
 the cause of it " to the weight of the air, 
 which by its pressure insinuates itself with 
 force '' into the lungs. Plutarch, in tht 
 same terms, expresses the sentiments of 
 Asclepiades. He represents him, amont 
 other things, as saying, that " the externa 
 air by its weight opens its way with fore. 
 into the breast." Heron of Alexandria' 
 ascribes effects to the elasticity of the air 
 which show that he perfectly understood 
 that property of it. 
 
 Seneca also knew its weight, spring, anri 
 elasticity. He describes " the constar 
 effort it makes to expand itself when it '\> 
 compressed ;" and he affirms, that " it has 
 the property of condensing itself, and for- 
 cing its way through all obstacles that oppost 
 its passage." 
 
 It is still more surprising, however, that 
 Ctesibius, " upon the principle of the air's 
 elasticity," invented IFind-guns, which w( 
 look upon as a modern contrivance. Philc 
 of Byzantium gives a very full and exac^ 
 description of that curious machine, plan- 
 ned upon the property of the air's being 
 capable of condensation, and so constructed 
 as to manage and direct the force of that 
 element, in such a manner as to carry stone* 
 with rapidity to the greatest distance. 
 
 INSCRIBED ON A SIGN 
 
 At Castle Cary, Somerset. 
 
 FOOT, 
 
 MaVer of pattens, clog-s, rakes, and mouse-traps too. 
 Grinds razors, makes old umbrellas good as new; 
 Knives bladed, spurs and lantertis mended; other jol 
 
 done ; 
 Teakettles clean'd, repaired, and earned home. 
 
 J. T. H. 
 
 666 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 i^laimers antr CusitomsJ. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Provincial Sayings, &c. 
 
 1. As the days grow longer, 
 The storms grow stronger. 
 
 2. As the days lengthen, 
 
 So the storms strengthen. 
 
 3. Blessed is the corpse, that the rain falls on. 
 i. Blessed is the bride, that the sun shines on. 
 5. He that goes to see his wheat in May, 
 
 Comes weeping away. 
 
 Harvest-home Call, 
 IN THE County of Durham, 
 
 Blest be the day that Christ was born, 
 
 TVe've getten mell of Mr. 's corn. 
 
 Well won, and better shorn. 
 
 Hip, hip, hip !— Huzza ! huzza ! huzza I 
 
 A.N OLD Yorkshire May-Game. 
 
 «Jrj account of a May-Game, performed 
 at Richmond, Yorkshire, on the 20lh of 
 Mar/, 1660, by the inhabitants of that 
 town; whereby they dewonstraitd their 
 Universal j«y for the happy return of 
 Charles II., whom God was pleased in 
 make the instrument of freeing this na- 
 tion from tyranny, usurpation, and the 
 dismal effects of a civil war. 
 
 " They came into the town, in solemn 
 equipage, as follows : — 
 
 " I. Three antics before them with bag- 
 pipes. 
 
 " 2. The representative of a lord, attend- 
 ed by trumpets, falconers, four pages, as 
 nany footmen, and fifty attendants, all 
 suited as became persons of their quality. 
 
 " 3. The representative of a sheriff, with 
 forty attendants, in their liveries. 
 
 " 4. The bishop of Hereford, with four 
 ..ages and footmen, liis chaplain, and twenty 
 nher household officers, besides their at- 
 lendants. 
 
 " 5. Two companies of morris-dancers, 
 who acted their parts to the satisfaction of 
 the spectators. 
 
 " 6. Sij:ty nymphs, with music before 
 ;hem, following Diana, all richly adorned 
 in white and gorgeous apparel, with pages 
 and foolmen attending them. 
 
 "7. Three companies oi foot soldiers, 
 with a captain and other officers, in great 
 rnagnificence. 
 
 " 8. Robin Hood, in scarlet, with forty 
 bowmen, all clad in Lincoln green. 
 
 " Thus they marched into the town. 
 
 Now follows their performance. 
 
 " They marched decently, in good order, 
 round the market-cross, and came to the 
 church, where they ofiered their cordial 
 prayers for our most gracious sovereign ; a 
 sermon preached at that time. 
 
 " From thence my lord invited all his at- 
 tendants to his house to dinner. 
 
 " The reverend bishop did the same to 
 all his attendants, inviting the minister and 
 other persons to his own house, where they 
 were sumptuously entertained. 
 
 " The soldiers marched up to the cross, 
 ■where they gave many vollies of shot, with 
 push of pike, and other martial feats. 
 
 " There was erected a scaffold and ar- 
 bours, where the morris-dancers and nymphs 
 acted their parts; many thousands of spec- 
 tators having come out of the country and 
 villages adjacent. 
 
 " Two days were spent in acting ' Robin 
 Hood.' The sheriif and reverend bishop 
 sent bottles of sack to several officers acting 
 in the play, who all performed their parts 
 to the general satisfaction of the spectators, 
 with acclamations of joy for the safe arrival 
 of his sacred majesty. 
 
 " Something more might have been ex- 
 pected from the civil magistrate of the 
 town, who permitted the conduit to run 
 water all the time. 
 
 " The preceding rejoicings were per- 
 formed by the commonalty of the borough 
 of Richmond." 
 
 Christmas Pie. 
 
 The following appeared in the New- 
 castle Chronicle, 6lh Jan. 1770: — "Mon- 
 day last was brought from Howick to Ber- 
 wick, to be shipp'd for London, for sir 
 Hen. Grey, bart., a pie, the contents where- 
 of are as follows : viz. 2 bushels of flour, 
 20 lbs. of butter, 4 geese, 2 turkies, 2 rab- 
 bits, 4 wild ducks, 2 woodcocks, 6 snipes, 
 and 4 partridges; 2 neats' tongues, 2 cur- 
 lews, 7 blackbirds, and 6 pigeons: it is 
 supposed a very great curiosity, was made 
 by Airs. Dorotiiy Patterson, housekeeper at 
 llowick. It was near nine feet in circum- 
 ference at bottom, weighs about twelve 
 stones, will take two men to present it 
 to table ; it is neatly fitted with a case, and 
 four small wheels to facilitate its use to 
 every guest that inclines to partake of its 
 contents at table." 
 
 Oliver Cromwell's Weddings. 
 
 The singular mode of solemnizing mar 
 riages that took place during Cromwell'.* 
 
 mi 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 jsurpation, was pretty strictly observed for 
 fhe space of four years ; during which time 
 sixty-six couple were joined together before 
 the civil magistrate (at Knaresbrough.) 
 The gentlemen who were applied to in this 
 case, for the most part, appear to be Thomas 
 Stockdale, of Bilton Park, Esq. ; sir Thomas 
 Mouleverer, bart. of AUerton Park; or the 
 mayor of Ripon. The bans were pub- 
 lished on three separate dtiys before mar- 
 riage, sometimes at the market-cross, and 
 sometimes in the church. The following is 
 a copy of one of the certificates : — 
 
 " 30 Mar. 1651. Marmaduke Inman and 
 Prudence Lowcock, both of the parish 
 of Knaresbrough, were this day mar- 
 ried together at Ripon, having first 
 been published three several market- 
 Jays in the market-place at Knares- 
 brough, according to the act of parlia- 
 ment, and no exceptions made. 
 
 " Tn the presence of 
 
 " Thomas Davie, 
 
 *' Anthony Simpson." 
 
 Electioneering. 
 
 In sir Henry Slingsby's Diary is the fol- 
 lowing note, respecting the election at 
 Knaresbrough in the year 1640. "There 
 is an evil custom at such elections, to bestow 
 wine on all the town, which cost me sixteen 
 pounds at least." 
 
 D. A. M. 
 
 A RARE BROAD FARTHING! 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — In your last very pleasing number, 
 p. 242, you give an account of a " Farthing 
 Lord." As addenda to that article I state, 
 that in the west of England I knew a 
 penurious old gentleman, who, by way of 
 generous reward, used to give the person 
 who performed little services for him a 
 farthing!, with this erateful apostrophe, 
 " Here, my friend ; here is a rare broad 
 farthing for thee ! — go thy way — call to- 
 morrow ; and, if thou earn it, thou shalt 
 nave another rare broad farthing .'" By 
 the exercise of this liberality, he gained the 
 appellation of " Broad Farthing !" and re- 
 tained it to the day of his death, when ho 
 left immense wealth. 
 
 I am, sir, yours, &c. 
 
 * * * 
 » > • 
 
 JsUngtorii 4ugust 25, 1827. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 The following good-tempered and agree- 
 able letter has been published in illustration 
 of an excellent engraving of Wilkie's in- 
 teresting picture of Sir Walter Scott and 
 his family : — 
 
 Letter from Sir Walter Scott to Sir 
 Adam Ferguson, descriptive of a Pic- 
 ture painted BY David Wilkie, Esq., 
 R.A., exhibited at the Royal Acade- 
 my, 1818. 
 
 My dear Adam, — I have duly received 
 your letter, with that enclosed from the 
 gentleman whom you have patronised, by 
 suffering the sketch from the pencil of our 
 friend Wilkie to be engraved for his work. 
 
 The picture has something in it rather of 
 a domestic character, as the personages are 
 represented in a s rt of masquerade, such 
 being the pleasure of the accomplished 
 painter. Nevertheless, if it is to be en- 
 graved, I do not see that I can off^er any 
 objection, since it is the wish of the dis- 
 tinguished artist, and the friendly pro- 
 prietor of the sketch in question. 
 
 But Mr. Balmanno [Secretary to the 
 Incorporated Artists' Fund] mentions, be- 
 sides, a desire to have anecdotes of my 
 private and domestic life, or, as he expresses 
 himself, a portrait of the author in his 
 night-gown and slippers ; and this from 
 you, who, I dare say, could furnish some 
 anecdotes of our younger days, which might 
 now seem ludicrous enough. 
 
 Even as to my night-gown and slippers, 
 I believe the time has been, when the 
 articles of my wardrobe were as familiar to 
 your memory as Poins's to Prince Henry ; 
 but that time has been for some years past, 
 and I cannot think it would be interesting 
 to the public to learn that I had changed 
 my old robe-de-cluimbre for a handsoine 
 douillette when I was last at Paris. The 
 truth is, that a man of ordinary sense can- 
 not be supposed delighted with the species 
 of gossip which, in the dearth of other new-i, 
 recurs to such a quiet individual as myself; 
 and though, like a well-behaved lion of 
 twenty years' standing, I am not inclined to 
 vex myself about what I cannot help, 1 
 will not in any case, in which I can prevent 
 it, be accessory to these follies. There is 
 no man known at all in literature, who may 
 not have more to tell of his private life 
 than I have : I have surmounted no diffi- 
 culties either of birth or education, nor 
 have I been favoured by any particular ad- 
 vantages, and my life has been as void o< 
 
 668 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 incidents of importance, as Iviat of the 
 " weary knife-grinder," — 
 
 " htory 1 God bless you. I have none to tell, sir." 
 
 The follies of youth ought long since to 
 iiave passed away ; and if the prejudices 
 ^nd absurdities of age have come in their 
 place, I will keep them, as Beau Tibbs did 
 his prospect, for the amusement of my do- 
 mestic friends. A mere enumeration of 
 the persons in the sketch is all I can pos- 
 sibly permit to be published respecting 
 myself and my family ; and as must be the 
 lot of humanity, when we look back seven 
 or eight years, even what follows cannot be 
 drawn up without some very painful re- 
 collections. 
 
 The idea which our inimitable VVilkie 
 adopted was to represent our family group 
 in the garb of south country peasants, sup- 
 posed to be concerting a merry-making, for 
 which some of the preparations are seen. 
 The place is the terrace near Kayside, 
 commanding an extensive view towards the 
 Eildon hills. 1. The sitting figure, in the 
 dress of a miller, I believe, represents Sir 
 Walter Scott, author of a few scores of 
 volumes, and proprietor of Abbotsford, in 
 the county of Roxburgh. 2. In front, and 
 presenting, we may suppose, a country 
 wag somewhat addicted to poaching, 
 stands sir Adam Ferguson, Knight-Keeper 
 of the Regalia of Scotland. 3. In the 
 background is a very handsome old man, 
 upwards of eighty-four years old at the time, 
 painted in his own character of a shepherd. 
 He also belonged to the numerous clan of 
 Scott. He used to claim credit for three 
 things unusual among the Southland shep- 
 herds : first, that he had never been fou in 
 the course of his life; secondly, he never 
 liad struck a man in anger; thirdly, that 
 though intrusted with the management of 
 large sales of stock, he had never lost a 
 penny for his master by a bad debt. He 
 died soon afterwards at Abbotsford. 4, 5, 6. 
 Of the three female figures, the elder is the 
 late regretted mother of the family repre- 
 sented. 5. The young person most forward 
 in the group is Miss Sophia Charlotte Scott, 
 now Mrs. J. G. Lockhart ; and 6, hci 
 young^er sister, Miss Ann Scott. Both are 
 represented as ewe-milkers, with their 
 leglins, or milk-pails. 7 On the left hand 
 of the shepherd, the young man holding a 
 fowling-piece is the eldest son of sir Walter, 
 now captain in the king's hussars. 8. The 
 Doy is the youngest of the family, Charles 
 Scott, now of Brazenose College, Oxford 
 The two dogs were distinguished favourites 
 of the family; the large one was a stag- 
 
 hound of the old Highland breed, calleu 
 Maida, and one of the handsomest dogs 
 that could be found; it was a present from 
 the chief of Glengary to sir Walter, and 
 was highly valued, both on account of his 
 beauty, his fidelity, and the great rarity of 
 the breed. The other is a little Highland 
 terrier, called Ourisk, (goblin,) of a parti- 
 cular kind, bred in Kintail. It was a pre- 
 sent from the honourable Mr. Stewart Mac- 
 kenzie, and is a valuable specimen of a 
 race which is now also scarce. 
 
 Maida, like Bran, Luath, and other dogs 
 of distinction, slumbers "beneath his stone," 
 distinguished by an epitaph, which, to llie 
 honour of Scottish scholarship be it spoken, 
 has only one false quality in tivo hnes. 
 
 " Maidae marmorea dermis sub imagine Maida, 
 " Ad januam domini sit tibi terra levis." 
 
 Ourisk still survives, but, like some othei 
 personages in the picture, with talents and 
 temper rather the worse for wear. She has 
 become what Dr. Rutty, the quaker, records 
 himself in his journal as having sometimes 
 been — sinfully dogged and snappish. 
 
 If it should suit Mr. Balmanno's purpose 
 to adopt the above illustrations, he is 
 heartily welcome to them ; but I make it my 
 especial bargain, that nothing more is said 
 upon such a meagre subject. 
 
 It strikes me, however, that there is a 
 story about old Thomas Scott, the shepherd, 
 which is characteristic, and which J will 
 make your friend welcome to. Tom was, 
 both as a trusted servant and as a rich 
 fellow in his line, a person of considerable 
 importance among the class in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and used to stickle a good deal 
 to keep his place in public opinion. Now, 
 he suffered, in his own idea at least, from 
 the consequence assumed by a country 
 neighbour, who, though neither so well 
 reputed for wealth or sagacity as Thomas 
 Scott, had yet an advantage over him, from 
 having seen the late king, and used to take 
 precedence upon all occasions when they 
 chanced to meet. Thomas suffered under 
 this superiority. I5ut after this sketch was 
 finished and exhibited in London, the news- 
 papers made it known that his present 
 majesty had condescended to take some 
 notice of it. Delighted with the circum- 
 stance, Thomas Scott set out, on a most 
 oppressively hot day, to walk five miles to 
 Bowden, where his lival resided. He had 
 no sooner entered the cottage, than he 
 called out in his broad forest dialect — 
 " Andro', man, de ye anes sey (sec) the 
 king?" " In troth did J, Tarn," answered 
 Andro', " sit down, and V\\ tell ye a' about 
 
 669 
 
THE TABLE BOOK/ 
 
 it ; ye sey, I was at Lonon, in a place they 
 ca' the park, that is no like a hained hoi^- 
 fence, or like the four-nooked parks in tliis 
 
 country ." " Hout awa," said Thomas, 
 
 "I have heard a' that before : I only came 
 ower the Know to tell you, that, if you 
 have seen the kino-, the king- has seen mey," 
 (me.) A'd so he returned with a jocund 
 heart, ass'iring- his friends " it had done 
 him much muckle gude to settle accounts 
 wi' Andro'. " 
 
 i^nother favour I must request is, that 
 Mr. Balmanno will be so good as to send 
 me a proof of these illustrations, as my hand 
 is very bad, and there be errors both of the 
 pen and of the press. 
 
 Jocose hcec, as the old Laird of Restalrig 
 writes to the Earl of Gowrie. — Farewell, 
 my old tried and dear friend of forty long 
 years. Our enjoyments must now be of a 
 character less vivid than we have shared 
 together. 
 
 " But still at our lot it were vain to repine. 
 
 " Youth cannot return, or the days of Lang Syne." 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 Walter Scott.* 
 Abbotsford, August 2. 
 
 ADVICE 
 
 To " Look at Home !" 
 
 The advice given by a girl to Thales, 
 the Milesian philosopher, was strong and 
 practical. Seeing him gazing at the heavens, 
 as he walked along, and perhaps piqued 
 by his not casting an eye on her attractions, 
 she put a stool in his path, over which he 
 tumbled and broke his shins. Tlie excuse 
 she made was, that she meant to teach him, 
 before he indulged himself in star-gazing, 
 to '• look at home." 
 
 Advice for a broken Limb. 
 
 In a late translation of Hippocrates, we 
 read the following piece of grave advice, 
 which, notwithstanding the great name of 
 the counsellor, will hardly have many fol- 
 lowers. 
 
 In a fracture of the thigh, " the exten- 
 sion ought to be particularly great, the 
 muscles being so strong that, notwithstand- 
 ing the effect of the bandages, their con- 
 traction is apt to shorten the limb. This 
 is a deformity so deplorable, that when 
 there is reason to apprehend it, I would 
 advise the patient to suffer the other thigh 
 
 From The Timet, OctoOer ]6, 1827. 
 
 to be broken also, in order to have tneio 
 both of one length." 
 
 The founder of the Jesuits, St. Ignatius 
 Loyola, who, to preserve the shape of his 
 boot, had a considerable part of his leg- 
 bone cut off, would have been a docile 
 patient to the sage Hippocrates. The story 
 is in the Every-Day Book, vol. i. p. 1050. 
 
 SiKCERE Advice. 
 
 While Louis XIV. was besieging Lisle, 
 the Spanish governor very handsomely sent 
 him, from the town, every day, fresh ice for 
 the use of his table. M. de Charost, a 
 favourite of the king, happening to be near 
 him when one of these presents arrived, said 
 to the messenger, with a loud voice, " Dc 
 you be sure to tell M. de Brouai, your 
 governor, that I advise him not to give up 
 his town like a coward, as the commandant 
 of Douai has done." " Are you mad, 
 Charost?" said the king, turning to him 
 angrily. " No, sir," said Charost, " but 
 you must excuse me. The comte de 
 Brouai is my near relation." 
 
 Advice for Judging of Poetry. 
 
 Cardinal de Retz desired Menage to 
 favour him with a few lectures on poetry ; 
 " for," said he, " such quantities of verses 
 are brought to me every day, that I ought 
 to seem, at least, to be somewhat of a 
 judge." — "It would," replied Menage, 
 " be difficult to give your eminence many 
 rudiments of criticism, without taking up 
 too much of your time. But I would ad- 
 vise you, in general, to look over the first 
 page or two, and then to exclaim, Sad 
 stuff! wretched poetaster ! miserable verses. 
 Ninety-nine times in a hundred you will be 
 sure you are right." 
 
 A NOMINAL ACCIDENT. 
 To the Editor. 
 
 It is rather extraordinary that of the twc 
 pork-butchers in Clare-market, one of theii 
 names should be " Hum," the otherV 
 *'■ Shum." — Fact! upon honour! — See foi 
 yourself; one is at the corner of Black more- 
 street, the other in the street adjoining 
 Clement's Inn. 
 
 F, C N. 
 
 August 9, 1827 
 
 670 
 
THE EE VOLUTION-HOUSE AT WHITTINGTON, DEEBYSHIE 
 
 To eternize the delegated band. 
 
 That seal'd their great forefathers' fields their own, , 
 Kais'd ev'ry art that decks a smiling land, 
 
 And laws that guard, the cottage as the throne. 
 
 Rev. P. ' CmningUam.- 
 
 This edifice obtained its name from the 
 neeting; of Thomas Osborne earl of Danby, 
 and WilHam Cavendish earl of Devon- 
 shire, with Mr. John D'Arcy, privately one 
 morning, in 1688, upon Whittington Moor, 
 as a middle place between Chatsworth, 
 Kniveton, and Aston, their respective resi- 
 dences, to consult about the revolution, 
 then in agitation. * A shower of rain 
 happening to fall, they removed to the 
 village for shelter, and finished their con- 
 v^ersation at a public-house there, the sign 
 of "The Cock and Pynot."t 
 
 The part assigned to the earl of Danby 
 was, to surprise York ; in which he suc- 
 ceeded. After which, the earl of Devon- 
 shire was to take measures at Nottingham, 
 where the declaration for a free parliament, 
 which he, at the head of a number of gentle- 
 men of D^royshire, had signed Nov. 28, 
 1688,t •ws" anopted by the nobility, gentry, 
 
 • fCec2:e;l. ■■' A ^..-orineial name for a Magpie. 
 
 X Rapin, xv. 199. 
 
 and commonalty of the northern counties 
 there assembled.* To theconcurrence of these 
 patriots with the proceedings in favour of 
 the prince of Orange in the west, the nation 
 is indebted for the establishment of its rights 
 and liberties. 
 
 The cottage here represented stands at 
 the point where the road from Chesterfield 
 divides into two branches, to Sheffield and 
 Rotherham. The room where the noble- 
 men sat is fifteen feet by twelve feet ten, 
 and is to this day called " The Plotting 
 Parlour." The old armed-chair, still re- 
 maining in it, is shown by the landlord with 
 particular satisfaction, as that in which it is 
 said the earl of Devonshire sat ; and he tells 
 with equal pleasure, how it was visited by 
 his descendants, and the descendants of his 
 associates, in the year 1788. Some new 
 rooms, for the better accommodation c 
 customers, were added several years ago. 
 
 • Deering'g Nottingham, p. 258. 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 671 
 
 2X 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The duke of Leeds' own account of his meet- 
 ing the earl of Devonshire and Mr. John 
 D'Arcy* at fFhittingtou, in the county 
 of Derby, a. d. 1688. 
 
 The earl of Danby, afterwards duke of 
 Leeds, was impeached, a. d. 1678, of high 
 treason by the house of commons, on a 
 charge of being in the French interest, and, 
 in particular, of being popishly affected : 
 many, both peers and commoners, were 
 misled, and had conceived an erroneous 
 opinion concerning hmi and his political 
 conduct. This he has stated himself, in 
 the introduction to his letters, printed in 
 1710, where he says, " The malice of my 
 accusation did so manifestly appear in that 
 article wherein I was charged to be popishly 
 affected, that I dare swear there was not 
 one of my accusers that did then believe 
 that article against me." 
 
 The duke then proceeds, for the further 
 clearing of himself, in these memorable 
 words, relative to the meeting at Whitting- 
 lon: — 
 
 " The duke of Devonshire also, when we 
 were partners in the secret trust about the 
 revolution, and who did meet me and Mr. 
 John D'Arcy, for that purpose, at a town 
 called Whittington, in Derbyshire, did, in 
 the presence of the said Mr. D'Arcy, make 
 a voluntary acknowledgment of the great 
 mistakes he had been led into about me ; 
 and said, that both he, and most others, 
 were entirely convinced of their error. And 
 he came to sir Henry Goodrick's house in 
 Yorkshire purposely tc meet me there 
 again, in order to concert the times and 
 methods by which he should act at Notting- 
 nam, (which was to be his post,) and one 
 at York, (which was to be mine ;) and we 
 agreed, that I should first attempt to sur- 
 prise York, because there was a small garri- 
 son with a governor there ; whereas Not- 
 tingham was but an open town, and might 
 give an alarm to York, if he should appear 
 in arms before I had made my attemjit 
 upon York ; which was done accordingly •,\ 
 but is mistaken in divers relations of it. 
 And I am confident that the duke (had he 
 been now alive) would have thanked 
 nobody for putting his prosecution of me 
 amongst the glorious actions of his life." 
 
 On the 4th and 5th of November 1788, 
 the centenary of the landing of king Wil- 
 
 • Son and heir of Conyers pnrl of Holderness. 
 
 t Kor the earl of Devonshire's proceedings at Derby 
 and Whitting'On, see Mr. Deering's History of Notting- 
 har.., p. af'O Mr. Drake, p, 177 of his Kboracnin, just 
 mentU'ii. the c«rl of Danby's appearance at York. 
 
 liam, the Revolution Jubilee vpas celebrate*} 
 at Whittington and Chesterfield, as appears 
 by the following letter from the venerable 
 rector of the parish • — 
 
 To Mr. Gough. 
 
 Whittington, Oct.W, 1788. 
 
 Dear sir, — We are to have most grand 
 doings at this place, 5th of November next, 
 at the Revolution-house, which I believe 
 you saw when you was here. The resolu- 
 tions of the committee were ordered to be 
 inserted in the London prints, so I presume 
 you may have seen them. I am desired 
 to preach the sermon. 
 
 I remain, your much obliged, &c. 
 S. Pegge 
 
 Resolutions. 
 
 The committee appointed by the lords 
 and gentlemen at the last Chesterfield races, 
 to conduct and manage the celebration of 
 the intended jubilee, on the hundredth an- 
 niversary of the glorious revolution, at the 
 Revolution-house in Whittington, in the 
 county of Derby, where measures were first 
 concerted for the promotion of that grand 
 constitutional event, in these midland parts, 
 have this day met, and upon consideration 
 come to the following resolutions : — 
 
 That general Gladwin do take the chair 
 at this meeting. That the Rev. Samuel 
 Pegge be requested to preach a sermon on 
 the occasion at Whittington church, on the 
 5th day of November next. That the gen- 
 tlemen wlio intend to honour the meeting 
 with their company do assemble at Whit- 
 tington church, exactly at eleven o'clock in 
 the forenoon of that day, to attend divine 
 service. That immediately after service 
 they meet at the Revolution-house, where a 
 cold collation will be provided. That they 
 go in procession from thence to Chester- 
 field, where ordinaries will be provided at 
 the Angel, Castle, and Falcon inns. That 
 the meeting be open to all friends of the 
 revolution. Tiiat letters be written to the 
 dukes of Devonshire and Leeds, and the 
 e-arl of Stamford, to request the honour of 
 their attendance at that meeting. Thaf 
 there be a ball for the ladies in the evening 
 at the assembly-room in Chesterfield. That 
 a subscription of on« guinea each be en- 
 tered into for defraying the extraordinary 
 expenses on the occasion, and that tlie 
 same be paid into the hands of Messrs 
 Wilkinson's, in Chesterfield. That thf 
 committee do meet again on Wednesday 
 the 8th of October next, at the Angel inn. 
 in Chesterfield, at one o'clock. That thes 
 
 672 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 resolutions be published in the Derby and 
 Nottingham newspapers, and in the St. 
 James's, Whitehall, and Lloyd's Evening 
 Posts, and ti^e London and English Chro- 
 nicles. 
 
 Henry Gladwin, Chairman. 
 Chesterfield, Sept. 27, 1 788. 
 
 According to these resolutions, on Tues- 
 day the 4th of November, the committee 
 appointed to conduct the jubilee had a pre- 
 vious meeting, and dined together at the 
 " Revolution-house" in Whittington. The 
 duke of Devonshire, lord Stamford, lord 
 George and lord John Cavendish, with 
 several neighbouring gentlemen, were pre- 
 sent. After dinner a subscription was 
 opened for the erecting of a monumental 
 column, in commemoration of the glorious 
 revolution, on that spot where the earls of 
 Devonshire and Danby, lord Delamere, 
 and Mr. John D'Arcy, met to concert 
 measures which were eminently instrumen- 
 tal in rescuing the liberties of their country 
 from perdition. As this monument was 
 intended to be not less a mark of public 
 gratitude, than the memorial of an impor- 
 tant event, it was requested, that the 
 representatives of the above-mentioned 
 families would excuse their not being per- 
 mitted to join in the expense. 
 
 On the 5th, at eleven in the morning, the 
 commemoration commenced with divine 
 service at Whittington church. The Rev. 
 Mr. Pegge, the rector of the parish, deli- 
 vered an excellent sermon from the words 
 " This is the day which the Lord hath 
 4iade ; we will rejoice and be glad in it." 
 Though of a great age, having that very 
 morning entered his eighty-fifth year, he 
 spoke with & spirit which seemed to have 
 been derived from the occasion ; his senti- 
 ments were pertinent, well arranged, and 
 his expression animated. 
 
 The descendants of the illustrious houses 
 of Cavendish, Osborne, Boothe, and DArcy, 
 (for the venerable duke of Leeds, whose 
 age would not allow him to attend, had 
 sent his two grandsons, in whom the blood 
 of Osborne and D'Arcy united ;) a nume- 
 rous and powerful gentry ; a wealthy and 
 respectable yeomanry ; a hardy, yet decent 
 and attentive peasantry ; whose intelligent 
 countenances showed that they understood, 
 and would be firm to preserve, that blessing, 
 for which they were assembled to return 
 thanks to Almighty God, presented a truly 
 solemn specta-cle, and, to the eye of a philo- 
 sopher, the most interesting tiiat can be 
 imagined. 
 
 After service the company went in suc- 
 
 cession to view the " Revolution-house, 
 and the room called "The Plotting Parlour, 
 with the old armed-chair in which the ear 
 of Devonshire is said to have sitten ; ana 
 every one partook of an elegant cold colla- 
 tion, which was prepared in the new rooms 
 annexed to the cottage. Some time being 
 spent in this, then began 
 
 The Procession. 
 
 Constables with long staves, two and 
 two. 
 
 The eight clubs, four and four, with flags 
 inscribed " The Protestant Religion, and 
 the Liberties of England, we will maintain," 
 — " Libertas ; (juse sera, tamen respexit in- 
 ertem,' " Liberty secured." — " The Glo- 
 rious Revolution 1688." — " Liberty, Pro- 
 perty Trade, Manufactures.'' — " In Me- 
 mory of the Glorious Asseitors of Biilish 
 Freedom 1688." — " Revolted from Tyranny 
 Rt Whittington 1688." — " Bill of Rights." 
 '' Willielmus Dux Devon. Bonorum Prin- 
 cipum Fidelis Subditus; Inimicus et In- 
 visus Tyrannis." 
 
 [The members of the eight clubs were 
 estimated at two thousand persons, 
 each having a white wand in his hand, 
 with blue and orange tops and favours, 
 with the word " Revolution" stamped 
 upon them.] 
 
 The Derbyshire militia's band of music. 
 
 The corporation of Chesterfield in their 
 
 formalities, who joined the procession 
 
 on entering the town. 
 
 The duke of Devonshire in his coach and 
 
 six. 
 Attendants on horseback with four led 
 
 horses. 
 
 The earl of Stamford in his post-chaise and 
 
 four. 
 
 Attendants on horseback. 
 
 The earl of Danby and lord Francis Os 
 
 boine in their post-chaise and four. 
 
 Attendants on horseback. 
 
 Lord George Cavendish in his post-chaise 
 
 and four. 
 
 Attendants on horseback. 
 
 Lord John Cavendish in his post-chaise 
 
 and four. 
 
 Attendants on horseback. 
 
 Sir Francis Molyneux and sir Henry Hun- 
 
 loke, barts. in sir Henry's coach and six. 
 
 Attendants on horseback. 
 
 And upwards of forty other carriages of the 
 
 neighbouring gentry, with their attendants. 
 
 Gentlemen on horseback, three and three. 
 
 Servants on horseback, ditto. 
 
 The procession paraded different parts of 
 the towa of Chesterfield to tlie Castle, 
 
 673 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 wherp the Derbyshire band of music formed 
 in the centre, and played " Rule Britan- 
 nia," " God save the King," 8lc. The 
 clubs and corporation still proceeded in 
 the same order to the mayor's, and then 
 dispersed. 
 
 The whole was conducted with order 
 and regularity. Notwithstanding there 
 were fifty carriages, four hundred gentle- 
 men on horseback, two thousand on foot, 
 and an astonishing throng of spectators, 
 not an accident happened. All was joy 
 and gladness, without a single burst of un- 
 ruly tumult and uproar. The sun shed 
 auspicious beams, and blessed the happy 
 day with unusual splendour. 
 
 The company was so numerous as 
 scarcely to be accommodated at the three 
 principal inns. The dinner at the Castle 
 was served in a style of unusual elegance. 
 The first five toasts after the repast were : — 
 
 1. The king. 
 
 2. The glorious and immortal memory 
 of king William III. 
 
 3. The memory of the Glorious Revolu- 
 tion. 
 
 4. The memory of those Friends to their 
 Country, who, at the risk of their lives and 
 fortunes, were instrumental in effecting the 
 Glorious Revolution in 1688. 
 
 5. The Law of the Land. 
 
 In the evening a brilliant exhibition of 
 fireworks was played off, under the direc- 
 tion of signior Pietro; during which the 
 populace were regaled with a proper dis- 
 tribution of liquor. The day concluded 
 with a ball, at which were present near 
 three hundred gentlemen and ladies. The 
 late duchess of Devonshire, surrounded by 
 the bloom of the Derbyshire hills, presented 
 a picture scarcely to be portrayed. Nearly 
 two hundred and fifty ball-tickets were re- 
 ceived at the door. 
 
 The warm expression of gratitude and 
 affection sparkling in every eye must have 
 excited in the breasts of those noble per- 
 sonages, whose ancestors were the source 
 of this felicity, a sensation which monarcns 
 in all their glory might envy. The utmost 
 harmony and felicity prevailed throughout 
 the whole meeting. A hogshead of ale 
 was distributed to the populace at Whit- 
 tington, and three hogsheads at Chester- 
 field; where the duke of Devonshire gave 
 also three guineas to each of the eight 
 clubs. 
 
 At this meeting party distinctions were 
 forgotten. Persons of all ranks and deno- 
 minations wore orange and blue in memory 
 of the great event; and the most respecta- 
 ble Roman Catholic families vied in their 
 
 endeavours to show how just a sense they 
 had of the value of civil liberty.* 
 
 The Rev. P. Cunningham, of Eyam, a 
 place which readers of the last sheet can 
 scarcely have forgotten, addressed some 
 stanzas to the Rev. Samuel Pegge, the 
 rector of Whittington, on occasion of the 
 festivity, together with the following 
 
 Ode 
 For the Revolution Jubilee, 1788. 
 
 When lawless power bis iron hand. 
 When blinded zeal her flaming brand 
 
 O'er Albion's island wav'd ; 
 Indignant freedom veil'd the sight ; 
 Eclips'd her son of glory's light ; 
 
 Her fav'rite realm enslav'd. 
 
 Distrest she wander'd : — when afar 
 She saw her Nassau's friendly star 
 
 Stream through the stormy air: 
 She call'd around a patriot band 
 She bade them save a sinking land ; 
 
 And deathless glory share. 
 
 Her cause their dauntless hearts inspir'd. 
 With ancient Roman virtue fir'd. 
 
 They ploiigh'd the surging main ; 
 With fav'ring gales from Belgia's shore 
 Her heaven-directed hero bore. 
 
 And freedom crown'd his reign. 
 
 With eqcal warmth her spirit glows. 
 Though hoary Time's centennial snows 
 
 New silver o'er her fame. 
 For hark, what songs of triumph tell. 
 Still grateful Britons love to dwell 
 
 On William's glorious name. 
 
 VIRTUOUS DESPOTISM. 
 
 Character of Alia Bhye, 
 
 One of the purest and most exemplary 
 monarchs that ever existed, a female with- 
 out vanity, a bigot without intolerance, 
 possessed of a mind imbued with the 
 deepest superstition, yet receiving no im- 
 pressions except what promoted the happi- 
 ness of those under its influence; a being 
 exercising in the most active and able 
 manner despotic power, not merely with 
 sincere humility, but under the severest 
 moral restraint that a strict conscience can 
 impose upon human action. And all this 
 combined with the greatest indulgence fo; 
 the weakness and faults of others.f 
 
 • Pegge's Anecdotes of Old Times, p. Ixiii, &c 
 *■ Sir John Malcolm's Cential India. 
 
 674: 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 UX BRIDGE 
 
 AND 
 
 THE TREATY HOUSE. 
 
 Remarkable Cooking Fountain, &c. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Uxbridge, the most considerable market 
 town in the county of Middlesex, is distant 
 from London about fifteen miles on the 
 north-west. It consists of one long street, 
 which is neatly paved, and its situation on 
 the road to Oxford, Gloucester, and Milford 
 Haven, is productive of much benefit to the 
 inhabitants, while it imparts a constant air 
 of bustle and vivacity to the main thorough- 
 fare.* The name of this place was anciently 
 spelt Oxebruge ; and in more modern re- 
 cords VVoxebrugge, or Woxebruge.f The 
 derivation seems easily discovered : — the 
 place was noted in distant ages for the 
 passage of oxen from the adjacent fields 
 in Buckinghamshire, and a bridge was 
 constructed over the river Colne, which 
 flows near the town. 
 
 Speed asserts that a monastery was 
 founded here, dedicated to St. Mary : but 
 it is neither mentioned by any other writer, 
 nor is any trace of it now to bs met with. 
 
 Uxbridgehas been celebrated in history, 
 for the treaty which took place there be- 
 tween commissioners appointed respec- 
 tively by the king and the parliament, 
 during the disturbances of the seventeenth 
 century. 
 
 The commissioners met in January 1645 ; 
 the numbers were sixteen on the part of the 
 king, and twelve on behalf of the parlia- 
 ment, together with the Scottish commis- 
 sioners. It was agreed, that the Scottish 
 and parliamentary commissioners should 
 give in their demands with regard to three 
 important articles, viz. religion, the militia, 
 and Ireland ; and that these should be suc- 
 cessively discussed in conference with the 
 king's commissioners.]; 
 
 It was soon discovered that no rational 
 discussion could be expected. The demands 
 made by the parliament were so great, that, 
 had they been granted, the crown would 
 have been divested of its due weight and 
 dignity in the state ; and been rendered 
 unable to protect those who bad so faith- 
 fully adhered to the royal cause during its 
 troubles. 
 
 • Beauties of England and Wales. 
 + 1 believe I am right in stating (1 do it from memory) 
 that on the town measures it is spelt " Wexbvige." 
 
 J. R. J. 
 X Wnitelock. p. i21. Dugdale, p. 75S. 
 
 The mansion in which the commissioners 
 met is thus described by lord Clarendon : — 
 " There was a good house at the end of the 
 town, which was provided for the treaty, 
 where was a fair room in the middle of the 
 house, handsomely dressed up for the com- 
 missioners to sit in , a large square table 
 being placed in the middle with seats for 
 the commissioners, one side being sufficient 
 for those of either party ; and a rail for 
 others who should be thought necessary to 
 be present, which went round. There were 
 many other rooms on either side of this 
 great room, for the commissioners on either 
 side to retire to, when they thought fit tc 
 consult by themselves, and to return again 
 to the public debate ; and there being good 
 stairs at either end of the house, they never 
 went through each other's quarters, nor 
 met but in the great room." 
 
 This mansion, which is situated at thi 
 western extremity of the town of U,\bridge, 
 (was formerly a seat of the Bennet family, 
 and at the time of the treaty, the residence 
 of Mr. Carr,) is still standing, and was a 
 few years since converted into an inn, 
 bearing the sign of the Crown, and has 
 since undergone considerable repairs. The 
 part towards the high road has been newly 
 fronted, but one entire end, and some in- 
 ferior portions of the outside, still retain 
 their original appearance. Two principal 
 rooms likewise remain untouched by mo- 
 dern innovations ; one of these is the room 
 in which Charles I. slept ; the other in 
 which he signed the treaty with the parlia- 
 ment, and in which the commissioners 
 afterwards met. The treaty ■^oom, as it is 
 called, is a spacious apartment, and is lined 
 with panelled oak wainscotting : it con- 
 tains an original portrait of Mary queen of 
 Scots, taken a short time previous to her 
 execution, which is greatly admired ; a copy 
 from Vandyke of Charles I. ; and som*^ 
 excellent portraits engraved by Bartolozzi 
 from paintings in Windsor castle, among 
 whom are sir Thomas More, his father, 
 (judge More,) and his son ; and two females 
 who I believe were governesses to part of 
 the family of Charles I. The room in 
 which the king slept is more handsomely 
 wainscotted than the former, being in many 
 parts curiously and laboriously carved, and 
 has a circular oak pillar on each side of the 
 fire-place, which is ornamented with taste- 
 ful and elaborate workmanship. 
 
 Another curiosity at this house, though 
 rot of so ancient a date, or possessing 
 equal charms for the antiquarian, deserves 
 a slight notice. In the garden is a foun- 
 tain supplied with water, which has been 
 
 675 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 obtained by boring, and wbich falls into a 
 reservoir containing perch, tench, and a 
 considerable quantity of eels j* at the top 
 of the fountain is an appropriate weather- 
 cock — an angler, with his landing-net rest- 
 ing against his shoulder, his rod in his 
 hand, and his line and float moving on the 
 surface of the water, according as the figure 
 is turned by the wind. On the water at- 
 taining a certain height it is carried off by 
 a pipe, and falls on an overshot wheel 
 :ibout three feet in circumference ; the use 
 to which this is applied is very remarkable 
 — that of turning four spits at once before 
 '.he kitchen fire ! I am informed that a 
 similar plan to this is adopted in Cheshire, 
 but 1 am unable to ascertain the place. 
 
 J. R. J. 
 
 [In the " Gentleman's Magazine " for August, 178&, 
 there is an engraving, described as " a view of the 
 house where the unfortunate Charles I. signed the 
 treaty of Uxbridge, Jan. 30, 1644." The writer of the 
 account annexed to that print says, " The house has 
 been pulled down within these few years: it stood at 
 the end of Uxbridge town, in the road to Beacons- 
 field." Ed.] 
 
 No. XXXVIII. 
 
 [From the " Fawn," a Comedy, by John 
 Marston, 1606.] . 
 
 In the Preface to this Play, the Poet 
 glances at some of the Play-wrights of his 
 time ; with a handsome acknowledgment, 
 notwithstanding, of their excellencies. 
 
 " for my own interest let this once be printed', 
 that, of nuen ot my own addition, I love most, pity 
 some, hate none : for let me truly say it, 1 once only 
 loved myself for loving them ; and surely I shall ever 
 rest so constant to my first affection, that, let their un- 
 gentle combinings, discurteous whisperings, never so 
 treacherously labour to undermine my unfeoced repu- 
 tation, I shall (as long as I have, being) love the least 
 of their graces, and only pity the greatest of their 
 vices. 
 
 Ipse semi-jtagarms 
 Ad sacra vatitm carmen a^ero nostrum." 
 
 LONDON WATCHMEN. 
 
 Had a council of thieves been consulted, 
 fhe regulations of the Watch could not 
 have been better contrived for their accom- 
 modation. Th'i coats of the Watchmen 
 are made as large and of as white cloth a? 
 possible, to enable the thieves to discern 
 their approach at the greatest distance ; and 
 that there may be no mistake, the lantern 
 is added. They are fixed at stations, that 
 thieves, by knowing where they are, may 
 infer where they are not, and do their best ; 
 the intervals of half an hour in going the 
 rounds are just such as to give expert thieves 
 a fair opportunity of getting a moderate 
 ftooty from a house. That they may not 
 oe taken by .surprise, tliey have the same 
 accommodation in the cry of the time that 
 was prayed for by the rats, when they asked 
 that bells might be hung about the necks of 
 the cats; and lastly, that the burglars may 
 have all possible chance, even, if surprised, 
 Ihe watchmen mostly chosen areold,infirna, 
 snd impotent.-)- 
 
 • At the time of my visit I was informed there were 
 0*arly two hundred weight. J. R. J 
 
 t The Times, October, 18S7. 
 
 [^Commendatory Verses before three Plays 
 of Sir William Killigrew, by T. L.] 
 
 That thy wise and modest Muse 
 Flies the Stage's looser nse ; 
 Not bawdry fFit does falsely name. 
 And to move laughter puts oS shame : 
 
 That thy theatre's loud noise 
 May be virgin's chaste applause ; 
 And the stoled matron, grave divine. 
 Their lectures done, may tend to thine : 
 
 3. 
 
 That no actor's made profane. 
 To debase Gods, to raise thy strain ; 
 And people forced, that hear thy Play, 
 Their money and their souls to pay : 
 
 4. 
 That thou leav'st affected phrase 
 To the shops to use and praise ; 
 And breath'st a noble Courtly vein, — ■ 
 Such as may Cssar entertain. 
 
 When he weaned would lay doim 
 The burdens that attend a crown , 
 
 Disband his soul's severer powers ; 
 
 In mirth and ease dissolve two heart! r 
 
 These are thy inferior art*. 
 
 These I call thy second "larts. 
 But when thou carriest cQ ibe plu,, . 
 A»d aU are loat i~ tb' ."^u'ttle kno*' 
 
 676 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 7. 
 
 Allien tlie scene sticks to every thought. 
 And can to no event be brought ; 
 
 When (thus of old the scene betraid) 
 
 Poets call'd Gods unto their aid. 
 
 Who by power might do the thing. 
 Art could to no issue bring ; 
 As the Pellean prince, that hroke 
 With a rude and down-right stroke 
 
 9. 
 
 The perplext and fatal noose. 
 Which his skill could not unloose : — 
 
 Thou dost a nobler art profess ; 
 
 And the coyl'd serpent can'st no less 
 10. 
 Stretch out from every twisted fold. 
 In which he lay inwove and roU'd, 
 
 Induce a night, and then a day. 
 
 Wrap all in clouds, and then display. 
 
 II. 
 
 Th' easy and the even design : 
 A plot, without a God, divine ! — 
 
 Let others' bold pretending pens 
 
 Write acts of Gods, that know not men's ; 
 
 In tms to thee all must resign: 
 
 Th' Surprise of th' Scene is wholly thine." 
 
 'Comraendatoiy Verses before the " Faith- 
 ful Shepherd '' of Fletcher.] 
 
 There are no sureties, good friend, will be taken 
 
 Hoc works that vulgar good-name hath forsaken. 
 
 V Poem and a Play too 1 Why, 'tis like 
 
 A Scholar that's a Poet ; their names strike. 
 
 And kill out-right : one cannot both fates bear. — 
 
 But as a Poet, that's no Scholar, makes 
 
 Vulgarity his whiffler, and so takes 
 
 Passage with ease and state thro' both sides 'press 
 
 Of pageant-seers : or, as Scholars please. 
 
 That are no Poets, more than Poets learn'd. 
 
 Since their art solely is by souls discern'd, 
 
 (The others' falls within the common sense. 
 
 And sheds, like common light, her influence): 
 
 Bo, were your Play no Poem, but a thing 
 
 That every cobbler to his patch might sing^j 
 
 A rouEof nifles. like the multitude, 
 
 With no one limb of any art endued. 
 
 Like would to like, and praise you : but because 
 
 Your poem only hath by us applause ; 
 
 Renews the Golden Age, and holds through all 
 
 The holy laws of homely Pastoral, 
 
 Where flowers, and founts, and nymphs, and semi-go&, 
 
 And all the Graces, find their old abodes; 
 
 Where poets flourish but in endless verse. 
 
 And meadows nothing-fit for purchasers : 
 
 This Iron Age, that eats itself, wiU never 
 
 Bite at your Golden World, that others ever 
 
 Loved as itself. Then, like your Book, do yoa 
 
 Live in old peace : and that far praise allow. 
 
 O. ChatimaH. 
 
 [Commendatory Verses before the " Rebel* 
 lion," a Tragedy, by T. Rawlins, 1640.] 
 
 To see a Springot of thy tender age 
 
 With such a lofty strain to word a Stage ; 
 
 To see a Tragedy from thee in print. 
 
 With such a world of fine meanders in't ; 
 
 Pnizles my wond'ring soul : for there appears 
 
 Such disproportion 'twixt thy lines and years, 
 
 That, when I read thy lines, methinks I see 
 
 The sweet-tongued Ovid fall upon his knee 
 
 With •' Farce Frecor." Every line and word 
 
 Runs in sweet numbers of its own accord. 
 
 But T am thunaerstruck, that all this while 
 
 Thy unfeather'd quill should write a tragic style. 
 
 This, above all, my admiration draws. 
 
 That one so young should know dramatic laws l 
 
 Tis rare, and therefore is not for the span 
 
 Or greasy thumbs of every common man. 
 
 The damask rose that sprouts before the Spring, 
 
 Is fit for none to smell at but a king. 
 
 Go on, sweet friend : I hope in time to see 
 
 Thy temples rounded with the Daphuean tree ; 
 
 And if men ask " Who nursed thee ?" I'll say thus, 
 
 •* It was the Ambrosian Spring of Pegasus." 
 
 Rohert Chamberlair , 
 
 C. L. 
 
 THE ACTING OF CHILDREN. 
 
 The acting of children in adult characters 
 is of very ancient date. Labathiel Pavy, a 
 boy who died in his thirteenth year, was so 
 admirable an actor of old men, that Ben 
 Jonson, in his elegant epitaph on him, says, 
 the fates thought him one, and therefore 
 cut the thread of life. This boy acted in 
 •' Cynthia's Revels" and " The Poetaster,'' 
 in 1600 and 1601, in which year he pro- 
 bably died. The poet speaks of him with 
 interest and affection. 
 
 Weep with me all you that read 
 
 This little story ; 
 And know for whom a tear you shed 
 
 Death's self is sorry. 
 
 'Twas a child that did so thrive 
 
 In grace and feature. 
 That heaven and nature seem'd to strive 
 
 Which own'd the creature. 
 
 Years he nnmber'd, scarce thirteen 
 
 When fates turn'd cruel. 
 Yet three fill'd Zodiacs had he been 
 
 The stage's jewel. 
 
 And did act, what now we moan. 
 
 Old men so duly. 
 As sooth, the Parcae thought him one. 
 
 He play'd so truly. 
 
 JOMM. 
 
 mi 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 A DUMB PEAL OF GRANDSIRE TRIPLES. 
 
 In the just departed summer, (1827,) on 
 my way from Keston, I stepi into " The 
 Sun — R. Tape," at Bromley, to make in- 
 quiry of the landlord respecting a stage to 
 London ; and. over the parlour mantel- 
 
 piece, carefully glazed, in a gilt frame, 
 beneath the flourishing surmounting scroll, 
 there appeared the following incription " in 
 letters of gold :"■ — 
 
 On the 15th of January 1817, by the Society of Bromley Youths, A complete 
 Peal of Grandsire Triples, which is 5040 changes with the Bells Muffled, in commemo- 
 ration of Wm. Chapman deceased, being a Ringer in the Parish of Bromley 43 years, 
 and rang upwards of 60 peals. This Dumb Peal was completed in 3 Hours and 6 
 minutes. 
 
 Thos. Giles 1st. Wm. King - - 5th. 
 
 1st. 
 
 Rd. Chapman — 2nd. 
 Wm. Sanger- - - 3rd. 
 Ge. Stone 4th. 
 
 Jno. Allen- - 6th, 
 Wm. Fuller - 7th 
 Jno. Green- - 8th 
 
 Being the first Dumb Peal of this kind ever rang in this Kingdom, and conducted by 
 
 J. Allen. 
 
 If " Wm. Chapman deceased" deserved 
 to be commemorated by such a singular 
 feat, should not the commemoration of the 
 feat itself be commemorated? Is R. Tape 
 — (stay-Ta^e, though he now be) — everlast- 
 ing Tape? Will he not " fall as the leaves 
 do V Shall " The Sun" itself move to and 
 fro in the High Street of Bromley, as a sign, 
 for ever? Can the golden inscription — in 
 honour of " the first Dumb Peal of Grand- 
 sire Triples ever rang in this kingdom" — 
 endure longer than corporation freedoms 
 presented " in letters of gold," which are 
 scarcely seen while the enfranchised wor- 
 thies live ; nor survive them, except with 
 their names, in the engulfing drawers of 
 the lovers and collectors of hand-writings ? 
 The time must come when the eloquence of 
 the auctioneer shall hardly obtain for the 
 golden record of the " Bromley Youths" 
 the value of the glass before it — when it 
 
 shall increase a broker's litter, and be of as 
 little worth to him as Chalterton's manu- 
 script was to the cheesemonger, fiom whose 
 rendinsj fangs it was saved, the other day, 
 by the " Emperor of Autographs." 
 
 " A Dumb Peal of Grandsire Triples !" — 
 I am no ringer, but I write the venerable 
 appellation — as I read it — with reverence. 
 There is a solemn and expressive euphony 
 in the phrase, like that of a well-known 
 sentence in Homer, descriptive of the bil- 
 lowmgs and lashings of the sea ; which, the 
 first time I heard it, seemed to me an essay 
 by the father of Greek poesy towards uni- 
 versal language. 
 
 There is a harmony in the pealing of 
 bells which cannot be violated, without dis- 
 covery of the infraction by the merest tyroj 
 and in virtue of the truth in bells, good 
 ringers should be true men. There is, also, 
 evidence of plainness and sincerity in the 
 
 678 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 very terras of their art : a poem, " In 
 praise of Ringino,'' duly dignifies the 
 practice, and sets forth some of them — 
 
 First, the Youths try One Single Bell to sound ; 
 iTor, to perfection who can hope to rise. 
 Or climb the steep of science, but the man 
 Who builds on steady principles alone. 
 And metho<l regular. Not he who aims 
 To plunge at once into the midst of art, 
 Self-contident and vain : — amazed he stands 
 Confounded and perplex'd. to find he knows 
 Least, when he thinks himself the most expert. 
 
 f n order due to Rounds they next proceed. 
 
 And each attunes numerical in turn. 
 
 Adepts in this, on Three Bells they essay 
 
 Their infant skill. Complete in this, they try 
 
 Their strength on Four, and, musically bold. 
 
 Full four-and-twenty Changes they repeat. 
 
 Next, as ir. practice, gradual they advance 
 
 Ascending unto Five, they ring a peal 
 
 Of Grandsires, — pleasing to a tuneful soul ! 
 
 On they proceed to Six. What various peals 
 
 Join'd with plain Bobs loud echo thro' the air, 
 
 While ev'ry ear drinks in th' harmonic sound. 
 
 With Grandsire Triples then the steeple shakes — &c. 
 
 Next come the musical Bob-maJorSf on 
 Jight bells, — Caters, on nine, — 
 
 On ten, Bobs-royal ; — from eleven, Cinqnes 
 Accompanied wilh tenor, forlh they pour; — 
 And the Bob-maximus results from twelve 1 
 
 " Grandsire Triples !" My author says, 
 ' Ever since Grandsire Triples have been 
 discovered or practised, 5040 changes mani- 
 festly appeared to view; but" — mark ye 
 his ardent feeling under this — " but — to 
 reach the lofty summit of this grand climax 
 was a difficulty that many had encountered, 
 though none succeeded ; and those great 
 names, Hardham, Condell, Anable, &c., 
 who are now recorded on the ancient rolls 
 of fame, had each exhausted buth skill and 
 patience in this grand pursuit to no other 
 purpose than being convinced, that either 
 the task itself was an utter impossibility, 
 or, otherwise, that all their united efforts 
 were unequal to it; and it is possible that 
 this valuable piece of treasure would at 
 this day have been fast locked up in the 
 barren womb of sterile obscurity, had not 
 I poor unlettered youth appeared, who no 
 sooner approached this grand pile, but, as 
 if by magic power, he varied it into what- 
 ever form he pleased, and made it at once 
 subservient to his will !" It appears that 
 this surprising person was Mr. John Holt 
 " whose extraordinary abilities must fo 
 
 ever excite the astonishment and admira- 
 tion of all professors in this art, whether 
 novices or adepts !" The^r.v^ perfect peal 
 of " Grandsire Triples" was John Holt's; 
 " it was rung at St. Margaret's, Westmin- 
 ster, on Sunday, the 7th of July, 1751." 
 Be it remembered, that it is to commemo- 
 rate the ringing; of ihe first " complete peal 
 of Grandsire Triples with the bells muf- 
 fied," by the " Bromley youths," that they 
 have placed their golden lines in the 
 " Sun." 
 
 The " Bromley Youths F' Why are ringers 
 of all ages called "youths?" Is it from 
 their continued service in an art, which by 
 reason, of multitudinous " changes " can 
 never be wholly learned ?— such, for instance, 
 as in " the profession," barristers whereof, 
 are, in legal phraseology, " apprentices of 
 the Law ?" 
 
 By the by, I have somewhere read, or 
 heard, that one of the ancient judges, a lover 
 of tintinnabulary pastime, got into a county 
 town incog, the day before he was expected 
 thither to hold the assizes, and the nex't 
 morning made one among the " youths" in 
 the belfry, and lustily assisted in '' ringing- 
 in" his own clerk. Certain it is that doctors 
 in divinity have stripped off their coats to the 
 exercise. " And moreover," says the author 
 of the treatise before quoted, " at this time, 
 to our knowledge, there are several learned 
 and eminent persons, both clergy and lay- 
 men of good estates, that are members of 
 several societies of ringers, and think them- 
 selves very highly favoured that they can 
 arrive at so great an happiness and ho- 
 nour." 
 
 In the advice to a " youth," on the 
 management of his bell, he is recommended 
 to " avoid all ungraceful gestures, and un- 
 seemly grimaces, wliich, to the judicious 
 eye, are both disagreeable and highly cen- 
 surable."* Ringing, then, is a comely exer 
 cise ; and a lover of the " music of bells" 
 may, genteelly, do more than " bid them 
 discourse." Before the close of all gentle- 
 manly recreation, and othei less innocent 
 vanities, he may as-ure himself of final 
 commemoration, by a miiffied peal of 
 " Grandsire Triples." As a loyal subject 
 he dare not aspire to that which is clearly 
 for kings alone, — dumb " Bobs Royal." ] 
 take it that the emperor of Austria is the 
 only sovereign in Europe, except his Holi- 
 ness, who can rightfully claim a mufflea 
 " Bob Maxiums." 
 
 • Clavis Campanalopa. 
 
 679 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE CONDEMNED SHIP 
 
 AND 
 
 THE FALLS OF NIAGARA. 
 
 Various announcements in the American 
 papers of a large vessel, constructed for the 
 purpose of passing the Falls of Niagara, 
 have terminated in very unsatisfactory ac- 
 counts of the manner wherein the ship 
 descended. All descriptions, hitherto, are 
 deficient in exactness ; nor do we know for 
 v/hat purpose-the experiment was devised, 
 nor why certain animals were put aboard 
 the condemned ship. The latest particulars 
 -are in the following letter to the printers of 
 »lhe " Albany Daily Advertiser :" — 
 
 " Buffalo, Sept. 9, 1827. 
 
 " I would have written yesterday -some 
 few lines on the subject of the ' Condomned 
 Ship,' but it was utterly impossible. The 
 pubhc-houses at the falls were so thronged, 
 that almost every inch of the floor -was 
 -occupied as comfortable sleeping apart- 
 ments. My companions and myself stept 
 upon thfee straws for a bed, and had a 
 feather turned edgeways for a pillow. At 
 about two o'clock p.m. the wo^rd was given 
 * she comes, she comes,' and in about half 
 an hour she struck the first rapid, keeled 
 very much, and lost her masts and spars, 
 which caused her again to right. Imagine 
 to yourself a human being on board, and 
 the awful sensations he must have experi- 
 enced on her striking the rapid, which ap- 
 peared for a moment to the beholders to be 
 her last; but, as I observed before, on her 
 masts giving way, she again righted, and 
 was turned sideways, in which course she 
 proceeded to the second rapid, where she 
 struck and stock about a minute, and it 
 »eemed as though the elements made their 
 last and desperate effort to drive her over 
 this rapid. She was thrown completely on 
 her side, filled, and again righted, and pro- 
 ceeded on her course. Here let me remark, 
 there were two bears, a buffalo, a dog, and 
 several other animals on board. The bears 
 now left the wreck and laid their course for 
 shore, where they were caught, and brought 
 up to Mr. Brown's hotel, and sold for five 
 dollars a piece. The buffalo likewise left 
 rhe schooner, but laid his course down the 
 falls, and was precipitated over them and 
 was killed, as was said, by a spar falling 
 across his back ; as for the other animals, it 
 is not known what became of them. The 
 vessel after going over the second rapid 
 WHS turaed stern foremost, in which way 
 
 she was precipitated over the mighty falls, 
 and whe'n about half way over her keel 
 broke, and in a few seconds she was torn 
 to fragments. There were probably from 
 thirty to fifty thousand spectators who wit- 
 nessed this novel and imposing spectacle." 
 
 It appears from the same paper that 
 " the perpendicular height of the falls, 
 was then taken by actual measurement, 
 from the new bridge recently erected 
 from the west end of Goat Island, extend- 
 ing to the Terrapin rocks, eight hundred 
 feet from the shore. The mode adopted 
 in ascertaining the depth, from the brink of 
 the fall to the surface of the water below, 
 leaves no room to question its correctness. 
 A piece of scantling was used, projecting 
 from the railing of the bridge over the edge 
 of the precipice, from which was suspended 
 a cord with a weight attached, reaching 
 fairly to the water in a perpendicular line. 
 The length ol the. cord to the surface of the 
 water at the brink was thirteen feet one 
 inch — from this to the water* below, on 
 accurate measurement, the distance was 
 found to be a hundred and fifty-three feel 
 •four inches. These facts are duly certified 
 to us by several gentlemen, natives and fo- 
 reigners, and by Mr. Hooker, the superin- 
 tendent of Goat Island. We are told, this 
 is the first successful attempt that was evet 
 made to ascertain the perpendicular descent 
 by actual measurement. Heretofore it has 
 been done by observation.'' 
 
 Kalm, the Swedish traveller and natural- 
 ist, who was born in 1715, and died about 
 1779, visited the Falls of Niagara in August 
 1750, and he being, perhaps, the first dis- 
 tinguished writer who seems to have written 
 concerning them with accuracy, his account 
 is subjoined, divested of a few details, which 
 on this occasion would not be interesting. 
 
 When Kalm saw these astonishing waters 
 the country was in the possession of the 
 French. By the civility of the command- 
 ant of the neighbouring fort, he was at- 
 tended by two officers of the garrison, with 
 instructions to M. Joncaire, who had lived 
 ten years at the "carrying place," to go with 
 him and show and tellhim whatever he knew. 
 He writes to thiscffect in a letter to one of his 
 friends at Philadelphia: — " A little before 
 we came to the carrying-place the water o'l 
 Niagara river grew so rapid, that four men 
 in a light biiJch canoe had much work to 
 get up thither. Canoes can go yet half a 
 league above the beginning of the carrying- 
 place, though they must work against a 
 water extremely rapid ; but higher up it is 
 quite impossible, the whole course of the 
 water, for two leagues and a half up to the 
 
 680 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 great fall, being a series of smallei falls, 
 one under another, in which the' greatest 
 canoe or bateau would in a moment be 
 turned upside down. We went ashore 
 therefore, and walked over the carrying- 
 place, having, besides the high and steep 
 side of the river, two great hills to ascend 
 one above the other. At half an hour past 
 ten in the morning we came to the great 
 fail, which I found as follows • — 
 
 " The river (or rather strait) runs here 
 from S.S.E. to N.N.W. and the rock of the 
 great fall crosses it, not in a right line, but 
 forming almost the figure of a semicircle, 
 or horse-shoe. Above the fall, in the mid- 
 dle of the river, is an island, lying also 
 S.S.E. and N.N.W. or parallel with the 
 sides of the river; its length is about seven 
 or eight French arpents, (an arpent being 
 a hundred and twenty feet.) The lower 
 end of this island is just at the perpendicu- 
 lar edge of the fall. On both sides of this 
 island runs all the water that comes from 
 the Lakes 'of Canada, viz. Lake Superior, 
 Lake Misohigan, Lake Huron, and Lake 
 Erie, which are rather small seas than 
 lakes, and have besides a great many larg^ 
 rivers that empty their water into them, 
 whereof the greatest part comes down this 
 Niagara fall. Before the water comes to 
 this island it runs but slowly, compared 
 with its motion when it approaches the 
 island, where it grows the most rapid water 
 in the world, running with a surprising 
 swiftness before it comes to the fall ; it is 
 quite white, and in many places is thrown 
 high up into the air ! The greatest and 
 strongest bateaux would here in a moment 
 be turned over and over. The water that 
 goes down on the west side of the island is 
 more rapid, in greater abundance, whiter, 
 and seems almost to outdo an arrow in 
 swiftness. When you are at the fall, and look 
 up the river, you may see that the river 
 above the fall is everywhere exceeding 
 steep, almost as the side of a hill. When 
 all this water comes to the very fall, there 
 it throws itself down perpendicular. The 
 hair will rise and stand upright on your 
 head wh^n you see this ! I cannot with 
 words express how amazing this is ! You 
 cannot see it without being quite terrified ; 
 to behold so vast a quantity of water falling 
 abrupt from so surprising a height ! 
 
 " Father Hennepin calls this fall six 
 hundred feet perpendicular; but he has 
 gained little credit in Canada ; the name of 
 honour they give him there is uh grand 
 mentenr, or " the great liar." Since Hen- 
 nepin's time this fall, in all the nccounts 
 tiiat have been given of it, has grown less 
 
 and less ; and those who have measured Jt 
 with mathematical instrum.ents find the 
 perpendicular fall of the water to be exactly 
 one hundred and thirty-seven feet. M 
 Morandrier, the king's engineer in Canada, 
 told me, and gave it me also under his 
 hand, that one hundred and thirty-seven 
 feet was precisely the height of it ; and al! 
 the French gentlemen that were present 
 with me at the fall did agree with him 
 without the least contradiction. It is true, 
 those who have tried to measure it with a 
 line find it sometimes one hundred and 
 forty, sometimes one hundred and fifty feet, 
 and sometimes more; but the reason is, it 
 cannot that way be measured with any cer- 
 tainty, the water carrying away the line. 
 
 " When the water is oome down to the 
 bottom of the rock of the fall, it jumps 
 back to a very great height in the air ; m 
 other places it is as white as milk or snow; 
 and all in motion like a boiling caldron. 
 When the air is quite calm you can hear it 
 to Niagara fort, six leagues; but seldom at 
 other times, because when the wind blows 
 the waves of Lake Ontario make too much 
 noise there against the shore. The gentle- 
 men who were with me said it could be 
 heard at the distance of fifteen leagues, but 
 that was very seldom. When they hear, at 
 ttie fort, the noise of the fall louder than 
 ordinary, they are sure a north-east wind 
 will follow, which never fails : this seems 
 wonderful, as the fall is south-west from 
 the fort; and one would imagine it to be 
 rather a sign of a contrary wind. Some- 
 times it IS said, that the fall makes a.much 
 greater noise than at other times; and this 
 is looked on as a certain mark of approach- 
 ing bad weather or rain ; the Indians here 
 hold it always for a sure sign. 
 
 " From the place where the water falls 
 there rises abundance of vapours, like the 
 greatest and thickest smoke, though some- 
 times more, sometimes less : these vapours 
 rise high in the air when it is calm, but are 
 dispersed by the wind when it blows hard. 
 If you go nigh to this vapour or fog, or if 
 the wind blows it on you, it is so penetrat- 
 ing, that in a few minutes you will be as 
 wet as if you had been under water. I gOt 
 two young Frenchmen to go down, to bring 
 me from the side of the fall, at the bottom, 
 some of each of the several kinds of herbs, 
 stones, and shells, they should find there; 
 they returned in a few minutes, and I really 
 thought they had fallen into the water : 
 they were obliged to strip themselves, and 
 hang their clothes in the sun to dry, 
 
 " When you are on the other or east sidf 
 of Lake Ontario, a great many If-ag-.*'? 
 
 C8l 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 from the fall, you may every clear and 
 calm morning see the vapours of the tall 
 risinor in the air; you would think all the 
 woods thereabouts were set on tire by the 
 Indians, so great is the apparent smoke. 
 In the same manner you may see it on the 
 west side of Lake Erie a great many leagues 
 oil". Several of the French gentlemen told 
 me, that wlien birds come flying into this 
 fog or smoke of the fall, they fall down and 
 perish in the water; either because their 
 wings are become wet, or that the noise of 
 the tall astonishes them, and they know not 
 where to go in the darkness : but others 
 were of opmion, that seldom or never any 
 bird perishes there in that manner, because, 
 as they all agreed, among the abundance 
 of birds found dead below the fall, there 
 are no other sorts than such as live and 
 swim frequently in the water, as swans, 
 geese, ducks, waterhens, teal, and the like ; 
 and very often great flocks of them are 
 seen going to destruction in this manner. 
 As water fowl commonly take great delight 
 in beinii^ carried with the stream, so here 
 they indulge themselves in enjoying this 
 pleasure so loner, till the swiftness of the 
 water becomes so great that it is no longer 
 possible for them to rise, but they ate 
 driven down the precipice and perish. 
 They are observed when they are drav\ing 
 nigh to endeavour with all their might to 
 take wing and leave the water, but they 
 cannot. In the months of Se[)tember and 
 October such abundant quantities of dead 
 water-fowl are found every morning below 
 the fall, on the shore, that the garrison of 
 the fort for a long time live chiefly upon 
 them. Besides the fowl they find several 
 sorts of dead fish, also deer, bears, and 
 other animals, which have tried to cross the 
 water above the fall; the larger animals are 
 generally found broken to pieces. Just 
 below, a little way from the fall, the water is 
 not rapid, but goes all in circles and whirls, 
 like a boiling pot, which, however, does not 
 hinder the Indians going upon it in small 
 canoes a fishing;; but a little further, and 
 lower, begin the other smaller falls. When 
 you are above the fall, and look down, 
 your liead begins to turn. The French, 
 wlio have been here a hundred times, will 
 seldom venture to look down, without, at 
 the same time, keeping fast hold of some 
 tree with one hand. 
 
 " It was formerly thought impossible for 
 any body livmg to come at the island that 
 IS in the middle of the fall: but an accident 
 that happened twelve years ago, or there- 
 abouts, made it appear otherwise. Two 
 Indians of the Five Nations went out from 
 
 Niagara fort to hunt upon an island in the 
 middle of the river, above the great full, on 
 which there used to be abundance of deer. 
 They took some French brandy with them 
 from the fort, which they tasted several 
 times as they were going over the carrying- 
 place, and when they were in their canoe 
 they took now and then a dram, and so 
 went along up the strait towards the island 
 where they proposed to hunt; but growing 
 sleepy they laid themselves down in the 
 canoe, which getting loose drove back with 
 the stream farther and farther down, till it 
 came nigh that island that is in the middle 
 of the fall. Here one of them, awakened 
 by the noise of the fall, cried out to the 
 other that they were gone ! They tried if 
 possible to save their lives. This island 
 was nighest, and with much working they 
 got on shore there. At first they were 
 glad ; but when they considered, they 
 thought themselves hardly in a better state 
 than if they had gone down the fall, since 
 they had now no other choice than either to 
 throw themselves down the same, or to 
 perish with hunger. But hard necessity 
 put them on invention. At the lower end 
 of the island the rock is perpendicular, and 
 no water is running there. The island has 
 plenty of wood ; they went to work then, 
 and made a ladder or shrouds of the bark 
 of lindtree, (which is very tough and 
 strong,) so long, till they could with it reach 
 the water below ; one end of this bark lad- 
 der they tied fast to a great tree that grew 
 at the side of the rock above the fall, and 
 let the other end down to the water. By 
 this they descended. When they came to 
 the bottom in the middle of the fall they 
 rested a little, and as the water next below 
 the fall is not rapid, they threw themselves 
 out into it, thinking to swim on shore. I 
 have said before, that one part of the fall 
 is on one side of the island, the other on 
 the other side. Hence it is, that the waters 
 of the two cataracts running against each 
 other, turn back against the rock that is just 
 under the island. Therefore hardly had the 
 Indians begun to swim, before the waves 
 of the eddy threw them with violence 
 against the rock from whence they came. 
 They tried it several times, but at last grew 
 weary, for they were much bruised and 
 lacerated. Obliged to climb up their stairs 
 again to the island, and not knowing what 
 to do, after some time they perceived In- 
 dians on the shore, to v/hom they cried out. 
 These hastened down to the fort, and told 
 the commandant where two of their bro- 
 thers were. He persuaded them to try ai 
 possible means of relief, and it was dons 
 
 682 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 m this manner: — The water that runs on 
 the east side of this island being shallow, 
 especially a little above the island towards 
 the eastern shore, the commandant caused 
 poles to be made and pointed with 'ron, 
 and two Indians undertook to walk to the 
 island by the help of these poles, to save 
 the other poor creatures or perish them- 
 selves. They took leave of all their friends 
 as if they were going to death. Each had 
 two poles in his hands, to set to the bottom 
 of the stream to keep them steady. So 
 they went and got to the island, and having 
 given poles to the two poor Indians there, 
 they all returned safely to the main. 
 
 " The breadth of the fall, as it runs in a 
 semicircle, is reckoned to be about six ar- 
 pents, or seven hundred feet. The island 
 IS in the middle of the fall, and from it to 
 each side is almost the same breadth The 
 breadth of the island at its lower end is 
 two thirds of an arpent, eighty feet, or 
 thereabouts. 
 
 " Every day, when the sun shines, you 
 see here from ten o'clock in the morning to 
 two in the afternoon, below the fall, and 
 under you, where you stand at the side 
 of the fall, a glorious rainbow, and some- 
 times two, one within the otheft I was so 
 happy as to be at the fall on a fine clear 
 day, and it was with great delight I viewed 
 this rainbow, which had almost all the 
 colours you see in a rainbow in the air. 
 The more vapours, the brighter and clearer 
 is the rainbow. I saw it on the east side 
 of the fall in the bottom under the place 
 where I stood, but above the water. When 
 the wind carries the vapours from that place, 
 the rainbow is gone, but appears again as 
 soon as new vapours come. From the fall 
 to the landing above it, where the canoes 
 from. Lake Erie put ashore, (or from the fall 
 to the upper end of the carrying place,) is 
 half a mile. Lower the canoes dare not 
 come, lest they should be obliged to try the 
 fate of the two Indians, and perhaps with 
 less success. 
 
 " The French told me, they had often 
 thrown whole great trees into the water 
 above, to see them tumble down the fall. 
 They went down with surprising swiftness, 
 but could never be seen afterwards ; whence 
 it was thought there was a bottomless deep 
 or abyss just under the fall. I am of 
 opinion that there must be a vast deep here ; 
 for I think if they had watched very well, 
 they might have found the trees at some 
 distance below the fall. The rock of the 
 fall consists of a grey limestone." 
 
 So far is Kalm's account; to which may 
 W. added, that the body of water precipi- 
 
 tated from the fall has been estimated to 
 be nearly seven hundred thousand tons per 
 minute ! 
 
 A recent traveller. Miss Wright, departing 
 from the falls of the Gennesse river, for the 
 purpose of seeing the Falls of Niagara, 
 alighted in the evening at a little tavern in 
 the village of Lewiston, about seven miles 
 short of the place she was proceeding to. 
 She heard the roar of the waters at that dis- 
 tance. Her description of the romantic 
 scene is surprisingly interesting; viz: — 
 
 In the night, when all was still, I 
 
 heard the first rumbling of the cataract. 
 Wakeful from over fatigue, rather than 
 from any discomfort in the lodging, I rose 
 more than once to listen to a sound which 
 the dullest ears could not catch for the first 
 time without emotion. Opening the win- 
 dow, the low, hoarse thunder distinctly 
 broke the silence of the night; when, at 
 intervals, it swelled more full and deep, 
 you will believe, that I held my breath to 
 listen ; they were solemn moments. 
 
 .This mighty cataract is no longer one of 
 nature's secret mysteries ; thousands now 
 make their pilgrimage to it, not through 
 " Lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and caves of death," 
 
 but over a broad highway ; none of the 
 smoothest, it is true, but quite bereft of all 
 difficulty or danger. This in time may 
 somewhat lessen the awe with which this 
 scene of grandeur is approached ; and even 
 now we were not sorry to have opened 
 upon it by a road rather more savage and 
 less frequented than that usually chosen. 
 
 Next morning we set off' in a little wag- 
 gon, under a glorious sun, and a refreshing 
 breeze. Seven miles of a pleasant road 
 which ran up the ridge we had observed 
 the preceding night, brought us to the cata- 
 ract. In the way we alighted to look down 
 from a broad platform of rock, on the edge 
 of the precipice, at a fine bend of the river. 
 From hence the blue expanse of Ontario 
 bounded a third of the horizon ; fort Niagara 
 on the American shore ; fort George on the 
 Canadian, guarding the mouth of the river 
 where it opens into the lake ; the banks, 
 rising as they approached us, finely wooded 
 and winding now hiding and now reveal- 
 ing the majestic waters of the channel. 
 Never shall I forget the moment when, 
 throwing down my eyes, I first beheld the 
 deep, slow, solemn tide, clear as crystal, 
 and green as the ocean, sweeping through 
 Us channel of rocks with a sullen dignity 
 of motion and sound, far beyond all that I 
 had heard, or could ever have conceived. 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Vou saw and/e<« immediately that it was 
 no nver you beheld, but an imprisoned 
 sea; for such indeed are the lakes of these 
 regions. The velocity of the waters, after 
 the i€ap, until they issue from the chasm at 
 Queenston^ flowing over a rough and shelv- 
 ing bed, must actually be great ; but, from 
 their vast depth they move with an appa- 
 rent majesty, that seems to temper their 
 vehemence,, rolling onwards in heavy vo- 
 lumes, and with a hollow sound, as if laboui- 
 ing and groaning ivith their own weight. 
 I can convey to you no idea of the solem- 
 nity of this moving ocean. Our eyes fol- 
 lowed its waves until they ached with 
 gazing. 
 
 A mile farther, we caught a first and 
 partial glimpse of the cataract, on which 
 llie opposing sun flashed for a moment, as 
 on a silvery screen that hung suspended in 
 the sky. It disappeared again behind the 
 forest, all save the wfiite cloud that rose 
 far up into the air, and marked the spot 
 from whence the thunder came. 
 
 Two foot-bridges have latterly been 
 thrown, by daring and dexterous hands, 
 from island to island, across the American 
 side of the channel, some hundred feet 
 above the brink of the fall; gaining in this 
 manner the great island which divides the 
 cataract into two unequal parts, we made 
 its circuit at our leisure. From its lower 
 point, we obtanied partial and imperfect 
 views of the falling river ; from the higher, 
 we commanded a fine prospect of the upper 
 channel. Nothing here denotes the dread- 
 ful commotion so soon about to take place ; 
 the thunder, indeed, is behind you, and 
 the rapids are rolling and dashing on either 
 hand ; but before, the vast river cumes 
 sweeping down its broad and smooth waters 
 between banks low and gentle as those of 
 the Thames. Returning, we again stood 
 long on the bridges, gazing on the rapids 
 that rolled above and beneath us ; the 
 waters of the deepest sea-green, crested 
 with silver, shooting under our feet with the 
 velocity of lightning, till, reaching the brink, 
 the vast waves seemed to pause, as if gather- 
 ing their strength for the tremendous plunge. 
 Formerly it was not unusual for the more 
 adventurous traveller to drop down to the 
 island in a well-manned and well-guided 
 boat. This was done by keeping between 
 the currents, as they rush on either side of 
 the island, thus leaving a narrow stream, 
 which flows gently to its point, and has to 
 the eye, contrasted with the rapidity of the 
 tide, where to right and left the water is 
 sucked to the falls, the appearance of a 
 strong back current. 
 
 It is but an inconsiderable portion of 
 this imprisoned sea which flows on the 
 American side; but even this were suffi- 
 cient to fix the eye in admiration. Descend- 
 ing the ladder, (now easy steps,) and ap- 
 proaching to the foot of this lesser fall, we 
 were driven away blinded, breathless, and 
 smarting, the wind being high and blowing 
 right against us. A young gentleman, who 
 incautiously ventured a few steps farther, 
 was thrown upon his back, and I had some 
 apprehension, from the nature of the ground 
 upon which he fell, was seriously hurt ; he 
 escaped, however, from the blast, upon 
 hands and knees, with a few slight bruises 
 Turning a corner of the rock (where, de- 
 scending less precipitously, it is wooded to 
 the bottom) to recover our breath, and 
 wring the water from our hair and clothfs, 
 we saw, on lifting our eyes, a corner of the 
 summit of this graceful division of the cata- 
 ract hanging above the projecting mass oi 
 trees, as it v\ere in mic" air, like the snowy | 
 top of a mountain. Above, the dazzling 
 white of the shi verbid water was thrown into 
 contrast with the deep blue of the unspotted 
 heavens; below, with the living green of 
 the summer foliage, fre.sh and sparkling in 
 the eternal shower of the rising and falling 
 spray. The wind, which, for the space of 
 an hour, blew with some fury, rushing down 
 with the river, flung showers of spray from 
 the crest of the fall. The sun's rays glan- 
 cing on these big drops, and sometimes on 
 feathery streams thrown fantastically from 
 the main body of the water, transformed 
 them into silvery stars, or beams of light; 
 while the graceful rainbow, now arching 
 over our heads, and now circling in the 
 vapour at our feet, still flew before us as we 
 moved. The greater division of the cataract 
 was here concealed from our sight by the 
 dense volumes of vapour which the wind 
 drove with fury across the immense basin 
 directly towards us ; sometimes indeed a 
 veering gust parted for a moment the thick 
 clouds, and partially revealed the heavy 
 columns, that seemed more like fixed pillars 
 of moving emerald than living sheets of 
 water. Here, seating ourselves at the brink 
 of this troubled ocean, beneath the gaze of 
 the sun, we had the full advantage of a 
 vapour bath ; the fervid rays drying our 
 garments one moment, and a blast from the 
 basin drenching them the next. The wind 
 at length having somewhat abated, and the 
 ferryman being willingf to atte.opt the pas- 
 sage, we here crossed in a little boat to the 
 Canada side. The nervous arm of a single 
 rower stemmed this heavy current, just 
 below the basin of the falls, and yet in the 
 
 184 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 whirl occisioned by them; the stormy 
 north-west at this moment chafing the 
 waters yet more. Blinded as we were by 
 the columns of vapour which weie driven 
 upon us, we lost the panoramic vie ^ of the 
 cataract, which, in calmer hours, or with 
 other winds, may be seen in this passage. 
 The angry waters, and the angry winds 
 together, drove us farther down the channel 
 than was quite agreeable, seeing that a few 
 loods more, and our shallop must have been 
 whirled into breakers, from which W.n such 
 arms as those of its skilful conductor could 
 not have redeemed it. 
 
 Being landed two-thirds of a mile below 
 the cataract, a scramble, at first very intri- 
 cate, through, and over, and under huge 
 masses of rock, which occasionally seemed 
 to deny all passage, and among which our 
 guide often disappeared from our wander- 
 ing' eyes, placed us at the fool of the ladder 
 by which the traveller descends on the 
 Canada side. From hence a rough walk, 
 along a shelving ledge of loose stones, 
 brought us to the cavern formed by the 
 projection of the ledge over which the water 
 rolls, and which is known by the name of 
 the Table Rock. 
 
 The gloom of this vast cavern, the whirl- 
 wind that ever plays in it, the deafening 
 loar, the vast abyss of convulsed waters 
 beneath you, the falling columns that hang 
 over your head, all strike, not upon the 
 ears and eyes only, but upon the heart. 
 For the first few moments, the sublime is 
 wrought to the terrible. This position, in- 
 disputably the finest, is no longer one of 
 safety. A part of the Table Rock fell last 
 /car, and in that still remaining, the eye 
 traces an alarming fissure, from the very 
 summit of the projecting ledge over which 
 the water rolls ; so that the ceiling of this 
 dark cavern seems rent from the precipice, 
 and whatever be its hold, it is evidently fast 
 yielding to the pressure of the water. You 
 cannot look up to this crevice, and down 
 upon the enormous masses which lately 
 fell, with a shock mistaken by the neigh- 
 bouring inhabitants for that of an earth- 
 quake, without shrinking at the dreadful 
 possibility which might crush you beneath 
 ruins, yet more enormous than those which 
 lie at your feet. 
 
 The cavern formed by the projection of 
 this reck, extends some feet behmd the 
 water, and, could you breathe, to stand 
 behind the edge of the sheet were perfectly 
 easy. I have seen those who have told me 
 they have done so; for myself, when I 
 descended within a few paces of this dark 
 recess, 1 was obliged to hurry back some 
 
 yaros to draw breath. Mine to be sure are 
 not the best of lungs, but theirs must be 
 Uttle short of miraculous, that can play in the 
 wind, and foam, that gush from the hidden 
 depths of this watery cave. It is probable, 
 however, that the late fracture of the rock 
 has considerably narrowed this recess, and 
 thus increased the force of the blast thai 
 meets the intruder. 
 
 From this spot, (beneath the Table Rock,) 
 you feel, more than from any other, the 
 height of the cataract, and the weight of its 
 waters. It seems a tumbling ocean ; and 
 that you yourself are a helpless atom amid 
 these vast and eternal workings of gigantic 
 nature! The wind had now abated, and 
 what was better, we were now under the 
 lee, and could admire its sport with the 
 vapour, instead of being blinded by it. From 
 the enormous basin into which the waters 
 precipitate themselves in a clear leap of one 
 hundred and forty feet, the clouds of smoke 
 rose in white volumes, like the round-headed 
 clouds you have sometimes seen in the even- 
 ing horizon of a summer sky, and then shot 
 up in pointed pinnacles, like the ice of moun- 
 tain glacibres. Caught by the wind, it was 
 now whirled in spiral columns far up into 
 the air, then, re-collecting its strength, the 
 tremulous vapour again sought the upper 
 air, till, broken and dispersed in the blue 
 serene, it spread against it the only silvery 
 veil which spotted the pure azure. In the 
 centre of the fall, where the water is the 
 heaviest, it *akes the leap in an unbroken 
 mass of the deepest green, and in many 
 places reaches the bottom in crystal columns 
 of the same hue, till they meet the snow- 
 white foam that heaves and rolls convul- 
 sedly in the enormous basin. But for the 
 deafening roar, the darkness and the stormy 
 whirlwind in which we stood, I could have 
 fancied these massy volumes the walls of 
 some fairy palace — living emeralds chased 
 in silver. Never surely did nature throw 
 tooether so fantastically so much beauty, 
 with such terrific grandeur. Nor let me 
 pass without notice the lovely rainbow that, 
 at this moment, hung over the opposin-c{ 
 division of the cataract as parted by the 
 island, embracing the whole lareadth in its 
 span. Midway of this silvery screen of 
 shivered water, stretched a broad belt of 
 blazing gold and crimson, into which the 
 rainbow dropped its hues, and seemed to 
 have based its arch. Different from all 
 other scenes of nature that have come under 
 my observation, the cataract of Niagara is 
 seen to most advantage under a powerful 
 and opposing sun; the hues assunied by 
 the vapour a^e tben by far the most varied 
 
 685 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ana brilliant ; and of the beauty of these 
 hues, I can give you no idea. The gloom 
 of the cavern (for I speak always as if under 
 the Table Rock) nteds no assistance from 
 the shade of evening ; and the tenible gran- 
 deur of the whole is not felt the less for 
 being distinctly seen. 
 
 We again visited this wonder of nature 
 m our return from Lake Erie ; and have now 
 gazed upon it in all lights, and at all hours, 
 — under the rising, meridian, and setting. 
 sun, and under the pale moon when 
 
 " riding in her highest noon." 
 
 The edge of the Table Rock is not ap- 
 proached without terror at the latter hour. 
 The fairy hues are now all gone ; excepting 
 indeed, the rainbow, which, the ghost of 
 what it was, now spans a dark impervious 
 abyss. The rays of the sweet planet but 
 feebly pierce the chill dense vapour that clogs 
 the atmosphere; they oiJy kiss, and coldly 
 kiss, the waters at the brink, and faintly 
 show the upper half of the columns, now 
 black as ebony, plunging into a storm-tossed 
 sea of murky clouds, whose depth and boun- 
 daries are alike unseen. It is the storm of 
 the elements in chaos. The shivering mortal 
 stands on the brink, like the startled fiend 
 " on the bare oiitbide of this world, 
 Uncertaii4 which, iu ocean or in air "• 
 
 NAVARINO. 
 
 This is a strong town on the west coast 
 of the Morea on the Gulf of Zoncheo, 
 with an excellent harbour, recently distin- 
 guished by the fleet of the pacha of Egypt 
 being blockaded there by admiral sir E. 
 Codiington. 
 
 It is affirmed that this was the ancient 
 Pylus, where the eloquent and venerable 
 Nestor reigned. At the siege of Troy, ac- 
 cording to Homer, he moderated the wrath 
 of Achilles, the pride of Agamemnon, the 
 impetuosity of Ajax, and the rash courage 
 of Diomedes. In the first book of the Iliad 
 he is represented as interposing between 
 the two first-mentioned chiefe; 
 
 To calm their passions with the words of aj^e 
 Slow from his seat arose the Pytian sage. 
 Experienced Nestor, in persuasion skill'd. 
 Words sweet as honey from his lips distill'd.t 
 
 It appears to have been also called Cory- 
 phasion, from the promontory on which it 
 was erected. It was built by Pylus, at the 
 head of a colony from Megara. The founder 
 
 * Views of Society and Manners in America ; by an 
 Englishwoman, 1821, 8vo. 
 t Boarn's Gazetteer. 
 
 was dispossessed of it by Neleus, and fled 
 into Elis, where he dwelt in a small town, 
 also called Pylos. There was likewise a 
 third town of the same name, and they 
 respectively claimed the honour of having 
 given birth to Nestor. The Pylos at Elis 
 seems, in the opinion of the learned, ^o 
 have won the palm. Pindar, however, 
 assigns it to the town now called Nava- 
 rino. 
 
 COUNSELS AND SAYINGS. 
 By De. a. Hunter. 
 
 Up, and be Doing. 
 
 The folly of delaying what we wish Ic 
 be done is a g-reat and punishing weakness 
 
 Be orderly. 
 Uniformity of conduct is the best rule 
 of life that a man can possibly observe. 
 
 Man is orderly by Nature. 
 Is it not a matter of astonishment that 
 the heart should beat, on the average, about 
 four thousand strokes every hour during a 
 period of " threescore years and ten," and 
 without ever taking a moment's rest? 
 
 In Travelling be contented. 
 When we complain of bad inns in poor 
 and unfrequented countries, we do not 
 consider that it is numerous passengers 
 that make good inns. 
 
 Are yott an Orator? 
 Chew a bit of anchovy, and it will in- 
 stantly restore the tone of voice when lost 
 by public speaking. 
 
 Do not forget. 
 When your memory begins to leave you, 
 learn to make memorandums. 
 
 Shun Will-mongering. 
 If you induce a person to make an im- 
 proper will, your conscience will smite you 
 from the rising to the setting sun. 
 
 Marriage is a Voyage for Life. 
 One who marries an ill-tempered person 
 attempts to lick honey from off a thorn. 
 
 An odd Remark. 
 
 Women who love their husbands gene- 
 rally lie upon their right side. 
 
 Note. — I can only speak, from expfc 
 rience, of one ; and, as regards her, the ob' 
 servation is true. 
 
 686 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ST. JOHN'S "WELL, AT HAEPHAM, YOKKSHIEE. 
 
 To the Ed'ttor. 
 
 The precedinpr sketch was made on th« 
 1 7th instant. The well stands by the road- 
 side. The coveriner stones, though h^avy. 
 were at that time laid as above represented, 
 having just before been knocked over by 
 some waggon. Although but a poor sub- 
 ject for the pencil, it is an object of interest 
 from its connection with St. John of Be- 
 verley. 
 
 " St. John of Beverley may be challenged 
 by this county (York) on a threefold title ; 
 because therein he had his 
 
 "1. Birth; at Harpham, in this county, 
 in the East Riding. 
 
 *" 2. Life; being three and thirty years, 
 and upwards, archbishop of York. 
 
 " 3. Death; at Beverley, in this county, 
 in a college of his own foundation. 
 
 " He was educated under Theodorus the 
 Grecian, and archbishop of Canterbury. 
 5fet was he not so famous for his teacher as 
 for iiis scholar. Venerable Bede, who wrote 
 
 this John's life; which he hath so spiceci' 
 with miracles, that it is of the hottest for a 
 discreet man to digest into his belief." 
 
 See " Fuller's Worthies," in which a 
 lengthened account of St. John may be 
 found. 
 
 Bridlington, July 30, 1827. T. C. 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 (38, 
 
 Respecting the subject of the engraving, 
 T. C. subsequently writes : " The stones 
 over St. John's Well were replaced when I 
 passed it on the 9th of October, 1827." 
 
 Concerning St. John of Beverley, not 
 having " Fuller's Worthies" at hand to re- 
 fer to, a few brief particulars are collected 
 from other sources. If the curious reader 
 desires more, he may consult my autho- 
 rities, and " old Fuller," as recommended 
 by T. C. 
 
 St. John of Beverley. 
 
 On his return from pupilage under St. 
 Theodoras, in Kent, St. John of Beverley 
 
 2 Y 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 iettled at Whitby, m the monastery of St. 
 Hilda, till, in the reign of Alfred, he was 
 made bishop of Hexham, which see he 
 vacated in favour of St. Wilfrid, and some- 
 time afterwards was seated in the archi 
 episcopal chair of York. lie occasionally 
 retreated to a monastery he had built at 
 Beverley, wKich was then a forest, called 
 Endeirwood, or Wood of the Deiri. In 
 717 he resigned the see of York to- his■^ 
 chaplain, St. Wilfrid the younger, and 
 finally retired to Beverley, where he died 
 on the 7th of May, 721.* 
 
 According to Kede, St. John of Beverley- 
 tjeing at a village near Hexham, there was 
 Drought to him a youth wholly dumb, and 
 with a disorder in the bead, " which entirely, 
 nindred the grouth of haires, except a fawi 
 which, like bristles, stood in a thinn circle 
 about the lower part of his head." He de-i 
 sired the chi'.d " to putt forth his tongue^ 
 which the holy man took, hold of, and made 
 the sign of the crosse upon it. And having 
 done this, he bid him speak : Pronounce, 
 said he to him, gea, gea, (that is, yea, yea.) 
 Ibis the child pronounced distinctly, and 
 presently after other words of more sylla- 
 bles ; and, in conclusion, whole sentences : 
 so that, before night, by frequent practice, 
 he was able to expresse his thoughts freely." 
 Then St. John " commanded a surgeon to 
 use his skill; and in a short time, by such 
 care, but principally by the prayers and 
 benedictions of the good prelat, he became 
 of a lovely and chearfull countenance, 
 adorned with beautifully curled haire, and 
 ready in speech. This miracle was wri.iught 
 'u his first diocese. "f Notwithstanding the 
 author of the " Church History of Brittany " 
 calls this a " miracle," the story rather 
 proves that John of Beverley used a judi- 
 cious method to remove impediments of 
 speech, and obtained the growth of the 
 boy's hair by surgical aid. 
 
 The same writer adds, on the same au- 
 thority, that the wife of " a count, named 
 Puch." was cured of a forty days' sickness, 
 by John of Beverley giving her holy water, 
 which he had used in dedicating the count's 
 church. Also, according to him, when the 
 lusty men of Beverley drag wild bulls into 
 the church-yard (to bait them) in honour of 
 the saint, they " immediately loose all their 
 fury and fiercenes, and become gentle as 
 .ambes, so that tney are left to tlieir free- 
 dom to sport themselves." William of 
 Malmsbury relates this " as a thing usually 
 performed, and generally acknowledged by 
 
 • Aibaii Butler. 
 t Ffcthter Cressy. 
 
 the inhabitants of Beverley, in testimonv 
 
 of the sanctify of their glorious patron.'' 
 
 Again, it is related in the Breviary of 
 the church of Sarum. concerning St. John 
 of Beverley, that while he governed in the 
 see of York, " he was praying one day in 
 the porch of St. Michael, and a certain, 
 deacon peeping in saw the Holy Ghost 
 sitting, upon the altar^ excelling in white- 
 ness a. ray of the sun :" and the face of this 
 dfeacon, whose name was Sigga, " was 
 burnt by the heat of the Holy Spirit," so 
 that the skin of his cheek was shrivelled 
 up ; and his face was healed by the touch 
 of the saint's hand : and " the saint ad- 
 jured him, that whilst he lived he would 
 discover this vision to no man."* 
 
 The more eminent fame of the patron of 
 Beverley is posthumous. In 937, when 
 England was invaded by the Norwegians, 
 Danes, Picts, and certain chiefs of the 
 Scottish isles, under Analaf the Dane, kmg 
 Athelstan, marcliing.with his army through 
 Yorkshire to oppose them, met certain 
 pilgrims returning from Beveiley, who "in- 
 formed him of the great miracles frequently 
 done there, by the intercession of St. John." 
 Whereupon the. king, with his army, went 
 to Beverley, and entering into the church 
 there performed his devotions before St 
 John's tomb; and, earnestly begging his in- 
 tercession, rose up before the clergy, and 
 vowed, that if victory were vouched to him 
 by the saint's intercession, he would enrich 
 that church with many privileges and plen- 
 tiful revenues. " In token of which," said 
 he, " I leave this my knife upon the altar, 
 which at my return I will redeem with an 
 ample discharge of my vow.'' Tiien he 
 caused an ensign, duly blessed, to be taken 
 out of the church, and carried before him. 
 And at the sea-coast " he received a certain 
 hope of victory by a vision, in which St. 
 John of Beverley, appearing to him, com- 
 manded him to passe over the water, and 
 fight the enemy, promising him the upper 
 hand.'' Athelstan was suddenly surprised 
 by Analaf; but a sword fell " as from hea- 
 ven" into the king's scabbard, and he " not 
 only drove Analafe out of his camp, but 
 couiageously sett upon the enemy, with 
 whose blood he made his sword drunk, 
 which he had received from heaven." This 
 battle, which was fought at Dunbar, was 
 the bloodiest since the coming of the 
 Saxons. The victory was entirely for the 
 English : five kings were slain, and among 
 them the Scottish king Constantine. Athel- 
 
 • Cipgrave: in liishop, Patrick's Devotions of I'm 
 Rioman Charcb< 
 
 ^m, 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Stan, returning in truimpli, passed by the 
 church of St. John at Beverley, where he 
 redeemed his knife. He bestowed large 
 possessions on the church, with privilege of 
 sanctuary a mile round ; ordaining that 
 whoever should infringe it should forfeit 
 eight pounds to the church ; if within the 
 three crosses, at the entrance of the town, 
 twenty-four pounds; if within the church- 
 yard, seventy-two pounds ; but, if in sight 
 of the relics, the penalty was the same 
 that was due to the most enormous capital 
 crime. A testimony of this privilege of 
 sanctuary at Beverley was a chair of stone, 
 thus inscribed : — " This stone chair is called 
 Freed-stoole, or the Chaire of Peace : to 
 which any offender flying shall enjoy entire 
 security." In the charter of the privilege, 
 " King Athelstan," saith mine author, "ex- 
 pressed it elegantly, in this distich : — 
 
 As free make I thee. 
 
 As heart may think or eye may see."* 
 
 Moreover, respecting the great victory of 
 Athelstan, an ancient biographer of the 
 saints f relates, that the king prayed that 
 through the intercession of St. John of 
 Beverley he might show some evident sign, 
 whereby both future and present ages might 
 know, that the Scots ought, of right, to be 
 subject to the English. And thereupon, 
 saith this writer, " the king with his sword 
 smote upon a hard rock by Dunbar, and to 
 this day it is hollowed an ell deep by that 
 stroke."! This, saith another author, was 
 near Dunbar castle; and " king Edward the 
 first, when there was question before pope 
 Boniface of his right and prerogative over 
 Scotland, brought this historie for the mam- 
 tenance and strength of his cause." § 
 
 The monastery of St. John at Beverley 
 having been destroyed by the Danes, king 
 Athelstan founded in that place a church 
 and college of canons, of which church St. 
 Thomas a Becket was some time provost. {| 
 In 1037, the bones of St. John were "trans- 
 lated" into the church by Alfric, archbishop 
 of York, and the feast of his translation 
 ordained to be kept at York on the 25th of 
 October.1[ " On the 24th of September, 
 1664, upon opening a grave in the church 
 of Beverley a vault was discovered of free- 
 stone, fifteen feet long and two broad ; in 
 which there was a sheet of lead, with 
 an insciiption, signifying that the church 
 of Beverley having been burnt in the year 
 
 • Father Cressy. 
 
 rCapgrave. 
 
 7 Bishop Patrick's Devotions of the Roman Cha.r(5tt. 
 
 { Father Porter's Lives. 
 
 I, Britannia Saucta. 
 
 If Alban Butler. 
 
 1188, search had been made for the relics 
 of St. John, anno 1197, and that his nones 
 were found in the east part of the sepulchre 
 and there replaced. Upon this sheet lay a 
 box of lead, in which were several pieces of 
 bones, mixed with a little dust, and yield- 
 ing a sweet smell : all these were reinttrted 
 in the middle alley of the church."* Ano- 
 ther writerf states the exhumation to have 
 taken place " on the thirteenth of Septem- 
 ber, not the twenty-fourth ;'' and he adds, 
 *' that these relics had been hid in the be- 
 ginning of the reign of king Edward VI." 
 
 It must not be omitted, that the alleged 
 successful intercession of St. John of Be- 
 verley in behalf of the English against the 
 Scotch, is said to have been paralleled by 
 patronage as fatal to the Irench. The 
 memorable battle of Agincourt was fought 
 in the year 1415, on the anniversary of the 
 translation of St. John of Beverley, and 
 Henry V. ascribed the decisive victory to 
 the saint's intercession. In a provincial 
 synod, under Henry Chicheley, archbishop 
 of Canterbury, is a decree, at the instance 
 of that king, " whereby it appeares, that 
 this most holy bishop, St. John of Beverley, 
 hath been an ayde to the kings of England 
 in the necessitie of their warres, not only 
 in auncient, but allsoe in these later ages.";J: 
 In consequence of this ascription, his 
 festivals were ordained to be celebrated 
 annually through the whole kingidom of 
 I'.ngland. The anniversary of his death 
 has ceased to be remembered from the time 
 of the Reformation ; but that of his trans- 
 lation is accidentally kept as a holiday by 
 the shoemakers, in honour of their patron, 
 St. Crispin, whose feast falls on the same 
 day. 
 
 BEVERLEY THE STRONG MAN. 
 
 In March 1784, a porter of amazing 
 strength, named Beverley, was detected in 
 srealma pimento on board a ship in the 
 river Thames. A number of men were 
 scarcely able to secure him; and when they 
 did, they were under the necessity of tying 
 him down in a cart, to convey him to pri- 
 son. The keeper of the Poultry Counter 
 would not take him in ; they were therefore 
 obliged to apply for an order to carry him 
 to Newgate. Beverley was supposed to 
 have been the strongest man of his time in 
 J!,iigland.§ 
 
 • Britannia Saucta. 
 
 * Alban Butler. 
 i Father Porter. 
 
 i Gentleman's Magazine, March 1784. 
 
 689 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 (Bavvitk f la^g* 
 
 No. XXXIX. 
 
 [From the " Ambitious Statesman," a Tra- 
 gedy, by John Crowne, 1&79.J 
 
 Vendome, returriing from the wars, hears 
 news, that Loicize is fahe to Mm. 
 
 Ven. (solus.) Wherere I go, I meet a watdering 
 mmour, 
 ^■ouize IS tlie Dauphin's secret mistress. 
 I heard it in the army, but the soui.d 
 Was then as feeble as the distant murmurs 
 Of a great river mingling with the sea ; 
 But rx)W I am come near this river's fall, 
 Tis louder than the cataracts of Nile. 
 If this be true. 
 
 Doomsday is ntar, and all tlie heavens are falling. — 
 1 know not what to think of it, for every where 
 I meet a choking dust, such as is made 
 After removing all a palace furniture : 
 If she be gone, the world in my esteem 
 Is all bare walls; nothing remains in it 
 But dust and feathers, like a Turkish inn. 
 And the foul steps where plunderers have been. — 
 
 Valediction. 
 
 Vendome (to his faithless Mistress.) Aladam, I'm 
 well assur'd, you will not send 
 One poor thought after me, much less a messenger, 
 To know the truth ; but if you do, he'll tind. 
 In some unfinish'd part of the creation. 
 Where Night and Chaos never were disturb'd. 
 But bed-nd lie in some dark rocky desart. 
 There will he find a thing — whether a man, 
 Dr the collected shadows of the desart 
 Condens'd into a shade, he'll hardly know ; 
 This figure he will find walking alone. 
 Poring one while on some sad book at noon 
 By taper-light, for never day shone there : 
 Sometimes laid grovelling on the barren earth. 
 Moist with his tears, for never dew fell there : 
 And when night comes, not known from day by dark- 
 ness, 
 But by some faithful messenger of time. 
 He'll find him stretcht upon a bed of stone. 
 Cut from the bowels of some rocky cave. 
 Offering himself either to Sleep or Death ; 
 And neither will accept the dismal wretch: 
 At length a Slumber, in its infant arms, 
 Takes up his heavy soul, but wanting strength 
 To bear it, quickly lets it fall again , 
 At which the wretch starts up, and walks about 
 All night, and all the time it should be day ; 
 Till quite forgetting, quite forgot of every thing 
 But Sorrow, pines away, and in small time 
 Of the only man that durst inhabit there, 
 £foojnes the only Ghost that dares walk there. 
 
 Incrednlity to Virtue. 
 
 Vendutne. Perhaps there never were such thmgs ffi 
 Virtues, 
 But only in men's fancies, like the Phoenix ; 
 Or if they once have been, they're now but names 
 Of natures lost, which came into the world. 
 But could Dot live, nor propagate their kind. 
 
 Faithless Beauty, 
 Louize. Dare you approach ? 
 Vendome. Yes, but with fear, for sure you're ncil 
 Woman. 
 A Comet glilter'd in the air o' late. 
 And kept some weeks the frighted kingdom waking. 
 Long hair it had, like you ; a shining aspect ; 
 Its beauty smiled, at the same tinie it frighten'd; 
 And every horror in it had a grace. 
 
 [From " Belphegor," a Comedy, by Johi 
 Wilson, 1690.] 
 
 Doria Palace described. 
 That thon'd'st been with us at Duke Doria's gnKin ' 
 The pretty contest between art and nature ; 
 To see the wilderness, grots, arbours, ponds ; 
 Anil in the midst, over a stately fountain. 
 The Neptune of the Ligurian sea — 
 Andrew Doria — the man who first 
 Taught Genoa not to serve : then to behold 
 The curious waterworks and wanton streams 
 Wind here and there, as if they had forgot 
 Their errand to the sea. 
 
 And then again, within 
 That vast prodigious cage, in which the groves 
 Of myrtle, orange, jessamine, beguile 
 The winged quire with a native warble, 
 And pride of their restraint. Then, up and down. 
 An antiquated marble, or broken statue. 
 Majestic ev'n in ruin 
 
 And such a glorious palace : 
 Such pictures, carving, furniture 1 nay words 
 Cannot reach half the splendour. And, after all, 
 To see the sea, fond of the goodly sight. 
 One while glide amorous, and lick her walls. 
 As vvho would say Come Follow ; but, repuli'd, 
 Rally its whole artillery of waves. 
 And crowd into a storm i 
 
 [From the " Floating Island," a Comedy, 
 by the Rev. W. Strode, acted by the 
 Students of Christ-Church, Oxford, 1 639.] 
 
 S07lg. 
 
 Once Venus' cheeks, that shamed the mom. 
 
 Their hue let fall ; 
 Her lips, that winter had out-born. 
 
 In June look'd pale: 
 Her heat grew cold, her nectar Qry ; 
 No juice she had but in her eye. 
 The wonted tire and flames to mortity. 
 When was this so dismal sight ?— 
 When Adonis bade good nigbt. 
 
 C. I 
 
 690 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 PLAYERS— GHOST LAYERS. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 Christian Malford, Wilts. 
 
 It required a large portion of couracre to 
 venture abroad after sunset at Christian 
 Malford, for somebody's apparition pre- 
 sented itself to the walker's imag^ination. 
 Spritely gossips met near their wells wi'th 
 their crooked sticks and buckets, to devise 
 means for laying the disturbed returners 
 and their once native associates ; but a 
 party of strolling players did more towards 
 sending the spectres to the " tomb of all 
 the Capulets," than the divinations of fe- 
 minine power. 
 
 Application being made to the magis- 
 trate, who was not exempt from the super- 
 stitious and revered infection, that plays 
 might be performed in the malthouse, said 
 to be so daringly haunted, a timely caution 
 was given as to " Beelzebub and his imps," 
 and permission was granted, and bills weie 
 circulated by the magnanimous manager 
 himself. He was a polite man, a famous 
 anecdote retailer, retainer, and detailer, an 
 excellent spouter, and a passable singer. 
 His dress and address were eccentric. The 
 
 contact in the daytime, to the great amust'^ 
 ment and terror of quiet people. — The 
 funds of the company being exhausted, the 
 Thespians tramped off rather suddenly, 
 leaving other bills than playbills behind 
 tliem. Ever after this the ghosts of the 
 malthouse disappeared, the rustics of the 
 valley crying, as they triumphantly passed, 
 " Off with his head !" and others, replying 
 in the words of Hamlet, " Oh ! what a 
 falling off is here !" 
 
 npi. 
 
 Oct. 1827. 
 
 EX-THESPIANISM. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 T am the son of a respectable attorney, 
 ■who sent me, when very young, to an ex- 
 cellent school, at which I conducted myself 
 much to the satisfaction of my superiors. 
 It was customary for the scholars to enact 
 a play at Christmas, to which the friends of 
 the master were invited. On one of these 
 occasions, when I was now nearly head- 
 boy, I was called upon to perform the part 
 of Charles Surface, in the admirable comedy 
 of the School for Scandal. I studied the 
 hessians he wore, by fit necessity, were of character, and played it with great ap- 
 the buskin order; and, as bread was then plause, and shortly afterwards left the 
 
 dear, a sixpenny loaf might have supplied 
 the absence of calves. His pigtail-wig, 
 hat, and all his apparel indeed, served, 
 when on the dramatic floor, most aptly the 
 variations required in his wardrobe. 
 
 I remember, when the " Miller of Mans- 
 
 school, and was sent by my father to Bou- 
 logne to finish my education. 
 
 There were then at that place a number 
 of English gentlemen, who were endea- 
 vouring to establish a company of amateurs 
 On their request I joined them, and made 
 
 field " was played, the bell rang, the baize my first appearance upon a regular stage in 
 was drawn up by a stable-halter, the fiddler the character of Shylock. It was a decided 
 
 began to scrape a ditty by way of overture; 
 but, before the miller could appear, a 
 smockfrock was called for, from one of the 
 frocked rustics in the gallery, (the back seats 
 of the scaffolding-.) This call was gene- 
 rously obeyed. A youth pulled off his 
 upper-all, proudly observing, that " the 
 player should have it, because his was a 
 sacred persuasion." The miller appeared, 
 
 hit ! I was received throughout with " un- 
 bounded applause," and the next day was 
 highly gratified by reading " honourable 
 mention " of my performance in the news- 
 papers. I repeated this and other charac- 
 ters several times with undiminished suc- 
 cess ; but, in the very zenith of my popu- 
 larity, I was recalled to England by my 
 father, who, having heard of my operations. 
 
 and the play proceeded, with often repeated began to fear (what afterwards proved to 
 
 praises of the frock. On another night, 
 " Richard" was personated by a red-haired 
 woman, an active stroller of the company. 
 Her manner of enacting the deformed and 
 ambitious Glo'ster so charmed the village 
 cen:sors, that for three weeks successively 
 
 be the case) that I should be induced to 
 adopt that as a profession, which I had 
 hitherto considered merely as an amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 Soon after my return home my father 
 articled me to himself, but it was impossi- 
 
 nothing else would please but " Richard." ble for me to forget my success at Boulogne, 
 
 Nor was the effect less operative in the field, and my inclination for the stage ripened 
 
 (not of Bosworth) Virgil's " Bucolics and into a determination to become an actor. 
 
 Georgics " were travestied. Reaphooks, I secretly applied +o Mr. Sims, of the Harp, 
 
 wthes, pitchforks, 'and spades were set in who orocured me an engagement in a 
 
 691 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 sharing company in the west of England, 
 where I was to do the " low comic busi- 
 ness " and " second tragedy." I spent 
 some of the money that I had saved in 
 buying wigs and a few other stage-requi- 
 sites, and left my paternal roof with three 
 pounds in my pocket. 
 
 My exchequer not being in a state to 
 afford me the luxury of riding, 1 was 
 cbmpelled to walk the last thirty miles of 
 
 my journey. Upon my arrival at , 
 
 my first care was to inquire for the theatre, 
 when I was directed to a barn, which had 
 been dignified by that appellation. I was 
 received with all possible civility by the 
 company, which consisted of the manager, 
 his wife, and three gentlemen. I was in- 
 formed by the manager that Jane Shor« 
 was the play for that evening, and that he 
 should expect me to perform the part of 
 Belmont, and also that of Bombastes Fu- 
 rioso in the afterpiece. The wardrobe of 
 the theatre was unable to afford me a dress 
 superior to my own for the part of Bel • 
 moot, I therefore played that character 
 " accoutred as I was," viz. in a blue coat, 
 buff waistcoat, striped trowsers, and Wel- 
 lington's. The audience was very select, 
 consisting only of ten persons, who seemed 
 totally indifferent to the performance, for 
 they never once, in the course of the even- 
 ing, gave any indication of pleasure, or the 
 reverse, but witnessed our efforts to amuse 
 with the most provoking apathy. Between 
 the pieces I was much surprised by one of 
 the gentlemen requesting the loan of my 
 hat ifor a few minutes, as he was about to 
 sing a song, and he assured me that there 
 was no hat in the company, save mine, 
 which was worthy to appear before the 
 audience. At the conclusion of the per- 
 formance we shared the receipts, which, 
 after deducting the expenses of the house, 
 amounted to one shilling and sixpence each. 
 We continued to act for some time, sharing 
 (three nights a week) from about one shil- 
 ling and sixpence to two shillings each, 
 which sum did not at all equal my sanguine 
 expectations. Frequently have I performed 
 kings and princes after having breakfasted 
 upon a turnip. 
 
 I soon found that this mode of living did 
 not suit me, for I was becoming exceed- 
 ingly spare. I therefore resolved to quit 
 the company, and return to London. Hav- 
 ing informed the manager of my intention, 
 I departed, and arrived in the metropolis 
 with twopence in my pocket. I proceeded 
 to mv father's house, where I was received 
 with kindness, and where I still continue. 
 [ b-ave relinquished all my pretensions to 
 
 the sock, -having learned from experience 
 that which it was not in the power of rea- 
 son to convince me of. 
 
 GlLBERTUS. 
 
 SILCHESTER, HANTS. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Every thing in this world is subject to 
 change, and the strongest buildings to 
 decay. The ancient Vindonum of the Ro- 
 mans, from whence Constantius issued 
 several of his edicts, does not form an ex- 
 ception to this rule. From being a princi- 
 pal Roman station, it is now a heap of 
 ruins. , 
 
 Silchester is situated about eleven miles 
 from Reading, on the side of a hill, or 
 rather on a level spot between two, and 
 commands most beautiful views : from its 
 being surrounded by woodland, a stranger 
 would be unaware of his approach to it, 
 until he arrived at the spot. The circumfer- 
 ence of the walls is about two miles ; they 
 possess four gates, east, north, west, and 
 south, and are in some places twelve or 
 fourteen feet high, and four or five feet in 
 width ; there are many fine trees (as was 
 observed by Leland in his time) growing 
 out of them : the wall was surrounded by 
 a deep and broad ditch, which is now in 
 some places nearly filled up by the ruins 
 of the wall, and beyond which is " the ex- 
 ternal vallum, very perfect and easily to be 
 traced out round the whole city ; its highest 
 parts, even in the present state, are at least 
 fifteen feet perpendicular from the bottom 
 of the ditch. A straight line, drawn from 
 the top of this bank to the wall on the 
 north-east side, measured thirty-four yards, 
 its full breadth."* 
 
 Between the outside of the walls and 
 the furthest vallum was the Pomcerium, 
 which is defined by Livy to be that space 
 of ground both within and without the 
 walls, which the augurs, at the first building 
 of cities, solemnly consecrated, and on 
 which no edifices were suffered to be rais- 
 ed.f Plutarch is of a different opinion, 
 and ascribes the derivation of PomoBrium 
 to pone moenia, and states that it signifies 
 
 • The HistoTj and Antiquities of Silchester, p. 12. 
 
 Silchester. a parish bordering on Berkshire, about 
 7 miles N. from Basingstoke, and 45 from London, 
 contains, according to the last census, 85 houses and 
 407 inhabitants. It is supposed to have been once a 
 populous city, called by the Romans " Segnntiaci," by 
 the Britons " Caer-Segont," and by the Saxons " Sil- 
 cester," or the great citv. Capper. — Ed. 
 
 t Livy, b. i. 
 
 692 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 the line marked out for tne wall at the first 
 foundation of a city.* 
 
 About a hundred and fifty yards from the 
 north-east angle of the wall is a Roman 
 ampliitheatre, the form of which is similar 
 to that near Dorchester, with high and 
 steep banks, now covered with a grove of 
 trees, and has two entrances. The eleva- 
 tion of the amphitheatre consists of a mix- 
 ture of clay and gravel : the seats were 
 ranged in five rows one above the other ; 
 the slope between each measuring about 
 six feet : each bank progressively rises, 
 (and increases proportionably in width,) to 
 a considerable height in the centre. The 
 area of the amphitheatre is about twenty- 
 five yards in diameter, as near as I could 
 guess ; it is commonly covered with water, 
 and is become a complete marsh, having a 
 drain across the centre, and is filled up 
 with rushes. I was informed by the wo- 
 man who showed it, that some gentlemen 
 a short time since procured a shovel, and 
 f )und a fine gravel bottom at about a foot 
 deep. 
 
 The only buildings within the walls are 
 the farm-house and the parish church, which 
 is an ancient structure, built of brick and 
 flint, in the form of the letter T. The in- 
 terior of the church is plain and neat; the 
 font is of an octagonal form, of plain stone ; 
 the pulpit is also octagonal, made of oak, 
 and is remarkably neat; over it is a hand- 
 some carved oak sounding-board, sur- 
 mounted by a dove, with an olive-branch 
 in its mouth, and round the board, at the 
 lower part, in seven compartments, is the 
 following inscription : — " The Gyift of 
 James Hore, G'ent. 1639." The ascent to 
 the pulpit is from the minister's reading- 
 desk, which also serves for a seat for his 
 family. The chancel is separated from the 
 body of the church by a handsome carved 
 screen, in excellent preservation. In the 
 south wall of the church, under a low 
 pointed arch, is the recumbent figure of a 
 female, carved in stone, of a very remote 
 date, with the feet resting against an ani- 
 mal, (probably a dog,) the head of which 
 is much damaged : there is also an angel's 
 head, which has been broken off" from some 
 part of the monument, and is of course 
 loose ; from what part it came I M'as unable 
 to discover. 
 
 In the chancel affixed to the north wall 
 is the following inscription on a handsome 
 white marble monument; it is surmounted 
 by a crown of glory, and at the bottom is 
 a death's head : — • 
 
 • Platarch in Romul. See Keunefs Antiquities of 
 Rome, p. 29. 
 
 Vive nt Vitbs. 
 Hie juxta situs est 
 
 JOHANNIS PakIS, D.D. 
 
 Collegti Trinitatis apud Cantabrigiensw 
 
 Socius Senior 
 
 & huius EcclesisB Rector : dequo 
 
 nisi opera loquantur 
 
 Siletur. 
 1* 
 
 There are also monuments of the Bay-. 
 nards, the Cusanzes, and the Blewets, 
 which families were owners of the manor 
 from the time of the conquest for some 
 generations. 
 
 On the south side of the city is a small 
 postern under the wall, called by the com- 
 mon people " Onion's hole,"^ and is so de- 
 si|;nated from a traditional account of a 
 giant of that name ; the coiris which have 
 been discovered are called from the cause 
 " Onion's pennies." 
 
 A fair field is here open for the researches 
 of the antiquarian ; and it is much to be 
 regretted that a good account of the place 
 is not yet published. " The History and 
 Antiquities of Silchester," whence 1 have 
 cited, is a pamphlet of thirty-two pages, 
 and affords but little information. Hoping 
 to see justice done to the place, I beg to 
 subscribe myself, &c. 
 
 J. R. J. 
 
 TO THE NIGHTSHADE. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Lovely but fearfal. 
 
 Thy stent! clings round a stronger power. 
 Like a fond child that trusts and grows 
 
 More beautiful in feeling's hour. 
 
 Rich is thy blossom. 
 
 Shaped like a turban, with a spire 
 Of orange in a purple crest. 
 
 And humid eye of sunny fire. 
 
 When the day wakens. 
 
 Thou hearest not the happy airs 
 Breathed into zephyr's faery dreams. 
 
 By insects' wings, like leaves, in pairs. 
 
 Summer — when aver — 
 
 Quits thee, with clust'ring berries red. 
 Hanging like grapes, and autumn's cold 
 
 Chilis what the noon-day's sunbeams fed. 
 
 Thou art like beauty, 
 
 Gentle to touch and quickly faded ; 
 'Tis death to taste thee void of skill, 
 
 And thou, like death, art nightly shaded. 
 
 Sept. 1827. *, P. 
 
 • I should like to be icformed the meaning of tnest 
 letters— there is no date tt the monument. J. R J. 
 
 eas 
 
THE A^ELOCITAS, 
 Or Malton Driffield, and Hull Fly Boat. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 A carriag'e bearing this name, of which 
 the above is a sketch, forms a neat, safe, 
 pleasant, and commodious conveyance from 
 Malton, by way of Driffield, to Hull every 
 other day, and from Hull to Malton on the 
 intermediate days, during the summer 
 months. The vehicle is, in fact, a boat on 
 wheels, driven like a stage-coach, and fur- 
 nished on each side of the body with a seat, 
 extending the whole length, on which the 
 passengers are ranged. The top is covered 
 with a permanent awning, to which a cur- 
 tain appended may be drawn up or let 
 down at pleasure, so as to enjoy a view of 
 the country, or shut out the sun and wea- 
 .her. 
 
 Bridlington, Oct. 1827. T. C. 
 
 SHEEP-SHEARING IN CUMBER- 
 LAND. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — The letters of VV. C, in a recent 
 number of the Table Book, recalled to my 
 mind four of the happiest years of ir,y life, 
 ipent in Cumberland, amongst the beauti- 
 ful lakes and mountains in the neighbour- 
 
 hood of Keswick, where I became ac- 
 quainted with a custom which I shall at- 
 tempt to describe. 
 
 A few days previous to the " clipping," 
 or shearing of the sheep, they are washed 
 at a " beck," or small river, not far from 
 the mountain on which they are kept. The 
 clippino's that I have witnessed have gene- 
 rally been in St. John's vale. Several 
 farmers wash their sheep at the same place ; 
 and, by that means, greatly assist each 
 other. The scene is most amusing. Ima- 
 gine to yourself several hundred sheep 
 scattered about in various directions ; some 
 of them enclosed in pens by the water-side ; 
 four or five men in the water rolling those 
 about that are thrown in to them ; the 
 dames and the pretty maidens supplying 
 the " mountain dew" very plentifully to 
 the people assembled, particularly those 
 that have got themselves well ducked ; the 
 boys pushing each other into the river, 
 splashing the men, and raising tremendous 
 shouts. Add to these a fine day in the 
 beginning of June, and a beautiful land- 
 scape, composed of mountains, woods, 
 cultivated lands, and a small meandering 
 stream ; the farmers and their wives, c/iil- 
 dren, and servants, with hearty faces, and as 
 merry as summer and good cheer can raakf 
 
 694 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 tliem : and I am sure, sir, thai you, who 
 are a lover of nature in all her fonas, could 
 not wijh a more delightful scene. 
 
 1 will now proceed to the " clipping" 
 Itself. Early in the forenoon of the ap- 
 pointed day, the friends and relatives of the 
 "armer assemble at his house, for they al- 
 ■vays assist each other, and after having 
 regaled themselves with hung-beef, curds, 
 md home-brewed ale, they proceed briskly 
 'o business. The men seat themselves on 
 iheir stools, with shears in their hands, and 
 ihe younger part of the company supply 
 them with sheep from the fold ; which, after 
 having been sheared, have the private mark 
 of the farmer stamped upon them with 
 pitch. In the mean time the lasses are flut- 
 ering about, playino numerous tricks ; for 
 which, by the by, ihey get paid with in- 
 terest by kisses ; and the housewife may be 
 seen busy in preparing the su])per, which 
 ifenerally comprises ail that the season af- 
 fords. After the "clipping" is over, and 
 the sheep driven on to the fells, (mountains,) 
 they adjourn in a body to the house ; and 
 then begins a scene of rustic merriment, 
 which those wiio have not witnessed it, 
 can have no conception of. The evening 
 is spent in drinking home-brewed ale, and 
 singing. Their songs generally bear some 
 allusion to the subject in question, and are 
 always rural. But what heightens tlie plea- 
 sure is, that there is no quarrellinif, and 
 the night passes on in the utmost harmony. 
 [ have attended many of them, and never 
 saw the slightest symptoms of anger in any 
 of the party. They seldom break up till 
 daylight makes its appearance next morning. 
 I am, sir. 
 
 Your constant reader, 
 
 A. W.R. 
 
 DR. GRAHAM. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 In the year 1782, that extraordinary em- 
 piric of modern times, Dr. Graham, ap- 
 peared in London. He was a g-raduate of 
 Edinbu.gn, wrote in a bombastic style, 
 and possessed a great fluency of elocution. 
 He opened a mansion in Pall Mall, called 
 •'The Temple of Health;" tlie front was 
 ornamented with an enormous gilt sun, a 
 statue of Hygeia, and other attractive em- 
 blems. The rooms were superbly furnished, 
 and the walls decorated with mirrors, so as 
 to confer on the place an eflfect like that of 
 an enchanted palace. Here he delivered 
 Health, k.c " at the exlra> a- 
 
 gant rate of two guineas each. Asa fur- 
 ther attraction, he entertained a female ol 
 beautiful figure, whom he called the " god- 
 dess of health." He hired two men of 
 extraordinary stature, provided with enor- 
 mous cocked hats and showy liveries, to 
 distribute bills from house to house about 
 town. 
 
 These unusual mean? to excite curiosity 
 were successful; but his two guinea audi- 
 tors were soon exhausted ; he thendiopped 
 to one guinea ; afterwards to half a gumea ; 
 then to five shillings; and, subsequently, as 
 he said, " for the beneht of all," to two 
 shillings and sixpence. When he could 
 not " draw" at that price, he finally ex- 
 hibited the " Temple of Health " at one 
 shilling a head to daily crowds for several 
 months. 
 
 Among the furniture of Dr. Graham's 
 temple was a celestial bed, which he pre- 
 tended wrought miraculous effects on those 
 who reposed on it: he demanded for its 
 use during one night one hundred pounds ; 
 and such is the folly of wealth, that several 
 personages of high rank acceded to his 
 terms. He also pretended to have dis- 
 covered " The Elixir of Life," by taking of 
 which a person might live as long as he 
 pleased. When this was worn out, he re- 
 commended " earth bathing," and sanction- 
 ed it by his own practice. During one 
 hour every day, he admitted spectators to 
 view him and the goddess of health im- 
 mersed naked in the ground to their chins. 
 The doctor's head was dressed and pow- 
 deied, and the goddess's was arranged i-n 
 the highest fashion of the times. He car- 
 ried this exhibition to every provincial 
 town wherein he could obtain permission 
 of the magistrates. The goddess nearly 
 fell a victim to the practice, and the doctor, 
 in spite of his enormous charges and his 
 " Elixir of life," died in poor circumstances 
 at the age of fifty-two. 
 
 Dr. Graham's brother married the cele- 
 brated Mrs. Macaulay, the historian, and 
 Dr. Arnold, of Leicester, the respectable 
 author of an able treatise on insanity, mar- 
 ried hi.s sister. It is generally understood 
 that the lady who performed the singular 
 part of the "Goddess of Health "' was 
 Emma, afterwards the wife of sir William 
 Hamilton, and the personal favourite of 
 the celebrated lord Nelson. She died in 
 misery — 
 
 Deserted in her utmost need 
 By those her former bounty fed. 
 
 Sept. 1, 1827 
 
 Sam Sam's Sojj, 
 
 695 
 
THE TABLE'BOOK. 
 
 STORKS. 
 
 The storks of the Low Countries are 
 mentioned more than once in the journal 
 of the gentlemen deptited by the " Caledo- 
 nian Horticultural Society " to visit the 
 gardens of our continental neighbours. 
 Their route from Antwerp to Rotterdam is 
 marked by the following entry : — 
 
 August 22, 1817. " In the course of our 
 progress into this land of meadows and 
 waters, we had been making inquiries about 
 the storks (Ardea Ciconia, L.) which every 
 year visit Holland in the breeding season ; 
 and we learned that the great flock had 
 taken its departure about ten days before. 
 We observed several of their nests, set like 
 wicker-baskets on the roofs of the dwelling- 
 houses ; and we had the good fortune to see 
 one solitary dam still covering her bTood, 
 on account probably of the young one not 
 having been sufficiently fledged to enable 
 it to accompany the main body. We per- 
 suaded the conductor to allow us to get out 
 of the carriage, and examine this rarity : 
 the bird showed no sort of alarm, the 
 ooyevaar (as our Dutch friends called it) 
 being privileged in Holland. In many 
 places where a new house is built a nest- 
 box is erected on the gable, or on the ridge 
 of the roof, paitly to invite the bird to 
 make a settlement, and partly perhaps to 
 save the thatch of the roof, in case it should 
 come without invitation." It is remarked 
 by way of note, that " previous to the great 
 migration the storks assemble in large 
 groups, and make an unusual noise. It is 
 known that they winter chiefly in Egypt. 
 Pope has finely alluded to their remarkable 
 instinct : — 
 
 Who calls the covincil, states the certain day ? 
 Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way ? 
 
 In the beginning of May they return, like 
 swallows, to their former haunts, the old 
 birds carefully seeking out their accustomed 
 nests. Sometimes, though rarely, a stray 
 stork crosses the channel, and is seen on 
 the English coast. It is there incessantly 
 persecuted ; it commonly perches on the 
 roof of some thatched farm-house, where 
 its experience leads it to hope for protec- 
 tion, — but it is not the dwelling of a quiet 
 Dutch boor;* some pseudo-sportsman of a 
 farmer shoots the poor bird while at roost.' 
 
 of the stork is the best known and the most 
 celebrated. It contains two species, the 
 white and the black. They are exactly of 
 the same form, and have no external differ- 
 ence but that of colour. 
 
 The black stork prefers desert tracts, 
 perches on trees, haunts unfrequented 
 marshes, and breeds in the heart of forests. 
 
 The white stork, on the contrary, settles 
 beside dwellings; inhabits towers, chim- 
 nies, and ruins. The friend of man, it 
 shares his habitations, and even his domain. 
 It fishes in his rivers, pursues its prey into 
 his gardens, and takes up its abode in the 
 midst of cities, without being disturbed by 
 the noise and bustle. On the Temple of 
 Concord, in the capitol of Rome, .were 
 many storks' nests. The fact is memorial- 
 ized on the medals of the emperor Adrian, 
 and alluded to by Juvenal in his first satire. 
 
 Of the numeious families which frequent 
 the sioes of rivers and the sea-beach, that 
 
 • Boer in the low couDtnes, and bauar in Germany, 
 
 The stork flies steadily and with vigour; 
 holds its head straight forward, and stretches 
 back its legs, to direct its motion ; soars to 
 a vast height, and performs distant journies 
 even in tempestuous seasons. It arrives in 
 Germany about the eighth or tenth of May, 
 and is seen before that time in the provinces 
 of France. Gesner says, it precedes the 
 swallow, and enters Switzerland in the 
 month of April, and sometimes earlier. It 
 arrives in Alsace in March, or even in the 
 end of February. The return of the storks 
 is ever auspicious, as it announces the 
 spring. They instantly indulge those ten- 
 der emotions which that season inspires : 
 Aldrovandus paints with warmth their mu- 
 tual signs of felicity, the eager congratula- 
 tions, and the fondling endearments of the 
 male and female, on their coming home 
 from their distant journey. " When they 
 
 have arrived at their nest good God ! 
 
 what sweet salutation ; what gratulation 
 for their prosperous return ! what em- 
 braces ! what honied kisses ! what gentle 
 murmurs they breathe !" It is to be ob- 
 served, that they always settle in the same 
 spots, and, if their nest has been destroyed, 
 they rebuild it with twigs and aquatic 
 plants, usually on lofty ruins, or the battle- 
 ments of towers; sometimes on large trees 
 beside water, or on the point of bold cliffs. 
 In France it was formerly customary to 
 place wheels on the house-tops, to entice 
 the stork to nestle. The practice still sub- 
 sists in Germany and Alsace : and in Hol- 
 land square boxes are planted on the ridge, 
 with the same view. 
 
 When the stork is in a still posture it 
 rests on one foot, folds back its neck, and 
 
 696 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 reclines its head on its shoulder. It watches 
 the motions of rtptiles with a keen eye, 
 and commonly preys on frogs, lizards, ser- 
 pents, and small fish, which it finds in 
 marshes by the sides of the streams, and in 
 wet vales. 
 
 It walks like the crane with .ong mea- 
 sured strides. When irritated or discom- 
 posed, or influenced by affection to its 
 mate, it makes with its bill a repeated 
 clattering, which the ancients express by 
 the significant words crepitat and glotterat,"^ 
 and which Petronius accurately marks by 
 the epithet crotalistria,\ formed from cro- 
 talum, the castanet or rattle. In this state 
 of agitation it bends its head back, so that 
 the lower mandible appears uppermost, the 
 bill lies almost parallel on the back, and 
 the two mandibles strike violently against 
 each other; but in proportion as it raises 
 up its neck the clattering abates, and ceases 
 when the bird has resumed its ordinary 
 posture. This is the only noise the stork 
 ever makes, and, as it seems dumb, the 
 ancients supposed it had no tongue. 
 
 The stork does not lay more than four 
 eggs, oftener not more than two ; they are 
 of a dirty and yellowish white, rather 
 smaller, but longer than those of a goose. 
 The male sits when the female goes in quest 
 of food; the incubation lasts a month; 
 both parents are exceedingly attentive in 
 bringing provisions to the young, which 
 rise up to receive it, and make a sort of 
 whistling noise. The male and female 
 never leave the nest at once ; but, while 
 the one is employed in searching fo;- prey, 
 the other stands near the spot on one leg, 
 and keeps an eye constantly on the brood. 
 When first hatched the young are covered 
 with a brown down, and their long slender 
 legs not having yet strength enough to 
 support them, they creep upon their knees. 
 When their wings begin to grow, they essay 
 their force in fluttering about the nest ; 
 though it often happens that in this exer- 
 cise some of them fall, and are unable to 
 regain their lodgment. After they venture 
 to commit themselves to the air, the mother 
 leads and exercises them in small circum- 
 volutions around the nest, and conducts 
 them back. About the latter end of Au- 
 gust, when the young storks have attained 
 strength, they jom the adults, and prepare 
 for migration. 
 
 ♦ Quaeqiie salutato crepitat concordia nido. Juvenal, 
 Sat. I. 
 
 Glotterat innmenso de turre ciconia rostro. Aut. 
 Philomel. 
 
 + Publius Syru." bad niwde the same applicaticxn of 
 bis word. 
 
 The Greeks have placed the rendezvous 
 of the storks in a plain of Asia, called the 
 " Serpent's District," where they congre- 
 gated, as they do now in some parts of the 
 Levant, and even in Europe, as in Bran- 
 denburg and elsewhere. Shaw says, in his 
 Travels, " It is remarked that the storks 
 before they pass from one country into 
 another, assemble a fortnight beforehand, 
 from all the neighbouring parts, in a plain ; 
 holding once a day a divan, as they say in 
 that country, as if their object was to fix 
 the precise time of their departure and the 
 place of their retreat." 
 
 When they convene previous to thei: 
 departure, they make a frequent clattering 
 with their bill, and the whole flock is in 
 tumultuary commotion ; all seem eager to 
 form acquaintance, and to consult on the 
 projected route, of which the signal in our 
 climate is the north wind. Then the vast 
 body rises at once, and in a few seconds is 
 lost in the air. Klein relates, that having 
 been called to witness this sight he was a 
 moment too late, and the whole flock had 
 already disappeared. Indeed this departure 
 is the more difficult to observe, as it is 
 conducted in silence, and often during the 
 night. Belon says, that their departure is 
 not remarked, because they fly without 
 noise or cries, while the cranes and wild- 
 geese, on the contrary, bc earn much on the 
 wing. It is asserted, ttiat in their passage, 
 before they venture to cross the Mediterra- 
 nean, they alight in great numbers in tht 
 neighbourhood of Aix in Provence. Their 
 departure appears to be later in warm 
 countries ; for Pliny says, that " after the 
 retreat of the stork it is improper to sow." 
 
 It was remarked by the Jewish prophet, 
 that " the stork in the heaven knoweth her 
 appointed time," (Jeremiah viii. 7. ;) but 
 though the ancients observed the migra- 
 tions of these birds, they do not seem to 
 have been certain as to the countries of 
 their retirement. Modern travellers ac- 
 quaint us more accurately. " It is per- 
 fectly ascertained," says Belon, " that the 
 storks winter in Egypt and in Africa ; for 
 we have seen the plains of Egypt whitened 
 by them in the months of September and 
 October. At that season, when the waters 
 of the Nile have subsided, they obtain 
 abundance of food ; but the excessive heats 
 of summer drive them to more temperate 
 climates ; and they return again in winter, 
 to avoid the severity of the cold : the con- 
 trary is the case with the cranes, which 
 visit us with the geese in winter, when the 
 storks leave us." This remarkable difler- 
 ence is owing to that of the climates which 
 
 697 
 
THE TABLE BOOK!. 
 
 these birds inhabit ; the geese and ducks 
 coine from the north, to escape the rigours 
 of the winter ; the storks leave the south, 
 to avoid the scorching heats of summer. 
 It was a common opinion in the time of 
 Albertus Magnus that the storks do not 
 retire in winter, but lurk in caverns, or 
 even at the bottom of lakes. Klein relates, 
 that two storks were dragged out of the 
 water in the pools near Elbing. Ger- 
 vais of Tillebury speaks of other storks that 
 were found clustered in a lake near Aries ; 
 Merula, in Aldrovandus, speaks of some 
 Nvhich fishermen drew out of the lake of 
 Come; and Fulgosus, of others that were 
 fished near Metz. Martin Schoockius, who 
 wrote a treatise on the stork in 1648, sup- 
 ports these testimonies. But the history 
 of the migrations of the storks is too well 
 known, not to attribute to accidents the 
 facts just mentioned, if they indeed may 
 be relied on. 
 
 Belon says, that he saw storks wintering 
 round Mount Amanus, near Antioch; and 
 passing about the end of. August towards 
 Abydus, in flocks of three or four thousand, 
 from Russia and Tartary. They cross the 
 Hellespont; and on the summits of Tene- 
 dos divide into squadrons, and disperse 
 themselves northwards. 
 
 Dr. Shaw says, that about the middle of 
 May, 1722, '•' Our vessel, being ancl'ored 
 under Mount Carmel, I saw three flocks 
 of storks, each of which was more than 
 ihree liours in passing, and extended a half 
 mile in breadth." Maillet relates, that he 
 saw the storKs descend, towards the end of 
 April, from Upper Egypt, and halt on the 
 grounds of the Delta, which the inundation 
 of the Nile soon obliges them to leave. 
 
 Crows sometimes intermingle with the 
 storks in their passage, which has given 
 rise to the opinion of St. Basil and Isidorus, 
 that the crows serve to direct and escort 
 the storks. The ancients also speak much 
 of the combats between the storks and 
 ravens, jays, and other species of birds, 
 when their flocks, returning from Lybia 
 and Egypt, met about Lycia and the river 
 Xnnthus. 
 
 Storks, by thus removing from climate 
 to climate, never experience the severities 
 of winter; their year consists of two sum- 
 mers, and twice they taste the pleasures 
 natural to the season. This is a remarkable 
 peculiarity of their history ; and Belon 
 positively assures us, that the stork has its 
 second brood in Egypt. 
 
 It is said, that storks are never seen in 
 England, unless they are driven upon the 
 island by some stoim. Albin remarks, as 
 
 a singular circumstance, that tht-e we.-e 
 two of these birds at Edgeware, in Middle- 
 sex; and Willoughby declares, that a figure 
 which he gives was designed from one sent 
 from the coast of Norfolk, where it had 
 accidentally dropped. Nor does the stork 
 occur in Scotland, if we judge from the 
 silence of Sibbald. Yet it often penetrates 
 the northern countries of Europe ; into 
 Sweden, over the whole of Scania, into 
 Denmark, Siberia, Mangasea on the river 
 Jenisca, and as far as the territories of the 
 Jakutes. Great numbers are seen also in 
 Hungary, Poland, and Lithuania. They 
 are also met with in Turkey, and in Persia, 
 where Bruyn observed their nest carved on 
 the ruins of Persepolis ; and according to 
 that author, they are dispersed through the 
 whole of Asia, except the desert parts, 
 which they seem to shun, and the arid 
 tracts, where they cannot subsist. 
 
 Aldrovandus assures us, that storks are 
 never found in the territory of Bologna; 
 they are rare even through the whole ol 
 Italy, where Willoughby, during a resi 
 dence of twenty-eight years, saw them orl) 
 once. Yet it appears, from Pliny ami 
 Varro, that anciently they were there com- 
 mon ; and we can hardly doubt but that 
 in their route from Germany to Afiica, o 
 in their return, they must pass over Ital\ 
 and the islands of the Mediterranean 
 Koempfer affirms, that they reside the wholt 
 year in Japan ; which therefore, if he i;- 
 correct, is the only country where they art 
 stationary ; in all others, they retire a few 
 months after their arrival. In France 
 Lorraine and Alsace are the province* 
 where these birds are the most numerous ; 
 there they breed ; and few towns or villages 
 in Lower Alsace are without storks' nests 
 on their belfries. 
 
 The stork is of a mild disposition, neither 
 shy nor savage ; it is easily tamed ; and 
 may be trained to reside in our gardens, 
 which it will clear of insects and reptiles. 
 It has almost always a grave air, and a 
 mournful visage ; yet, when roused by ex- 
 ample, it shews a certain degree of gaiety ; 
 for it joins the frolics of children, hopping 
 and playing with them. Dr. Hermann, ot 
 Strasburg, says, " I saw in a garden, where 
 the children were playing at hide and seek, 
 a tame stork join the party, run Us turn 
 when touched, and distinguish the child, 
 whose turn it was to pursue the rest, so 
 well as to be on its guard." In the domes- 
 tic condition the stork lives to a great age, 
 and endures the severities of our winters. 
 Ileerkens, of Groningen, author of a Latin 
 poem on the stork, says that he kept one 
 
 698 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 fifteen years ; and speaks of another which 
 lived twenty-one years in the fish-market 
 of Amsterdam, and was interred with so- 
 lemnity by the people. Oiaus Borrichius 
 mentions a stork aged more than twenty- 
 Iwo years, which became gouty. 
 
 To the stork are ascribed the virtues of 
 temperance, conjugal fideUty, and filial and 
 paternal piety. There is a history, famous 
 in Holland, of " the Delft stork;" which, 
 m the conflagration of that city, after hav- 
 ing in vain attempted to rescue her young, 
 perished with them in the flames. It is 
 certain, that the stork bestows much time 
 on the education of its young, and does 
 not leave thvm till they have strength suf- 
 ficient for their defence and support; when 
 they begin to flutter out of the nest, the 
 mother bears them on her wings, protects 
 them from danger, and sometimes perishes 
 with them rather than she will forsake 
 them. The stork shows tokens of attach- 
 ment to its old haunts, and even gratitude 
 to the persons who have treated it with 
 kindness. It has been heard to rap at the 
 door in passing, as if to tell its arrival, and 
 give a like sign of adieu on its departure. 
 But these moral qualities are nothing in 
 comparison of the aff'ection and tender 
 offices which these birds lavish on their 
 aged and infirm parents. The young and 
 vigorous storks frer^uently carry food to 
 ')thers, wliich, resting on the brink of 
 the nest, seem languid and exhausted, 
 either from accidental injuries or the infir- 
 mities of years. 
 
 The aniients assert, that nature has im- 
 planted in brutes this venerable piety, as 
 an example to man, in whose breast the 
 delicious sentiment is often obliterated. 
 The law which compelled the maintenance 
 of parents was enacted in honour of the 
 stork, and inscribed by its name. Aristo- 
 ohares draws from its conduct a bitter 
 satire on the human race. 
 
 AUian alleges, that the mora, qualities of 
 the '^tork were the chief cause of the respect 
 and veneration which it enjoyed among 
 the Egyptians ; and the notion which the 
 common people among whom it resorts still 
 entertain, that its settling on a house be- 
 tokens prosperity, is perhaps a vestige of 
 che ancient opinion. 
 
 An ancient writer affirms, that the storks, 
 worn out with old age, repair to certain 
 islands in the ocean, where, in reward for 
 their piety, they are changed into men. 
 In auguries, the appearance of the stork de- 
 noted union and concord. Its departure 
 in the time of public calamity was regarded 
 ^ a dismal presage; Paul, the deacon. 
 
 says, that Attila, having purposed to raise 
 the siege of Aquileia, was determined to 
 renew his operations, upon seeing storks 
 retiring from the city and leading away 
 their young. In hieroglyphics it signified 
 piety and benefieence, virtues which its 
 name expressed in the most ancient lan- 
 guages ; and we often see the emblem, as 
 on the two beautiful medals of L. Antonius, 
 given in Fulvius Ursinus, and in two others 
 of Q. Metellus, surnamed " the Pious," as 
 reported by Paterculus. Dr. Shaw says, 
 that the Mahometans have a great esteem 
 and veneration for it. It is almost as 
 sacred among them as the ibis was among the 
 Egyptians; and they would look upon a 
 person as profane, who should kill or even 
 harm it. So precious were storks held 
 in Thessaly, which country they cleared of 
 serpents, that the slayer of one of these 
 birds was punished with death. They 
 were not eaten among the Romans ; and a 
 person who, from a strange sort of luxury, 
 ordered one to be brought to his table, 
 drew upon himself the direful obloquy of 
 the whole people. Nor is the flesh of this 
 bird recommended by its quality — formed 
 by nature for our friend, and almost our 
 domestic, it was never destined to be our 
 victim.* 
 
 VARIA. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Newspaper Readers. 
 
 Shenstone, the poet, divides the readers 
 of a newspaper into seven classes. He 
 says — 
 
 1. The illnatured look at the list oi 
 bankrupts. 
 
 2. The poor to the price of bread. 
 
 3. The stockjobber to the lies of the 
 day, 
 
 4. The old maid to marriages. 
 
 5. The prodigal to the deaths. 
 
 6. The monopolizers to the hopes of a 
 wet and bad harvest. 
 
 7. The boarding-school and all other 
 young misses, to all matters relative to 
 Gretna Green. 
 
 Fires in London. 
 
 From the registry of fires for one year, 
 commencing Michaelmas 1805, it appears, 
 that there were 366 alarms of fire, attended 
 with little damage; 31 serious fires, and 
 
 • BuffOB 
 
 69iJ 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 155 alarms occasioned by chimneys being 
 on fire, amounting in all to 5;)2 accidems 
 of this nature. The offices calculate on 
 an alarm of fire every day, and about eight 
 serious fires in every quarter of the year. 
 
 Hkkry VIII. AND HIS Peers. 
 
 When we advert to early parts of the 
 history of this country, we cannot but be 
 thankful to heaven for the progress of just 
 principles, and the security we derive from 
 the laws. In the reign of Henry Vlll. 
 that monarch wanted to carry some mea- 
 sure through the house of lords, contrary to 
 its wishes. The peers hesitated in the 
 morning, but consented in the afternoon. 
 Some of their body waited on him to in- 
 form him thereof, when the tyrant made 
 reply, " It is well you did it, or by this 
 time half your heads would have been 
 upon Temple Bar," 
 
 Female Sheriffs and Justices. 
 
 Nicholas, earl of Thanet, was succeeded 
 by his next brother John, the fourth earl, 
 born 7th August, 1638. He also succeeded 
 his mother Margaret, countess of Thanet, 
 as baron Clitiord, Westmoreland, and 
 Vescey, who by her last will, dated June 
 19, 1676, gave the Yorkshire and West- 
 moreland estates to this John for life ; she 
 died the 14lh August following, and he 
 then succeeded her in the sheriffdoms of 
 VVestmoieland and Cumberland, where it 
 frequently happened that female heiresses 
 became possessed of them. 
 
 There are several instances of women 
 bearing that office, as may be seen in most 
 of the treatises in which that duty is men- 
 tioned. Those things required by it, not 
 proper to be undertaken by a female, were 
 intrusted to a deputy, or shire clerk. 
 
 Not only the office of sheriff, but even 
 justice of peace, has been in the hands of 
 the fair sex. Among the Harleian manu- 
 scripts is a very remarkable note, taken 
 from Mr. Attorney-general Noy's readings 
 in Lincoln's-inn, in 1632, in which, upon 
 the point whether the office of a justice of 
 a forest might be executed by a woman, it 
 was said, that Margaret, countess of Rich- 
 mond, mother to Henry VIL, was a justice 
 of peace; that the lady Bartlet was made 
 a justice of peace by queen Mary in Glou- 
 cestershire ; and that in Sussex, one Rouse, 
 a woman, did usually sit upon the bench at 
 assizes and sessions among the other jus- 
 tices, gladio-cincta, girded with a sviord. 
 \\ is equally certaii., that Anne, countess of 
 Pembroke, exercised the office c. nereditary 
 
 sberifTof Westmoreland, and at the assizes 
 of Appleby sat with the judges on'the 
 ben<,h, which puts this point beyond a 
 question. 
 
 Sam Sam's Son 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 It is the opinion of Mr. J. P. Andrews, 
 that antiquarians are by no means apt to 
 pay great attention to the fair sex. He says, 
 " Their Venus must be old, and want a nose." 
 
 He instances, as among those who have 
 " set themselves most warmly " against fe- 
 males, old Antony a Wood, whose diary 
 affords some specimens of grotesque dis- 
 like. 
 
 Pag-e 1 67. " He " (sir Thomas Clayton) 
 " and his family, most of them iiwmankind, 
 (which before were looked upon, if resident 
 in the college, a scandal and abomination 
 thereunto,) being no sooner settled," &c. 
 than " the warden's garden must be altered, 
 new trees planted, &c. All which, though 
 unnecessary, yet the poor college must paj 
 for them, and all this to please a woman !" 
 
 P. 168. " Frivolous expenses to pleasure 
 his proud lady." 
 
 P. 173. " Yet the warden, by the motion 
 of his lady, did put the college to unneces- 
 sary charges and very frivolous expenses. 
 Among which were a very large looking- 
 glass, for her to see her us^ly face and body 
 to the middle, and perhaps lower." 
 
 P. 252. " Cold entertainment, cold re- 
 ception, cold, clownish woman.'' 
 
 P. 257. " Dr. Bathurst took his place of 
 vice-chancellor, a man of s^ood parts, and 
 able to do good things, but he has a Wife 
 that scorns that he should be m print. A 
 scornful woman! Scorns that he was don 
 of Wells ! No need of marrying such a 
 woman, who is so conceited th-at she ihitiks 
 herself fit to govern a college or a univer- 
 sity." 
 
 P. 270. " Charles lord Herbert, eldest 
 son of Henry, marquis of Worcester, was 
 matriculated as a member of Ch. Ch. 
 iE-tat 16. natus Lond. I set this down here, 
 because the father and ancestors were all 
 catholics, but because the mother is a pres- 
 byterian, a Capel, she (aj^ainst the father's 
 will, as it is said) will have him bred a 
 protesiant ; so that by this change tht 
 catholics will lose the considerablest family 
 in England, and the richest subject the king 
 has." 
 
 Seldenj too, is cited as^ an antiquarian 
 inattentive to gallantry. 
 
 " It is reason," says ' he, **a man that 
 
 700 
 
TSlil TABLE book:. 
 
 vriW have a wife should be at the charg-e oi 
 her trinkets, and pay ail the scores she sets 
 on him. He that will keep a ironkey it is 
 fit he should pay for the g;lasse'a he breaks." 
 But ladies can, if they please, retaliate 
 severely. A gentleman who had married a 
 second wife, indulged himself in recurring 
 too often in conversation to the beauty and 
 virtues of his first consort. He had, how- 
 ever, barely discernment enouijh to discover 
 that the subject was not an aj^reeable one 
 to his present lady. " Excuse nie, tr^a- 
 dam," said he, " I cannot help expressing 
 my regrets for the dear deceased." " Upon 
 my honour," said the lady, " I can most 
 heartily affirm that I am as sincere a 
 mourner for her as you can be." 
 
 DOWER. 
 
 There was an absolute necessity for pro- 
 viding a dower for the widow in the thir- 
 teenth century, because women at that 
 period had no personal fortune to entitle 
 them to a jointure by way of marriage. 
 Shiernhook, and all the writers upon the 
 ancient laws of the northern nations, dwell 
 much upon the morgengavinm ; i. e. the 
 present made by the husband to his wife 
 the morning after consummation. It is 
 singular, therefore, that we have no traces 
 of such a custom. In the Philippine 
 islands, a certain proportion of the dower 
 is paid to the intended wife after liberty of 
 conversing with her; a greater share for 
 the permission of eating with her; and the 
 balance upon consummation.* 
 
 SANS CHANGER. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 The maiden, with a vivid eye, 
 Whose breath is measured by her sigh ; 
 The maiden, with a lovely cheek, 
 \\'hose blushes in their virtue break ; 
 Whose pulse and breath would die unblest 
 If not by changeless Love carest ;— 
 'Tis she that gives her partner's life 
 The perfect and the happy vvife 
 
 Sans changer. 
 
 If choice be true, she proves a friend 
 Whose friendship fails not to the end ; 
 She sweetens dear affection's power 
 That lasteth to life's parting hour: 
 Her heart beats that her love might go 
 Through every pang her Love's could know, 
 And yields its latest throb, to give 
 Trath to that heart she loves, to live 
 ii'ms changer. 
 
 * GemeUi, vol. v. Nauoli, 1/08. 
 
 CASUALTIES OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Your having, sii, inserted certain " An- 
 tipathies" which I communicated to youi 
 work, encourages me to hope you will find 
 some " Casualties " not unacceptable. 
 
 Anacreon, according to Pliny and Vale- 
 rius Maximus, was choked with the kernel 
 of a raisin, and Tarquinius Priscus with a 
 fishbone; the senator Fabius with a hair; 
 and the very sight of a physician in a 
 dream, frighted Andragorus out of his life. 
 Homer, Rutilius, Rusciacus, and Pompera- 
 nus were overwhelmed with grief. Zeuxis 
 and Philemon died with laughing- ; the one 
 at the picture of an old woman which him- 
 self had drawn, the other at an ass eating 
 of figs. Polycryta,* Philippides, and Dia- 
 gorus were carried away with a sudden 
 joy ; and the tyrant Dionysius and Sopho- 
 cles by excessive triumph at the news of a 
 victory. The bald head of iEschylus cost 
 him dearly ; for an eagle hovering over it 
 mistook it for a stone, and thinking to 
 break an oyster upon it, gave him a mortal 
 wound.f Archimedes was killed by a sol- 
 dier, as he was making diagrams in the 
 sand ; and Pindar, in the theatre, by his 
 repose as he lay on the knees of his dear 
 Theoxenus. J 
 
 Like the people in Pliny, we pay tribute 
 for a shadow. Every age, condition, and 
 family has its peculiar evils. Cares and 
 sorrows intermingle with our possessions 
 and gratifications. We taste myrrh in our 
 wine ; and while we crop rosebuds to crown 
 our heads, we prick our fingers. We do 
 not so properly enjoy our pleasures, as 
 suffer them. 
 
 " The portion of man is like that of a 
 rose, which at first is fair as the morning, 
 when it newly springs from the clefts of its 
 hood, and full with the dew of heaven as 
 the fleece of a lamb; but when a ruder 
 bieath has forced open its virgin modesty, 
 and dismantled its retirements, it begins to 
 decline to the symptoms of a sickly age ; it 
 bows the head and breaks the stalk, and 
 at night having lost some of its leaves, and 
 all its beauty, falls into the lap of noisome 
 weeds. "§ 
 
 npi. 
 
 * Agellius, lib. iii. cap. 15. 
 
 t Suidas, Aristoph. in Ranis, lib. x.cap. 8, ei Max 
 ibid. 
 
 \' 6£«^£w» yoyaTa, Suidas. 
 § Bistiop Tavlor 
 
 701 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 THE HOUR OF PRIME. 
 
 Mira d'lntorno, Silvio, 
 
 Qaanto il mondo ha di vago, e di gMStile, 
 
 Opra e d'amore : • * * 
 
 * • • Amante e U cielo, Amant« 
 
 La terra, Amante il mare. 
 
 Al fine, Ama ogni cosa. 
 
 Pastor Fido. 
 
 Ask why the violet perfume throy/s 
 
 O'er all the ambient air ; 
 Ask why so sweet the summer rose, 
 
 Ask why the lily's fair. 
 
 If these, in words, could answer frame. 
 
 Or characters could trace. 
 They'd say, the frolic zephyrs came 
 
 And courted our embrace. 
 
 And we (unskill'd in that false lore 
 
 That teaches how to feign. 
 While days and years fly swiftly o'er. 
 
 And ne'er return again,) 
 
 A prompt obedience ready paid 
 
 To Nature's kind command. 
 And meeting Zephyr in the glade, 
 
 We took his proffer'd hand. 
 
 And loving thus, we led along 
 
 In jocund mirth the hours ; 
 The bee bestow'd her ceaseless son^, 
 
 The clouds refreshing show'rs. 
 
 From out the Iris' radiant bow 
 
 In gayest hues we drest. 
 And all our joy is, that we know 
 
 We have been truly blest. 
 
 Believe not in the sombre lay 
 Of one* WHO lov'd grief's theme. 
 
 That " have been blest " is " titie gay " 
 " Of misery's extreme." 
 
 Discard so vvoe-begone a muse 
 
 In melancholy drown'd. 
 And list' a mightier bardt who strews 
 
 His laughing truths around. 
 
 ■* The rose distiU'd is happier far 
 
 Than that which, with'ring on the thorn, 
 
 Lives, grows, and dies a prey to care 
 In single blessedness forlorn." 
 
 Mark then the lesson, O ye fair 1 
 
 The pretty flow'rets teach. 
 The truths they tell more precious are 
 
 Than coquetry can reach. 
 
 Or all cold prudence e'er design'd 
 
 To cloud affection's beams. 
 To cross with doubts the youthful micd, 
 
 Or cheat it with fond dreams. 
 
 Leave then at oace all fond delay. 
 
 Nor lose the hour of prime, 
 For nought can call back yesterda 
 
 Nor stop the hand of time. 
 
 And youth and beauty both have wings. 
 
 No art can make them stay, 
 While wisdom soft, but ceaseless sings, 
 
 " Enjoy them while you may." 
 
 E. E. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. 
 
 A Fragment. 
 
 The sound of trumpet, drum and fife 
 
 Are fit for younger men. 
 He seeks the calm retreat of life, 
 
 His Mary and his glen. 
 
 Many days and nights the wounded 
 
 soldier travelled with his knapsack and stick 
 to reach his native place, and find solace in 
 the bosom of his relatives. The season 
 merged into the solstice of winter, the roads 
 were bad, his feet were tender, and his 
 means were scanty. Few persons in years 
 could have borne the fatigue and hardships 
 he endured ; but if he could find his wished- 
 for Mary, he trusted all would be well — his 
 spirit could not break while the hope of his 
 earliest attacliment survived. He had fought 
 hard in the conflict of the battle-field — the 
 conflict of love had not smoothed his 
 " wrinkled front." He trudged onward, 
 and persevered till he reached the cottage 
 of his nativity. It was humble but neat. 
 He drew the latch, crossed the threshhold, 
 and entered the domicile. An elderly 
 female was lying on a bed. Her niece sat 
 by the bedside reading to her. The maiden 
 rose, and, putting the book aside, questioned 
 his name and business. He threw down 
 his knapsack ; he caught the countenance, 
 though faded from its youth, like his, of his 
 dear, bedridden Mary, and, clasping his 
 hands with hers, sat many hours reciting 
 his history, and listening in tears to hei 
 afHictions, occasioned by his roving dispo- 
 sition. He now, to make reparation, 
 seasoned her hopes by promises of final 
 rest with her till their suns should set 
 together in the sphere of earthly repose ; 
 for Mary was the only person living of all 
 his once numerous companions in tha 
 Oltn— 
 
 Dt. Ycang. 
 
 t Shakspeare. 
 
 702, 
 
THE TABLE BOOK, 
 
 GEOKGE WATSON, THE SUSSEX CALCULATOR. 
 
 This singular being, who in every thing, 
 but his extraordinary powers of memory 
 and calculation, is almost idiotic, was born 
 at Buxted, in Sussex, in "3 785, and has 
 followed the occupation of a labourer. He 
 is ignorant in the extreme, and uneducated, 
 not being able to read or write ; and yet 
 he can, with facility, perform some of the 
 most difficult o.ilcu'ations in arithmetic 
 The most extraordinary circumstance, how 
 ever, is the power he possesses of recollect- 
 ing the events of every day, from an early 
 peri£)d of his life. Upon being asked, 
 what day of the week a given day of the 
 month occurred? he immediately names it, 
 and also mentions where he was, and what 
 was me state of the weather. A gentle- 
 
 man who had kept a diary, put many ques 
 tions of this kmd to him, and his replies 
 were invariably correct. Watson has made 
 twD -jT three tours into Hampshire, Wilt 
 slib-=^ Gloucestershire, and Somersetshire, 
 ana has exhibited his singular powers in 
 the principal towns in those counties ; is 
 familiar with every town, village, and ham- 
 let in Sussex, can tell the number of 
 churches, public-houses, &c. in each. The 
 accompanying portrait, drawn by Mr. S. W. 
 Lt-e, of Lewes, will give a correct idea of 
 this singular individual. Phrenologists, 
 who have examined George's skull, state 
 the oriran of numbers to be very strongly 
 developed 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 7oa 
 
 2 Z 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 (garn'cfe plapsJ* 
 
 No. XL. 
 
 [From " Fatal Jealousy," a Tragedy, Au- 
 thor unknown, 1673.J 
 
 No Truth Absolute : after seeing a Masque 
 of Gipseys. 
 
 \st Spectator. By this we see that all the world's a 
 cheat. 
 Whose truths and falsehoods lie so intermixt. 
 And are so I'ke each other, that 'lis hard 
 To find the difference. Who would not think these 
 
 people 
 A real pack of such as we call Gipseys? 
 
 2rf Spect. Things perfectly alike are hut the same; 
 And these were Gipseys, if we did not know 
 How to consider them the contrary: 
 So in terrestrial things there is not one 
 But takes 'ts form and nature from our fancy, 
 Not its own being, and is but what we think it. 
 
 IstSpcct. But Truth i» still itself? 
 
 2rf Spcct. No, not at all, as Truth appears to us; 
 For oftentimes 
 
 That is a truth to me, that's false to you ; 
 So 'twould not be, if it was traly true. 
 « « • 
 
 How clouded Man 
 
 Doubts first, and from one doubt doth soon proceed 
 \ thousand more, in solving of the first I 
 Like 'nighted travellers we lose our way, 
 Iheii every ignis fatuus makes us stray. 
 By the false lights of reason led about, 
 I'lll we arrive where we at first set out : 
 Nor shall we e'er truth's perfect Wghway see, 
 i'ill dawns the day-break of eternity. 
 
 Apprehension 
 
 O Apprehension 1 — 
 "10 terrible the consequence appears. 
 It makes my brain turn round, and niglit seem darker. 
 The moon begins to drown herself in clouds, 
 Leaving a duskish horror everywhere. 
 My sickly fancy makes the garden se^m 
 Like those benighted groves ia Pluto's kingdoiKs. 
 
 Injured Husband. 
 
 IVife (di/ing.) Oh, oh, I fain would live a little looger, 
 
 If but to ask forgiveness of Gerardo I 
 
 My soul will scarce reach heav'n without his pardon. 
 
 Gerardo (entering). Who's that would go to he:iv"n. 
 Take it, whateVr thou art; and may'st thou be 
 Happy in death, whate'er thou didst design. 
 
 Gerardo ; his ivife murdered 
 
 Oer. It is m rain to look 'em,* if they hide; 
 The garden's large; besides, perhaps they're gone. 
 We'll to the body. 
 
 Servant. You are by ir now, my Lord. 
 Oer. This accident amazes me so mucb, 
 I go I know not vvhere. 
 
 Doubt. 
 
 Doubt is the effect of fear or jealonsy. 
 Two passions which to reason give the lye ; 
 For fear torments, and never doth asaist ; 
 And jealousy is love lost in a n)ist. 
 Both hood-wink truth, and go to blind-man's-buff. 
 Cry here, then there, seem to direct enough. 
 But all the while shift place; making the mind. 
 As it goes ont of breath, despair to find ; 
 And, if at last something it stumbles on. 
 Perhaps it calls it false, and then 'tis gone. 
 If true, what's gain'd ! only just time to see 
 A breachless* play, a game at liberty ; 
 That has no other end than this, that men 
 Run to be tired, just to set down again. 
 
 Owl 
 
 hark bow the owl 
 
 Summons their souls to take a flight will: her, 
 Where they shall be eternally benighted. — 
 
 [From the *' Traitor," a Tragedy^ by J 
 Shirley : by some said to have tjeer 
 written by one Rivers, a Jesuit : 1635.J 
 
 Sciarrah, whose life is forfeited, has offei 
 of pardon, conditionally, that he bring hh\ 
 sister Amidea to consent to the Prince',^ 
 unlatvful suit. He jestingly tries her affec 
 tion. 
 
 Set. — if thou could'st redeem me 
 With anything but death, I think I shou»» 
 Consent to live. 
 
 Amid. Nothing can be too precious 
 To save a brother, such a loving brothel 
 As you have been. 
 
 Sci. Death's a devouring gamester, 
 And sweeps up all ; — what think'st thou of an eye ? 
 Could'st thou spare on«, and think the bleuush recom 
 
 p<Ticed 
 To see me safe with the other ? or a hand — 
 This white hand, that has so often 
 With admiration trembled on the lute. 
 Till we have pray'd thee leave the strings avi^! il.». 
 And laid our ears close to thy ivory fingers, 
 Suspecting all the harmony proceeded 
 F'roin their own motions without the need 
 Of any dull or passive instrument. — 
 No, Amidea ; thou shalt not bear one scar. 
 To buy my life; the sickle shall not touch 
 A flower, that grows so fair upon his stalk* 
 I would live, and owe my life to thee. 
 So 'twere not bought too dear. 
 
 Amid. Do you believe, I should not find 
 Tlie way to heav'n, were both mine eyes tby rans 
 
 • The Divrilerera. 
 
 • Breathlesn? 
 
 7U4 
 
shall climb up those high and rugged oliffs 
 Vitbout a hand. * 
 
 THE T4BLE BOOK. 
 
 " BURNING THE VVITCU 
 At Bridlington, &c. 
 
 From the " Huntingdon Divertisement,'' 
 an Interlude, " for the general entertain- 
 ment at the County Feast, held at Mer- 
 chant Taylor's Hall, June 20th, 1678, by 
 W. M."] 
 
 Humour of a retired Knight. 
 
 Sir Jeoffry Doe-right. Master Generous 
 Goodman. 
 
 Gen. Sir JeofFry, good morrow. 
 
 Sir J. The same to you. Sir. 
 
 Ocn. Your early zeal condemns the rising sun 
 Of too much sloth ; as if you did intend 
 To catch the Muses napping. 
 
 Sir J. Did you know 
 The pleasures of an early contemplation. 
 You'd never let Aurora blush to find 
 You drowsy on your bed ; but lOuse, and spend 
 Some short ejaculations, — how the night 
 Disbands her sparkling troops at the approach 
 Of the ensuing day, when th' grey-eyed sky 
 Ushers the golden signals of the mora ; 
 VV.hilst the magnanimous cock with joy proclaims 
 The sun's illustrious cavalcade. Your thoughts 
 A''ould ruminate on all the works of Heaven, 
 And th' various dispensations of its power. 
 Our predecessors better did improve 
 The precious minutes of the morn than we 
 Their lazy successors. Their practice taught 
 And left us th' good Proverbial, that " To rise 
 Early makes all men healthy, wealthy, wise." 
 
 Oen. Your practice. Sir, merits our imitation ; 
 Where the least particle of night and day's 
 [mprov'd to th' best advantage, whilst your soul 
 (Unclogg'd from th' dross of melancholic cares) 
 Makes every place a paradise. 
 
 Sir J. 'Tis true, 
 I bless my lucky stars, whose kind aspects 
 Have fix'd me in this solitude. My youth 
 Past thro' the tropics of each fortune, I 
 Was made her perfect tennis-ball ; her smiles 
 Now made me rich and honour'd ; then her frowns 
 Dash'd all my joys, and blasted all my hopes : 
 Till, wearied by such interchanite of weather. 
 In court and city, 1 at length confined 
 All my ambition to the Golden Mean, 
 The Eciuinoctial of my fats ; to amend 
 The errors of my life by a good end. 
 
 C. L 
 
 • My transcript breaks off here. Perhaps what 
 follows was of less value ; or perhaps I broke off, as I 
 own I have sometimes done, to leave in my readers a 
 relish, and an inclination to explore for themselves the 
 7i>tiaine fountains of these old dra-natic delicacies 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 A custom was very prevalent in this part 
 ot Yorkshire about fifty years ago, and 
 earlier, which has since been gradually dis- 
 continuing, until it has become nearly ex- 
 tinct — called " burning the witch " in the 
 harvest-field. On the evening of the day 
 in which the last corn was cut belonging to 
 a farmer, the reapers had a merrimaking, 
 which consisted of an extra allowance ol 
 drink, and burning of peas in the straw, 
 The peas when cut from the ground are 
 left to dry in small heaps, named pea-reups. 
 Eight or ten of these reaps were collected 
 into one, and set fire to in the field, whilst 
 the labourers ran and danced about, ate the 
 " brustled peas," blacked each other's faces 
 with the burned straw, and played other 
 tricks ; the lads generally aiming for the 
 lasses, and the lasses for the lads. Such of 
 them as could add a little grease to the 
 grime seldom failed to do it. Even the 
 good dame herself has sometimes joined ir, 
 the general sport, and consequently fallen 
 in for her share of the face-blacking. Tlie 
 evening's entertainment consisted also ol 
 the cream-pot, which was a supper of cream 
 and cakes, provided and eaten in the house 
 prior to the commencement of the sport in 
 the field. Cream-pot cakes were made 
 rather thick, and sweet with currants and 
 caraway -seeds. They were crossed on 
 the top by small squares, owing to the 
 dough being slightly cut transversely im- 
 mediately before baking. The practice of 
 " burning the witch " probably had its 
 origin in those days of superstition, when 
 the belief in witchery so generally and, in- 
 deed, almost universally prevailed, and wat- 
 considered necessary under an idea of its 
 being available in preventing the over- 
 throwing of the wains, the laming of the 
 horses, and the injuring of the servants, 
 and of securing general success in the re- 
 moving, housing, or stacking of the produce 
 of the farm. 
 
 T. C. 
 
 Bridlington, July, 1 17. 
 
 P.S. October, 1827 . — One evening in tin 
 harvest of this year I was at North Burton 
 near Bridlington, and three distinct fires 
 were Mien seen in the fields. 
 
 T C 
 
 705 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 WITCHCRAFT 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Recollections of Practices formerly 
 used to avert and avoid the power 
 OF Witchery, 
 
 Having a small, smooth limestone, 
 ■kicked up on the beach, with its edges 
 rubbed down by friction and the continual 
 -.ction of the sea, and with a natural hole 
 .through it, tied to the key of a house, ware- 
 House, barn, stable, or other building, 
 prevented the influence of witches over 
 whatever the house, &c. contained. 
 
 Sailors nailed a horse-shoe on the fore- 
 mast, and jockeys one on the stable-door, 
 but to be efl'ective the shoe ought neces- 
 sarily to be found by accident. 
 
 On meeting a suspected witch the thumb 
 of each hand was turned inward, and the 
 fingers firmly closed upon it ; care was also 
 taken to let her have the wall-side or best 
 path. 
 
 Caution was used that gloves, or any 
 portion of apparel worn next to the skin, 
 came not into the possession of a witch, as 
 It was strongly believed she had an highly 
 ascendant power over the rightful owner. 
 
 A bit of witch-wood, or a hare's foot, 
 was carried in the pocket, under an im- 
 pression that the possessor was free from 
 any harm that otherwise might accrue from 
 'he old hag's malignant practices. 
 
 One thing of importance was not to go 
 out of t!ie house in a morning without 
 taking a bite of bread, cake, or other eat- 
 able to break the fast. 
 
 A thick white curtain was hung inside 
 the window, to prevent an " evil eye " 
 being cast into the room. 
 
 If a few drops of the old creature's blood 
 could be obtained, they were considered 
 sufficiently efficacious in preventing her 
 " secret, black, and baneful workings." 
 
 Allliough the practices abovementioned 
 are spoken of in the past tense, they are 
 not, at the present time, altogether done 
 away ; not a few, who are now living, are 
 credulous enough to believe in their po- 
 tency. The following may be mentioned 
 as a fact, which occurred a short time ago 
 ii; the neighbourhood where the writer of 
 this article resides: — A person bought a 
 pig, which after keeping for some time 
 " grew very badly," and witchery was sus- 
 pected to be the cause ; to ascertain the 
 certainty of the fact nine buds of the elder- 
 tree (here commonly called buttery) were 
 laid in a straight line, and all pointing one 
 
 way ; a dish made of ash wood was in- 
 verted and placed carefully over them, and 
 left to the next morning. This was don? 
 under an idea that if the pig was bewitchec 
 the buds would be found in disorder, but ii 
 not, in the state in which tbey were origi. 
 nally left. 
 
 T. C. 
 Bridlington, July 30, 1827, 
 
 OLD HOUSES AND FUllNITURE. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — A rare and valuable copy of " Ho- 
 linshed's Chronicles of Englande, Scot- 
 lande, and Irelande,"^ a black letter folio 
 volume, with curious wood-cuts, ' im- 
 printed at London" in 1577, has lately 
 fallen in my way, and afforded me consi- 
 derable amusement. One chapter especi- 
 ally, in " The Seconde Booke of the De- 
 scription of Britaine," namely, " Cap. 10 
 O^ the Maner of Buylding, and furniture o' 
 our Houses," cannot fail, I think, to interest 
 your readers. 
 
 After a very entertaining account of tht 
 construction of our ancient cottages anri 
 country houses before glass came into gene- 
 ral use, this historian of the age of queen 
 Elizabeth proceeds as follows : — ■ 
 
 " The auncient maners and houses o' 
 our gentlemen are yet for the mos' 
 part of strong tymber. Howbeil such a' 
 be lately buylded are commonly eittiei 
 of bricke, or haide stone, their rowriKs 
 large and stately, and houses of ofiici 
 farder distaunt fro their lodginges. Tho-i 
 of the nobilitie are likewise wrought will 
 bricke and harde stone, as provisicn ma) 
 best be made ; but so magnificent anc 
 stately, as the basest house of a barren dotl; 
 often match with some honours of princes 
 in olde tyme ; so that if ever curious buyld- 
 ing did flourish in Englande it is in these 
 our dayes, wherein our worckemen excel 
 and are in maner comparable in skill with 
 old Vitrunius and Seilo. The furniture of 
 our houses also exceedeth, and is growne 
 in maner even to passing delicacie; and 
 herein I do not speake of the nobilitie and 
 genttie onely, but even of the lowest sorte 
 that have any thing ' to take to,"* Certes. 
 in noble men's houses it is not rare to sef 
 abundance of arras, riche hangings of apes- 
 try, silver vessell, and so much other plate 
 
 • " To tack to," a very commoa exi;i^$iau auiooi 
 the lower classes hereabouts. 
 
 706 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 sis may fu.rnish sudrie cupbordes, to the 
 iumme ofte times of a thousand or two 
 thousande pounde at the least ; wherby 
 the value of this and the reast of their stufJe 
 doth grow to be inestimable. Likewise, 
 m the houses of knightes, gentleme, mar- 
 thauntmen, and other wealthie citizens, it 
 IS not geson to beholde generallye their 
 ireat provision of tapestrie,^Turkye worke, 
 oewter, brasse, fine linen, and. therto costly 
 jupbords of plate woorth five or sixe hun- 
 dred pounde, to be deraed by estimation. 
 But as herein all these sortes doe farre ex- 
 ceede their elders and predecessours, so in 
 tyme past the costly furniture stayed 
 rHERE, whereas now it is descended yet 
 lower, even unto the inferiour artificers and 
 most fermers, who have learned to garnish 
 ilso their cupbordes with plate, their beddes 
 with tapestrie and silke hanginges, and 
 their table with fine naperie, whereby the 
 wealth of our countrie doth infinitely ap- 
 peare. Neither do I speake this in reproch 
 of any man, God is my judge, but to shew 
 that I doe rejoyce rather to see how God 
 •lath blessed us with hys good giftes, and 
 o behold how that in a time, wherein all 
 :hinges are grovven to most excessive prices, 
 we doe yet finde the meanes to obtayne 
 and atchieve such furniture as hath hereto- 
 fore been impossible. 
 
 " There are olde men yet dwelling in the 
 village where I remayne, which have no'ed 
 three things to be marveylously altered in 
 linglande within their sound remem- 
 braunce. One is, the multitude of chimnies 
 lately erected, wheras, in their young dayes 
 there were not above two or three, if so 
 many, in most uplandish townes of the 
 ■ealme, (the religious houses and mannour 
 places of their lordes alwayes excepted, 
 and peradventure some great personages,) 
 but cache one made his fire against a rere- 
 dosse in the hall, where he dined and 
 dressed his meate. 
 
 " The second is the great amendment of 
 lodginge; for, sayde they, our fathers, and 
 we ourselves, have lyen full oft upon straw 
 pallettes, covered onely with a sheete under 
 coverlettes, made of dagswain or hop- 
 harlots, (I use their own termes,) and a 
 good round logge under their heades in 
 steade of a boulster. If it were so that our 
 fathers, or the good man of the house, had 
 a matteress or flockbed, and therto a sacke 
 of chafe to rest hys head upon, he thought 
 himself as well lodged as the lorde of the 
 towne , so well were they contented. Pil- 
 lowes, sayde they, were thoughte meete 
 onely for women in childbed. As for ser- 
 van:« !vf thev had any sheete above them 
 
 it was well ; for seldom had they any under 
 their bodies to keepe them from the prick- 
 ing strawes that ran oft thorow the canvass, 
 and raced their hardened hides.* 
 
 " The thirde thinge they tell of is the 
 exchange of treene platters into pewter, and 
 woode spoones into silver or tm. For so 
 comon were al sortes of treene vesselles 
 in old time, that a man should hardly find 
 four peces of pewter, of which one was, 
 peradventure, a salte in a good farmer's 
 house ; and yet for al this frugalitie, (if it 
 may so be justly called,) they were scarse 
 able to lyve and paye their rentes at their 
 dayes without selling of a cow or a horse, 
 or more, although they payde but foure 
 poundes at the uttt^rmost by the yeare. 
 Such also was their poverty, that if a fer- 
 mour or husbandman had been at the ale- 
 house, a thing greatly used in those dayes, 
 or amongst sixe or seaven of hys neygh- 
 bours, and there in a bravery to shew 
 what store he had did cast down his purse, 
 and therein a noble, or sixe shillings in sil- 
 ver, unto them, it was very likely that aU 
 the rest could not lay downe so much 
 against it: wheras, in my tyme, although 
 peradventure foure pounde of olde rent be 
 improved to fourty or fiftye pound, yet will 
 the farmer think his gaines very small to- 
 ward the middest of his terme, if he have 
 not sixe or seaven yeres rent lying by him, 
 therewith to purchase a newe lease, besides 
 a faire garnish of peivter in his cowborde, 
 three or foure feather beddes, so many 
 coverlettes, and carpettes of tapestry, a 
 silver salte, a bowle for wine, (if not an 
 wholef neast,) and a dussen of spoones to 
 furnishe up the sute. Thys also he taketh 
 to be his owne cleare ; for what stocke of 
 money soever he gathereth in all his yeares, 
 it is often seene that the landlorde will take 
 such order with him for the same when he 
 renueih his lease, which is commoly eight 
 or ten yeares before it be expyred, sith it is 
 nowe gjrowen almost to a custome, that if 
 he come not to his lorde so long before, 
 another shctli step in for a reversion, and so 
 defeat him outright, that it shall never trou- 
 ble him more, then the heare of his bearde 
 when the barber hath washed and shaven 
 it from his chinne." 
 
 • It may be useful to note, that as the body is often 
 callpd hereabouts the " carcass," so the skin is the 
 " hide." 
 
 t I presume a " pe^ tankerd," a " wassail cup," a 
 " porringer" or two, and a dozen " apostles' spoons," 
 would seem a pretty •' neast" in thes" davs. As to 
 the silver salte " thereby hangs a tale," and a curious 
 one too, as I have discovered since writing the above. 
 See Drake's " Illustrations of Sbakspeare, &c." vol. ' 
 p. 74. 
 
 707 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Submitting the above to the especial con- 
 sideration of our " beaux" and " belles," 
 doctors and patients, landlords and farmers, 
 and informing these last, that in the two 
 reigns preceding land was let for one shil- 
 ling per acre, 
 
 I remain, Mr. Editor, 
 
 yours respectfuHy, 
 Morley, near Leeds, N. S. 
 
 October 15, 1827. 
 
 LONDINIANA. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Mr. Editor, — Since most of your readers 
 will readily admit the propriety of the 
 adage, " Time and quarter-day wait for no 
 man," allow me the favour of insertion for 
 the following rhyming couplets, by John 
 Heywood the elder, distinctively known as 
 " the epigrammatist." They are an extract 
 from his " Workes, newlie imprinted, with 
 six hundrede very pleasant, pithie, and in- 
 genious Epigrammes, 1598, 4to. ;" and are 
 thus entitled : — 
 
 Seeking for a Dwelling-place. 
 
 Still thou seekest for a quiet duelling place — 
 
 What place for qoietnes hast thoa nuw in chase : 
 
 London bridffe — that's ill for thee, for the water. 
 
 Queene hyth — that's more ill for an other matter. 
 
 Umarfs key — that's most ill for feare of smaftiagf 
 smart. 
 
 Carter lane — nay, nay, that souniied all on the cart. 
 
 Pawl's cheyne — nay, in no wise dwell not nere the 
 chaine. 
 
 tfood street — why wilt thoo be wood yet once ag^aine. 
 
 Bread street — that's too drie, by drought thou sbalt be 
 dead. 
 
 Phitpot lane — that breedeth moist hnmoars in the 
 head. 
 
 Silver street — coppersmiths io Silrer street ; £e. 
 
 Newgate street — 'ware that, man, Newgate is bard 
 bie. 
 
 Foster lane — thon wilt as soone be tide fast, as fast. 
 
 Crooked lane — nay crooke no more be streight at last. 
 
 Creed lane — they fall out there, broth&i against bro- 
 ther. 
 
 Ave mary lane — that's as ill as the tother. 
 
 Pater noster row — aye, Pater noster row — 
 
 Agreed — that's tl»e quietest place that I know. 
 
 Sign. B b a 
 
 London-bridge had then houses upon it 
 — a circumstance more fully treated of in 
 the Chronicles of London-bridge, recently 
 published — and half Fosler-lane is becom- 
 ing extinct by the erection of the new gene- 
 ral-post-office. The other places still retain 
 their old appellations. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 Will o' th' Wisp. 
 
 Oct. 12, ia27. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — I shall be greatly obliged, and there 
 can be no doubt your readers will be con- 
 siderably interested, by your insertion of 
 the subjoined article in your valuable Table 
 Book. It was copied from the " Weekly 
 Entertainer," published at Sherborne, in- 
 Dorsetshire, in the year 1800. 
 I am, sir. 
 Yours, very respectfully, 
 
 G. H. I. 
 
 Memoranda of Mr. Thomson, the poet, 
 collected from Mr. JVilUam Taylor, for- 
 merly a barber and peruke-maker, at 
 Jtickmond, Surrey, now blind. Septem- 
 ber, 1791. 
 
 (CommuBicated by the Earl ef Buchan.) 
 
 Q. Mr. Taylor, do you remember any 
 thing of Thomson, who lived in Kew-lane 
 some years ago ? 
 
 A. Thomson? — 
 
 Q. Thomson, the poet. 
 
 /i. Ay, very well. I have taken him 
 by the nose many hundred times. 1 shaved 
 him, I believe, seven or eight years, or 
 more ; he had a face as long as a horse ; 
 and he sweated so much, that I remember, 
 after walking one day in summer, I shaved 
 bis head without lather by his own desire. 
 His hair was as soft as a camel's ; I hardly 
 ever felt such ; and yet it grew so remark- 
 ably, that if it was but an inch long, it 
 stood upright an end from his liead like 
 a brush. (Mr. Robertson* confirmed this 
 remark.) 
 
 Q. His person, I am told, was large and 
 elumsy ? 
 
 j4. Yes ; he was pretty corpulent, and 
 stooped forward rather when he walked, as 
 though he was full of thought ; he was very 
 careless and negligent about his dress, and 
 wore his clothes remarkably plain. (Mr 
 Hobertson, when I read this to him, said, 
 " He was clean, and yet slovenly ; he 
 stooped a good deal.") 
 
 Q. Did he alway.^ wear a wig ? 
 
 A. Always, in my memory, and very 
 extravagant he was with them. I have 
 seen a dozen at a time hanging up in my 
 master's shop, and all of them so big that 
 nobody else could wear them. I suppose 
 his sweating to such a degree made him 
 have so many ; for I have known him spoil 
 a new one only in walking from London. 
 
 • It appears that this gentleman was very intiraitt 
 With tliB author of the " Seattons," but we know notbiug 
 iuiber re»pecune hinu 
 
 708 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Q. He was a great walker, I believe ? 
 
 A. Yes, he used to walk from Mailoch's, 
 at Strand on the Green, near Kew Bridge, 
 and from London, at all hours in the night ; 
 he seldom liked lo go in a carriage, and I 
 never saw him on horseback; I believe he 
 was too fearful to ride. (Mr. Robertson 
 said he could not bear to get upon a horse.) 
 
 Q. Had he a Scotch accent ? 
 
 A. Very broad ; he always called me 
 VVull. 
 
 Q. Did you know any of his relations? 
 
 A. Yes ; he had two nephews, (cousins,) 
 Andrew and Gilbert Thomson, both gar- 
 deners, who were much with him. Andrew 
 used to work in bis garden, and keep it in 
 order, at over hours ; he died at Richmond, 
 about eleven years ago, of a cancer in his 
 face. Gilbert, his brother, lived at East 
 Sheen, with one esquire Taylor, till he fell 
 out of a mulberry-tree and was killed. 
 
 Q. Did Thomson keep much company? 
 
 A. Yes ; a good deal of the writing sort. 
 1 remember Pope, and Paterson, and Mai- 
 loch, and Lyttleton, and Dr. Armstrong, 
 and Andrew Millar, the bookseller, who 
 had a house near Thomson's, in Kew-lane. 
 Mr. Robertson could tell you more about 
 them. 
 
 Q. Did Pope often visit him ? 
 
 A. Very often ; he used to wear a light- 
 coloured great coat, and commonly kept it 
 on in the house ; he was a strange, in- 
 formed, little figure of a man ; but I have 
 heard him and Quin, and Paterson, talk 
 together so at Thomson's, that I could have 
 listened to them for ever. 
 
 Q. Quin was frequently there, I suppose ? 
 
 A. Yes ; Mrs. Hobart, his housekeeper, 
 often wished Quin dead, he made her mas- 
 ter drink so. I ha\e seen him and Quin 
 coming from the Castle together at four 
 o'clock in a morning, and not over sober 
 you may be sure. When he was writing 
 in his own house, he frequently sat with a 
 bowl of punch before him, and that a good 
 large one too. 
 
 Q. Did he sit much in his garden ? 
 
 A. Yes, he had an arbour at the end of 
 it, where he used to write in summer time. 
 I have known him lie along by himself upon 
 the grass near it, and talk away as though 
 three or four people were along with him. 
 (This might probably be when he was re- 
 citing his own compositions.) 
 
 Q. Did you ever see any of his writing ? 
 
 A. I was once tempted, I remember, to 
 take a peep ; his papers used to lie in a 
 loose pile upon the table in his study, and 
 I had longed for a look at them a good 
 while : so one morning while I was waiting 
 
 in the room to shave him, and he was 
 longer than usual before he came down, I 
 slipped ofl" the top sheet of paper, and ex- 
 pected to find something very curious, but 
 I could make nothmg of it. I could not 
 even read it, for the letters looked like all 
 in one. 
 
 Q. He was very affable in his manner ? 
 
 A. O yes ! he had no pride ; he was very 
 free in his conversation and very cheerful, 
 and one of the best natured men that ever 
 lived. 
 
 Q. He was seldom much burthened wUh 
 cash ? 
 
 A. No ; to be sure he was deuced long- 
 winded ; but when he had money, he would 
 send for his creditors, and pay them all 
 round ; he has paid my master between 
 twenty and thirty pounds at a time. 
 
 Q. You did not keep a shop yourself 
 then at that time ? 
 
 A. No, sir ; I lived with one Lar.der 
 here for twenty years ; and it was while I 
 was apprentice and journeyman with him 
 that I used to wait on Mr. Thomson. 
 Lander made his majors and bobs, and a 
 person of the name of Taylor, in Craven- 
 street, in the Strand, made his tie-wigs. 
 An excellent customer he was to both. 
 
 Q. Did you dress any of his visitors? 
 
 A. Yes ; Quin and Lyttleton, sir George, 
 I think he was called. He was so tender- 
 faced I remember, and so devilish difficult 
 to shave, that none of the men in the shop 
 dared to venture on him except myself. I 
 have often taken Quin by the nose too, 
 which required some courage, let me tell 
 you. One day he asked particularly if the 
 razor was in good order ; and protested he 
 had as many barbers' ears in his parlour at 
 home, as any boy had of birds' eggs on a 
 string ; and swore, if I did not shave him 
 smoothly, he would add mine to the num- 
 ber. " Ah," said Thomson, " WuU shaves 
 very well, I assure you." 
 
 Q. You have seen the " Seasons," I sup- 
 pose? 
 
 A. Yes, sir; and once had a great deal 
 of them by heart, (He here quoted a pas- 
 sage from "Spring.") Shepherd, who 
 formerly kept the Castle inn, showed me a 
 book of Thomson's writing, which wa^ 
 about the rebellion in 1745, and set tc 
 music, but I think he told me not pub- 
 lished. (I mentioned this to Mr. Robert 
 son, but he thought Taylor had made 
 small mistake ; perhaps it might be some 
 of the patriotic songs in the masque of 
 Alfred.) 
 
 Q. The cause of his death is said to 
 have been by taking a boat from Kew 
 
 709. 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Slichmorid, when he was mucn heated by 
 vvalkinw ? 
 
 A. No* I believe he got the better of 
 (hat; but haviti"; had a batch of dnnkincr 
 with Quin, he took a quantity of cream of 
 tartar, as he frequently did on such occa- 
 sions, which, with a fever before, carri<^d 
 tiim off. (Mr. llobertson did not assent to 
 this.) 
 
 Q. He Lived, I think, in Kew Foot-lane ? 
 
 A. Yes, and died there ; at the furthest 
 house next Richmond Gardens, now Mr. 
 Boscawen's. He liTed sometime before at 
 a smaller one higher up, inhabited by Mrs. 
 Davis. 
 
 Q. Did you attend on him to the last ? 
 
 A. Sir, I shaved him the very day before 
 his death ; he was rery weak, but made a 
 shift to sit up in bed. I asked him how he 
 found himself that morning. " Ah, Wull," 
 he replied, " I am very bad indeed." (Mr. 
 Robertson fold me, he ordered this opera- 
 lion himself as a refreshment to his friend.) 
 
 Taylor concluded by giving a hearty 
 encomium on his character. 
 
 This con\ersation took place at one of 
 'he alcoves on Richmond-green, where 1 
 accidentally dropped in. I afterwards found 
 it was a rural rendezvous for a set of old 
 invalids on nature's infirm list; who met 
 there erery afternoon, in fine weather, to re- 
 count and comment on the " tale of other 
 tunes." 
 
 I inquired after Lander, and Mrs. Ho- 
 bart, and Taylor, of Craven-street, but found 
 that none of them were surviving. Mrs. 
 Hobart was thought to ha\e a daughter 
 married in the town, called Egerton ; but 
 It was not likely, from the distance of time, 
 that she could impart any thing new. 
 
 Taylor told me, the late Dr. Dodd had 
 applied to him several years ago for anec- 
 dotes and information relative to Thomson. 
 
 Park Egerton, the bookseller, near 
 Whitehall, tells me, that when Thomson 
 'irst came to London, he took up his abode 
 with his predecessor, Millan, and finished 
 his poem of ''Winter" in the apartment 
 Jver the shop ; that Millan printed it for 
 him, and it remained on his shelves a long 
 time unnoticed ; but after Thomson began 
 to gain some reputation as a poet, he 
 either went himself, or was taken by Mal- 
 let, to Millar in the Strand, with whom 
 he entered into new engagements for print- 
 ing his works ; which so much incensed 
 Millan, his first patron, and his country- 
 man also, that they never afterwards were 
 cordially reconciled, although lord Lyttle- 
 t >n took uncommon pains to mediate be- 
 tween theiu. 
 
 AN OLD SONG RESTORED 
 
 " Busy, curious, thirsty Fly." 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir,— Tn Ritso->'s "Collection of Old 
 Songs" are but t\^o verses of this, in mv 
 estimation, very beautiful song. Going from 
 this place, Liverpool, to Cliester, it was 
 my good fortune to hear a blind fiddler on 
 board the packet both play and sing the 
 whole of the following, which I procured 
 from him at his domicile about two years 
 ago. He was lost in the same boat with 
 the captain and others, during a gale of 
 wind off Elesmere port. If you think them 
 worthy a place in your amusing Table Book, 
 be pleased to accept from 
 Sir, 
 Your most obedient servant, 
 
 J. F. Phcenix. 
 Bold-street, Liverpool, 
 Oci. 15, 1827. 
 
 Busy, curious, thirsty fly 
 Drinli witli me and drink as I ; 
 Freely welcome to my eu]*, 
 Couldst thou fip and sup it up. 
 Make the most of life you may. 
 Life is short and we irs away. 
 Life is short, &c 
 
 Both alike are thine and mine. 
 Hastening quick to their decline ; 
 Thine's a summer, mme's no more. 
 Though repeated to threescore ; 
 Tlireescore summers, when they're ^oua. 
 Then will appear as short as o»ie. 
 
 Then will appear, 2tc. 
 
 Time seems little to look back, 
 And moves on like clock or jack ; 
 As the moments of the fly 
 Fortune swiftly passes by. 
 And, when life's short thread is sput 
 The larum strikes, and we are gone. 
 The larum, &c. 
 
 What is life men so prefer ? 
 It is but sorrow, toil, and care : 
 He that is endow'd with wealth 
 Oftentimes may want his health 
 And a man of healthful state 
 Poverty may be his fate. 
 
 Poverty may, &o. 
 
 Some are so inclined to pnde. 
 That the poor they can't abide, 
 Tho' themselves are not secure. 
 He that's rich may soon be poor 
 Fortune is at no man's call. 
 Some shall nse whilst otbers fall. 
 Soma shall, &c 
 
 710; 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Some ambitiouj men do soar 
 For to get themselves in power, 
 And those mirk and airy fools 
 Strive to advance their master's rule; 
 But a sudden turn of fate 
 Shall humble him who once was great. 
 Shall humble, &c. 
 
 He that v^ill live happy must 
 Be to his king and countr) just ; 
 Be content, and that is more 
 Thau all the miser's golden store ; 
 And whenever life shall cease. 
 He may lay him down in peace. 
 He may lay, &c. 
 
 HERMITS. 
 
 Mr. J. Pettit Andrews has two anecdotes 
 '.•oncerning heriibts, which exemplify the 
 Urength of the " uHng " passion, when the 
 individual is " dead to the world :" viz. 
 
 St. RoMl'ALD. 
 
 Born at Ravenna, of noble parentage; 
 he embraced, towards the middle of the 
 renth century, the state of a hermit, under 
 the direction of a solitary, whose severity 
 it least equalled his piety. Romuald bore 
 rbr a long time, without a murmur, the 
 repeated thumps which he received from 
 his holy teacher; but ob>erving that they 
 were continually directed lo his luft side, 
 " Honour my right ear, m^ dear master,'' 
 said he, meekly, " with some i f your atten- 
 tion, for I have nearly lost t'l use of my 
 left ear, through your partiality to that 
 side." Romuald, when he became master 
 of his own conduct, showed that he o 
 on occasion copy the rigour of his prec 
 tor; for, hearing that his own father, who 
 iiad embraced a monastic life, entertained 
 thoughts of re-entering the world again, he 
 hurried to the monastery, and, by the rhe- 
 toric of a very hearty drubbing, brought his 
 unsteady parent over to a more settled way 
 of thinking. 
 
 Amadeus, Duke of Savoy. 
 
 This prince, in the fifteenth century, took 
 upon him to become a hermit; with how 
 much abstinence and moderation he de- 
 meaned himself, may be judged from this 
 circumstance, that the French make use of 
 the expression " faire ripaiiles," when tiiey 
 would speak of giving way to every indul- 
 gence and enjoyment; and they lake tlie 
 term from " Ripailles," the name of this 
 pious recluse's hermitage. 
 
 Besides his attachment to every possible 
 luxury, this holy anchoret had a peculiar 
 
 pride in his beard, which was singulariy 
 fine and picturesque. Political motives 
 made the cardinals seek him in his retreat, 
 to confer on him the dignity of pope ; but 
 no persuasions nor representations would 
 make htm consent to part with that fa- 
 vourite beard, until the ridicule which it^ 
 preposterous appearance under the tiarft 
 occasioned, brought him to agree to it> 
 removal. Even the pomp of the papai 
 chair could not long detain him from Ri- 
 pailles. He soon quitted the triple crown 
 that he might repossess his beloved retreat 
 
 A HERMIT'S MEDITATION. 
 
 In lonesome cave 
 Of noise and interruption void. 
 
 His thoughtful solitude 
 A hermit thus enjoy'd: 
 
 His choicest book 
 The remnant of a human head 
 
 The volume was, whence he 
 This solemn lecture read : — 
 
 " Whoe'er thou wert. 
 Partner of my retirement now. 
 
 My nearest intimate. 
 My best companion thoa! 
 
 On thee to muse 
 The busy living world I left ; 
 
 Of converse all but thine. 
 And silent that, beieft. 
 
 Wert ihou the rich. 
 The idol of a gazing crowd ? 
 
 Wert thou the great. 
 To whom obsequious thousands bow'd ' 
 
 Was learning's store 
 E'er treasur'd up within this shell ? 
 
 Did wisdom e'er within 
 This "^mpty hollow dwell ? 
 
 Did youthful charms 
 E'er redden on tliis ghastful face ? 
 
 Did beauty's bloom these cheeks. 
 This forehead ever grace ? 
 
 If on this Iirow 
 E'er sat the scornful, haughty frowa. 
 
 Deceitful pride ! where now 
 Is that disdain ? 'tis gor.e. 
 
 If cheerful mirth 
 A gayness o'er this baldness cast. 
 
 Delusive, fleeting joy I 
 Where is it now ? 'tis pJist. 
 
 To deck this scalp 
 If tedious long-liv'd hours it cost. 
 
 Vain, fruitless toil 1 where's no* 
 That labour leen ? 'tis loit. 
 
 711 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 B^nt painful sweat, 
 The dear-earn'd price of daily bread. 
 
 Was all, perhaps, that thee 
 With hungry sorrows ted. 
 
 Perhaps but tears. 
 Surest relief of heart-sick woe, 
 
 Thme only drink, from dowQ 
 These sockets us'd to flow. 
 
 Oppress'd perhaps 
 With aches and with aged cares, 
 
 Down to the grave thou brought'st 
 A few, and hoary, hairs : 
 
 'Tis all perhaps ! 
 No marks, ro token can I trace 
 
 What, on this stage of life 
 Thy rank or station was. 
 
 Nameless, unknown ! 
 Of all distinction stript and bare. 
 
 In nakedness conceal'd. 
 Oh 1 who shall thee declare ? 
 
 Nameless, unknown! 
 Yet fit companion thou for me. 
 
 Who hear no human voice 
 No human visage see. 
 
 From me, from thee. 
 The glories of the world are gOLe ; 
 
 Nor yet have either lost 
 What we could call our own. 
 
 What we are now. 
 The great, the wise, the fair, the brave. 
 
 Shall all hereafter be. 
 All Hermits — in the grave." 
 
 CURIOUS ANECDOTES OF 
 
 BIRMINGHAM MANUFACTURERS 
 
 AND MANUFACTURES. 
 
 Birmingham, says the late Mr. William 
 Button, (the historian of this large and 
 populous town,) Birmingham began with 
 the productions of the anvil, and probably 
 will end with them. The sons of the ham- 
 mer were once her chief inhabitants ; but 
 that great crowd of artists is now lost in a 
 greater. Genius seems to increase with 
 multitude. Part of the riches, extension, 
 and improvement of Birmingham, are 
 owing to the late John Taylor, Esq. who 
 possessed the singular power of perceiring 
 things as they really were. The spring and 
 consequence of action were open to his 
 view. He rose from minute beginnings to 
 shine in the commercial, as Shakspeare did 
 tn the poetical, and Newton in the philoso- 
 ohicol heoiisphere. 
 
 To this uncommon genius we owe Ine 
 gilt button, the japanned and gilt snuff- 
 boxes, with the numerous race of enamel** 
 From the same fountain issued the painted 
 snuff-box, at which one servant earned three 
 pounds ten shillings per week, by painting 
 them at a farthing each. In his shops were 
 weekly manufactured, buttons to the amount 
 of 800/., exclusive of other valuable produc- 
 tions. One of the present nobility, of dis- 
 tinguished taste, examining the works with 
 the master, purchased some of the articles, 
 among others, a toy of eighty guineas value; 
 and while paying for them, observed with 
 a smile, " he plainly saw he could not re- 
 side in Birmingham for less than two hun- 
 dred pounds a day." Mr, Taylor died in 
 1775, at the age of sixty -four, ^lfter acquir- 
 ing a fortune of 200,000^. 
 
 The active powers of genius, the instiga- 
 tion of profit, and the affinity of one calling 
 to another, often induce the artist to change 
 his occupation. There is nothing more 
 common among us ; even the divine and 
 the lawyer are prone to this chanse. Thus 
 the church throws her dead weight into the 
 scale of commerce, and the law gives up 
 the cause of contention : but there is no- 
 thing more disgraceful, except thieving, in 
 other places. " I am told," says an elderly 
 gentleman, as he amused himself in a pitiful 
 bookseller's shop in a wretched market 
 town, " that you are a stocking-maker by 
 trade !" The humble bookseller, half con- 
 fused, and wholly ashamed, could not deny 
 the charge. " Ah," cried the senior, whose 
 features were modelled between the sneer 
 and the smile, " there is neither honour noi 
 profit in changing the trade you were bred 
 to. Do not attempt to sell books, but stay 
 at home, and pursue your own business.' 
 The dejected bookseller, scarcely one step 
 higher than a " walking stationer,'' lived to 
 acquire a large fortune. Had he followed 
 the senior's advice, he might, like a com- 
 mon foot soldier, have starved upon eight- 
 pence a day. This humble and dejected 
 bookseller was Mr. Hutton himself. He 
 says, toy trades first made their appearance 
 in Birmingham in the beginning of Charles 
 the Second's reign, in an endless variety, 
 attended with all their beauties and their 
 graces. When he wrote, he ranked, as 
 first in preeminence, the 
 
 Button. 
 
 This beautiful ornament, says Mr. Hut- 
 ton, appears with infinite variation ; and 
 though the original date is rather uncertain, 
 yet we well remember the long coats of our 
 grandfathers covered with half a gross oi 
 
 712 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 high tops, and the cloaks of our grand- 
 mothers ornamented with a horn button 
 nearly the size of a cro\vn piece, a watch, 
 or a John-apple, curiously wrought, as 
 having passed through the Birmmgham 
 Dress. 
 
 Though, continues Mr. Hutton, the com- 
 mon round button keeps on with the steady 
 pace of the day, yet we sometimes see the 
 oval, the square, the pea, the concave, and 
 the pyramid, flash into existence. In some 
 branches of traffic the wearer calls loudly 
 for new fashions ; but m this, the fashions 
 tread upon each other, and crowd upon the 
 wearer. The consumption of this article 
 is astonishing: the value in 1781 was from 
 three-pence a gross to one hundred and 
 forty guineas. 
 
 In 1818, the art of gilding buttons was 
 arrived at such a degree of refinement in 
 Birmingham, that three pennyworth of gold 
 was made to cover a gross of buttons : these 
 were sold at a price proportionably low. 
 The experiment has been tried to produce 
 gilt buttons without any gold ; but it was 
 found not to answer, the manufacturer los- 
 ing more in the consumption than he saved 
 in the material. There seems, says Mr. 
 Hutton, to be hidden treasures couched 
 within this magic circle, known only to a 
 few, who extract prodigious fortunes out of 
 this useful toy, whilst a far greater number 
 submit to a statute of bankruptcy. Trade, 
 like a restive horse, can rarely be managed ; 
 for, where one is carried to the end of a 
 successful journey, many are thrown off by 
 the way. 
 
 The next to which Mr. Hutton calls our 
 attention, is the 
 
 Buckle. 
 
 Perhaps the shoe, in one form or other, 
 is nearly as ancient as the foot. It origin- 
 ally appeared under the name of sandal; 
 this was no other than a sole without an 
 upper-leather. That fashion has since been 
 inverted, and we have sometimes seen an 
 upper-leather nearly without a sole. But 
 whatever was the cut of the shoe, it always 
 demanded a fastening. Under the house 
 of Plantagenet, the shoe shot horizontally 
 from the foot, like a Dutch skate, to an 
 enormous length ; so that the extremity 
 was fastened to the knee, sometimes with a 
 silver chain, a s^ilk lace, or even a pack- 
 thread string, rather than avoid genteel 
 taste. 
 
 This thriving beak drew the attention of 
 the legislature, which determined to prune 
 the exorbitant shoot; for, in 1465, we find 
 
 an order of council, prohibiting the growth 
 of the shoe toe beyond two inches, undc' 
 the penalty of a dreadful curse frc/i the 
 priest — and, what was worse, the payment 
 of twenty shillings to the king. 
 
 This fashion, like every other, gave way 
 to time; and, in its stead, the rose began 
 to bud upon the foot, which, under the 
 house of Tudor, opened in great perfection. 
 No shoe was fashionable without being 
 fastened with a full blown rose. Ribbons 
 of every colour, except white, the emblem 
 of the depressed house of York, were had 
 in esteem ; but the red, like the iiouse of 
 Lancaster, held the preeminence Under 
 the house of Stuart the rose withered, which 
 gave rise to the shoestring. The beaux of 
 that age ornamented their lower tier with 
 double laces of silk, tagged with silver, and 
 the extremities were beautified with a small 
 fringe of the same metal. The inferior class 
 wore laces of plain silk, linen, or even a 
 thong of leather ; which last is yet to be 
 met with in the humble plains of rural life. 
 
 The revolution was remarkable for the 
 introduction of William, of liberty, and the 
 minute buckle, not differing much in size 
 and shape from the horse bean. 
 
 This offspring of fancy, like the clouds, 
 is ever changing. The fashion of to-day is 
 thrown into the casting-pot to-morrow. 
 
 The buckle seems to have undergone 
 every figure, size, and shape of geometrical 
 invention. It has passed through every 
 form in Euclid. The large square buckle, 
 plated with silver, was the ^orj of 1781. 
 The ladies also adopted the reigning taste; 
 it was difficult to discover their beautiful 
 little feet, covered with an enormous shield 
 of buckle ; &nd we wondered to see the 
 active motion under the massive load. 
 
 In 1812, the whole generation of fashions, 
 in the buckle line, was extinct ; a buckle 
 was not to be found on a female foot, nor 
 upon any foot except that of old age. 
 
 Gums. 
 
 King William was once lamenting, "that 
 guns weie not manufactured in his domi- 
 nions, but that he was obliged to procure 
 them from Holland, at a great expense, and 
 with greater difficulty." Sir Richard New- 
 digate, one of the members for the county 
 being present, told the king, " that genius, 
 resided in Warwickshire, and thati he 
 thought his constituents would answer his 
 maji-sty's wishes." The king was pleased 
 with the remark, and the member posted 
 to Birmingham. Upon application to a 
 person in Digbelh, the pattern was ex*"- 
 
 713 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Cntt.'a with precision, and, when presented 
 !o the royal board, gave entire satisfaction. 
 'Jrders were immediately issued for large 
 Jurnbers, which have been so frequently 
 repeated, that they never lost their road ; 
 and the ingenious artists were so amply 
 rewarded, that they have rolled in their 
 carriages to this day. 
 
 It seems that the word " London" mark- 
 ed upon guTis is a better passport than the 
 word "Birmingham;" and the Birming- 
 ham gun-makers had long been in the 
 habit of marking their goods as being made 
 in London. 
 
 In 1813 some of the principal gun-makers 
 of London brought a bill into the House of 
 Commons to oblige every manufacturer of 
 firearms to mark them with liis real name 
 and place of abode. The Birmmghara 
 gim-makers took the alarm ; petitioned the 
 house against the bill, and thirty-two gun- 
 makers instantly subscribed six hundred 
 and fifty pounds to defray the expense of 
 opposing it. They represented that they 
 made t-he component parts of the London 
 guns, whi'Ch differed from theirs only in 
 being put together, and marked in the me- 
 tropolis. 
 
 Government authorized the gun-makers 
 of Birmingham to erect a proof-house of 
 tlieir own, with wardens and a proof mas- 
 ter ; and allowed them to decorate their 
 guns with the ensigns of royalty. All fire- 
 arms manufactured in Birmingham and its 
 vicinity are subjected to the proof required 
 by the Board of Ordnance: the expense is 
 not to exceed one shilling each piece ; and 
 the neglect of proving is attended with a 
 penally not exceeding twenty pounds. 
 
 Leather. 
 
 Though there is littl« appearance of that 
 necessary article m Birmingham, yet it was 
 once a famous market for leather. Digbeth 
 not only abounded with tanners, but large 
 numbers of hides arrived weekly for sale, 
 md here the whole country found a supply. 
 When the weather would allow, they were 
 ranged in columns in the High-street, and 
 • It other times deposited in the leather-hall, 
 It the east end of New-street, appropriated 
 for their reception. This market was of 
 great antiquity, perhaps not less than seven 
 hundred years, and continued till the be- 
 ginning of the eighteenth century. Two 
 officers are still annually chosen, who are 
 named leather sealers, from a power given 
 them by ancient charter to mark the vendible 
 hides; but now the leather sealers have no 
 (hiiv, but that of taking an elegant dinner. 
 
 Shops are erected on tan-vats, the leathei^ 
 hall is gone to destruction, and in 1781 
 there was only one soUtary tanner in Bn- 
 mingiiam. 
 
 Steel. 
 
 The manufacture of iron, in Birming- 
 ham, is ancient beyond research ; that oi 
 steel is of modern date. 
 
 Pride is inseparable from the human 
 character ; the man without it, is the man 
 without breath. We trace it in various 
 forms, through every degree of people ; but 
 like those objects about us, it is best dis- 
 covered in our own sphere ; those above 
 and those below us rather escape our no- 
 tice ; envy attacks an equal. Pride induced 
 the pope to look with contempt on the 
 European princes, and it now induces them 
 to return the compliment; it taught inso- 
 lence to the Spaniard, selfishness to the 
 Dutch ; it teaches the rival nations of France 
 and England to contend for power. Pride 
 induced a late high bailiff of Birmingham, 
 at the proclamation of the Michaelmas fair, 
 to hold his wand two feet higher than the 
 usual rest, that he might daz/.le the crowd 
 with a beautiful glove hanging pendant, a 
 ruffle curiously wrought, a ring set with 
 brilliants, and a hand delicately white. 
 Pride preserves a man from mean actions; 
 it throws him upon meaner. It whets the 
 sword for destruction; it urges the laudable 
 acts of humanity. It is the universal hinge 
 on which we move; it glides with the gen- 
 tle stream of usefulness ; it overflows the 
 mounds of reason, and swells into a de- 
 structive flood. Like the sun, in his milder 
 rays, it animates and draws us towards per- 
 fection ; but like him, in his fiercer beams, 
 it scorches and destroys. 
 
 Money is not the necessary attendant of 
 pride, for it abounds nowhere more than 
 in the lowest ranks. It adds a sprucer air 
 to a Sunday dress, casts a look of disdain 
 upon a bundle of rags ; it boasts the honour 
 of a family, while poverty unites a sole and 
 upper leather wlt.i a bandage of shop- 
 thread. There are people who even pride 
 themselves upon humility. 
 
 This dangerous good, this necessary evil, 
 supports the female character; without it, 
 the brightest part of the creation would 
 degenerate. It will be asked, "What por- 
 tion may be allowed 2" Prudence will an- 
 swer, " As much as you please, but not to 
 disgust." It is equally found in the senate- 
 house and the button-shop. The scene oi 
 action is the scene of pride. He who makes 
 steel prides himself in caiTying the art one 
 step higher than he who makes iron. 
 
 714 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Tfiis art appeared at Bl^mlng^^am in the 
 seventeenth century, and was introduced 
 by the family of Kettle. The name of 
 Steelhouse-lane will convey to posterity the 
 situation of the works ; the commercial 
 spirit of Birmingham will convey the pro- 
 duce to the antipodes. 
 
 From the warm but dismal climate of 
 this town issues the button which shines on 
 the breast, and the bayonet intended to 
 pierce it; the lancet wliich bleeds the man, 
 and the rowel the horse ; the lock which 
 preserves the beloved bottle, and the screw 
 to uncork it ; the needle, equally obedient 
 to the thimble and the pole. 
 
 Brass Works. 
 
 The manufacture of brass was introduced 
 into Birmingham by the family of Turner 
 about 1740. They erected os-' works at 
 the south end of Coleshill-street ; then near 
 two iiundred yards beyond the buildings, 
 but now the buildings extend half a mile 
 beyond them. 
 
 Under the black clouds which arose from 
 this corpulent tunnel, some of the trades 
 collected their daily supply of brass, but 
 the major part was drawn from the Mac- 
 cleslield, Che;idle, and Bristol companies. 
 
 "Causes are known by their effiects ;'' 
 the fine feelings of the heart are easily read 
 in the features of the face ; the still opera- 
 cions of the mind are discovered by the 
 ougher operations of the hand. Every 
 ;reature is fond of power, from that noble 
 lead of the creation man, who devours 
 nan, down to ttiat insignificant mile who 
 levours his cheese : every man strives to 
 1)6 free himself, and to shackle another. 
 Where there is power of any kind, whether 
 .n the hands of a prince, a people, a body 
 of men, or a private person, there is a pro- 
 pensity to abuse it : abuse of power will 
 (everlastingly seek itself a remedy, and fre- 
 quently find it, nay, even this remedy may 
 in time degenerate into abuse, and call 
 loudly for another. 
 
 Brass is an object of some magnitude in 
 ;he trades of Birmingham, the consumption 
 is said to be a thousand tons per annum. 
 The manufacture of this useful article had 
 long been in the hands of few and opulent 
 men, who, instead of making the humble 
 bow for favours received, acted with despo- 
 tic sovereignty, established their own laws, 
 chose their customers, directed the price, 
 and governed the market. In 1780 the 
 article rose, either through caprice or ne- 
 cessity, perhaps the former, from seventy- 
 two pounds a ton to eighty-four pounds. 
 
 The result was, an advance upon the goods 
 manufactured, followed by a number oi 
 counter-orders, and a stagnation of busi- 
 ness. 
 
 In 1781, a person, from affection to the 
 user or resentment to the maker, perhaps 
 \he latter, harangued the public in the 
 weekly papers, censured the arbitrary mea- 
 sures of the brazen sovereigns, showed 
 their dangerous influence over the trades of 
 the town, and the easy manner in which 
 works of our own might be constructed. 
 Good often arises out of evil ; this fiery 
 match quickly kindled another furnace in 
 Biimirigham. Public meetings were ad- 
 vertised, a committee appointed, and sub- 
 scriptions opened to fill two hundred shares, 
 of one hundred pounds each, which was 
 deemed a sufficient capital ; each proprietoi 
 of a share to purchase one ton of brass 
 annually. Works were immediately erected 
 upon the banks of the canal, for the ad- 
 vantage of water carriage, and the whole 
 was conducted with the true spirit of Bii- 
 rningham freedom. 
 
 The old companies, which we may justly 
 consider the directors of a South Sea bubble 
 in miniature, sunk the price from eighty 
 four pounds to fifty-six pounds. Two in- 
 ferences arise from this measure ; that theu 
 profits were once very high, or were nov 
 very low ; and, that like some former mo- 
 narchs in the abuse of power, they repented 
 one day too late. 
 
 Nails. 
 
 The art of nail-making is one of the 
 most ancient in Birmingham. It is not, 
 however, so much a trade hi, as of Bir- 
 mingham, for there are but few nail-makers 
 left in the town ; the nailors are chiefly 
 masters, and rather opulent The manu- 
 facturers are so scattered round the country, 
 that we cannot travel far in any direction 
 out of the sound of the nail-hammer 
 Birmingham, like a powerful magnet, draws 
 the produce of the anvil to herself. 
 
 \Vhen I first approached Birmingham, 
 says Mr. Hutton, from Walsall in 1741, 1 
 w IS surprised at the prodigious number of 
 blacksmiths' shops upon the road ; and 
 could not conceive how a country, though 
 populous, could support so many people of 
 the same occupation. In some of these 
 shops I observed one or more females stript 
 of their upper garment, and not overcharged 
 with their lower, wielding the hammer with 
 all the grace of the sex. The beauties of 
 their face were rather eclipsed by the smut 
 of the anvil. Struck with th*^ novpl''" I 
 
 715 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 .nquired " VVhether the ladies in this coun- 
 try shod horses J" but was answered, with 
 a smile, " They are nailers." 
 
 A hre without heat, a nailer of a fair 
 complexion, or one who despises the tank- 
 ard, are equally rare among them. His 
 whole system of faith may be comprised in 
 one article — That the slender mug, used in 
 a public-house, " is deceitful above all 
 things, and desperately wicked." 
 
 While the master reaps harvest of plenty, 
 the workman submits to the scanty glean- 
 ings of penury, a thin habit, an early old 
 ige, and a figure bending towards the earth. 
 Plenty comes not near his dwelling, except 
 )f rags and of children. His hammer is 
 vorn into deep hollows, fitting the fingers 
 )f a dark hand, hard as tiie timber it wears. 
 lis face, like the moon, is often se'-.n 
 liirouifh a cloud. 
 
 Man first catches the profession; the 
 profession afterwards moulds the man. In 
 whatever profession we engage we assume 
 'ts character, become a part of it, vindicate 
 Its honour, its eminence, its antiquity, or 
 'eel a wound through its sides. Though 
 iiere maj be no more pride in a minister 
 if state who opens a budget, than in a 
 rinker who carries one, yet they equally 
 ;ontend for the honour of their trade. 
 
 The bellows-maker proclaims the honour 
 jf his an by observing, he alone produces 
 t-hat instrument which commands the 
 winds; his soft breeze, like that of the 
 ioiith, counteracts the chill blasts of winter; 
 ly his eflforts, like those of the sun, the 
 A^orld receives light; he creates when he 
 (leases, and gives breath when he creates. 
 In his caverns the winds sleep at pleasure, 
 ind by his " orders " they set Europe in 
 lames. He farther pretends, that the an- 
 tiquity of his occupation will appear from 
 the plenty of elm, once in the neighbour- 
 hood, but long cut up for his use ; thai the 
 leather-market in Birmingham, for many 
 ages, furnished him with sides; and though 
 the manufacture of iron is allowed to be 
 extremely ancient, yet the smith could not 
 procure his heat without a blast, nor could 
 that blast be raised without the bellows. 
 One inference will arise from these remarks, 
 that bellows-making is one of the oldest 
 trades in Birmingham. 
 
 Thread. 
 
 We who reside in the interior parts of 
 the kingdom may observe the first traces of 
 
 a river when it issues from its fountain, the 
 current so extremely small, that if a bottU 
 of liquor, distilled through the urinary ves- 
 sels, were discharged into its course, if 
 would manifestly augment the water ana 
 quicken the stream: the reviving bottle, 
 having added spirits to the man, would 
 seem to add spirits to the river. If we 
 pursue this river, winding through one hun- 
 dred and thirty miles, we shall observe it 
 collect strength as it runs, expand its bor- 
 ders, swell into consequence, employ mul- 
 titudes of people, carry wealth in its bosom, 
 and exactly resemble thread-making in 
 Birmingham. If we represent to our ideas 
 a man able to employ three or four people, 
 himself in an apron one of the numbe., 
 but who being unable to write his name, 
 shows his attachment to the Christian re- 
 ligion by signing the cross to receipts; 
 whose method of book-keeping, hke that 
 of the publican, is a door and a lump oj 
 clialk ; produ-cing a book which none can 
 peruse but himself; v/ho having manufac- 
 tured forty pounds weight of thread, of 
 divers colours, and rammed it into a pair 
 of leathetn bags, something larger than a 
 pair of boots, which we might deem the 
 arms of his trade empaled ; slung them on 
 ■a horse, and placed himself on the top by 
 way of a crest ; visits an adjacent market, 
 to starve with his goods at a stall, or retail 
 them to the mercer, nor return without the 
 money — vve shall see a thread-maker of 
 I65-2. If we pursue this occupation, wind- 
 ing through the mazes of one hundred and 
 thirty years, we shall see it enlarge its 
 boundaries, multiply its people, increase its 
 consequence and wealth, nil in 1782 we 
 behold the master in possession of correct 
 accounts, the apron thrown aside, the stall 
 kicked over, the bags tossed into the garret, 
 and the mercer overlooked in the grand 
 prospect of exportation. We farther be- 
 hold him take the lead in provincial con- 
 cerns, step into his own carriage, and hold 
 the king's commission as a magistrate.* 
 
 PRESERVATION OF FLOWERS. 
 
 A few grains of salt dropped into the 
 water in which flowers are kept, tends 
 greatly to preserve them from fading, arid 
 will keep them fresh and in bloom, doublf 
 the period that pure water will. 
 
 * Hnttnn's History of Birining'ham< 
 
 716 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 LETTER FROM A VILLAGE. 
 
 To Mr. Charles Pickworth. 
 
 Lincolnshire, — June, 1815. 
 
 Dear Charles, — You remember our 
 iieeting the other day — I shall. — It's a 
 ong time since we ran riot> and got into 
 mischief together — trundled our hoops, 
 gathered flowers in summer, and rolled in 
 the snow in winter. There is a dim plea- 
 sure in the remembrance of our late inter- 
 view, and that of these isolated scenes of 
 our childhood : they are as faint gleams of 
 sunshine in a gloomy day. I don't like, 
 however, to reflect upon being handwhip- 
 ped, and put into the corner: the fears of 
 that age are dreadful — I see my aunt's 
 frown now, and hear her snap at me. But 
 then again, it was over her grounds that we 
 chased the hours away as heedlessly as the 
 butterflies. The homeclose-yard and kitchen 
 garden — how pleasant to remember thetn ! 
 The buzzard, you know, guarded the fruit- 
 garden, and kept us from the gooseberry- 
 trees and strawberry-beds ; but in the 
 others what a thousand frolics have we 
 sported in, and in what a thousand con- 
 trivances exercised our infant minds. Every 
 joy comes to my mind — I forget every 
 hardship. The coachman! — what would 
 he not do for us ! Bethink yourself — he 
 had been in the family a quarter of a cen- 
 tury. How proud he was of it ; how fussy 
 and fond of his favourite horses ; how he 
 used to pat them when out with the car- 
 riage. You don't forget that the old people 
 continued the fashion of postilions very 
 long — but there is no end to remembrance. 
 —I'll stop 
 
 You say in my beliaviour the other day 
 you saw the traces of my boyhood. You 
 compliment me. Children are selfish ; they 
 perhaps may have but little to call their 
 young feelings forth; for feelings must be 
 met half-way. I remember some young 
 feelings with delight still. I fancy 1 have 
 not that ecstasy now that the mind was 
 tuned to then. Chddren have but few 
 friendships : the reason may be, that they 
 nave few objects to engage tliem. This 
 observation is vain — elder people have but 
 Tew friendships, and for the same reason. 
 I had been more correct if I had said, tiiey 
 are but little capable of a friendly disposi- 
 tion. The former is a fact — this a specu- 
 lation. You saw at the party wherein we 
 last met, how eager all the youngsters were 
 to have their gallop in what they considered 
 I heir proper turn round the large close. 
 
 This is a fair sample of mankind in all theh 
 pursuits — of every age, old or young. 1 
 waved n.\ turn for you ; and though I had 
 H joyous idea of flymg round the course, 1 
 had more ])leasure in seeing you gratified. 
 It is well I hit upon my old friend in my 
 politeness ; the otiiers would have laughed 
 at me. The upper part of society profess 
 more politeness than the lower; the humar> 
 heart is the same in both. The upper 
 classes have more forms, and the lowe? 
 may say they are fools for their pains : — 
 the upper bow slavishly to each otlier ; the 
 lower do not. "With the former it is of 
 service, but of none among the latter. For 
 if among the ambitious and supercilious oJ 
 mankind it were not a matter of pride to 
 know and do this homage, one half of them 
 would be turning up their noses, and toss- 
 ing their heads at the other. When I see 
 a great man bow, 1 always think he wants 
 to creep into a greater man's esteem,. 
 
 Excuse this wandering. I like to gene- 
 ralize mankind, and cast up the propei 
 value of every thing around me — the use is 
 immense: hence flows philosophy. I de- 
 cide between grovelling and glorious am- 
 bition ; and, clearing- myself of the former, 
 am eased of impediment in the pursu.i o) 
 the latter. The consequence is, that I ;are 
 nothing for wealth, provided I have .,oni. 
 petence; that I can take up my abode with 
 pleasure among poor people, and not turn 
 squeamish at sigh.t of a fustian jacket ; tliat 
 I like tlie humour of farm-iiouses, and 
 would dine with a couple of vagabonds, 
 without fear of infection, amply compen- 
 sated by the observation of their vein , and 
 looking upon the beauty of nature aj tlic 
 source of all pleasure, far and wide as 5lie 
 extends, in this hole and cabin, my own 
 appropriate spot, my aim is to keep my 
 health as tlie furtherance of a supenoi 
 object. 
 
 iMy maxim is — necessaries ; that is, out- 
 ward comfort and lieallh. Observe it. 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 CO. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 GRASSINGTON FEAST. 
 
 Clock Dpcisi.NCS. 
 
 During the continuance of" Grassington 
 least, " it is customary for the inhahiiants 
 to have convivial j)arties at one anoiiier's 
 houses: these are calhil clock dressings ; 
 for the gr.ests are invited to come and 
 " dress llie clock." Grassingtoii feast was 
 
 717 
 
THE TABLE BOOK.' 
 
 once one 6f the lare^est and most celebrated 
 one in Craven, but it is fast dwindling 
 away. This year the amusements were of 
 a paltry description ; and the sacTc racers, 
 bell racers, hasty-pudding eaters, and soap- 
 ed-pig catchers, who used to afford in 
 former times such an unceasing fund of 
 merriment, seem all fled. Nothing told 
 of olden time, except the presence of Frank 
 King, the Skipton minstrel, who seems de- 
 termined to 'be in at ihe death. 
 
 T. Q. M. 
 
 A FRAGMENT 
 Found in a Skeleton Ca-se at the 
 
 Royal Academy, 
 
 Suppo/sed to have been written hy one of 
 
 the Studentsy and deposited there by him. 
 
 SCELETOS. 
 
 Behold this Ruin ! 'twas a skull. 
 Once of ethereal spirit full, 
 1 his narrow cell was life's retreat, 
 This space was thought's mysterious seat. 
 What beauteous pictures fill'd this spot I 
 What dreams of pleasure long forgot ! 
 Nor Love, nor Joy, nor Hope, nor Fear, 
 rias left one trace or record here. 
 
 Beneath this mouldering canopy 
 
 Once shone the bright and busy eye I 
 
 But start not at the dismal void, 
 
 Tf social love that eye employ'd ; 
 
 If with no lawless fire it gleam'd. 
 
 But thro the dew df'kindaess heam'd, 
 
 The eye s-hall befor ever liright. 
 
 When stars and suns'have'lost theinliglit. 
 
 Here in this silent cavern hung 
 
 The ready, swift, and tuneful tongu-e. 
 
 If falsehood's honey it disdain'd. 
 
 And where it could not praise, was chain'd ; 
 
 If bold in virtue's cause — it spoke, 
 
 Yet gentle concord never broke. 
 
 That tune^jl tongue shall plead for th-ee. 
 
 When Death unveils eternity. 
 
 Say, did these fingers delve the mine. 
 Or with its envied rubies shine ? 
 To hew the rock, or wear the gem. 
 Can nothing now avail to them : 
 But if the page of truth they sought. 
 Or comfort to the mourner brought. 
 These hands a richer mead shall claim 
 Than all that waits on wealth and fama. 
 Avails it whether bare or shod. 
 These feet the path of duty trod ? 
 If from the bowers of joy they fled 
 To seek affliction's humble bed. 
 If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurtfd. 
 And home to virtue's hope return'd. 
 These teet with angel wings shall fly. 
 And tread the palace of the sky.* 
 
 ■^ From the Morning Chronicle, Sept. 14, 1821. 
 
 ANECDOTE OF A MAGPIE. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 A cobbler, who lived on indifferent terms 
 with his wife in Kingsmead-street, Bath, 
 somewhat like Nell and Jobson, kept a 
 maffpie, that learned his favourite ejacula- 
 tory exclamation — " What the plague art 
 {h)at ?" Whoever canae to his shop, where 
 the bulk of his business was carried on, the 
 magpie was sure to use this exclamation ; 
 but the bird was matched by the ghostly, 
 bodily, and tall person of" Hats to dress !" 
 a well-known street perambulator and hat 
 improver, who, with that cry, daily passed 
 the temple of Crispin. The magpie aspi- 
 rating at with h, the crier of " Hats to 
 dress 1" considered it a personal insult, and 
 after long endurance, one morning put the 
 bird into his bag-, and walked away with 
 his livijig plague. VVhen he reached home, 
 " poor mag !" was daintily fed, and became 
 a favourite with the dresser's wife. It 
 chanced, however, that tiie cobbler, who 
 supplied the sole understanding of " Hats 
 to dress !" waited on him to be rebeavered 
 for his own understanding. The magpie, 
 hearing his old master's voice, cried out, 
 " What the plague art {h)iitf'" " Ha, ha, 
 ha," said the astonished and delighted cob- 
 bler, " come to fetch thee home, thou 
 'scapegrace." The hatter and the cobbler 
 drank their explanation over a quart of ale; 
 and with a new, old, hat on his head, the 
 latter trudged tlirough Stall-street, with his 
 TrnCTpie in his apron, crying, " fVhat the 
 plague art (hjat ?" 
 
 THE ARTIST. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 He is a being of deep reflection, — one 
 
 That studies nature with intensest eye ; 
 Watching the works of air, earth, sea, and sun. 
 
 Their motion, altitude, their form, their dye, 
 Cause and effect. The elements which run. 
 
 Or stagnant are, he traces to their source 
 With vivid study, till his pencil makes 
 
 A perfect likeness; or, by' fancy's force 
 A new creation in his art- he- takes, 
 
 And matches nature's progress in his course 
 Towards glory. In th' abstractions of the mind. 
 
 Harmony, passion, and identity, 
 Hi8 genius, like the summer sun, is shrined, 
 
 Till beauty and perfection he can see. 
 
 713 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 CI)e (Slants 
 
 IN THE LORD MAYOR'S SHOW, 
 AND IN GUILDHALL. 
 
 _ In the Lord Mayor's Show on the 9th of 
 November, 1827, there was a remarWable 
 j variation from the customary route. Instead 
 of the new chief magistrate and corporation 
 ' embarking at Blackfriars, as of late years 
 has been usual, the procession took a direc- 
 tion eastward, passed through the Poultry, 
 Cornhill, Leadenhall-street, Billiter-lane, 
 Mincing-lane, and from thence by Tower- 
 street to the Tower Stairs, where they em- 
 barked. This deviation is presumed to 
 , have been in compliment to the Tower 
 vard, in which the lord mayor presides as 
 alderman. The ancient lord mayors o 
 I-ondon were accustomed to " ride and go" 
 on horseback, attended in like manner by 
 the aldermen, and others of the corporation, 
 to the bottom of Queen-street, and there 
 embark on board the barges for Westmin- 
 ster. The present is the first instance of 
 the lord mayor's show by water having 
 proceeded from a more distant spot down 
 the river. 
 
 In addition to tlie " men in armour," 
 and the length of the route by land, in the 
 lord mayor's show of this year, there was 
 " the far more attractive novelty of two 
 colossal fiejures representing the well-known 
 statues, Gog and Magog, (as they are call- 
 ed,) of Guildhall. They were extremely 
 well contrived, and appeared to call forth 
 more admiration and applause, than fell to 
 the share of any of the other personages 
 who formed part of the procession. What- 
 ever some fastidious critics may say as to 
 the taste of reviving in the present day some 
 of the long-neglected civic pageants, we 
 think the appearance of these figures augurs 
 well for the future conduct of the new lord 
 mayor : some of his brother magistrates 
 would, we make no doubt, be well content 
 if in the whole course, or at the close, of 
 their official career, they could come in for 
 a little of the plaudits which were yesterday 
 bestowed on the two representatives of Gog 
 and Magog." {The Times, Nov. 10.) From 
 the report of a spectator, it appears that the 
 giants were constructed of wicker-work, 
 gaily apparelled in the costume of their pro- 
 totypes, and similarly armed : each walked 
 along by means of a man withinside, who 
 ever and anon turned the faces towards the 
 tiiiong-s of company in the houses ; and, 
 as the figures were fourteen feet high, their 
 feitures were on a level with the first- 
 
 floor windows throughout the* hole of then 
 
 progress. 
 
 In a work, which contain:; much inform- 
 ation respecting the " London Triumphs' 
 of the lord mayors, and the " pageants" ot 
 those processions in the olden time, there 
 is a chapter devoted to a History of the 
 Carvings called the " Giants in Guildhall." 
 As the book is my own, and seems to be 
 little known *' within the walls," I pre- 
 sume to render the account in a compressed 
 form, as follows — 
 
 The Giants in Guildhall 
 
 From the time when I was astonished by 
 the information, that " every day, when the 
 giants hear the clock strike twelve they 
 come down to dinner," I have had some- 
 thing of curiosity towards them. How 
 came they there, and what are they for ? In 
 vain were my examinations of Stow, Howell, 
 Slrype, Nooithouck, Maitland, Seymour, 
 Penrrant, and numberless other authors of 
 books and tracts regarding London. Th,ey 
 scarcely deign to mention them, and no 
 one relates a syllable from whence we can 
 possibly afhrm that the giants of their day 
 were the giants that now exist. 
 
 To this remark there is a solitary excep- 
 tion. Hatton, whose " New View of Lon- 
 don" bears the date of 1708, says in that 
 work, " This stately hall being much dam- 
 nify 'd by the unhappy conflagration of the 
 city in 1666, was rebuilt anno 1669, and 
 extremely well beautified and repaired both 
 in and outside, which cost about two thou- 
 sand five hundred pounds, and two neic 
 figures of gigantick magnitude will be as be- 
 J'o7-e."* Presuming on the ephemeral infer rn- 
 ation of his readers at the time he published, 
 Hatton obscured his information by a bre- 
 vity, which leaves us to suppose that the 
 giants were destroyed when Guildhall was 
 " much damnify 'd" by the fire of London 
 in 1666 ; and that from that period they 
 liad not been replaced. It is certain, how- 
 ever, that there were giants in the year 
 1699, when Ned Ward published his Lon- 
 don Spy : for, describing a visit to Guild- 
 hall, he says, " We turned down King- 
 street, and came to the place intended, 
 which we entered with as great astonish- 
 ment to see the giants, as the Morocco 
 ambassador did London when he saw 
 the snow fall. I asked my friend the 
 meaning and design of setting up those 
 two lulDbeily preposterous figures; for I 
 suppose they had some peculiar end in it. 
 Truly, says my friend, I am wholly igno. 
 
 » Hatton'i New View of London, 1708 8to. p. 6O7. 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 7iy 
 
 3 A 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 rant of what they intended by them, unless 
 they were set up to show the city what huge 
 loobies their forefathers were, or else to 
 fright stubborn apprentices into obedience ; 
 for the dread of appearing before two such 
 ■monstrous logg-erheads, will sooner reform 
 their manners, or mould them into a com- 
 pliance with their masters' will, than carry- 
 ing- them before my lord mayor or the 
 chamberlain of London ; for some of them 
 are as much frighted at the names of Gog 
 and Magog, as little children are at the 
 terrible sound of Raw-head and Bloody- 
 bones." Theie is no doubt that at that 
 time the city giants were far more popular 
 than now ; for, in the same work, two pas- 
 sengers through Baitholomew fair, who had 
 slyly alighted from a coach without dis- 
 charging it, are addressed by the coach- 
 man with " Pay me my fare, or by Gng 
 and Magog you shall feel the smart of my 
 whipcord;" an oath which in our time is 
 obsolete, though in all probability it was 
 common then, or it would not have been used 
 by Ward in preference to his usual indecency. 
 Again ; as to giants being in Guildhall 
 before Hatton wrote, and whether they 
 were the present statues. On the 24th of 
 April, 1685, there were " wonderful and 
 siupendous fireworks in honour of their 
 majesties' coronation, (James H. and his 
 queen,) and for the high entertainment of 
 their majesties, the nObility, and City of 
 London, made on the Thames.''* Among 
 the devices of this exhibition, erected on a 
 raft in the middle of the river, were two 
 pyramids ; between them was a figure of 
 the sun in polished brass, below it a great 
 cross, and beneath that a crown, all stored 
 with fireworks ; and a liitle before the 
 pyramids " were placed the statues of the 
 two giants of Guildhall, in lively colours 
 and proportions facing Whitehall, the backs 
 of which were all filled with fiery mate- 
 rials ; and, from the first deluge of fire till 
 the end of the sport, which lasted near an 
 hour, the two giants, the cross, and the 
 sun, grew all in a light flame in the figures 
 described, and burned without abatement 
 of matter." From this mention of" statues 
 of the two giants of Guildhall," it is to bo 
 inferred, that giants were in Guildhall four- 
 teen years before Ward's book was pub- 
 lished, and that, probably, the firework- 
 maker took them for his models, because 
 their forms being familiar to the " City of 
 London," their appearance would be an 
 attraction as well as a compliment to his 
 civic audience. 
 
 • See the " Narrative," by R. Lowman, 1&35, folio, 
 half bheet, 16S5. 
 
 Just before 1 708, the date of Hattons 
 book, Guildhall had been repaired ; and 
 Hatton says, " In the middle of this front 
 are depenciled in gold these words, Repa- 
 rata et Ornata Thoma Rawlinson, Milit, 
 Majore, An. Dom. m.dcc.vi." From 
 whence, and his observation, in the extract 
 first quoted, that " two new figures of gi- 
 gantick magnitude will be as before," he 
 intends his reader to understand that, as 
 before that reparation there had been two 
 giants^ so, with the new adornment of the 
 hall there would be two new giants. The 
 proof of Halton's meaning is to be found 
 in " The Gigantick History of the two 
 .famous Giants in Guildhall, London, third 
 edition, corrected. London, printed for 
 Tho. Boreman, bookseller, near the Giants 
 in Guildhall, and at the Boot and Crown, 
 on Ludgate-hill, 1741." — 2 vols. 64rao. 
 This very rare book states, that " before the 
 present giants inhabited Guildhall, there 
 were two giants, made only of wicker-work 
 and pasteboard, put together with great art 
 and ingenuity : and those two terrible ori- 
 ginal giants had the honour yearly to grace 
 my lord mayor's show, being carried in 
 great triumph in the time of the pageants; 
 and when that eminent annual service was 
 over, remounted their old stations in Guild- 
 hall — till, by reason of their very great ag«, 
 old Time, wuh the help of a number of city 
 rats and mice, had eaten up all their en- 
 trails. The dissolution of the two old, 
 weak, and feeble giants, gave birth to the 
 two present substantial and majestic giants ; 
 who, by order, and at the city charge, were 
 formed and fashioned. Captain Richard 
 Saunders,* an eminent carver in King- 
 street, Cheapside, was their father ; who, 
 after he had completely finished, clothed, 
 and armed these his two sons, they were 
 immediately advanced to those lofty sta- 
 tions in Guildhall, which they have peace- 
 ably enjoyed ever since the year 1708." 
 The title-page of the " Gigantick History" 
 shows that the work was published within 
 the Guildhall itself, when shops were per- 
 mitted there ; so that Boreman, the pub- 
 lisher, had the best means that time and 
 place could aflTord of obtaining true inform- 
 ation, and for obvious reasons he was un- 
 likely to state what was not correct. It is 
 further related in this work, that " the first 
 honour which the two ancient wicker-work 
 giants were promoted to in the city, was at 
 the restoration of king Charles II., when 
 with great pomp and majesty they graced 
 
 Of credit and renown, 
 A trainband captain ." — Cowper 
 
 720 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 * ''■*"i"phal arch, -which was erected on 
 that happy occasion at the end of King- 
 street, in Cheapside." This was before the 
 fire of London, by which the hall was 
 *' much damnify 'd," but not burned down; 
 for the conflagration was principally con- 
 fined to the wooden roof; and, according 
 to this account, the wicker-giants escaped'', 
 till their infirmities, and the labours of the 
 ■" city rats," rendered it necessary to super- 
 sede them. 
 
 That wicker was used in constructing 
 figures for the London pageants is certain. 
 Haywood, in his description of the page- 
 ants in the show of the lord mayor l{ayn- 
 ton, in 1632, says, "The moddellor and com- 
 poser of these seuerall pieces, Maister Ge- 
 rard Christmas, found these pageants and 
 shovves of icivker and paper, and rtduc'l 
 them to sollidity and substance." 
 
 To prove, however, the statement in the 
 "Gigantick History," that the present 
 fiiants were put up upon the reparation of 
 the hall in ITOe, an examination of the city 
 archives became necessary; and as the 
 history fortunately mentions captain Ri- 
 chard Saunders as the carver, the name 
 became a clue to successful inquiry. Ac- 
 cordingly, on examination of the city ac- 
 counts at the cliambeibin's office, under 
 ihe head of " Extraordinary Works," for 
 1707, I discovered among the sums "paid 
 for repairing of the Guildhall and chappell," 
 an entry in the following words : — 
 
 To Richard Samtder.i, carver, seaventy 
 pounds, by order of the co'mittee 
 for repairing Guildhall, dated y* 
 x">. of April, 1707, for woik by 
 him done - - . _ 70^. 
 
 This entry of the payment confirms the 
 relation of the gigantic historian; but 
 Saunders's bill, which doubtless contained 
 the charges for the two giants, and all the 
 city vouchers before 1786, deposited in the 
 chamberlain's office, were destroyed by a 
 fire ihere in that year. 
 
 Giants were part of the pageantry used 
 in diffierent cities of the kingdom. By an 
 ordinance of the mayor, aldermen, and 
 common-council of Chester,* for the set- 
 ting of the watch on the eve of the festival 
 of St. Jolin the Baptist, in 1504, it was 
 directed that there should be annually, ac- 
 cording to ancient custom, a pageant, con- 
 sisting of four giants, with animals, hobby- 
 horses, and other figures, therein specified.f 
 In l.')90, Henry Hardman, Esq. the mayor 
 of Chester in that year, from religious mo- 
 tives, caused the giants in the Midsummer 
 
 Harl. AISS. 13C8. 
 
 t IbicL 21^0. 
 
 show " to be broken, and not to goe tjia 
 (/evil in his feathers,'' and he provided a 
 man in complete aimour to go in their 
 stead ; but in 1601, John Ratcljfie, a beer- 
 brewer, being mayor, set out the giams 
 and the Midsummer show as usual. On 
 the restoration of Charles IL new ones 
 weie ordered to be made, and the estimate 
 for finding the materials and workmanship 
 of the four great giants, as they were be- 
 fore, was at five pounds a giant ; and four 
 men to carry them at two shillings and six- 
 pence each. The materials for making 
 these Chester giants were deal-boards, 
 nails, pasteboard, scaleboard, paper of 
 various sorts, buckram, size cloth, and old 
 sheets for their bodies, sleeves, and shirts, 
 which were to be coloured; also tinsel, 
 tinfoil, gold and silver leaf, and colours of 
 difietent kinds. A pair of old sheets weie 
 to cover the father and mother giants, and 
 three yards of buckram were provided for 
 the mother's and daughter's hoods. There 
 is an entry in the Chester charges of one 
 shilling and fourpence " for ar.-enic to put 
 into the paste to save the giants from being 
 eaten by the rats ;"* a precaution which, if 
 adopted in the formation of the old wicker- 
 giants of London, was not effectual, though 
 how long they had ceased to exist before 
 the reparation of the hall, end the carving 
 of their successors, does not appear. One 
 conjecture may perhaps be hazarded, that, 
 as after the mayor of Chester had ordered 
 the giants there to be destroyed, he pro- 
 vided a man in armour as a substitute ; so 
 perhaps the dissolution of the old London 
 wicker-giants, and the lumbering incapacity 
 of the new wooden ones for the duty of 
 loid mayor's show, occasioned the appear- 
 ance of the men in armour in that proces- 
 sion. 
 
 Until the last reparation of Guildhall, in 
 1815, the present giants stood with the old 
 clock and a balcony of iron-v^ork between 
 them, over the stairs leading from the hal. 
 to the couits of law and the council cham- 
 ber. When they were taken down in that 
 year, and placed on the floor of the hall, I 
 thoroughly examined them as they lay in 
 that situation. They are made of wood,f 
 and hollow within, and from the method of 
 joining and gluing the interior, are e\ idently 
 of late construction, and e^ery way too 
 substantially built for the purpose of being 
 either carried or drawn, or any way ex- 
 hibittd in a pageant. On inspecting them 
 
 * Stnitt's Sports, Pref. p. xxvi. 
 
 t KoorthoucU writing in 1773, (Hist, of London, 4lo. 
 p 590.) erroneou^ly aflirms that tlie giants are n.adt 
 of pasteboard. 
 
 721 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 t that period, T made minute inquiry of an 
 ">M and respectable officer of Guildhall, 
 with whom they were favourites, as to what 
 particulars existed in the city archives con- 
 cerning them; he assi.red me that he had 
 nimself anxiously desired information on 
 the same subject, and that after an investi- 
 gation through the different offices, there 
 %vas not a trace of the period when they 
 commenced to be, nor the least record con- 
 cerning them. This was subsequently con- 
 lirmed to me by gentlemen belongmg to 
 other departments. 
 
 However stationary the present ponder- 
 ous figures were destined to remain, there 
 can scarcely be a question as to the frequent 
 use of their wicker predecessors in the cor- 
 poration shows. The giants were great 
 favourites in the pageants. * Stow, in 
 describing the ancient setting of the nightly 
 watch in London on St. John's eve, relates 
 that " the mayor was surrounded by his 
 footmen and torch-bearers, and followed 
 by two henchmen on large horses : the 
 mayor had, besides his giant, three page- 
 ants ; whereas the sheriffs had only two, 
 besides their giants, each with their morns 
 dance and one henchman. "f It is related, 
 that, to make the people wonder, these giants 
 were armed and marched as if they were 
 alive, to the great diversion of the boys, 
 who, peering under, found them stuffed 
 with brown paper.J A character in Mar- 
 ston's " Dutch Courtezan," a comedy acteii 
 in 1606, says, " Yet all will scarce make 
 me so high as one of the gyant's stilts that 
 stalks before my lord mayor's pageants ''§ 
 
 During queen Elizabeth's prosi'ress to her 
 noronaiion, Gogmagog and Corinseus, two 
 ciants, were stationed at Temple-bar. It 
 s not certain, yet it is probable, that these 
 were the wicker-giants brought from Guild- 
 'lall for the occasion. In the reign before, 
 when queen Mary and Philip II. of Spain 
 made their public entry, there was at Lon- 
 don bridge a grand spectacle, with two 
 images representing two giants, the one 
 
 * btrntt, p. xxiii. 
 
 Giants were introduced into the May-s:aTnes. " On 
 tV.e 2tith of May, 1535, was a gay May-g-aine at St. 
 Martin's-in-the-Kields, with giants and iiolihy-horses, 
 drums and gnns, morris-daneers, and other iijinstrels." 
 — (Strype's Meiriorials.) Burton, in his" Analoniy of 
 Tvlelan"holy." includes giants ainong the ordinary do- 
 mestic recreations of winter. 
 
 t Striitt. p. 319. 
 
 t Brand, i. p. 257. 
 
 ^ Stilts to iQcrease the stature of the giants, and the 
 mtrcxl'.otioo of tlie morris-dance, are instancs of tlie 
 tJesire to efratify the fondness of our ancestors for 
 ttranifc sigfhts and festive ainusements. A cock dancing 
 03 stilts to the music of a pipe and tabor is in Strutt's 
 B'VSi'tti, from a book of prayers written towards the 
 tloee of th» thirteenth century. Harl. MSS. 6563. 
 
 named CorinaeU", and the other Gogmagog 
 holding betweeR them certain I>atin verses.* 
 There is scarcely a likelihood that these 
 were any other than the Guildhall giants, 
 which on the occasion of a corporation re- 
 joicing could be removed with the utmos? 
 ease. 
 
 Orator Henley, on the Cist of October, 
 1730, availed himself of the anticipated 
 civic festival for that year to deliver a lec- 
 ture upon it, mentioning the giants, which 
 he announced by newspaper advertisement 
 as follows : — 
 
 At THE Oratory, the corner of Lin- 
 coln's-Inn-Fields, near Clare-mari<et, 
 this Day, being Wednesday, at Six 
 o'clock in the Evening, will be a new 
 Riding upon an old Cavalcade, en- 
 tituled The City in its Glory; or. 
 My Lord Mayor's Shew: Explain- 
 ing to all Capacities that wonderfu. 
 Procession, so much envy'd in Foreigr. 
 Parts, and nois'd at Paris : on my 
 Lord Mayor's Day ; the fine Appear- 
 ance and Splendor of the Companies 
 of Trade ; Bear and Chain ; the Trum- 
 pets, Drums, and Cries, interraix'd; 
 tlie qualifications of my L — 's Horse, 
 the whole Art and History of the City 
 Ladies and Beaux at Gape-stare in 
 the Balconies; the Airs, Dress, and 
 Motions; the two giants walking 
 out to keep Holiday; like Snails o'er 
 a Cabbage, says an old Author, they 
 all crept along; admir'd by their 
 Wives, and huzza'd by the Throng. 
 There is no stronger evidence of the in- 
 difference to playfulness and wit at ciiy 
 elections, than the almost total silence on 
 those occasions respecting such ample sub- 
 jects for allusion and parallel as the giants 
 in the hall. Almost the only instance oi 
 their application in this way is to be found 
 in a handbill on occasion of a mayoralty 
 election, dated Oct. 4th, 1816, addressed 
 " To the London Tavern Livery and their 
 Spouses." It states, that " the day after 
 
 Mr. Alderman is elected lord mayor 
 
 for the year ensuing, the following enter- 
 tainments will be provided for your amuse- 
 ment eratis, viz. 1. The two giants, at the 
 bottom of the hall, will dance a minuet b^ 
 
 steam, attended by Mr. Alderman 
 
 in a new wig upon an elastic principle, 
 gentleman Inavrng bought half of his ola 
 one for the purpose of making a new pfr 
 ruke for the aforesaid giants." This is tii< 
 first humorous allusion to the giants afitt 
 their removal to their 7)resent station. 
 
 * Strutt'i Spurts, I'r&f. p. xxrii. 
 
 722 
 
 J 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 It IS imagined by the autnor of the " Gi- 
 gantick History," that the Guildhall giants 
 lepresent Corinaeus a Trojan, and Gogma- 
 gog a Cornish giant, whose story is related 
 at large in that work ; the author of which 
 supposes, that as " Corinaeus and Gogma- 
 gog were two brave giants, who nicely 
 valued their honour, and exerted their 
 whole strength and force in defence of their 
 liberty and country; so the city of London, 
 by placing these their representatives in 
 their Guildhall, emblematically declare, 
 that they will, like mighty giants, defend 
 the honour of their country and liberties of 
 this their city, which excels all others, as 
 much as those huge giants exceed in statute 
 the common bulk of mankind." Each of 
 these giants, as they now stand, measures 
 upwards of fourteen feet in height: the 
 young one is believed to be Corinaeus, and 
 the old one Gogniagpg. 
 
 Such being the chief particulars respect- 
 ing these enormous carvings, the terror of 
 the children, the wonder of the 'prentices, 
 and the talk of the multitude, in former 
 days, I close the subject, satisfied with 
 having authenticated their origin. Trifling 
 as this aff'air may seem, I pursued the in- 
 quiry for upwards of sixteen years ; and 
 though much of the time I spent in the 
 search might have been better employed, I 
 can assure those who are unacquainted with 
 the nature of such investigations, that I 
 had much pleasure in the pursuit, and when 
 1 had achieved my purpose I felt more 
 highly gratified, than I think I should had 
 I attained to the dignity of being " proud 
 London's proud lord mayor." 
 
 There are other memoranda respecting 
 the giants and lord mayors* shows in my 
 volume on " Ancient Mysteries," from 
 whence the present particulars are ex- 
 tracted. 
 
 NORWICH GUILD. 
 
 Mayor's Feast, Temp. Elizabeth. 
 
 The earls of Northumberland and Hunt- 
 ingdon, the lords Thomas Howard and 
 Willoughby, with many other noblemen 
 and knights, paid a visit to the duke of 
 Norfolk, and were entertained, with their 
 retinue, at the duke's palace, in Norwich, 
 in 1561. The guild happening at this time, 
 William Mingay, Esq., then mayor, invited 
 them and their ladies to the feast, which 
 they accepted, and expressed the greatest 
 •atisfaction at their generous and hospitable 
 leceptiou. AC the entertainoienl the duke 
 
 and duchess of Norfolk sat first ; then tne 
 three earls of Northumberland, Huntin^- 
 don, and Surrey, lord Thomas Howard, 
 lord Scroop and his lady, lord and lady 
 Bartlet, lord Abergavenny, with so many 
 other peers, knights, and ladies, that the 
 hall could scarcely contain them and their 
 retinue. • The mayor's share of the ex- 
 pense was one pound, twelve shillings, and 
 ninepence. The feast makers, four in 
 number, paying the rest. The mayor's bill 
 of fare was as follows : — 
 
 £. i. d. 
 
 Eight stoae of beef, at 8d. a stone, and a 
 
 sir- 
 
 
 
 loin 
 
 - 
 
 5 
 
 8 
 
 Two collars of brawn 
 
 - 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 Four cheeses, at 4d. a cheese 
 
 - 
 
 1 
 
 4 
 
 Eight pints of batter 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 tj 
 
 A hinder quarter of veal - 
 
 
 
 
 
 10 
 
 A leg of mutton ... 
 
 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 A fore quarter of real 
 
 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 Loin of mutton and shoiilder of veal 
 
 
 
 
 
 9 
 
 Breast and coat of mnttoa 
 
 
 
 
 
 7 
 
 Six pulle's 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 Four couple of rabbits 
 
 - 
 
 1 
 
 8 
 
 Four brace of partridges - 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 Two Guinea cocks 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 C 
 
 Two couple of mallard 
 
 
 
 ] 
 
 (» 
 
 Thirty-four eggs- . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 Bushel of flour - 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 Peck of oatmeal - • ., 
 
 
 
 
 
 9. 
 
 Sixteen white bread-loaves 
 
 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 Eighteen loaves of white wheat-bread 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 9 
 
 Three loaves of meslin bread 
 
 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 Nutmegs, mace, cinnamon, and cloves 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 Four pounds of Barbary sugar 
 
 - 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 Sixteen oranges ■ 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 A barrel of double strong beer 
 
 - 
 
 2 
 
 6 
 
 A barrel of table beer 
 
 - 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 A quarter of wood 
 
 - 
 
 2 
 
 2 
 
 Two gallons of white wine and Canary 
 
 - 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 Fruit, almonds, sweet water, perfuuies 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 The cook's wages 
 
 - 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 Total 
 
 ^1 
 
 IS 
 
 9 
 
 Afi. J: .-Hit TlTl/r 
 
 
 
 — 
 
 After dinner, Mr. John Martyn, a wealthy 
 and honest man of Norwich, made the fol- 
 lowing speech : — " Maister Mayor of Nor- 
 wich, and it please your worship, you have 
 feasted us like a king. God bless the 
 queen's grace. We have fed plentifully 
 and now, whilom I can speak plain Eng 
 lish, I heartily thank you, maister Mayor . 
 and so do we all. Answer, boys, answer. 
 Your beer is pleasant and potent, and will 
 soon catch us by the caput and stop our 
 manners : and so huzza for the queen's 
 majesty's grace, and all her bonny-brow'd 
 
 • Five hundred can conveniently dine in this hail, 
 I haTe lieea seven hundred euterUined on the etuli.- 
 
 723 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 dames of honour. * Huzza for maister 
 Mayor, and our g^ood dame Mayoress. His 
 noble grace,+ there he is, God bless him, 
 and all this jolly company. To all o-ur 
 friends round county, who have a penny 
 in their pnrse and an En^jlish heart in their 
 bodies, to keep out Spanish dons, and pa- 
 pists with their faggots to burn our whis- 
 kers. Shove It about, twirl your cap-cases, 
 handle your jugs, and huzza for maister 
 Mayor, and his bretheren their worships." 
 
 The honesty, freedom, loyally, and good- 
 humour of this speech would, at any time, 
 entitle the orator to a patient hearing and 
 an approving smile. 
 
 The above is from Beatniffe's Norfolk 
 Tour. 
 
 Norwich, G. B. 
 
 Septenit-er, 1827. 
 
 6aiTtrk ^3Iapg* 
 
 No. XLI. 
 
 [Dedications to Fletcher's " Faithful Shep- 
 herdess;" without date; presumed to be 
 the First Edition.} 
 
 1st. 
 
 To that noble and true loner of leammgy 
 Sir JFalton Aston. 
 
 Sfr, I must ask yonr patience, and be tnie. 
 
 This Play was never liked, except by few 
 
 That brought their judgments with ihem ; for oJ late 
 
 First the infection,! thea the common prate 
 
 Of commoa people, have such customs goS 
 
 Either to silence Plays, or like thera not : 
 
 Under the last of which this Interlude 
 
 Had fal'n, for ever press'd down by the mde 
 
 'iTiat, like a torrent which the moist South feeds. 
 
 Drowns both before him the ripe corn and weed*; 
 
 Had no't the saving sense of better men 
 
 Bedeem'd it from corruption. JJear Sir, then 
 
 Among the better souls be you the best. 
 
 In whom as in a center I take rest, 
 
 And proper being ; from whose equal eye 
 
 ^nd judgement nothing grows but purity. 
 
 Nor do I flatter ; for, by all those dead 
 
 Oreat in the Muses, by Apollo's l\ead, 
 
 H' that adds any thing to you, 'tis done 
 
 Iiike his that lights a candle to the suu. 
 
 Ttien be as you were ever, yourself still 
 
 Kuled by your judgement, not by love or will. 
 
 • This is familiar enough, and looks as if the fumes 
 I of the potent beverage had begun to attack the honest 
 eaitor's caput. 
 
 r The duke of Norfolk. 
 
 J The Plague : in which times, the acting of Play* 
 appears to have been discountenanced. 
 
 And when I smg again (as who 'aa teB 
 My next devotion to that holy Well ?) 
 Your goodness to the Muses shall be aU 
 Able to make a work Heroical. 
 
 2nd. 
 
 To the Inheritor of all Worthinee», 3n 
 fFiUiam Scipwith. 
 
 ODE. 
 
 If from servile hope or lore 
 
 I may prove 
 But so happy to be thought for 
 Snch a one, whose greatest euse 
 
 Is te please. 
 Worthy Sir, I hare all I sought for. 
 
 2. 
 
 For no itch of greater Daine, 
 
 Whi'^b some claim 
 By their verses, do I show it 
 To the world ; nor to protest, 
 
 Tis the best; 
 These are lean faults in a port . 
 
 Nor to make it seiTe to feed 
 
 At my need ; 
 Nor to gain acqnamtaBce by it; 
 No^r to ravish kiad Atturaey* 
 
 In their journies; 
 Noi to read it after diet. 
 
 Far from me are all these aims ; 
 
 Frantic claims. 
 To build weakness on and pity; 
 Only to yourself, and such 
 
 Whose true touch 
 Makes all good, let me seein witty. 
 
 3rd. 
 
 To the perfect gentleman. Sir lioLen 
 Tuwnesend. 
 
 If the greatest faults may crave 
 
 Pardon, where contrition is. 
 
 Noble Sir, I needs must have 
 
 A long one for a long amiss. 
 
 If you ask me how is this. 
 
 Upon my faith I'll tell you frankly; 
 
 You love above my means to thank y«. 
 
 Yet according to my talent, 
 
 As sour fortune loves to use me, 
 
 A poor Shepherd I have sent 
 
 In home-span gray, for to excuse me: 
 
 And may ail my hopes refuse me 
 
 But, when better comes ashore. 
 
 You shall have better, never mot* ; 
 
 724 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Till when, like onr desperate debtors; 
 Or our three-piled sweet " protesters," 
 I must pleHse you in bare letters ; 
 And so pay my debts, like jesters. 
 Yet I oft have seen good feasters. 
 Only for to please the pallet. 
 Leave great meat, and chuse a" sallet. 
 
 Apologetical Preface, following these • 
 
 To the Reader. 
 
 If you be not reasonably assured of your knovi'ledge 
 lu this kind of Poem, lay down the Book ; or read this, 
 which I would wish had been the Prologue. It is a 
 Pastoral Tragie-Comedy ; which the people seeing 
 when it was played, having ever had a sinjfblar gift in 
 defining, concluded to be a play of Country hired Shep- 
 herds, in gray cloaks, with cur- tailed dogs in strings, 
 sometimes laughing together, sometimes killing one 
 another •, and, missing Whitsun Ales, cream, wassail, 
 and Morris dances, began to be angry. In their error 
 I would not have you fall, lest you incur their censure.* 
 Understand, therefore, a Pastoral to be — a Representa- 
 tion of Shepherds and Shepherdesses, with their Ac- 
 t-ions and Passions, which must be such as agree with 
 their natures ; at least, not exceeding former fictions 
 and vulgar traditions. They are not to be adorn'd 
 with any art, but such improper ones as nature 
 IS said to bestow, as Singing and Poetry; or such 
 IS experience may teach thein, as the virtues of 
 ferbs and fountains; the ordinary course of the 
 Bun, moon, and stars ; and such like. But you are 
 *ver to remember Shepherds to be such, as all the an- 
 cient poets (and modern of understanding) liave re- 
 ceived them; that is, the Owners of Flocks, and not 
 Hirelings. — A Tragic-comedy is not so called in re- 
 spect of mirth and killing, but in respect it wants 
 deaths (which is enough to make it no Tragedy) ; yet 
 brings some near to it (which is enough to make it no 
 Comedy) : which must be a Representation of Fanr.iliar 
 People, with such kind of trouble as no life can oe 
 without; so that a God is as lawful in this, as in a 
 Tragedy ; and mean People, as in a Comedy. — Thus 
 much 1 hope will serve to justify uiy Poem, and make 
 you understand it ; to teach you more for nothing, X 
 do not know that I am in conscience bound. 
 
 John Fletchkk. 
 
 From the " Wars of Cyrus ;" a Tragedy 
 Author unknown, 1594.] 
 
 Dumb Show exploded. 
 
 — Xenophon 
 
 Chorus (to the Audienoe). 
 IVarrants what we record of Panthea. 
 
 • He diimns the Town : the Town before daran'd 
 lim. — Ed 
 
 We can almost be not sorry for the ill dramatic sue- 
 jess of this Play, which brought out such spirited 
 apologies; in particular, the masterly definitions of 
 Patitoral and Tragi-Comedy in tb;* Preface. 
 
 It is writ in sad and tragic terms. 
 
 May move you teais ; eheu you content ou 
 
 That scorns to trouble you again with tovs 
 
 Or needless antics, imitations. 
 
 Or shows, or new devises sprung o' late ; 
 
 We have exiled them from our tragic stage. 
 
 As trash of their tradition, that can bring 
 
 Nor instance nor excuse : for what they do,* 
 
 Instead of mournful pla-nts our Chorus sings ; 
 
 Although it be against th? upstart guise. 
 
 Yet, warranted by grave antiquity. 
 
 We will revive the which hath long been done 
 
 LFrom the " Married Beau/ 
 by John Crowne, 1694.] 
 
 a Comedy 
 
 IVife tempted : she pleads religion. 
 
 Lover. Our happy love may have a secret Churcn 
 Under the Church, as Faith's was under PauCs, 
 Where we may carry on our sweet devotion; 
 And the Cathedral marriage keep its state. 
 And alkits decency and ceremonies. 
 
 [From the " Challenge for Beauty," 
 Tragi Comedy, by T. Hey wood, 1636.] 
 
 Appeal for Innocence against a false ae- 
 eusation. 
 
 Helena. Both have sworn : 
 And, Princes, as you hope to crown your heads 
 With that perpetual wreath which shall last ever. 
 Cast on a poor dejected innocent virgin 
 Your eyes of grace and pity. What sin is it. 
 Or who can be the patron to such evil ? — 
 That a poor innocent maid, spotless in deed. 
 And pure in thought, both without spleen and gall, 
 Tliat never injured creature, never had heart 
 To think of wrong, or ponder injury; 
 That such a one in her white innocence, 
 Striving to live peculiar in the compass 
 Of her own virtues ; notwithstanding these. 
 Should be sought out by strangers, persecuted. 
 Made infamous ev'n there where she was made 
 For imitation ; hiss'd at in her country ; 
 Abandon'd of her mother, kindred, friends ; 
 Peoraved in foreign climes, scorn'd every where, 
 And ev'n in princes' courts reputed vile : 
 O pity, pity this I 
 
 C. L. 
 
 • So I point it ; inste.ad of the line, as it stands in 
 this nnique copy — 
 
 Nor instance nor excuse for what they do. 
 The sense 1 take to be, what the common playwrigliti 
 du (or shew by action— ti*e "inexplicable dumb show" 
 of Shakspeare— ), our Chor-aarelates." The Sollowin; 
 lines ha\e else no coherejce. 
 
 725 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 LODGE AND AVENUE AT HOLWOOD, 
 
 The Eesidence of John Ward, Esq., formekly of the late Eight IIon. 
 
 William Pitt. 
 
 Mr. S. Young's comfortable little inn, 
 the Cross at Keston, or Keston Mark, is 
 mentioned before as being at the north-east 
 corner of the grounds belonging to Hol- 
 
 wood. My friend W and I, on a 
 
 second visit to Mr. Young's house, went 
 from thence, for the purpose of seeing the 
 church and village of Keston, through which 
 
 the main road runs to Westerham. We 
 kept along to the entrance gate of Hol- 
 wood, which we passed, having the park 
 })alings on our left, till we came to a well 
 in the road, which derives its water from 
 springs within Holwood, and stands on a 
 swell of meadow land, called "the War 
 Bank." Further on, and out of the road 
 
 726. 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 v the right, lies the vihage of Keston, a few 
 louses embowered in a dell of trees ; with 
 a stone church, which did not seem to 
 aave been built more than a couple of 
 centuries. A peep through the windows 
 satisfied us that there was nothing worth 
 ooking at within. We had heard of stone 
 coffins having been found at the bottom of 
 Ihe War Bank, and we returned to that 
 ipot ; where, though the ground had been 
 ploughed and was in pasture, we met witli 
 much stone rubbish in the soil, and some 
 'arge pieces loose on the surface and in the 
 ditches of the hedge. These appearances 
 mdicated a former structure there ; and an 
 old labourer, whom we fell in with, told us 
 that when he was a boy, his grandfather 
 used to talk of " Keston old church" having 
 stood in that spot, but becoming decayed, 
 it was pulled down, and tlie church rebuilt 
 m its present situation, with the materials 
 of the ancient edifice. If this information 
 was correct, the coffins which were dis- 
 covered in that spot were moie likely to 
 have been dej osited there in ordinary burial, 
 than to have contained, as most of the 
 country people suppose, the bodies of per 
 sons slain in battle on the War Bank. 
 Besides, it that mound derives its name, hs 
 tradition reports, from a conflict there be- 
 tween the Romans and the ancient Britons, 
 it must be remembered that our rude ab- 
 original ancestors were unaccustomed to 
 that mode of sepulture, and that Casar had 
 work of more consequence to employ his 
 soldiers on than such laborious construc- 
 tions for the interment of his officers. One 
 of these coffins is at Mr. Smith's, near the 
 well-head on the War Bank, and another 
 is at lady Farnaby's, at Wickham Court. 
 
 The little village of Keston is, of itself, 
 nothing; but, looking over it from the road 
 towards the weald of Kent, and particularly 
 Surrey, there is a sweeping view of hill 
 and dale, arable and pasture, intersected 
 with woodlands. Its name is said to have 
 been derived from Caesar's (pronounced 
 Ksesar's) town; but it is quite as likely to 
 have been a corruption of " castrum," a 
 fortress or citadel. There is little doubt 
 that the llomans maintained a military 
 position on the heights adjoining- Keston 
 for a considerable time. The site they 
 held was afterwards occupied by the late 
 right honourable William Pitt; and respect- 
 ing it, there was published in the yeai 1792 
 the followmg 
 
 Account of Holwood. 
 
 Holwood-hill, at present the seat of the 
 'ight hon. Willam Pitt, is a most beautiful 
 
 eminence, commanding (without the view 
 of water) one of the most agreeable pro- 
 spects in this country, or perhaps in this 
 kingdom. 
 
 The house is a very small, old, plastered 
 brick building; but being on the edge of a 
 celebrated fox-hunting country, it was for- 
 merly the residence of various gentlemen 
 who hunted with the old duke of Grafton. 
 It afterwards came into the hands of the 
 late Mr. Calcraft, the agent; and, small as 
 it is, was used as a house of rendezvous by 
 the heads of the great party at that time, 
 where they privately formed their schemes 
 of parliamentary manoeuvre, and partook 
 of Mr. Calcraft and Mrs. Bellamy's elegant 
 entertainment. 
 
 From Mr. Calcraft it came into the hands 
 of the Burrell family ; by them it was sold 
 to captain Ross, and was purchased of him 
 
 by Burrow, Esq., (nephew of the late 
 
 sir James Burrow,) who stuccoed the house, 
 added greatly to the grounds by various 
 purchases, grubbed and converted consi- 
 derable woods into beautiful pasture and 
 pieces of water, and planted those orna- 
 mental shrubberies, which have rendered 
 it so delightful and so justly admired a 
 spot. 
 
 Randall, Esq., an eminent ship- 
 builder, purchased it of Mr. Buriow, and 
 he has since sold it to the right hon. Wil- 
 liam Pitt, a native of (Hayes) the adjoining 
 parish. 
 
 Holwood is fourteen miles distant from 
 London, in the parish of Keston, Kent; 
 which parish evidently, either by Latin or 
 Saxon derivation, takes its name from the 
 camp, commonly called Julius Caesar's 
 Camp ; on the south entrenchment of which 
 Mr. Pitt's house stands, and sume part of 
 the pleasure-ground is within the same. 
 
 This celebrated camp, till within these 
 twenty years, was tolerably perfect : it con- 
 sisted of a circular double, and in some 
 places treble entrenchment,, enclosing about 
 twenty-nine acres of land ; into which there 
 appeared to have been no original entrance 
 but by the opening to the north-west, which 
 descends to the spring called " Caesar's 
 Spring." This spring has long been con- 
 verted into a most u^^eful public cold bath; 
 a dressing-house is built on the brink of it 
 it is ornamented with beautiful trees, and 
 from its romantic situation, forms a mos- 
 pleasing scene. 
 
 However antiquarians (from the variety 
 of fragments, coins, &c. discovered faud 
 ploughed up in the neighbourhood) niav 
 have been induced to differ m conjecture' 
 as to the person -wlio framed it, they aiJ 
 I 
 
 727 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 agree that this camp was originally a 
 strong and considerable Roman station, 
 though not of the larger sort ; but rather 
 ffom Its commanding situation, and short 
 distance from the Thames, a camp of obser- 
 vation, or castra asstiva. At the same time, 
 there is great reason to suppose it to have 
 t>een since possessed by other invaders. 
 
 The beautiful common of Keston to the 
 south-west of the camp, from its charming 
 turf, shade, and views, has long been the 
 promenade of the neighbouring company ; 
 and parties of gentry from even so far as 
 Greenwich, have long been accustomed to 
 retire vviih music and provision to spend in 
 this delightful spot the sultry summer's day, 
 drinking at Caesar's Fountain, and making 
 die stupendous Roman bulwarks resound 
 with the strains of instruments and the voice 
 of social glee. 
 
 The above is some account of the coun 
 try-seat of Mr. Pitt; but as an inhabitant 
 of the capital may be desirous of knowing 
 what works of taste, or of neighbouring 
 litiiity, may have engaged the retirement of 
 our illustrious prime minister, the follow- 
 ing are the few improvements Holwood 
 has yet undergone. 
 
 Whether from a natural antipathy to the 
 aaimal, or from too much of " Fox" in 
 other places, certain it is, the first order that 
 was issued, was for the ntter destruction of 
 the " fox earth," being a lodgement in one 
 S'de of the bulwarks, which the sagacious 
 Reynards are supposed to have been in 
 quiet possession of ever since the Roman 
 abdication. 
 
 The house standing on a high hill, the 
 gentlemen who have hitherto lived in it, 
 judging " not much good was to be had 
 from the North," had defended it on that 
 quarter by large plantations of evergreens ; 
 but the present possessor has cut down 
 these plantations, and seems determined 
 " to be open to every thing that comes from 
 that delightful region." 
 
 The house itself has undergone no other 
 alteration than the addition of a small 
 eating-room covered with pantiles, and a 
 curious new-invented variegated stucco, 
 with which the whole has been done over : 
 this stucco has now stood several winters, 
 and only requires to be a Utile more known 
 to be universally adopted.* 
 
 While Holwood was in the occupation of 
 Mr. Pitt he there seemed to enjoy the short 
 cessations he could obtain from official 
 duty. His chief delight in these spare 
 
 » Europfian Magazine, Dec. 1792. 
 
 hours was planting ; which, as he pursued 
 it only as opportunity enabled him, was 
 without system of purchase or order ol 
 arrangement, and consequently very expen- 
 sive. After his death Holwood successively 
 devolved into different hands, and the re- 
 sidence and grounds were variously altered. 
 At length the estate was purchased by John 
 Ward, lisq. a merchant of London, who 
 pulled down the house, and erected the 
 present edifice from a design by Mr. Burton, 
 under whose direction the work was com- 
 pleted in the spring of 1827. Its exterior 
 is chaste, and the interior commodious and 
 elegantly laid out. It stands on the suaimit 
 of a noble ascent, well defended from ad- 
 /erse winds by full-grown trees and young 
 plantations. From the back front, a fine 
 sweep of lawn descends into a wide spread- 
 ing valley ; and the high and distant wood- 
 lands of Knole, Seven Uaks, Tunbridge, 
 and the hills of Sussex, form an extensive 
 amphitheatre of forest scenery and downs, 
 as far as the eye can reach The home 
 grounds are so disposed, that the domain 
 seems to include the whole of the rich and 
 beautiful country around. 
 
 In the rear of Holwood Mr. Ward is 
 forming h vineyard, which, if conducted 
 with the judgment and circumspection that 
 mark the commencement, may prove that 
 the climate of England is suited to the open 
 culture of the grape. Mr. Ward has im- 
 ported ten sorts of vines, five black and 
 five white, from diflTerent parts of the Rhine 
 and Burgundy. They are planted on a 
 slope towards the S.S.E. Difficulties and 
 partial failures are to be expected in the 
 outset of the experiment, and are to be 
 ovescome, in its progress, by enlarged ex- 
 perience and information respecting the 
 treatment of the plants in foreign countries. 
 That the vine flourished here several cen- 
 turies ago can be proved historically. There 
 is likewise evidence of it in the old names 
 of places still existing. Yot instance, in 
 London, there is " Vineyard-gardens," 
 Clerkenwell ; and in Kent, there is a field 
 near Rochester cathedral, which has been 
 immemorially called " the Vines." Many 
 examples of this nature might be adduced. 
 But far stronger than presumptive testi- 
 mony is the fact, that, in some parts of the 
 weald of Kent, the vine grows wild in the 
 hedges; a friend assures me of this from 
 his own knowledge, he having often assisted 
 when a boy in rooting up the wild vine on 
 his father's land. 
 
 Mr. Ward's alterations at Holwood are 
 decisive and extensive. Besides the erection 
 of a new and spacious residence, instead 
 
 728 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 of the old one, which was small and in- 
 conver.ient, and ill suited to the com- 
 manding character and extent of the 
 grounds, he has greatly improved them ; 
 and perfected a stately approach to the 
 mansion. Immediately within the great 
 entrance gates, from Keston Common, is t!ie 
 elegant lodge represented by the engraving. 
 For the purpose of making the drawing, we 
 obtained seats just within the gates. While 
 W. sketched it the silence was unbroken, 
 save by the gentle rustle of the leaves in 
 the warm afternoon air of summer, and the 
 notes of the small birds preparing for their 
 vesper song ; the rabbits were scudding 
 from their burrows across the avenue, i»tid 
 the sun poured glowing beams from be- 
 tween the branches of the maajnificent trees, 
 and dressed the varied foliage in a thousand 
 beauteous liveries 
 
 Circumstances prevent this article from 
 concluding, as had been purposed, with 
 notices of Holwood-hill as a Roman en- 
 campment, and of " Caesar's Spring," in 
 the declivity, beneath the gates of Holwood 
 on Keston Common. An engraving of 
 that ancient bourne, which Julius Caesar is 
 said to have himself discovered nearly two 
 thousand years ago, and thither directed 
 his legions to slake their thirst, will pre- 
 cede the remaining particulars in another 
 ^heet. 
 
 THE PLAGUE AT EYAM, 
 AND THE REV. THOMAS STANLEY. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — The publication of the paper, en- 
 titled " Catherine Mompesson's Tomb," on 
 " The Desolation of Eyam, and other 
 Poems, by William and Mary Howitt," at 
 p. 482 of the 2'able Book, gives me an 
 opportunity, with your good offices, of 
 rescuing from a degree of oblivion the 
 name and merits of an individual, who has 
 unaccountably been almost g-enerally over- 
 -ooked, but who ought, at least, to be 
 equally identified in any notice of the 
 " Plague at Eyam " with Mr. Mompesson 
 himself. 
 
 The Rev. Thomas Stanley was instituted 
 to the rectory of Eyam by the ruling 
 powers in 1644, which he held till the 
 " Act of Uniformity," in 1662, threw him 
 
 It appears that he continued to reside at 
 Eyam after his ejectment, and the tradition 
 or the place at this day is, that he was sup- 
 ported by the voluntary contributions of 
 two-thirds of the inhabitants j this may 
 have been the cause of some jealousy in 
 those who might have been satisfied with 
 his removal from the living. 
 
 His comparative disinterestedness, with 
 other circumstances worthy of notice, are 
 recorded by his friend and fellow-sufferer 
 Bagshaw, usually called " the Apostle of 
 the Peak ;" he concludes a most interesting 
 account of Mr. Stanley in these words : — 
 " When he could not serve his people pub- 
 lickly, some (yet alive) will testifie, how- 
 helpful he was to "em in private; especially 
 when the sickness (by way of eminency so 
 called, I mean the Pestilence) prevailed in 
 that town, he continuing with 'em, when, 
 as it is written, 2,')9 persons of ripe age, 
 and 58 children were cut off thereby. 
 When some, who might have been better 
 employed, moved the then noble earl of 
 Devonshire, lord lieutenant, to remove him 
 out of the town ; I am told by the credible, 
 that he said, ' It was more reasonable that 
 the whole country should, in more than 
 words, testify their thankfulness to him, 
 who, together with his care of the town, had 
 taken such care as no one else did, to pre- 
 vent the infection of the towns adjacent.' " 
 
 Mr. Stanley died at Eyam 24th August, 
 and was buried there on the 26th following, 
 1670. 
 
 I have thus extracted what, as an act of 
 justice, ought to have been published long 
 since, and which, indeed, ought to accom- 
 pany every memorial of the plague at 
 Eyam : though I scarcely rep-ret that it has 
 waited for the extensive circulation the 
 Table Book must give to it — if it is so for- 
 tunate as lo be considered a communication 
 to your purpose. My authority is, " De 
 Spiritiialihus Pecci. Notes (or Notices) 
 concerning the Work of God, and some ot 
 those who have been workers together with 
 God in the High Peak of Derbyshire," &c. 
 12mo. 1702. (Sheffield.) 
 
 Some farther account of Stanley may be 
 seen in Calamy's " Nonconformist's Me- 
 morial," and Hunter's " History of Hallam- 
 shire," but both follow Bagshaw. 
 
 I exceedingly regret that " William and 
 Mary Howitt" were unacquainted with Mi. 
 Stanley's services at Eyam. 
 
 I am, sir, 
 
 Your obedient and hurnble servant, 
 
 M M, 
 Nov. 9 1827. 
 
 729 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 THE REIGN OF DEATH. 
 
 And I saw, and beheld a white horse : and he that sat 
 on him had a bow ; and a crown was given nnto 
 him: and he went forth conquering, and to conqier. 
 Uevelaliont, vi. U- 
 
 In nightly vision, on my bed, I saw 
 A form unearthly, on a pale horse sat, 
 Ridinjf triumphant o'er a prostrate world. 
 Around his brows he wore a crown of gold. 
 And in his bony hand he grasp'd a bow. 
 Which scatter'd arrows of destruction round. 
 His form was meagre — shadowy — indistinct— 
 Clothed with the faint lineaments of man. 
 He pass'd me swifter than the winged wind— 
 Or lightning from the cloud — or ghostly vision. 
 From his eye he shot devouring lightnings. 
 And his dilated nostril pour'd a stream 
 Of noisome, pestilential vapour. 
 Wliere'er he trod all vegetation ceas'd. 
 And the spring flow'rs hung, with'ring, on (heir stalks. 
 
 He passed by a city, whose huge walls. 
 And lowers, and battlements, and palaces, 
 Cover'd the plain, aspiring to the skies : 
 As he pass'd, he smil'd — and straight it fell — 
 Wall, tower, and battleniett, and glittering spire. 
 Palace, and prison, crumbling into dust ; 
 And nought of this fair city did remain. 
 But one large heap of wild, confused ruin. 
 
 The rivers ceas'd to flow, and stood congeal'd. 
 The sea did cease its roaring, and its waves 
 
 Lay still upon the shore 
 
 No tide did ebb or flow, but all was bound 
 
 In a calm, leaden slumber. The proud ships. 
 
 Which hitherto had travers'd o'er the deep. 
 
 Were now becalmed with this dead'ning stillness: — 
 
 The sails hang motionless — straight sunk the mast 
 
 O'er the huge bulwarks, and the yielding planks 
 
 Dropt silently into the noiseless deep : — 
 
 No ripple on the wave was left to show 
 
 Where, erst, the ship had stood, but all was blank 
 
 And motionless. 
 
 Birds in the air, upon the joyous wing, 
 (Tell, lifeless, as the shadowy monster pass'd ■ 
 And hostile armies, drawn in warlike lines, 
 Ceas'd their tumultuous conflict in his sight — 
 Conqueror aad conquer'd yielding 'neath the power 
 Of the unknown destroyer 1 Nations fell ; 
 And thrones, and principalities, and powers. — 
 Kings, with their glitt'ring crowns, lay on the earth. 
 And at their sides, their menials. 
 Beauty and beggary together lay ; 
 Youth, innocence, and age, and crime, together. 
 
 I saw a murderer, in a darksome wood. 
 Wielding a dagger o'er a beauteous bosom, 
 Threat'ning quick destruction to his victim :— 
 The shadow pass'd — the leaves grew sere and dropp'd — 
 The forest crumbled into ashes, aiid 
 I'bc; tteel diisoiv'd within tb' assassin's hand— 
 
 His face grew wan and bloodies* — his eye» stool 
 Fix'd, and glazed — he stiffen'd, and he fell — 
 And o'er his prostrate body sunk his victim I 
 
 I still pursued the conqueror with my eye-r- 
 The earth grew desart as he rode along — 
 The sun turn'd bloody in the stagnant air— 
 The universe itself was one vast ruin 
 
 Then, stopp'd the Fiend. By him aU mortal \.\ixtp 
 Had been destroyed ; yet was he unsated; 
 And his vengeful eyes still flash'd destruction. — 
 Thus, alone, he stood ; and reign'd — sole monarch- 
 All supreme— Thk Kino of Desolation 1 
 
 OcM4, 1827. 
 
 O. N. Y. 
 
 IBidrobtn'ess 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 
 No. XIII. 
 
 Thunder — Lightning — Aurora Borea. 
 LIS — Earthquakes — Ebbing and 
 Flowing of the Sea — the Loadstone 
 AND Amber — Electricity — Rivers. 
 
 Some of the moderns have assigned 
 the cause of Thunder to inflamed exhala- 
 tions, rending the clouds wherein they are 
 confined ; others, to the shock between two 
 or more clouds, when those that are higher 
 and more condensed fall upon those that 
 are lower, with so much force as suddenly 
 to expel the intermediate air, which vigor- 
 ously expandmg itself, in order to occupy 
 its former space, puts all the exterior air in 
 commotion, producing those reiterated claps 
 which we call thunder. This is the ex- 
 planation of Descartes, and had but few 
 followers ; the former had more, being that 
 of the Newtonians. For a third theory, 
 which makes the matter productive of thun- 
 der the same with that of electricity, its 
 author, Dr. Franklin, is in no part indebted 
 to the ancients. 
 
 The notion of Descartes entirely belongs 
 to Aristotle, who says, that " thunder is 
 caused by a dry exhalation, which, falling 
 upon a humid cloud, and violently endea- 
 vouring to force a passage for itself, pro- 
 duces the peals which we hear.*' Anaxa- 
 goras refers it to the same cause. 
 
 All the other passages, which occur in 
 such abundance among the ancients, re^ 
 specting thunder, contain in them the rea- 
 sonings of the Newtonians, sometimes oora- 
 bining the notions of Descartes. 
 
 Leucippus, and the Eieatic sect, hel4 
 
 730 
 
THE TABLE BOOK:. 
 
 tliat " thunder proceeded from a fiery ex- 
 nalation, which, enclosed in a cloud, burst 
 it asunder, and forced its v;ay through." 
 Democritus asserts, that it is the effect of a 
 mingled collection of various volatile parti- 
 cles, which impel downwards the cloud 
 which contains them, till, by the rapidity 
 of their motion, they set themselves and it 
 on fire. 
 
 Seneca ascribes it to a dry sulphureous 
 exhalation arising out of the earth, which 
 he calls the aliment of lightning; ; and 
 which, becoming more and more subtilized 
 in its ascent, at last takes fire in llie air, 
 and produces a violent eruption. 
 
 According to the stoics, thunder was 
 occasioned by the shock of clouds ; and 
 lightning was the combustion of the volatile 
 parts of the cloud, set on fire by the shock, 
 Chrysippus taught, that lightning was the 
 ■Jesuit of clouds being set on fire by winds, 
 which dashed them one against atjother; 
 and that thunder was the noise produced 
 by that rencontre : he added, that these 
 effects were coincident ; our perception of 
 the lig'htning before the thunder-clap being 
 entirely owing to our sight's being quicker 
 than our hearing. 
 
 In short, Aristophanes, in his comedy of 
 the " Clouds," introducing Socrates as 
 satisfying the curiosity of one of his dis- 
 ciples as to the cause of thunder, makes 
 him assign it to the action of the com- 
 pressed aiv in a cloud, which dilating itself 
 bursts it, and, violently agitating the exterior 
 air, sets itself on fire, and by the rapidity 
 of its progress occasions all that noise. 
 
 The Aurora Borealis was also observed 
 by the ancients, as may be seen in Aris- 
 totle, Pliny, Seneca, and other writers, who 
 conjectured difierently its cause. 
 
 The Cartesians, Newtonians, and other 
 able moderns, ascribe Earthi/nakes to the 
 earth's being filled with cavities of a vast 
 extent, containing in them an immense 
 quantity of thick exhalations, resembling 
 (he smoke of an extinguished candle, which 
 being easily inflammable, and by their agi- 
 tation catching; fire, rarefy and heat the 
 central and condensed air of the cavern to 
 such a degree, that finding no vent, it 
 bursts its enclosements; and, in doing 
 this, shakes the surrounding earth all 
 around with dreadful percussions, producing 
 ail the other effects which naturally follow. 
 
 Aristotle and Seneca assigned these 
 dreadful events to the same cause. The 
 former says, that they were occasioned by 
 the efforts of the interna) air in dislodging 
 itself from the bowels of the earth ; and he 
 observes, that on the appr'oacl. of an earth- 
 
 quake the V. ather i.<! generally serene, be- 
 cause that sort of air which occasions com- 
 motions in the atmosphere, is at that time 
 pent up in the entrails of the earth. 
 
 Seneca is so precise, we might take hire 
 for a naturalist of the present times, lie 
 supposes that the earth hides in its bosom 
 many subterraneous fires, which uniting 
 their flames, necessarily put into fervid 
 motion the congregated vapours of its cells, 
 which finding no immediate outlet, exert 
 their utmost powers, till they force a way 
 tlirough whatever opposes them. lie says 
 also, that if the vapours be too weak to 
 burst the barriers which retain them, all 
 their efforts end in weak shocks, and hol- 
 low murmurs, without any fatal -conse- 
 quence. 
 
 Of all the solutions of the Ebbing and 
 Flowing of the Sea, the most simple and 
 ingenious, though afterwards found by 
 observation to be inadequate, is that o. 
 Descartes, who supposes a vortex of subtile 
 matter, of an elliptic form, to invest our 
 globe, and compress it on all sides. The 
 moon, according to this philosopher, is 
 immerged in this elliptic vortex, and when 
 at its greatest elongation from the earth, it 
 makes less impression upon the circum- 
 ambient ethereal matter; but when it comes 
 to the narrowest part of the ellipse, gives 
 such an impulse to the atmosphere, as 
 liuts the whole ocean in agitation. lie 
 siii)poris his system by t'his remark, that 
 the ebbing and flowing of the sea generally 
 coincides with the irregularity of the moon's 
 course. 
 
 The opinion of Kepler and Newton is 
 more conformable to observation, and is 
 founded on this hypothesis — that the moon 
 attracts the waters of the sea, diminishing 
 the weight of those parts of it over whose 
 zenith it comes, and increasing the weight 
 of the collateral parts, so that the parts 
 directly opposite to the moon, and undei 
 it in the same hemisphere, must become 
 more elevated than the rest. According 
 to this system, the action of the sun con- 
 curs with that of the moon, in occasioning 
 the tides; which are higher or lower re- 
 spectively, according to the situation o 
 those two luminaries, which, when in con- 
 junction, act in concert, raising the tides to 
 the greatest height; and when in opposi- 
 tion, pioduce nearly the same effect, in 
 swelling the waters of the opposite hemi- 
 spheres; but when in quadrature, suspend 
 each other's force, so as to act only by the 
 difference of their powers; and thus the 
 tides vary, according to the different posi- 
 tions of the sun and moon 
 
 751 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Tlie Cartesian method of solution has 
 been indicated by Pytheas Massiliensis, 
 who observes, that the tides, in their in- 
 crease and decrease, follow the irregular 
 course of the moon ; and by Seleucus of 
 Erythrea, the mathematician, who ascribing 
 to the earth a rotation about its axis, im- 
 putes the cause of tides to the activity of 
 the earth's vortex, in conjunction with that 
 of the moon. 
 
 Pliny's account has more affinity to that 
 of sir Isaac Newton. The great naturahst 
 of the ancients maintained, that " the sun 
 and moon had a reciprocal share in causing 
 the tides :" and alter a course of observa- 
 tions for many years, he remarked, that 
 " the moon acted most forcibly upon the 
 waters when it was nearest to the earth ; 
 but that the effect was not immediately 
 perceived by us, but at such an interval as 
 may v\ell take place between the action of 
 celestial causes, and the discernible result 
 of them on (^arth." He remarked also, 
 that the waters, which are naturally inert, 
 do not swell up immediately upon the con- 
 junction of the sun and moon ; but having 
 gradually admitted the impulse, and begun 
 to raise themselves, continue in that eleva- 
 tion, even after the conjunction is over. 
 
 There are few things which have more 
 engaged the attention of naturalists, and 
 with less success, than the wonderful pro- 
 perties of the Loadstone. Almost all have 
 agreed in affirming that there are corpus- 
 cles of a peculiar form and energy that 
 continually circulate around and through 
 the loadstone, and that a vortex of the same 
 matter circulates around and through tlie 
 earth. Upon these suppositions Descartes 
 and others have advanced, that the load- 
 stone has two poles similar to those of the 
 earth ; and that the magnetic matter which 
 issues at one of the poles, and circulates 
 around to enter at the other, occasions that 
 impulse which brings iron to the loadstone, 
 whose small corpuscles have an analoa:y to 
 the pores of iron, fitting them to lay hold 
 of it, but not of other bodies. 
 
 All this the ancients had said before. 
 The impulsive force which joins iron to 
 '.he loadstone, and other things to Amber, 
 was known to Piato ; though he would not 
 call it attraction, as allowing- no such cause 
 in nature. This philosopher called the 
 magnet the stone of Hercules, because it 
 subdued iron, which conquers every thing. 
 
 Descartes's idea of his explanation was 
 doubtless derived from Lucretius, who ad- 
 mitted, that there was a " vortex of cor- 
 puscles, or magnetic matter, which, conti- 
 aually circulating around the loadstone. 
 
 repelled the intervening air betwixt itself 
 and the iron. The air'thus repelled, the 
 intervening space became a vacuum; and 
 tlie iron, finding no resistance, approached 
 with an impulsive force, pushed on by the 
 air behind it." 
 
 Plutarch likewise is of the same opinion. 
 lie says, that " amber attracts none of those 
 things that are brought to it, any more than 
 the loadstone, but emits a matter, which 
 reflects the circumambient air, and thereby 
 forms a void. The expelled air puts in 
 motion the air before it, which making a 
 circle, returns to the void space, driving 
 before it, towards the loadstone, the iron 
 which it meets in its way." He tiien pro- 
 poses a difficulty, to wit, " why the vortex 
 which circulates around the loadstone does 
 not make its way to wood or stone, as well 
 as iron V He answers, like Descartes, that 
 " the pores of iron have an analogy to the 
 particles of the vortex circulating about the 
 loadstone, which yields them such access 
 as they can find in no other bodies, whose 
 pores are differently formed." 
 
 Certain authors report, that the proper- 
 ties of the loadstone, paiticularly its tend- 
 ency towards the north pole, enabled the 
 ancients to undertake long voyages; and 
 they pretend, that the Egyptians, Phoeni- 
 cians, and Carthaginians, employed the 
 compass to guide them in their naval ex- 
 cursions; though afterwards they lost the 
 use of it, just as they did of dying purple,* 
 and of embrordering, and of composing 
 bricks, and a cement able to resist the force 
 of all v\eathers ; arts, without all doubt, for- 
 merly well known to them. Pineda and 
 Kircher affirm likewise, that Solomon knew 
 the use of the compass, and that his sub- 
 jects steei-ed their coui'se by it in sailing to 
 the land of Ophir. There is also a passage 
 of Plautusf produced, wherein it is alleged 
 he speaks of the compass. There is not 
 however a single passage in the ancients 
 that directly sup])orts these pretensions.J 
 
 * We may with exactness deleririiie wtiat the true 
 rolonr was of the purple of the ancients, by afienduig 
 to two pas.sa^es of Pliny, -wherein he sayS; that the 
 V hole aiir. of the Tyrians and Pliosnirians, in brinffing 
 their purple to the utmost perfection, -vvas to render it 
 in colour ^s like as possilile to the oriental amethyst. 
 PJin. Hist. Natnr. lib. ix. c. 38 & 41, et lit), xxwii.c. 9. 
 
 + Htic secundus ventus nunc est; cape modo Vorso 
 nam, 
 Stasime; cape ^'irsonan-., recipe te ad Hernm. 
 
 J With respect to -what was Vnown to the ancients, 
 and of which we slill are ignorant, recourse maybe 
 had to Pancirolus de rebus Leperditis, particularly to 
 his first book, chap. i. 35, 36, 39, respecting the colour 
 of purple, the ductility of glasv and the effects of the 
 ancient music. See especially Dion. C.issins's Historv, 
 in Tiber, lib. Ivii. p. 6!7. K. Plin lib. xxxvi. c 2fi, 
 &c. Isidor. de Origiuib. lib. xvi. c. 15, respecting the 
 d'actJlity of glass. 
 
 732 
 
THE TABLE BOOK". 
 
 It is scarcely credible, that the real cause 
 'if Electriciti/ \ya.s known to the ancients, 
 and yet there are indications of it in the 
 work of T'.maeus Locrensis, concerning the 
 soul of the world. 
 
 The moderns are also divided in their 
 sentiments, as to how it happens that 
 Rivers, continually flowing into the sea, do 
 not swell the mass of waters, so as to make 
 it overflow its banks. One of the solutions 
 of this difficulty is, that rivers return again 
 to their source by subterraneous passages 
 or canals ; and that there is, between the 
 sea and the springs of rivers, a circulation 
 analogous to that of blood in the human 
 body. This solution, however, is the same 
 as Seneca's, who accounts for their not 
 overflowing the bed of the ocean, by imagin- 
 ing secret passages, which reconduct them 
 to their springs ; and because, at their 
 springs, they retain nothing of that brack- 
 ishness which they carried with them from 
 the sea, he supposes they are filtrated in 
 their circuit through winding paths, and 
 layers of every soil, so that they must needs 
 return to their source as pure and sweet as 
 they departed thence. 
 
 FILEY, YORKSHIRE. 
 
 Haddock Legend, and Her 
 Fishery. 
 
 RING 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 At Filey a singular range of rock, said 
 to resemble the celebrated mole of Tan- 
 giers, extends from the cliff a considerable 
 way into the sea, and is called Filey bridge. 
 It is covered by the sea at high tide, but 
 may be traversed for upwards of a quarter 
 of a mile at low water. From the farther 
 end a distant, but, in fine weather, a dis- 
 tinct view may be had of Scarborough and 
 the Castle on the one hand, and of Flam- 
 borough-head and the Lighthouse, with an 
 extensive stretch of lofty chalk-stone cliff, 
 on the other. When the wind is from the 
 north-east the waves break over it majestic- 
 ally, and may be seen rising up in foamy 
 spray to a great distance, producing an 
 imposing and awful appearance. From 
 Its singularity there is no wonder that the 
 credulous, the superstitious, and the vulgar, 
 who have always had a propensity to attach 
 something of the marvellous to whatever is 
 extraordmary, should have made this ndge 
 an object from which to form a story. 
 
 Periiaps, Mr. Editor, you, as well as 
 many of the readers of the Table Book, 
 may have seen the haddock at different 
 
 times, and observed the black marks on Its 
 sides. But do you know, sir, how the 
 haddock came by these said marks ? The 
 legendary tale of Filey says, that the devil 
 in one of his mischievous pranks deter- 
 mined to build Filey bridge for the destruc- 
 tion of ships and sailors, and the annoyance 
 of fishermen, but that in the progress of 
 his work he accidentally let fall his hammer 
 into the sea, and being in haste to snatch 
 it back caught a haddock, and thereby 
 made the imprint, which the whole species 
 retains to this day. 
 
 The village of Filey is seated in a small 
 and beautiful bay. The settled inhabitants 
 depend chiefly on the fishery, which is 
 carried on with success to a considerable 
 extent, although of late years a few goi d 
 houses have been built, and several respect- 
 able families have resorted thither during 
 the season, for the purpose of sea-bathing, 
 for which the beach is well adapted. The 
 church is in the form of a cross, with a 
 steeple in the middle, and bears some re- 
 semblance to an ancient cathedral in mi- 
 niature ; it stands at a distance from the 
 village, being divided by a deep ravine, 
 which forms the boundary of partition be- 
 tween the North and East Ridings of York- 
 shire ; the church consequently stands in 
 the former, and the village in the latter of 
 the two Ridings. 
 
 T. C 
 
 Bridlington, Sept. 27, 1827. 
 
 Since the foregoing was written I have 
 been at I'iley, and was there informed that 
 in the month of September, yearly, about 
 ninety men, sometimes accompanied by 
 their wives and children, leave this village 
 for the herring fishery at Yarmouth. Pre- 
 viously to their setting out for the fishing 
 station they send a piece of sea-beef on 
 shore from each boat to such of their friends 
 at the public-houses as they wish " weel 
 teea ,-" this occasioiis " a bit of a supper," 
 at which those who are going away and 
 those who stay meet to enjoy good cheer, 
 heightened with mutual good-will. 
 
 October \\,\m7. T. C. 
 
 PISCATORIA. 
 
 Lucan, the Roman poet, makes a beauti- 
 ful digression to paint the happy life of a 
 fisherman. In plain prose it will read in 
 this manner : — 
 
 News (says he) was Drought to Csesai, at 
 a late hour, that Pompey was up in arms in 
 Calabria, ready to dispute With him the 
 
 733 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 sovereignty of the world ; perplexed in 
 itiind, he knew not for a while what steps 
 best to pursue, when, stealing from the 
 arms of his Calphornia, ne cast his mantle 
 about him, and through the gloom of mid- 
 night hastened alone to the mouth of the 
 Tiber, and coming to the cabin of Amilcas 
 the fisherman, struck thrice with his arm 
 upon the door of the slumberer. " Arise, 
 Amilcas," said Caesar, in a subdued tone. 
 The fisherman and his family, without care, 
 were reposing on their beds of sheepskins. 
 Amilcas knew the voice of Caesar, and 
 llu-ew open his v/icket to receive his master. 
 ' Come away, Amilcas," cried the em- 
 peror, " launch your boat with all speed, 
 and bear me to Calabria ; Pompey is there 
 in arms against me while I am absent ; 
 hasten then, and ask what thou wilt of 
 Caesar." The night was dark, and the 
 elements were at war with each other; but 
 by the strength, courage, and judgment of 
 the boatman, Caesar was soon landed on 
 the shore of Calabria. — " And now, Amil- 
 cas," rejoined the mighty chief, " make thy 
 demand." " Grant me then," replied the 
 fisherman, " that I may return the way I 
 came to my peaceful family; for at day- 
 break should they not see me spreading n.y 
 nets upon the beach, as they are wont, 
 their faithful bosoms will be rent with 
 sorrow." — " Go," replied the Roman chief, 
 " thou humble, modest man, and never let 
 it be forgotten that Caesar is thy friend." 
 
 INCREDIBLE LIARS 
 
 The French papers in tne autumn of 
 1821 mention, that a man named Desjar- 
 dins was tried, on hi? own confession, as 
 an accomplice with Louvel, the assassin of 
 the duke de Bern. But, on his defence, 
 Desjardins contended that his confession 
 ought not to be believed, because he was 
 so notorious for falsehood, that nobody in 
 the world would give credit to a word he 
 said. In support of this, he produced a 
 host of witnesses, his friends and relatives, 
 who all swore that the excessive bad cha- 
 racter he had given of himself was true, 
 and he was declared " not guilty." 
 
 This case parallels with a similar in- 
 stance some years before in Ireland. A 
 man was charged with highway robbery. 
 In the course of the trial the prisoner 
 roared out from the dock that he whs 
 g-uilty ; but the jury pronounced him by 
 their verdict " not guilty." The astonished 
 'udge exclaimed, " Good God, gentlemen, 
 did you not heai the man himself declare 
 
 that he was guilty?" The foreman said, 
 " We did, my lord, and that was the vei-y 
 reason we acquitted him, for we knew the 
 fellow to be so notorious a liar that he 
 never told a word of truth in his life." 
 
 For the Table Book, 
 HEBREW MELODY, 
 A Portuguese Hymn. 
 
 How blest IS the mortal who never reposes 
 
 In seat of the scorner, nor roams o'er the ground, 
 
 Where Pleasure is strewing her thorn-covered roses. 
 And waving her ga.j silken banners around. 
 
 Who worships his Maker vi'hen evening; is throwing 
 Her somberest shadows o'er mountain and lea ; 
 
 And kneels in devotion when daylight is glowing. 
 And gilding the waves of the dark rolling sea. 
 
 He shall be like a tree on the calm river waving, 
 That riseth all glorious all lovely to view, 
 
 Whose deeply fix'd root the pure waters are laviatf, 
 Whose boughs are enriched with the kindliest dew. 
 
 Not so the ungodly ! his fate shall resemble 
 The chaff by autumnal winds wafted away ; 
 
 And when life's fading lamp in its socket shall tremble. 
 Shall look to the judgment with fear and dismay ! 
 
 T. Q. M. 
 
 Ivy Cottage, Gras.iington in Craven, 
 'October 21, 1827. 
 
 FACTITIA. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 " Whkre is my Thermometeii ?"' 
 
 In a certain town a certain military gen- 
 tleman regulates his dress by a thermome- 
 ter, which is constantly suspended at the 
 back door of his house. Some wicked wag 
 once stole the instrument, and left in its 
 place the following lines : — 
 
 When n to Taitarus got, 
 
 That huge and waim gasometer ! 
 ** Good lord 1" quoth he, " how wondrous hot ! 
 
 O, where is my thermometer !" 
 
 Degradation of a Degree. 
 
 " Why," said our friend T. Q. M. to 
 Sally Listen, an old inhabitant of Wensley- 
 
 dale, " why do you call Mr. — , 
 
 doctor, when he has no title to such an 
 appellation ? he is only a quack !" — "Why," 
 said Sally, " I'll call him naught else. 
 What mun a body mister sic chaps as him 
 for ? Doctors good enough for sic blacks !" 
 
 IZA 
 
SOURCE OF THE EAVENSBOURNE. . 
 
 On Keston ITeith wells up tke Ravensbourno, 
 
 A drystal rillet, scarce a palm in width. 
 
 Till crsepinj to a bed, outspread by art. 
 
 It sheets itself across, reposing there : 
 
 IhacCB, through a thicket, sinuous it flowp, 
 
 And crossing msads, and footpaths, gath'ring tribute, 
 
 Du3 to its elder birth, from younger branchef, 
 
 Wander?, in Hayes and iDmley, Beckenham vak. 
 
 And straggling Lewisham, to where Deptford Bridga 
 
 tTprifes in obeisance to its flood, 
 
 Whencr, with large increase it rolls on, to swe^l. 
 
 The master current of the " mighty heart" 
 
 Of England. 
 
 Before I had seen Keston I heard, at 
 West VVickha^n, that it had been the site of 
 a Roman camp, and that a Roman bath was 
 still there. It was from curiosity towards 
 this piece of antiquity that I first visited 
 the spot, in company with my friend W — . 
 The country people, whom we met on our 
 way, spoke of it as the " Old Bath," and 
 ihe " Cold Bath," and as a water of great 
 virtue, formerly bathed in, and still resorted 
 tu, by persons afflicted with weak or sprained 
 imbs, which by dipping in this bath became 
 cured. 
 
 Our walk from Wickham was remarkably 
 Dleasant ; we passed noble oaks of many 
 
 centuries' growth, and descended from tliie 
 broad open highway into an old road on 
 our left, a ravine, or intrenchment per- 
 chance, clothed with tendril plants and 
 blossoming briars, festooning and arching 
 over wild flowers growing amid the verdu'-e 
 of its high banks. Here we paced uphill, 
 till we reached an open, lofty tract of heath- 
 land, in a rude, uncultivated, picturesque 
 state, with a few houses in distant parts, 
 surrounded by thriving plantations. On 
 our left were the woodlands of the pleasant 
 village of Hayes, remarkable for having 
 been the seat of the great earl nf Chatham, 
 and the birthplace of his well-remembered 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 736 
 
 3 13 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ton . on our right were the heights of Hol- 
 wood, and fine forest scenery. Near a 
 cluster of cottages immediately before us 
 there v/as a mill, with its sails going ; these 
 we scarcely glaHced at, but made our way 
 to an old alehouse, the sign of the Fox, 
 where an ancient labourer, sitting at the 
 ioor, directed us to " the Bath." We found 
 It in a romantic little bottom, immediately 
 under the gates of Holwood. 
 
 The delightful landscape, from the open- 
 ing of this dell towards London and beyond 
 it, so much engaged our attention, that for 
 a while we forgot the " Bath," on the brink 
 of which we were standing. There is no 
 appearance of its having been a bathing- 
 place, and certainly it has not the least 
 character of a Roman bath. It is simply a 
 well of fine pellucid water, which gently 
 overflowinig threads a small v/inding chan- 
 nel in the herbage, and suddenly expands, 
 till it seems bounded by an embankment 
 and line of trees. This is the road to the 
 pleasant inn " Keston Cross." In the dis- 
 tance are the Kentish and Essex hills, with 
 the dome of the metropolitan cathedral. 
 Presuming that information respecting the 
 spring might be obtained at Holwood we 
 reascended, and inquired of several labour- 
 ers employed in levelling and gravelling 
 the avenue; but we deiived nothing satis- 
 factory till a Keston man, working at a 
 distance, came up, and told us that it was 
 the source of the Ravensbourne. 
 
 I had formerly heard and read of a tra- 
 dition respecting this spring, and now that 
 I unexpectedly found myself upon its mar- 
 gin, recollection of the story heightened the 
 interest of the scene. The legend runs, 
 that when Caesar was encamped here his 
 troops were in great need of water, and 
 none could be found in the vicinity. Ob- 
 serving, however, that a raven frequently 
 alighted near the camp, and conjecturing 
 that it was for the purpose of quenching its 
 thirst, he ordered the coming of the bird to 
 be watched for, and the spot to be particu- 
 larly noted ; this was done, and the result 
 was as he anticipated. The object of the 
 raven's resort was this little spring ; from 
 thence Caesar derived a supply of water 
 for the Roman legions, and from the cir- 
 cumstance of its discovery the spring was 
 called the Raven's bourne, or the Raven's 
 brook. From the lodge at Holwood, W. 
 obtained the loan of a chair, and taking his 
 seat on the brink of the well, sketched the 
 view represented in his engraving of it above. 
 
 If the account oi Holwood* in 1792 be 
 
 • In col. 626 
 
 correct, this spring, there called '• Cffsar's 
 Spring," was then a public cold bath, orna- 
 mented with trees, and adressing--house on 
 the brink. Hasted, in 1778,* gives a view 
 of the Roman intrenchments on Holwood 
 Hill, and figures the ancient road to the 
 spring of the Ravensbourne, as running 
 down to it from where Holwood gates now 
 stand : he also figures the spring with twelve 
 trees planted round it. Now, however, 
 there is not a vestige of tree or building, but 
 there are in the ground the stumps of a 
 poled fencing, which was standing within 
 recollection. On fuither examination I 
 found the well bricked round, but the 
 bricks at the top edge had decayed, or been 
 thrown in ; and the interior brickwork is 
 lined with hair moss and other water-weeds. 
 On the side opposite to that whereon a 
 man is represented in the engraving. I 
 traced the remains of steps for descending 
 into the well as a bath. Its circle is about 
 nine feet in diameter. At what time it 
 commenced, or ceased, to be used as a bath, 
 is uncertain. 
 
 Here, then, about twelve miles from 
 London, in a delightful country, is a spring, 
 rendered venerable by immemorial tradi- 
 tion and our ancient annals ; and which, 
 during eighteen centuries, from the time of 
 its alleged discovery by Caesar, has remain- 
 ed open to general use. Sorry therefore 
 am I to add, that there are. rumours of a 
 wish to enclose this public relic of by- 
 gone ages. I invite public attention to the 
 place and to the report. Even at this sea- 
 son the lover of natural scenery will find 
 charms at the source of the Ravensbourne, 
 Hnd be able to imagine the beauty of the 
 surrounding country in summer. Had I a 
 right of common on Keston Heath, rather 
 than assist in a base " homage," to colour- 
 ably admit the enclosure of " Caesar's 
 Spring," 1 would surrender my own right, 
 and renounce community and neighbour- 
 hood with the heartless hirelings, who would 
 defraud themselves and the public of the 
 chief attraction to Keston Common. At 
 so small a distance from London I know oi 
 nothing so remarkable in history as this 
 spring. On no pretence ought the public 
 to be deprived of it. There are rights ot 
 nature as well as of property : when the 
 claims of the lattei are urged too pertina- 
 ciously against the former, it is time to cry 
 out; and if middle men do not interfere to 
 prevent the oppression, they will, in theit 
 turn, cry aloud when there will be none to 
 help them. ^ 
 
 • Historv of Kent, folio, ml. i. \'J^. 
 
 736 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 (Sarn'tlt f lapd* 
 
 No. XLIL 
 
 From " Thyestes," a Tragedy, by Jo'm 
 Crowne, 1681. j 
 
 Afreus, having recovered hi.i Wife, and 
 Kingdom, from his brother Thyestes, who 
 had usurped both, and sent him into banish- 
 ment, describes his offending Queen. 
 
 Atreus (soIhs). still she lives ; 
 
 Tis true, in heavy sorrow : so she ought, 
 
 If she offended as I fear she has. 
 
 Her hardships, though, she owes to her own choiee. 
 
 [ have often otfer'd her my useless couch ; 
 
 "^or what is it to me ? I never sleep : 
 
 But for her bed she uses the hard floor. 
 
 My table is spread for her ; I never eat : 
 
 And she'll take nothing but what feeds her grief. 
 
 Philisthenes, the Son of Thyestes, at a 
 stolen interview ivith Antigone, the daugh- 
 ter of Atreus, is surprised by the King's 
 Spies : upon ichich misfortune Antigone 
 swooning, is found by Peneus. 
 
 Antigone. Peneus, an ancient retainer to 
 the Court of MyctncB. 
 
 Peneus. Ha ! what is she that sleeps in open air ? 
 Indeed the place is far from any path. 
 But what conducts to melanrholy thoughts; 
 But those are beaten roads about this Court. 
 Her habit calls her. Noble Grecian Maid ; 
 But her sleep says, she is a stranger here. 
 All birds of night build in this Court, but Sleep , 
 And Sleep is here made wild with loud complaints 
 And flies away from all. 1 wonder how 
 This maid has brought it to her luve so tame. 
 
 Antigone, (waking from her swoon). Oh my PfaiLs- 
 thenes ! 
 
 Peneus. She wakes to moan ; 
 Aye, that's the proper language of this place ! 
 
 Antigone. My dear, my poor Philisthenes ! 
 [ know 'tis so ! oh horror I death ! hell! oh— 
 
 Peneus. I know her now; 'tis fair Antigone, 
 The daughter and the da/lmg of the King. 
 This is the lot of all this family.* 
 Beauteous Antigone, thou know'st me well ; 
 
 am old Peneus, one who threescore years 
 -las loved and serv'd thy wretched family. 
 Impart thy sorrovvs to me ; I perhaps 
 In my wide circle of experience 
 May find some counsel that may do thee good. 
 
 Antigone. O good old man ! how long hare you been 
 here ? 
 
 Peneus. I came but now. 
 
 Antigone. O did you see this way 
 Poor young Philisthenes? you know him well. 
 
 Pentus. TKy -incle's son, Thyestes' eldest son— 
 
 Ar.tigonc. The same, ti.e same— 
 
 • Xbe descftndants ol Tantalus 
 
 Peneus. No; all the Gods forbid 
 I should meet him sc near thy father's Court. 
 
 Antigone. O he was here one cursed rainuti past. 
 
 Peneus. What brought him hither? 
 
 Antigone, Love t» wretched me. 
 Our warring fathers never ventured more 
 For bitter hate than we for innocent love. 
 Here but a minute past the dear youth lay. 
 Here in this brambly cave lay in my arms ; 
 And now he is seized ! O miserable me — (^tears her 
 hair.) 
 
 Peneus. Why dost thou rend that beauteous orna- 
 ment ? 
 In what has it offended ? hold thy hands 
 
 Antigone. O father, go and plead for the poor youth; 
 No one dares speak to the fierce King but you — 
 
 Peneus. And no one near speaks more in vain than I ; 
 He s-purns me from his presence like a dog. 
 
 Antigone. Oh, then — 
 
 Peneus. She faints, she swoons, I frighten'd her. 
 Oh I spake indiscretely. Daughter, child, 
 Antigone, I'll go, indeed I'll go. 
 
 Antigone. There is no help for me in heav'n or earth. 
 
 Peneus. There is, there is ; despair not, sorrowful 
 maid, 
 All will be well. I'm going to the King, 
 And will with pow'rful reasons bind his hands; 
 And something in me says I shall prevail. 
 But to whose care shall I leave thee the while? — 
 For oh 1 I dare not trust thee to thy grief. 
 
 Antigone. I'll be disposed of, father, as you please. 
 Till I receive the blest or dreadful doom. 
 
 Peneus. Then come, dear daughter, lean upon n?.r 
 arm. 
 Which old and weak is stronger yet than thine; 
 Thy youth hatli known more sorrow than my age. 
 I never hear of grief, but when I'm here ; 
 But one day's diet here of sighs and tears 
 Rtiturns me elder home by many years. 
 
 Atreus, to entrap his brother Thyestes ; 
 u-ho has lived a concealed life, lurt'ing in 
 woods, to elude his vengeance ; sends Phi- 
 listhenes and old Peneus to him ivith offers 
 of reconciliation, and an invitation to Court, 
 to be present at the nuptials of Antigorte 
 with Philisthenes. 
 
 Thyestes. Philisthenes. Penevs, 
 
 Thy. Welcome to my arms. 
 My hope, my comfort I Time has roii'd about 
 Several months since I have seen thy face. 
 And in its progress has done wond'rous things. 
 
 Phil. Strange things indeed to chase you to this sad 
 Dismal abode ; nay, and to age, I think : 
 I see that winter thrusting itself forth 
 Long, long before its time, in silver hairs. 
 
 Thy. My fault, my son ; I would be great and high 
 Snow lies in summer on some mountain tops. 
 Ah. Son ! I'm sorry for thy noble youth, 
 Thou hast so bad a father; I'm afraid. 
 Fortune will quarrel with thee for my saK«. 
 Thou wilt derive unhapplness from mo, 
 Like an hereduary ill dise&s*. 
 
 737 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Phil. Sir, I was born, when yon were innocent 
 And all the ill you hav» contracted since, 
 "You have wrought out by painful pemtence ; 
 For healthy joy returns to us again ; 
 Nay, a more vigorous joy than e'er we had. 
 Like on*" recover'd from a sad disease. 
 Nature for damage pays him double cost. 
 And gives him fairer flesh than e'er he had. 
 
 Thyestes is won from his retirement bfi 
 the joint representatioiis of Philisthenes and 
 Pencils, of the apparent good faith, and re- 
 turning kindness of his brother ; and visits 
 Mijeence : — his confidence; his returning 
 misgivings. 
 
 Thyestes. Philisthenes. Pencils. 
 
 Thy. C wondrous pleasure to a banish'd man, 
 I feel my loved long look'd-for native soil 
 And oh ! my weary eyes, that all the day 
 Had from some mountain travell'd toward this place, 
 Now rest themselves upon the royal towers 
 Of that great palace where 1 had my birth. 
 
 sacred towers, sacred in your height. 
 Mingling with clouds, the villas of the Gods 
 Whither for sacred pleasures they retire , 
 Sacred because you are the work of Gods ; 
 Your lofty looks boast your divine descent : 
 And the proud city which lies at your feet. 
 And would give place to nothing but to you, 
 Owns her original is short of yours. 
 
 And now a thousand objects more ride fast 
 
 On morning beams, and meet my eyes in throngs; 
 
 And see, all Argos meets me with loud shouts t 
 
 Phil. joyful sound '. 
 
 Thy. But with them Atrens too — 
 
 Phil. What ails my father, that he stops, anil 
 shakes. 
 And now retires ? 
 
 Thy. Return with me, my son. 
 And old friend Peneus, to the honest beasts, 
 And faithful desart, and well-seated caves ; 
 Trees shelter man, by whom they often die. 
 And never seek revenge : no villainy 
 Lies in the prospect of an humble caVe. 
 
 Pen. Talk you of villainy, of foes, and 
 
 Thy. I talk of Atreus. 
 
 Pen. What are these to him ? 
 
 Thy. Nearer than I am, for they are himself. 
 
 Fen. Gods drive these impious thoughts out of your 
 •mind. 
 
 Thy. The Gods for all our safety put them there. — 
 Returo, return with me. 
 
 Pen. Against our oaths 
 
 1 cannot stem the vengeance of the Gods. 
 
 Thy. Here are no Gods : they've left this dire abode. 
 
 jn. True race of Tantalus 1 who parent-like 
 ..e doom'd in midst of plenty to be starved. 
 His hell and yours differ alone in this 
 When he would catch at joys, they fly from him ; 
 When glories catch at you, you fly from them. 
 Thy. A fit comparison; our joys and his 
 lying shadows, which to trust is hell. 
 
 The day of the pretended Nuptiala.— 
 Atreus feigns a returning love for h}» 
 Queen. 
 
 .Mrojte. O this is too mnch Joy for me to bear . 
 You build new palaces on broken walls. 
 
 Atreus. Come, let our new-born pleasures breatht 
 sweet air; 
 This room's too vile a cabinet for gold. 
 Then leave for ever, Love, this doleful place, 
 And leave behind thee all thy sorrows here ; 
 And dress thyself as this great day requires. 
 'Twill be thy daughter's nuptials ; and I dream'd. 
 The Sun himself would be ashain'd to come. 
 And be a guest in his old tarnish'd robe ; 
 But leave my Court,* to enlighten all the globe. — 
 
 Peneus to Atreus, dissuading him from 
 his horrid purpose. 
 
 Pen. Fear you not men or Gods ? 
 
 A'tr. The fear of (Jods ne'er came in Pelops' House 
 
 Pen. Think you there are no Geds ? 
 
 Atr. I find all things 
 So false, I am sure of nothing but of wrongs. — 
 
 Atreus. Thyestes. 
 
 A Table, and a Banquet. 
 
 Atr. Come, brother, sit. 
 
 T/iy. May not Philisthenes 
 Sit with us. Sir ? 
 
 Atr. He waits upon the Bride. 
 A deeper bowl. This to the Bridegroom's health. 
 
 Thy. This to the Gods for this most joyful daj.. — 
 Now to the Bridegroom's health. 
 
 Atr. This day shall be 
 To Argos an eternal festival. 
 
 Thy. Fortune and I to day both try our strengths. 
 I have quite tired her left hand Misery ; 
 She now relieves it with her right-hand Joy, 
 Wliich she lays on me with her utmost force ; 
 But both shall be too weak for my strong spirit. 
 
 Atr. (aside). So, now my engines of delight havs 
 screw'd 
 The monster to the top of arrogcince ; 
 And now he's ready for his deadly fall. 
 
 Thy. O these extremes of misery and joy 
 Measure the vast extent of a man's soul. 
 My spirit reaches Fortune's East and West. 
 She has oft set and ris'n here; yet cannot get 
 Out of the vast dominion of my mind. — 
 Ho I my proud vaunting has a sudden check ; 
 See, from my head my crown of roses falls ; 
 My hair, tho' almost drown'd beneath sweet oils. 
 With strange and sudden horrors starts upright: 
 Something 1 know not what bi'ds roe not eat ; 
 And what T have devour'df within me groans ; 
 I fain would tear iny breast to set it free; — 
 And I have catch'd the eager thirst of tears, 
 Which all weak spirits have in misery. 
 1, wlio in banishment ne'er wept, weep now. 
 
 • A hint of the dreadfui banquet which he meditates, 
 at which the Sun is said to have turned away his 
 horses. 
 
 + The mangled limbs of his son Philisthenes, which 
 Atrecs has set before hiin. 
 
 738 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Atr. Brother, repfard it not , 'tis fancy alL 
 Misery, like night, is haunted with ill spirits, 
 4nd spirits Mive not easily their haunts ; 
 Tis said, Bometiiiies they'll impudently star^i 
 A flight of beams from the forlorn of day, 
 And scorn tlie crowing of the sprightly cocks :— 
 Brother, 'tis morning with onr pleasure yet. 
 Nor has the sprightly wine crow'd oft enough. 
 See in great flagons at full length it sleeps. 
 And lets these melancholy thoughts break in 
 Upon our weaker pleasures. Rouse the wine. 
 And bid him chase these fancies hence for shame. 
 Fill up that reverend unvanquish'd Bowl, 
 Who many a giant in his time has fallen. 
 And many a monster; Hercules not more. 
 
 Tkg. If he descends 'ato my groaning breast. 
 Like Hercules, he will descend to hell — 
 
 Atr. And he will vanquish all the monsters there. 
 Brother, your courage with this Hero try; 
 He o'er our House has reign'd two hundred years. 
 And he's the only king shall rule you here. 
 
 Thy. What ails me, I cannot heave U to my lips » 
 
 Atr. What, is the bowl too heavy ? 
 
 Thy. No ; my heart. 
 
 Atr. The wine will lighten it. 
 
 Thy. The wine will not 
 Come near my lips. 
 
 Atr. Why should they be so strange ? 
 They are near a-kin. 
 
 Thy. A-kin? 
 
 Atr. As possible ; father and son not nearer. 
 
 Thy. What do you mean ? 
 
 Atr. Does not good wine beget good blood ? 
 
 Thy. 'Tis true. 
 
 Atr. Your lips then and the wine may be a-kin. 
 Ofif with your kindred wine ; leave not a drop 
 To die alone, bewilder'd in that bowl. 
 Help him to heave it to his head ; that's well. 
 
 (Thyestes drinks. A clap of thunder. The lights 
 go otct.) 
 
 Thy. What pond'rous crimes pull heav'n upon our 
 heads? 
 Nature is choak'd with some vast villainy. 
 And all her face is black. 
 
 Atr. Some lights, some lights. 
 
 Thy. The sky is stunn'd, and reels 'twixt night and 
 day ; 
 Old Chaos is return'd. 
 
 Atr. It is to see 
 A young One born, more dreadful than herself; 
 That promises great corx;fort to her age, 
 And to restore her empire. 
 
 Thy. What do you mean ? 
 
 Atr. Confusion • have in thy bowels made. 
 
 Thy. Dire thoughts, like Furies, break into my mind 
 With flaming brands, and shew me what he means. 
 Where is Philistheces ? 
 
 Atr. Ask thy own bowels : 
 Thou heard'st them groan ; perhaps they i.3W will 
 speak. 
 
 Thy. Thou hast not. Tyrant — ^what I dare not ask ? 
 
 AU. L kiU'd thy Son, and thou bast drunk his blood. 
 
 C.L. 
 
 For the Table Booh 
 
 THEATRALIA. 
 
 Tom Durfey 
 
 Once got fifty guineas (according to tra- 
 dition) tor singing a single song to queen 
 Anne in ridicule of " the princess Sophia, 
 electress and duches? dowager of Hanover," 
 (as she is called in the oath of allegiance,) 
 naturally no great favourite with the then 
 reigning monarch. The only lines of this 
 satirical production that have conrie down 
 to us are the following ; and, until now 
 only the two first of the stanza have been 
 preserved by Durfey's biographers : — 
 
 " The crown's far too weighty 
 
 For shoulders of eighty ; 
 She could not sustain such a trophy ; 
 
 Her hand, too, already 
 
 Has grown so unsteady 
 
 She can't hold a sceptre ; 
 
 So Providence kept her 
 Away. — Poor old Dowager Sophy." 
 
 " Merry Tom " had sung before the king 
 in the former reign, and Charles II., as is 
 well known, was very fond of his company. 
 
 Listok's Marriage. 
 
 The following got into circulation just 
 after Mr. Liston was united to Miss Tyrer 
 but never was published : — 
 
 liiston has married Fanny Tyrer : 
 He must, like all the town, admire her, 
 A pretty actress, charming voice 1 
 But some, astonish'd at his choice 
 Of one,compar'd with him, so small 
 She scarcely seem'd a wife at all, 
 Expj-ess'd their wonder . his reply 
 Show'd that he had " good reason why." — 
 " We needs must when the devil drives ; 
 And since all married men say, wives 
 Are of created things the worst, 
 I was resolv'd 1 would be curst 
 With one as small as I could get her 
 The smaller, as I thought, the better. 
 I need not fear to lay my fist on. 
 Whene'er 'tis needed, Mrs. Liston : 
 And since, • like heathen Jew or Carib, 
 I like a rib, but not a spare-rib, 
 I got one broad as she is long — 
 Go and do better, if I'm wrong." 
 
 Charles Jennens, Esq. 
 
 One of the most singular characters ot 
 his day was Charles Jennens, Esq., a sort 
 of literary Bubb Doddington. Being born 
 to a good estate, from his boyhood he was 
 ridiculously food of show and pomp, and 
 
 739 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 his style of writing was of a piece with his 
 style of living. It has been said, that he 
 put to^^ether the words of Handel's " Mes- 
 siah :" that he had something to do with 
 ihem is true; but he had a secretary of the 
 name of Pooley, a poor clergyman, who 
 executed the principal part of the work, 
 and, till now, has obtained no part of the 
 credit. Charles Jennens, Esq. took it into 
 his head, (perhaps the most rational notion 
 he had ever indulged,) tiiat tlie majority of 
 Shak^peare's commentators were mere 
 twaddling antiquaries, without taste or 
 talent ; but he adopted an unfortunate way 
 of proving it: he himself published an 
 edition of Hamlet, Lear, Othello, and one 
 or two more tragedies. He was of course 
 laughed at for his attempt, and George 
 Steevens tried to show a little of the wit, 
 for which his friends gave him credit, and 
 of the ill-nature for which he deserved it. 
 Jennens published a pamphlet in reply, the 
 greater part his own writing;, which for 
 years was his delight and solace : his poor 
 secretary used to have the task of reading 
 it from begfinning to end, wlienever his 
 patron called for it, on giving an entertain- 
 ment to his friends. Jennens commented, 
 explained, and enforced, as he proceeded. 
 In some of the biographical accounts of 
 this personage it is asserted gravely, that 
 for some time after the appearance of this 
 tract he carefully looked over the news- 
 papers every day, to learn if the success 
 and severity of his attack had not com- 
 pelled Dr. Johnson, Malone, Steevtns, or 
 Warburton, to hang themselves. This 
 depends upon the following epigram, writ- 
 ten at the time, and now only existing in 
 MS., but which obtained a wide circula- 
 tion, and is attributed, perhaps correctly, 
 to Steevens. The only objection to this 
 supposition is, that if it had been Steevens's 
 it is strange how his vanity could keep it 
 out of the public prints, though after all it 
 possesses but little merit : — 
 
 " After Mister Charles Jennens produc'd his Defence, 
 
 He saw all the papers at Martyr's, 
 To learn if the critics had had the good sense 
 
 To hang themselves in their own garters. 
 He thought they couid never out-live it. The sot 
 18 ready to hang himself, 'cause they have not." 
 
 When we called Jennens a literary Bubb 
 Doddington, we ought to have remembered 
 that Doddington had talents, but Jennens 
 had none. 
 
 Elliston's Epigsam. 
 
 The following has bee.i handed about as 
 I'om the pen of Mr. Elliston, now of the 
 
 Surrey theatre. It may be his or it may 
 not, but whichever way the fact be, it can 
 do him no harm to publish it. The point 
 is in the Greek Anthology, though we do 
 not suppose that Mr. E. went there for it. 
 
 The best Wine. 
 
 " What wine do yoii esteem the first. 
 
 And like above the rest ?" 
 Ask'd Tom — said Dick — " My own la wo/st. 
 
 My friend's is always best." 
 
 Sir John Hill 
 
 Was a Polish knight and an Enj^Wish phy- 
 sician, more celebrated by Garriek's epi- 
 grams than by his own dramatic composi- 
 tions, consisting of two farces. The Maiden i 
 Whim and The Raut. He wrote books 
 enough on all subjects " to build his owe 
 papyral monument," if the grocers and 
 trunk-makers had not committed such 
 havoc among them, even before his death, 
 That event was produced by taking his 
 own remedy for the gout, and it is thus 
 commemorated. 
 
 On the Death of Doctor Hill 
 
 " Poor Doctor Hill is dead !" — " Good lack ! 
 
 Of what disorder ?"— " An attack 
 
 Of gout.* — " Indeed 1 I thought that, !►» 
 
 Had found a wondrous remedy." — 
 
 " Why so he had, and when be tried 
 
 He found it true — the Doctor liied t" 
 
 GOUT. 
 
 The contest among medical men for the 
 most proper mode of curing this complaint 
 cannot but produce a sraile, when we re- 
 collect that the afflicted have recourse to 
 various and opposite remedies with suc- 
 cess. 
 
 We have heard of a man who would find 
 his pains alleviated by drinking a wine- 
 glass full of verjuice, while a table-spoonful 
 of wine would torture him almost to dis- 
 traction. 
 
 There were two counsellors, some years 
 ago, who generally cured themselves in a 
 very pleasant manner; one, who was ac- 
 customed to drink water constantly, would 
 cure himself by drinking wine ; and the 
 other, who invariably look his bottle or 
 more of wine a day, was constantly cured 
 by the use of water. 
 
 Others, by living on a milk diet only, 
 have entirely curea themselves. 
 
 Some years ago there was a man in Italy 
 who was particularly successful in the curs 
 
 740 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 of the gout: his mode was to make his 
 patients sweat profusely, by obliging them 
 to go up and down stairs, though with 
 much pain to themselves. 
 
 A quack in France acquired great repu- 
 tation for the cure of this malady, by the 
 use of a medicine he called "Tmcture of 
 the Moon," of which he administered some 
 drops every morning in a basin of broth. 
 It was never used by any but the richest 
 persons ; for the price of a bottle full, not 
 larger than a common sized smelling bottle, 
 was eighty louis d'ors. Furetiere mentions 
 this quack, and says he possessed many 
 valuable secrets. He adds, that the sur- 
 prising cures, to which he was witness, by 
 the " Tincture of the IVIoon," astonished all 
 the faculty at Paris. The operation of this 
 medicine was insensible. 
 
 OF THE 
 
 Crabtit 23ak5* 
 
 No. H.* 
 
 He had been in Yorkshire dales, 
 
 Amid the winding scars ; 
 Where deep and low the hamlets lie 
 Beneath a little patch of sky. 
 
 And little patch of stars. — Woedswokth. 
 
 The Legend of the Troller's Gill. 
 
 On the steep fell's height shone the fair moonlight. 
 
 And its beams illum'd the dale. 
 And a silvery sheen cloth'd the forest green, 
 
 Which sigh'd to the moaning gale. 
 
 From Burnsal's tower the midnight hour 
 
 Had toird, and its echo was still. 
 And the elfin band, from faerie land. 
 
 Was Bion Elboton hill. 
 
 'Twas silent all. save (he waters' fall. 
 
 That with never ceasing din. 
 Roar and rush, and foam and gush. 
 
 In Loupscar's troubled linn. 
 
 From his cot he stept, while the household slept,, 
 
 And he carroll'd with boist'rous glee, 
 Bnt he ne hied to the green hill's side. 
 
 The faerie train to see. 
 
 Ke went not to roam with his own dear ma i 
 
 Along by a pine-clad scar. 
 Nor sing a lay to his ladye love, 
 
 'Neath the light of the polar star. 
 
 • For No I., me the *• Banr,uet of the Pead." 
 
 The Troller, I ween, was a fearless wight 
 
 And, as legends tell, could hear 
 The night winds rave, in the Knave Knoll c«T«,* 
 
 Withonten a sign of fear. 
 
 And whither now are his footsteps beet ? 
 
 And where is the Troller bound ? 
 To the horrid gill of the limestone hill. 
 
 To call on the Spectre Hound t 
 
 And on did he pass, o'er the dew-bent grass. 
 
 While the sweetest perfun-.es fell, 
 Frpm the blossoming of the trees which spring 
 
 ^n the depth of that lonely dell. 
 
 Now before his eyes did the dark gill rise, 
 
 No moon-ray pierced its gloom. 
 And his steps-around did the waters sound 
 
 Like a voice from a haunted tomb. 
 
 And there as he stept, a shuddering crept 
 
 O'er his frame, scarce known to fear. 
 For he once did dream, that the sprite of the streajl 
 
 Had loudly called — Forbear 1 
 
 An aged yew in the rough cliffs grew, 
 
 A nd unc'er its sombre shade 
 Did the Troller rest, and with charms nnblest. 
 
 He a magic circle made. 
 
 Then thrice did he turn where the streamers Dam,1 
 
 And thrice did he kiss the ground. 
 And with solemn tone, in that gill so lone. 
 
 He cali'd on the Spectre Hound 1 
 
 And a burning brand he clasp'd in his hand. 
 
 And he nam'd a potent spell. 
 That, for Christian ear it were sin to hear. 
 
 And a sin for a bard to tell.J 
 
 And a whirlwind swept by, and stormy grew the skr. 
 
 And the torrent louder roar'd. 
 While a hellish flame, o'er the Troller's stalwart frame 
 
 From each cleft of the gill was pour'd. 
 
 And a dreadful thing from the cliflFdid spring. 
 
 And its wild bark thrill'd around — 
 Its eyes had the glow of the fires below — 
 
 'Twas the form of the Spectre Hound 1 
 • • * 
 
 When on Rylstonne's height glow'd the morning light, 
 
 And, borne on the mountain air. 
 The Priorie^ bell did the peasants tell 
 
 'Twas the chanting of matin prayer. 
 
 By peasant men, where the horrid glen 
 
 Doth its rugged jaws expand, 
 A corse was found, where a dark yew frown'd. 
 And marks were imprest on the dead man's breast — 
 
 But they seem'd not by mortal hand. 
 
 • A cave near Thorp. 
 
 + The Northern Lights. These beautiful meteor 
 uve been very vivid and frequent of late. 
 J These two lines are from a German ballad. 
 i Bolton Priorie. 
 
 741 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 .n the evening calm a funeral fsaim 
 Slowly stole o'er the woodland scene — 
 
 The harebells wave on a new-made grave 
 In " Burnsall's church-ya»d green.' 
 
 That funeral psalm in th* veiling- calm. 
 
 Which echo'd the'dell around, 
 Was his, o'er whose grav9 blue harebells ware, 
 
 Who caU'd on the Specife Hound 1 
 
 The above ballad is founded on a tra- 
 dition, very common amongst the moun- 
 tains of Craven. The spectre hound is 
 Bargest. Of this mysterious personage I 
 am able to give a very particular account, 
 having only a few days ago seen Billy 
 
 B y, who had once a full view of it. 
 
 I give the narrative in his own words ; it 
 •would detract from its merit to alter the 
 language : 
 
 Billy B- 
 
 's Adventure 
 
 'You see, sir, as how I'd been a clock- 
 dressing at Gurston [Grassington], and I'd 
 staid rather lat, and may be gitten a lile 
 sup o' spirit, but I war far from being 
 drunk, and knowed every thing that passed. 
 It war about 11 o'clock when I left, and it 
 war at back end o'l' year, and a most ad- 
 mirable [beautiful] neet it war. The moon 
 war varra breet, and i nivver seed Ryl- 
 stone-fell plainer in a' ll^y life. Now, you 
 see, sir, I war passin down t' mill loine, 
 and I heerd summut come past me — brush, 
 brush, brush, wi' chains rattling a' the 
 while; but I seed nothing; ind thowt I to 
 mysel, now this is a most mortal queer 
 thing. And I then stuid still, and luik'd 
 about me, butl seed nothing at aw, nobbut 
 the two stane wa's on each side o't' mill 
 loine. Then I heerd again this brush, 
 brush,, brush, wi' the chains ; for you see, 
 sir, when I stuid still it stopped ; and then, 
 thowt I, this mun be a Bargest, that sae 
 much is said about: and I hurried on to- 
 wards t' wood brig, for they say as how this 
 Bargest cannot cross a watter; but lord, 
 sir, when I gat o'er t' brig, I heerd this 
 same thing again ; so it mud either hev 
 crossed t' watter, or gane round by t' spring 
 heed! [About thirty miles!] And then I 
 oecam a valliant man, for I war a bit freet- 
 en'd afore; and thinks I, I'll turn and hev 
 a peep at this thing ; so I went up Greet 
 Bank towards Linton, and heerd this brush, 
 brush, brush, wi* the chains a' the way, 
 out I seed nothing ; then it ceased all of a 
 sudden. So I turned back to go hame, but 
 I'd hardly reach 'd t' door, when I heerd 
 
 again this brush, brush, brush, and the 
 chains going down towards t' Holin House, 
 and I followed it, and the moon there shone 
 varra breet, and / seed its tail! Then, 
 thowt I, thou owd thing! I can say Jse 
 seen thee now, so I'll away hame. When 
 I gat to t' door, there war a girt thing like 
 a sheep, but it war larg-er, ligging across i' 
 threshold of t' door, and it war woolly 
 like; and says I, ' git up,' and it would^'^ 
 git up — then says I, ' stir ihysel,' and it 
 ■wouldn't stir itsel ! And I grew valliant, 
 and 1 rais'd t' stick to baste it wi', and then 
 it luik'd at me, and sich oies ! [eyes] they 
 did glower, and war as big as saucers, and 
 like a cruelled ball ; first there war a red 
 ring, then a blue one, then a white one; 
 and these rings grew less and less till they 
 cam to a dot .' Now I war nane feer'd on it, 
 tho' it girn'd at me fearfully, and I kept on 
 saying ' git up,' and ' stir thysel,' and t' 
 wife heerd as how I war at t' door, and she 
 cam to oppen it; and then this thing gat 
 up and walked off, for it war mare feer'd 
 o V wife than it war o' me ! and I told t' 
 wife, and she said it war Bargest ; but I; 
 nivver seed it since, and that's a true 
 story!" I 
 
 In the glossary to the Rev. Mr. Carr's 
 " Horae Momenta Cravense," I find the 
 following — " Bargest, a sprite that haunts 
 towns and populous places. Belg. birg, 
 and geest, a ghost." I really am not a 
 little amused at Mr. Carr's derivation, 
 which is most erroneous. Bargest is not a 
 town ghost, nor is it a haunter " of towns 
 and populous places;" for, on. the contrary, 
 it is said in general to irequent small vil- 
 lages and hills. Hence the derivation may 
 be berg, Germ, a hill, and ^geist, a ghost; 
 i. e. a hill ghost : but the real derivation 
 appears to me to be bar, Germ, a bear, and 
 geist, a ghost ; i. e. a bear ghost, from its 
 appearing in the form of a bear or large 
 dog, as Hilly B 's narrative shows.* 
 
 The appearance of the spectre hound i.« 
 said to precede a death; which tradition 
 will be more fully illustrated in my next 
 legend, " The Wise Woman of Littondale." 
 Like most other spirits Bargest is supposed 
 to be unable to cross a water; and in case 
 any of my Craven readers should ever 
 chance to meet with his ghostship, it may 
 be as well to say, that unless they give hira 
 the wall he will tear them to pieces, or 
 otherwise illtreat them, as he did one John 
 Lambert, who, refusing to let him have the 
 
 * That bears were common in Craven in anoierl 
 times is evident from one of our villages being called 
 Barden, i. e the bear's den. I consider this circiiu 
 stance in favour of ray derivation. — T. Q. M. 
 
 742 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 wall, was so punished for his want of man- 
 ners, that he died in a few days. 
 
 This superstition has in one instance been 
 productive of good. A few years ago an 
 inhabitant of threshfield kept a huge he- 
 ijoat, which the wags of the village would 
 'Ometimes turn into the lanes, in the nighl- 
 'itne, with a chain about his neck, to 
 ^righten the farmors on their return from 
 Kettlewell market. They once delermintd 
 10 terrify a badijei, or miller, as he returnul 
 Irom the market, by driving the animal 
 with the chains, &c. into the lane thmuuh 
 which the man of meal was to pass. About 
 ten o'clock the miller, on entering Thresh- 
 field with his cart, espies the goat; and 
 hearing the chains, overwhelmed with ter- 
 ror, he conjectures it to be Baigest, that 
 was sent to take him away for his dishonest 
 dealings; the miller stops his cart, and 
 kneeling down in it, thus prayed, to the 
 great amusement of the young rogues be- 
 hind the wall : — " Good I.ord, don't let the 
 devil take me this lime, and I'll nevet 
 cheat any more; do let me get safe home, 
 and I'll never raise my meal again so extra- 
 vagantly as I have done of late." He did 
 get safe home, and was as good as his word 
 ti'll he discovered the trick, when he returned 
 to his old malpractices; exemplifying the 
 old epigram — 
 
 " The devil was sick, flie devil a monk would lie, 
 The devil got well, tlie devil a monk was he." 
 
 In the second verse of the legend of" The 
 TroUer's Gill," it is said, 
 
 And the eltia band from faerie land 
 Was upon Elboton hill. 
 
 Elboton is the largest of five or six very 
 lomantic green hills, that seem to have been 
 formed by some tremendous convulsion of 
 nature, at the foot ot ihat fine chain of fells, 
 which extends from Rylstone to Burnsall, 
 and is said to have been, from " time where- 
 of the memory of man runneth not to the 
 contrary," the haunt of faeries; numbers 
 of these pretty little creatures having been 
 seen there by several men of honour and 
 veracity in this neighbourhood, one of 
 whom has had a fu'ery in his hand .' The 
 elfin train has been visible in many parts 
 of our district, but I know ufno place they 
 frequent more than Elboton. One of these 
 diminutive beings, called Hob, is reputed 
 to be a watchful preserver of the farmer's 
 property, and a most industrious workman. 
 At Close-house, near Skipton in Craven, 
 Hob used to do as much work in one night 
 as twenty human workmen could in the 
 same time; and, as I have been informed 
 by an individual, who resided there about 
 
 twenty years ago. Hob was accustomed ti. 
 house the hay, stack the corn, and churr; 
 the butter, as well as perform several othei 
 offices, which tended materially to lessen 
 the labour of the husbandman and the 
 dairy maid The occupier of Close-house 
 at that time, thinking to make Hob some 
 return for his kindness and assiduity, laid 
 out a new red cloak for him, which so 
 offended the good faery, that he ceased his 
 l.ibours, and left the place. On the spot 
 where the cloak was left, the following 
 stanza was found, 
 
 Hob red coat. Hob red hood. 
 
 Hob do you no harm, but no more good.* 
 
 Loupscar, alluded to in the third verse, is 
 a place in the VVharfe near Burnsall, where 
 the river is pent in with rocks, and boils 
 along in a confined channel, and then dis- 
 charges itself into a pool of tremendous 
 depth, forming, as Dr. Whitaker says in 
 his history, " a scene more dreadful than 
 pleasing.'' The channel of the Wharfe is in 
 general craggy, and the river abounds with 
 similar vortices to Loupscar; the two most 
 celebrated of which are the Gastrills above 
 Giassington, and the Slrid, in Bolton 
 woods. The latter will be recognised by 
 the poetical reader, as the fatal gulf where 
 the Boy of Egremond was drowned, whose 
 story Rogers has versified with such exqui- 
 site pathos. 
 
 " The TroUer's Gill" is in Skyram pas- 
 tures, beyond Appletreewick. 1 visited it 
 a few days ago, when the torrent was con- 
 siderably swollen by the recent heavy rains 
 amongst the mountains. The roar of the 
 water, the terrific grandeur of the over- 
 hanging crags, and its loneliness, united to 
 heighten the terrors of the place. To an 
 inhabitant of London, the scene of the 
 wolf's glen, in the Drury version of " Der 
 Freischiitz," may give some faint idea of it. 
 Dr. Whitaker thought TroUer's Gill "want- 
 ed the deep horror of (xordale,'" near Mai 
 ham. There is certainly more sublimity 
 and grandeur about Gordale ; but as to 
 horror, I think it nothing to " the Troller' 
 Gill." This, however, is a matter of taste. 
 
 The last verses allude to the beauiifu. 
 and ancient custom, still universally preva- 
 lent throughout our district, of chanting a 
 solemn dirge at funerals, till the corpse 
 reaches the church-yard gateway. 1 know 
 of nothing more affecting to a stiangerthan 
 to meet, at evening, a funeral train proceed, 
 ing along one of our romantic vallies, while 
 the neighbouring rocks are resonant with 
 
 * Mr. Story, of Gargravp, Iihs wruten a beautifui 
 Craveu fa^rv'tale. called Fitz Harold. 
 
 743 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 the loud dirs;e sung by the friends of the 
 departed. Long may this custom continue ! 
 loo many of our old customs fall into mis- 
 use by the ridicule thrown on them by 
 dissenvers, as being popish, &c. ; but I am 
 happy to say, that in Craven the dissenters 
 are great encouragers of funeral dirges. In 
 Mrs. £ieman*s sacred melody, " Last Rites," 
 this stanza alluiJes to the practice :- 
 
 By the chanted psalm that fills 
 Reverently the ancient hills, 
 Learn, that from his harvests done. 
 Peasants bear a brother on 
 To his last repose 1 
 
 ^rajnngton in Craven, T. Q. M. 
 
 Nov. 6, 1827. 
 
 The Second Series of 
 
 WIUMS AND ODDITIES, 
 
 With Forty Original Designs, 
 
 BY THOMAS HOOD. 
 
 " What demon hath possessed thee, that thon wilt 
 sever forsake that impertinent custom of punning; ?" 
 
 Scriblrriis, 
 
 If I might be allowed to answer the 
 question instet^.d of Mr. Hood, I should 
 say, that it is the same demon which pro- 
 vokes me to rush directly through his new 
 volume in preference to half a dozen works, 
 which order of time and propriety en- 
 title to previous notice. This book de- 
 tains me from my purposes, as a new print 
 in a shop-window does a boy on his way 
 to school; and, like him, at the risk of 
 being found fault with for not minding my 
 task, I would talk of the attractive novelty 
 to wights of the same humour. It comes 
 like good news, which nobody is ignorant 
 of, and every body tells to every body, and 
 sets business at a stand-still. It puts clean 
 out of my head all thought of another en- 
 graving for the present sheet, though I 
 know, good reader, that already " I oive 
 you one" — perhaps two: — never mind! 
 you shall have " all in good time;" if you 
 don't, I'll give you leave to eat me. With 
 such a tender, the most untender will, or 
 ought to be, as content as " the blacks of 
 Niger at its infant rill," seated at their 
 " white -bait,'' the thirty-eighth cnt — in Mr. 
 Hood's book, very near " the end," — a very 
 inviting one to Shy lock-kind of people^ 
 who ha*e not 
 
 " seen, perchance, nnhappy white folks cook'd, 
 
 Xnd then made fres of negro corporations." — p. 149. 
 
 Mr. Hood begins — to be modest — with 
 pleading guilty to what "he calls " some 
 verbal misdemeanours," and then, leaving 
 " his defence to Dean Swift, and the other 
 great European and oriental pwndits," puts 
 himself upon his country. But by whom 
 is he arraigned, save a few highwaymen ir" 
 tlie " march of intellect," who sagely affirm, 
 that " a man who v.'ould make a pun would 
 pick a pocket!" — a saying devised by some 
 wag, to the use and behoof of these dol- 
 drums, who never hear a good thing, but 
 they button up their pockets and features, 
 and walk otf with nothing about them of 
 likeness to humanity but the biforked form. 
 I'br capital likenesses of such persons, turn 
 to the story of " Tim Turpin," and look 
 first, to pay due honour, at the engravings 
 of " the Judges of a-size," and then at 
 " .lurors — not con-jurors." Portraits of 
 this order could not have been drawn by 
 any other than a close and accurate observer 
 of character. Indeed, that Mr. Hood is 
 eminently qualified in this respect, he has 
 before abundantly testified ; especially by 
 " The Progress of Cant, "a print that must 
 occupy a distinguished place in a history 
 of Character and Caricature, whenever such 
 a work shall be written.* In this new 
 series of " Whims and Oddities," he pre- 
 sents a sketch, called " Infant Genius ; ' — a 
 little boy delighted with having rudely 
 traced an uncouth fig-ure ; such a " draw- 
 ing " as excites a good mistaken mother 
 to declare, " the little fellow has quite a 
 genius, and will be very clever if he onl)' 
 has encouragement :" — and thus many a 
 child's talent for fine-drawing — which, at 
 the tailoring trade, might have secured the 
 means of living — has been miseneouraged 
 to the making up of fifth-rate artists with a 
 starvation income. The engraving of the 
 " Infant Genius " illustrates the following 
 poem. 
 
 The Progress of Art. 
 
 O happy time I — Art's early days I 
 
 When o'er each deed, with sweet self-praise. 
 
 Narcissus-like 1 h\m^ ! 
 When great Rembrandt but little seem J, 
 And such old masters all were deem'd 
 
 As nothing to the young I 
 
 • A " History of the Art of Caricaturing, by J. I . 
 Malcolm, F.S.A., 1813," 4to., is by no means what ita 
 title purports. Mr. Malcolm was a very worthy maik, 
 and a diligent compiler of facts on other subjects ; but, 
 in the work alluded to, he utterly failed, from want of 
 knowledge and discrimiaation. He confounds charao 
 ter with caricature, acd was otherwise inadeqiiata to 
 the task he undertook. 
 
 7M 
 
 m 
 

 THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 
 Some scratchy strokes — abrupt and few 
 
 But colours came ! — like morning lipht. 
 
 
 So easily and swift I drew, 
 
 With gorgeous hues displacing night. 
 
 
 Siiffic'd for my design ; 
 
 Or spring's enliven'd scene: 
 
 
 My sketchy, superficial hand. 
 
 At once the sable shades withdrew ; 
 
 
 Drew solids at a dash— and spann'd 
 
 My skies got very, very blue ; 
 
 
 A surface with a line. 
 
 My trees extremely green. 
 
 
 Not long ray eye was thus fontent 
 
 And wash'd l)y my cosmetic brush. 
 
 
 But grew more critical — my bent 
 
 How beauty's cheek began to blush ; 
 
 
 Essay'd a higher walk ; 
 
 With locks of auburn stain — 
 
 
 I copied leaden eyes in lead — 
 
 (Not Goldsmith's Auburn)— nnt-browc hair. 
 
 
 Rhuematic hands in white and red. 
 
 That made her loveliest of the fair ; 
 
 
 And gouty feet — in chalk. 
 
 Not " loveliest of the plain 1" 
 
 
 Anon my studious art for days 
 
 Her lips were of vermilion hue ; 
 
 
 Kept making faces — happy phrase, 
 
 Love in her eyes, and Prussian blue, 
 
 
 For faces such as mine ! 
 
 Set all my heart in flame I — 
 
 
 Accomplish'd in the details then 
 
 A young Pygmalion, 1 adored 
 
 
 1 left the minor parts of men. 
 
 The maids 1 made — but time was stor'd 
 
 
 And drew the form divine. 
 
 With evil — and it came 1 
 Perspective dawn'd — and soon I saw 
 
 
 Old gods and heroes — Trojan — Gr?ek, 
 
 My houses stand against its law ; 
 
 And " keeping" all unkept 1 
 My beauties were no longer things 
 
 
 Figures — long after the antique. 
 
 
 Great Ajax justly fear'd ; 
 Hectors of whom at night I dreamt, 
 
 
 
 For love and fond imaginings ; 
 
 
 And Neslor, fringed enough to teuipt 
 
 
 
 But horrors to be wept ! 
 
 
 Bird-nesters to his beard. 
 
 
 A Bacchus, leering on a bowl. 
 
 Ah ! why did knowledge ope mv eres 
 
 
 Why did I get more artist-wise ? 
 
 
 A Pallas, that nutslar'd her owl. 
 
 
 
 It only serves to hint, 
 
 
 A Vulcan — very lame ; 
 
 
 What grave defects and wants are mine; 
 
 
 A Dian stuck about ■.•:■'. „i~.., 
 
 That I'm no Hilton in design — 
 In nature no Dewint 1 
 
 
 With my right hand ' '■• 
 
 
 (One Williams did the same.) 
 
 Thrice happy time ! — Art's early days I 
 
 
 But tir'd of this dry work at last, 
 
 When o'er each deed with sweet self-praise, 
 
 
 Crayon and clialk aside I oast. 
 
 Narcissus-K'AC I hung 1 
 
 
 And gave my brash a drink 1 
 
 When great Rembrandt but little seera'd, 
 
 
 Dipping — " as when a painter dips 
 
 And such old masters all were deem'd 
 
 
 In gloom of earthquake and eclipse — 
 
 As nothing to the young 1 
 
 
 That is — in Indian ink. 
 
 In verification of the old saying, " Once 
 
 
 Oh then, what black Mont Blancs arose. 
 
 a man, twice a child," Mr. Hood tells oi 
 
 
 Crested with soot, and not with snows ; 
 
 " A School for Adults," — and gives a pic- 
 
 
 What clouds of dingy hue I 
 
 ture of aged men, baldheaded and wigged, 
 
 
 In spite of what the bard has penn'd. 
 
 whose education had been neglected, study- 
 
 
 I fear the distance did not " lend 
 
 ing their A, B, C. A letter from one ot 
 
 
 Enchantnient to the view." 
 
 them at a preparatory school is exceedingly 
 amusing. The article is preceded by a 
 
 
 Not RadcliflFe's brush did e'er design 
 
 dramatic scene. 
 
 
 Black Forests, half so black as mine. 
 
 
 
 Or lakes so like a pall; 
 
 Servant. Hew well you saw 
 
 
 The Chinese cake dispers'd a ray 
 
 Your father to school to-day, knowing how apt 
 
 
 Of darkness, like the lig!»t of Day 
 
 He IS to play the truant. 
 
 
 And Martin over all. 
 
 Son. But is he not 
 Jfet gone to school ? 
 Servant. Stand by, and you shall see. 
 
 
 Yet urchin pride sustain'd me stil). 
 
 - 
 
 
 I gaz'd on all with right good-will. 
 
 Enter three old men, with satchels, singing. 
 
 
 And spread the dingy tint; 
 
 All three. Domine, domine, duster. 
 
 
 " No ho'y Luke helped me to paint. 
 
 Three knaves in a cluster. 
 
 
 The Devil surely, not a saint. 
 
 Son. this is gallant pastime. Nay, come on 
 
 
 Had any linger in't !' 
 
 Is •■his your school ? was that vour lesson, ha ' 
 
 745 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 itt Old Man. Prsy, now, good son, indeed, indeed — 
 
 Sun. (ndeed 
 You shall to school. Away with him ; and taV;e 
 Their wag.ships with him, the whole cluster of them. 
 
 2d Old Man. You shan't send us, now, so you shan't — 
 
 Sd Old Man. We benoneof your father, so we be'nt. — 
 Son. 
 Away with 'em. I say ; and tell theirschool-mistress 
 What truants they are, and bid her pay 'em soundly. 
 
 All three. Oh 1 oh ! oh ! 
 
 Lad!/. Alas ! will nobody beg pardon for 
 The poor old boys ? 
 
 Traveller. Do men of such fair years here go to school ? 
 
 Native. They would die dunces else 
 The.se were great scholars in their youth ; but wh-en 
 Age grows upon men here, their learning wastes, 
 And so decays, that, if they live until 
 Threescore, their sons send 'em to school again ; 
 They'd die as speechless else as new-born children. 
 
 Traveller. 'Tis a wise nation, and the piety 
 Of the young men ir.o.st rare and commendable: 
 Yet give me, as a stranger, leave to beg 
 Their liberty this day. 
 
 Son. 'Tis granted. 
 Hold up your heads; and thank the gentleman, 
 Like scholars, with your heels now. 
 
 AH three. Gratias I gratias ! gratias ! [E,rif, sin^iap.] 
 " The Antipodes," bt/ R. Drome. 
 
 No reader of the first series of the 
 " Whims and Oddities" can have forgotten 
 " The Spoiled Chdd " of " My Aunt Sha- 
 l:eriy," or the unhappy lady herself; and 
 now we are informed that " towards the 
 close of her life, my aunt Shakerly increased 
 rapidly in bulk: she kept adding growth 
 unto her growth, 
 " Giving a sum of mo-re to that which had too much," 
 
 till the result was worthy of a Smithfield 
 premium. It was not the triumph, how- 
 ever, of any systematic diet for the promo- 
 tion of fat, — (except oyster-eating there is 
 no human system of 5/a//-feeding,) — on the 
 contrary, she lived abstemious-ly, diluting 
 her food with pickle-acids, and keeping 
 frequent fasts in order to reduce her com- 
 pass ; but they failed of this desirable 
 efl'ect. Nature had planned an original 
 tendency in her organization that was not 
 to be overcome : — she would have fattened 
 on sour krout. 
 
 " My uncle, on the other hand, decreased 
 daily; originally a little man, he became 
 lean, shrunken, wizened. There was a pre- 
 disposition in his constitution that made 
 him spare, and kept him so ; — he would 
 have fallen oflT even on brewer's grains. 
 
 " It was the common joke of the neigh- 
 bourhood to designate my aunt, my uncle, 
 snd the infant Sliakerly, as ' Wholesale, 
 Rr.iAiL, and For Exportation ;' and, in 
 truth, they were not inapt imoersonations 
 
 of that popular inscription, — my aunt a 
 giantess, my uncle a pigmy, and the child 
 being ' carried abroad.' " — This is the ccm- 
 mencement of an article entitled " The 
 Decline of Mrs. Shakerly." 
 
 A story of *' the Absentee," and of the 
 " absent tea," on a friend's visit to him, is 
 painfully whimsical. Akin to it is an en- 
 graving of a person who had retired to rest 
 coming down stairs in his shirt, and shorts, 
 and great alarm, with a chamber-light in 
 his hand, and the top of his nightcap in a 
 smothering blaze, exclaiming 
 
 " Don't you smell Fire P" 
 
 Run !^ — run for St. Clement's enginS 1 
 
 For the pawnbroker's all in a blaze. 
 And the pledges are frying and singing-^ 
 
 Oh 1 how the poor pawners will era z" ! 
 Now where can the turncock be drinking ? 
 
 Was there ever so thirsty an elf? — 
 But he still may tope on, for I'm thinking 
 
 That the plugs are as dry as himself. 
 
 The engines! — I hear them come rumbling : 
 
 There's the Phcenix ' the Globe I and the Sns I 
 What a row there will be, and a grumbling, 
 
 When the water don't start for a run I 
 See 1 there they come racing and tearing, 
 
 All the street with loud voices is fill'd ; 
 Oh ! it's only the firemen a-swearing: 
 
 At a man they've ran over and kill'dil 
 
 How sweetly the sparks fly away now. 
 
 And twinkle like stars in the sky ; 
 It's a wonder the engines don't play now 
 
 But I never saw water so shy 1 
 Why there isn't enough for a snipe, 
 
 And the fire it is fiercer, alas I 
 Oh I instead of the New River pipe. 
 
 They have gone — that they have — to the gas! 
 
 Only look at the poor little P 's 
 
 On the roof— is there any thing sadder ? 
 My dears, keep fast hold, if you please. 
 
 And they won't be an hour with the ladder! 
 But if any one's hot in their feet. 
 
 And in very great haste to be sav'd, 
 Here's a nice easy bit in the street. 
 
 That M'Adara has lately unpav'dl 
 
 There is some one — I see a dark shape 
 
 At that window, the hottest of all, — 
 My good woman, why don't you escape ? 
 
 Never think of yonr bonnet and sham-l: 
 If your dress is'nt perfect, what is it 
 
 For once in a way to your hurt ? 
 When your husband is paying a visit 
 
 There, at Number Fourteen, in his shirtl 
 
 Only see how she throws out her chaney I 
 
 Her basins, and teapots, and all 
 The most brittle of her goods — or any. 
 
 But they all break m breaKing their fall I 
 
 I 
 
 746 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Snoh things are not surely the best 
 
 From a two-siory vvindow to throw — 
 She might save a good iron bouiul chest, 
 
 For I here's plen ty of people below ! 
 O dear I what a beautiful flash I 
 
 How it shone thio' the window and door • 
 We shall soon hear a scream and a craah. 
 
 When the woman falls thro' with the fio-jr . 
 There ! there ! what a yolle/ of dame. 
 
 And then suddenly all is obscur'd ! — 
 Well — I'm glad in my heart that 1 came ; — 
 
 But I hope the poor man is insur'd I 
 
 There are ballads in the " New Series" 
 that rival " Sally Brown and Ben the Car- 
 penter" in the former volume. Of tlii 'lass 
 are " Mary's Ghost;" the story ot •'• Tim 
 Turpin," mentioned before; and another of 
 " Jack Hall," showing, how Jack was an 
 undertaker's mute — how Jack sometimes 
 drove the hearse — how Jack was in league 
 with resurrection-men, and stole the bodies 
 he buried — how Death met Jack in St. 
 Pancras burying-ground, and shook hands 
 with him — how Death invited Jack home 
 to supper — how Jack preferred going to 
 the Cheshire Cheese, and Death didn't — 
 how Jack was brought to Death's door, 
 and what he saw there — how Jack was 
 obliged to go in, and Death introduced him 
 to his friends as " Mr. Hall the body- 
 snatcher" — how Jack got off without bid- 
 ding them good night — how Jack was in- 
 disposed — how twelve doctors came to visit 
 Jack without taking fees — how Jack got 
 worse, and how he confessed he had sold 
 his own body twelve different times to the 
 twelve doctors— how the twelve doctors did 
 not know Jack was so bad — how the twelve 
 doctors disputed in Jack's room whicli 
 should have his body till twelve o'clock — 
 how Jack then departed, the twelve doctors 
 couldn't tell how— and how, as Jack's body 
 could not be found, the twelve doctors de- 
 parted, and not one of them was satisfied. 
 
 In the forementioned ballads there are 
 many " verbal misdemeanours,'' at which 
 the author cautiously hints in his preface 
 with some tokens of deprecation : — " Let 
 me suggest,'' he says, " that a pun is some- 
 what like a cherry : though there may be a 
 slight outward indication of partition — of 
 duplicity of meaning — yet no gentleman 
 need make two bites at it against his own 
 pleasure. To accommodate certain readers, 
 notwithstanding, I have refrained from 
 putting the majority in italics." He is 
 equally sinful and considerate in his prose: 
 as, for instance, in the following character, 
 which fairly claims a place with those of 
 bishop Earle, sir Thomas Oveibury, and 
 even Butler. 
 
 "A Ballad Singer 
 
 Is a town-crier for the advertising of logt 
 tunes. Hunger hath made him a ^<ind in- 
 strument; his want is vocal, and not he. 
 His voice had gone a-begging before he 
 took it up and applied it to the same trade 
 it was too strong to hawk mackerel, bu, 
 was just soft enough for Robin Adair. Hi.s 
 business is to make popular songs unpopu- 
 lar, — he gives the air, like a weathercock, 
 with many variations. As for a key, he has 
 but one — a latch-key — for all manner of 
 tunes ; and as they are to pass current 
 amongst the lower sorts of people, he 
 makes his notes like a country banker's, as 
 thick as he can. His tones liave a copper 
 st'und, for he sounds for copper; and for 
 the musical divisions he hath no regard, but 
 sings on, like a kettle, without taking any 
 heed of the bars. Before beginning he 
 clears his pipe with gin ; and he is always 
 hoarse from the thorough draft in his throat. 
 He hath but one shake, and that is in win- 
 ter. His voice sounds flat, from flatulence ; 
 and he fetches 'oreath, like a drowning 
 kitten, whenever he can. Notwithstanding 
 all this his music g'ains ground, for it walks 
 with him from end to end of the street. 
 
 *' He is your only performer that requires 
 not many entreaties for a song; for he will 
 chant, without asking, to a street cur or a 
 parish post. His only backwardness is to 
 a stave after dinner, seeing that he never 
 dines; for he sings for bread, and though 
 corn has ears, sings very commonly in vain. 
 As for his country, he is an Englishman, 
 that by his birthright may sing whether he 
 can or not. To conclude, he is reckoned 
 jiassable in the city, but is not so good off 
 the stones." 
 
 An incurable joker subjects himself to the 
 inconvenience of not 'neing Relieved, though 
 he speak the truth; and therefore the fol- 
 lowing declaration of the author of " Whims 
 and Oddities" is questionable. He says: — 
 
 " A Mad Dog 
 
 Is none of my bugbears. Of the bite of 
 dogs, large ones especially, I have a rea- 
 sonable dread ; but as to any participation 
 in the canine frenzy, I am somewhat scep- 
 ticfd. The notion savours of the same 
 fanciful superstition that invested the sub- 
 jects of Dr. Jenner with a pair of horns 
 Such was affirmed to be the effect of tlit 
 vaccine matter — and I shall believe what 
 I have heard of the canine virus, when 1 
 see a rabid gentleman, or gentlewoman, 
 with flap ears, dew-claws, and a brush- 
 tad ! 
 
 747 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 " I put no faith in the vulgar stories of 
 ii«man beings betaking themselves, through 
 a dog-bite, to dog-habits : and consider the 
 smotherings and drownings, that have ori- 
 ginated in that fancy, as cruel as the murders 
 for witchcraft. Are we, for a few yelpings, 
 to stifle all the disciples of Loyola — Jesuits' 
 bark — or plunge unto death all the conva- 
 lescents wlio may take to bark and wine ? 
 • " As for the hydrophobia, or loathing of 
 water, I have it mildly myself. My head 
 turns invariably at thin washy potations. 
 With a dog, indeed, the case is different — 
 he is a water-drinker ; and when he takes 
 to grape-juice, or the stronger cordials, may 
 be dangerous. But I have never seen one 
 with a bottle — except at his tail. 
 
 " There are other dogs who are born to 
 haunt the liquid element, to dive and swim 
 — and for such to shun the lake or the pond 
 would look suspicious. A Newfoundlander, 
 standing up from a shower at a door-way, 
 or a spaniel with a parapluie, might be in- 
 nocently destroyed. But when does such 
 a cur occur ?" 
 
 Mr. Hood answers the question himself 
 by " hydrophobia" of his own creation, 
 namely, an engraving of a dog, on whom 
 he makes " each particular hair to stand an 
 end ;" and whom he represents walking 
 biped-fashion; he hath for his shield, as 
 Handle Holme would say, an umbrella vert, 
 charged with the stick thereof, as a bend or. 
 " The career of this animal," says Mr. 
 Hood, " is but a type of his victim's — sup- 
 pose some bank clerk. He was not bitten, 
 but only splashed on the hand by the mad 
 foam oi' dog-spray : a recent flea-bite gives 
 entrance to the virus, and in less than three 
 years it gets possession. Then the tragedy 
 begins. The unhappy gentleman first 
 evinces uneasiness at being called on for 
 his New River rates. He answers the col- 
 lector snappishly, and when summoned to 
 pay for his supply of water, tells the com- 
 missioners, doggedly, that they may cut it 
 off. From that time he gets worse. He 
 refuses slops — turns upapugnose at pump 
 water — and at last, on a washing-day, after 
 flying at the laundress, rushes out, ripe for 
 hunting, to the street. A twilight remem- 
 brance leads him to the house of his intend- 
 ed. He fastens on her hand — next worries 
 his mother — takes a bit apiece out of his 
 brothers and sisters — runs a-muck, ' giving 
 tongue,' all through the suburbs — and 
 finally, is smothered by a pair of bed- 
 beaters in Moorfields. 
 
 " According to popular theory the mis- 
 chief ends not here. The dog's master — 
 t'iie trainer, the friends, human and eanir?* 
 
 — the bank clerks — the laundresses — s-sreet- 
 heart — mother and sisters — the two bed- 
 beaters — all inherit the rabies, and run 
 about to bite others." 
 
 But, is not this drollery on hydrophobia 
 feigned ? Is it not true that a certain boot- 
 maker receives orders every July from the 
 author of" Whims and Oddities," for boots 
 to reach above the calf, of calf so iiiordi- 
 nately stout as to be capable of resisting 
 the teeth of a dog, however viciously rabid. 
 and with underleathers of winter thickness, 
 for the purpose of kicking all dogs withal, 
 in the canicular days ? These queries are not 
 urged upon Mr. H. with the tongue of.scan- 
 d.il; of that, indeed, he has no fear, for he 
 dreads no tongue, but (to use his quota- 
 tion from Lord Duberly) the " vermicular 
 tongue." This little exposure of his pre- 
 vailing weakness he has provoked, by 
 affecting to discredit what his sole shakes 
 af every summer. 
 
 The " New Series of Whims and Oddi- 
 ties" abounds with drolleries. Its author's 
 " Forty Designs" are all ludicrous ; and, 
 that they have been engraven with fidelity 
 there can be little doubt, from his compli- 
 ment to the engraver. " My hope persuades 
 me," he says, " that my illustrations cannot 
 have degenerated, so ably have I been 
 seconded by Mr. Edward Willis; who, 
 like the humane Walter, has befriended my 
 offspring in the wood."* Though the en- 
 gi'avings are indescribably expressive, yet 
 a few may be hinted at, viz. 
 
 " Speak up, sir!" a youth on his kneps, 
 vehemently declaring ins love, yet in a 
 tone not s'lfficiently loud, to a female on>a 
 sofa, who doth " incline her ear" with a 
 trumpet, to assist the auricle. 
 
 " In and out Pensioners," exemplifying 
 the " Suaviter in modo," and " Fortiter 
 in le." 
 
 " The spare bed," uncommonly spare. 
 " Why don't yon get up behind ?" ad- 
 dressed by a donkey-rider — who does not 
 sit before — to a boy on the ground. 
 " Banditti," street minstrels. 
 " Dust O !" Death collecting his dust — 
 critically speaking, this might be object- 
 ed to. 
 
 " Crane-iology ;" a crane, with its bill 
 calliper-wise, speculating on a scull, and 
 ascertaining its developements. 
 
 " A Retrospective Review;" very literaL 
 " She is all heart ;" a very hearty body. 
 " The last visit ;" quacks. 
 
 * This passage is quote'! here from Idnd fee/ina;. and 
 friendly wishes, towards the worthy person u.eiit>oiiei 
 
 748 
 
THE TABT.E "ROOK 
 
 The Angel of Death " uue of them — 
 very fine. 
 
 " Joiners ;" Vicar and Moses. 
 
 " Drill and Broadcast ;" nature and art. 
 
 ''High-born and Low-born;"' odd dif 
 ferences. 
 
 " Lawk ! I've forgot the brandy !" abo- 
 minably provoking — only look ! 
 
 " Comparative Physiology" is " a wan- 
 dering camel-driver and exhibitor, parad- 
 'ng, for a few pence, the creature's outland- 
 lish hump, yet burthened himself with a 
 bunch of flesh between the shoulders." — 
 
 " Oh would soiTie power the giftie gi' us 
 To see oursel's as others see us !" 
 
 Mr. Hood's talents are as versatile as his 
 imagination is excursive : and it would be 
 difficult to decide, whether he excels in the 
 ludicrous or the grave. He depicts a 
 pathetic scene with infinitely delicate and 
 discriminative touches, and his powers are 
 evidently equal to a high order of poetical 
 grandeur. His " Sally Holt and the Death 
 of John Hayloft," is an exquisite specimen 
 of natural feeling. 
 
 " Nature, unkind to Sally Holt as to 
 Dogberry, denied to her that knowledge of 
 reading and writing, which comes to some 
 by instinct. A strong principle of religion 
 made it a darling point with her to learn to 
 read, that she might study in her Bible : 
 but in spite of all the help of my cousin, 
 and as ardent a desire for learning as ever 
 dwelt in scholar, poor Sally never mastered 
 beyond A-B-ab. Her mind, simple as her 
 heart, was unequal to any more difficult 
 combinations. Writing was worse to her 
 than conjuring. My cousin was her ama- 
 nuensis : and from the vague, unaccount- 
 able mistrust of ignorance, the inditer took 
 the pains always to compare the verbal 
 message with the transcript, by counting 
 the number of the words. 
 
 " 1 would give up all the tender epistles 
 <jf Mrs. Arthur Brooke, to have read one of 
 Sally's epistles; but they were amatoiy, 
 and therefore kept sacred : for plain as she 
 was, Sally Holt had a lover. 
 
 " There is an unpretending plainness in 
 some faces that has its charm — an unaffect- 
 ed ugliness, a thousand times more bewitch- 
 ing tlian those would-be pretty looks that 
 neither satisfy the critical sense, nor leave 
 the matter of beauty at once to the imagi- 
 nation. We like better to make a new face 
 than to mend an old one. Sally had not 
 one good feature, except those which John 
 Hayloft made for her in his dreams ; and to 
 j,udge from one token, her partial fancy was 
 equally answerable for his charms. One 
 
 precious lock — no, not a lock, but rather a 
 remnant of very short, very coarse, very 
 yellow hair, the clippings of a militaYy crop, 
 for John was a corporal — stood the fore- 
 most item amongst her treasures. To he? 
 they were curls, golden, Hyperian, and 
 cherished long after the parent-head was 
 laid low, with many more, on the bloody 
 plain of Salamanca. 
 
 " I remember vividly at this moment the 
 ecstasy of her grief at the receipt of the 
 fatal news. She was standing near the 
 dresser with a dish, just cleaned, in her dex- 
 ter hand Ninety-nine women in a hundred 
 would have dropped the dish. Many would 
 have flung themselves after it on the floor; 
 but Sally put it up, onlerly, on the shelf. 
 The fall of John Hayloft could not induce 
 the fall of the crockery. She felt the blow 
 notwithstanding; and as soon as she haii 
 emptied her hands, began to give way to 
 her emotions in her own manner. Affliction 
 vents itself in various modes, with difi'erenl 
 temperaments : some rage, others compose 
 themselves like monuments. Some weep, 
 some sleep, some prose about death, and 
 others poetize on it. Many take to a bottle, 
 or to a rope. Some go to Margate, or 
 Bath. 
 
 " Sally did nothing of these kinds. She 
 neither snivelled, travelled, sickened, mad- 
 dened, nor ranted, nor canted, nor hung, 
 nor fuddled herself — she only rocked her- 
 self upon the kitchen chair I 
 
 " 1 he action was not adequate to her re- 
 lief She got up — took a fresh chair — theD 
 another — and another — and another, — till 
 slie had rocked on all the chairs in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 " The thing was tickling to both sympa 
 thies. It was pathetical to behold her grief, 
 but ludicrous that she knew no better how 
 to grieve. 
 
 " An American might have thought that 
 she was in the act of enjoyment, but for an 
 intermitting O dear! O dear! Passion 
 could not wring more from her in the way 
 of exclamation than the tooth-ache. Her 
 lamentations were always the same, even 
 in tone. By and by she pulled out the 
 hair — the cropped, yellow, stunted, scrubby 
 hair; then she fell to rocking — then O dear! 
 O dear' — and then Da Capo. 
 
 " It was an odd sort of elegy ; and yet, 
 simple as it- was, I thought it worth a thou- 
 sand of lord Littelton's ! 
 
 " 'Heyday, Sally! what is the matter?' 
 was a very natural inquiry from my aunt, 
 v'hen she came down into the kitclien ; and 
 if slie did not make it with her toneue, at 
 i€ast it was asked very intelligibly by Lei 
 
 749 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 «yes. Now Sally had but one way of ad- the phantom-ship up and down the Hud- 
 dressing her mistress, and she used it hero, son," suggest to Mr. Hood a story entitled 
 It was the same with which she would have *' The Dwrjon-Ship." This he illustrates 
 asked for a holiday, except that the waters by an engraving called " The Flying- 
 stood in her eyes. Dutchman," representing the aerial ascent 
 
 " ' If you please, ma'am,' said she, rising of a native of the Low Countries, by virtue 
 
 up from her chair, and dropping her old of a reversal of the personal gravity, which, 
 
 curtsey, ' if you please, ma'am, it's John particularly in a Hollander, has been oom- 
 
 Hayloft is dead ;' and then she began rock- monly understood to have a tendency 
 
 ing again, as if grief was a baby that wanted downwards. Be this as it may, Mr. Hood's 
 
 jogging to sleep." tale is illustrated by the tail-piece referred 
 
 The many " stories of storm-ships and to. The story itself commences with ■> 
 
 haunted vessels, of spectre shallops, and highly wrought description of a sea-storm, 
 
 supernatural Dutch-doggers — the adven- of uncommon merit, which will be the last 
 
 tuies of Solway sailors, with Mahound in extract from his interesting volume that can 
 
 his bottomless Darges, and the careerings of be ventured, viz. : — 
 
 'Twas off the Wash — the sun went down — the sea look'd black and grim. 
 For stormy clouds, with murky fleece, were mustering at the brim; 
 Titanic shades! enormous gloom ! — as if the solid night 
 Of Erebus rose suddenly to seize upon the light ! 
 It was a time for mariners to bear a wary eye, 
 With such a dark conspiracy between the sea and sky ! 
 
 Down went my helm — close reef'd — the tack held freely in my ha^'J— 
 With ballast snug — I put about, and scudded for the land. 
 Loud hiss'd the sea beneath her lee — my little boat flew fast, 
 But faster still the rushing storm came borne upon the blast. 
 Lord ! what a roaring hurricane beset the straining sail ! 
 What furious sleet, with level drift, and fierce assaults of hail! 
 What darksome caverns yawn'd before ! what jagged steeps behind . 
 Like battle-steeds, with foamy manes, wild tossing in the wind. 
 Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the chase, 
 But where it sank another rose and gailop'd in its place ; 
 As black as night — they turn to white, and cast against the cloud 
 A snowy sheet, as if each surge upturn'd a sailor's shroud : — ■ 
 Still flew my boat ; alas ! alas ! her course was nearly run ! 
 Behold yon fatal billow rise — ten billows heap'd in one ! 
 With fearful speed the dreary mass came rolling, rolling, fast, 
 As if the scooping sea contain'd one only wave at last! 
 Still on it came, with horrid roar, a swift pursuing grave ; 
 It seem'd as though some cloud had turn'd its hugeness to a ware ! 
 Its briny gleet began to beat beforehand in my face — 
 I felt the rearward keel begin to climb its swelling base 
 I saw its alpine hoary head impending over mine ! 
 Another pulse — and down it rush'd — an avalanche of brine . 
 Brief pause had I, on God to cry, or think of wife and home ; 
 Tlie waters clos'd — and when I shriek'd, I shriek'd below the foam \ , 
 
 750 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 MR. GLIDDON'S CIGAR DIVAN. 
 
 King Street, Covent Garden. 
 
 Our readers, whom, between ourselves, 
 and wiHiout flattery, we take to be as social 
 a set of persons as can be, people of an 
 impartial humanity, and able to relish 
 whatever concerneth a common s;ood, whe- 
 lier a child's story or a man's pinch of 
 sniifF, (for snuff comes after knowleds;e,) 
 doubtless recollect the famous tale of the 
 Barmecide and his imaginary dinner in the 
 Arabian Nights' Entertainments. We hereby 
 invite them to an imaginary cigar and cup 
 of coffee with us in a spot scarcely less 
 oriental — to wit, our friend Gliddon's Divan 
 in King-street. Not that our fictitious en- 
 joyment is to serve them instead of the real 
 one. Quite the contrary ; our object being 
 to advance the good of all parties, — of onr 
 readers, inasmuch as they are good fellows 
 in their snuffs, — of our friend, wlio can 
 supply them in a manner ditfeient from 
 anv bod'" else, — and of ourselves, because 
 
 the subject is a pleasant one, and brings us 
 all together agreeably. Those who have 
 the greatest relish for things real, have also 
 the best taste of them in imagination. We 
 confess, that for our private eating (for a 
 cigar, with coffee, may truly be said to be 
 meat and drink to us) we prefer a bower 
 with a single friend ; but for public smok- 
 ing, that is to say, for smoking with a 
 greater number of persons, or in a coffee- 
 room, especially now that the winter is 
 coming on, and people cannot sit in bowers 
 without boots, commend us to the warmtli, 
 and luxury, and conspiracy of comforts, in 
 the Cigar Divan. 
 
 In general, the room is occupied by in- 
 dividuals, or groups of individuals, sitting 
 .-part at their respective liitle mahogany 
 tables, and smoking, reading, or talking 
 with one another in a considerate undei 
 toue, in order that nobody may be dis- 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 751 
 
 3 C 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 tuibeJ. But on the present occasion we that delicate manner with silver, (or is it 
 will have the room to ourselves, and tallc as rather not gold 1) unites the reality of archj- 
 ^ve please. In the East it is common to see tecture built by mortal hands, with the 
 iirty streets and poor looking houses, and fairy lustre of a palace raised by enchant- 
 on being admitted into the interior of one ment. One has a mind to sail to it, and 
 It thein, to find yourself in a beautiful get an adventure. 
 
 room, noble with drapery, and splendid E. And this on the left. What a fine 
 
 vvt'.h fountains and gilded trellices. We do sombre effect that mountain with a build- 
 
 not mean to compare King-street with a 
 street in Bagdad or Constantinople. We 
 have too much respect for that eminent 
 thoroughfare, clean in general, and classical 
 always; where you cannot turn, but you 
 meet recollections of the Drydens and 
 Ilogarths. The hotel next door to the 
 Divan is still the same as in Hogurth's pic- 
 ture of the Frosty Morning; and look'ng 
 the other way, you see Dryden coming out 
 of Rose Alley to spend his evening at the 
 club in Russell-street. But there is mud 
 and fog enough this weather to render the 
 
 ing on it has in the background; — how 
 dark yet aerial ! You would have a very 
 solemn adventure there, — nothing under a 
 speaking stone-gentleman, or the loss of 
 your right eye. 
 
 O. Well, this snug little corner for me, 
 under the bamboos ; two gigantic walking- 
 sticks in leafl A cup of coifee served by 
 a pretty Hindoo would do very well here ; 
 and there is a temple to be religious in, 
 when convenient. 'Tis pleasant to have 
 ail one's luxuries together. 
 
 T. If there is any fault, it is in the 
 
 ontrast between any thoroughfare and a scene at the bottom of the room, which ii 
 carpeted interior considerable ; and making perhaps too full of scattered objects. Bu{ 
 due allowance for the pnlace of an eft'endi all is remarkably well done; and as the 
 and the premises of a tradesman, a person's newspapers have observed, as oriental as 
 surprise would hardly be greater, certainly any thing in the paintings of Daniel or 
 his comfort not so great, in passing from Hodges. 
 
 the squalidness of a Turkish street into the C. Are you sui-e we are not all Mussul- 
 
 gorgeous but suspicious wealth of the apart- men ? I begin to think I am a Turk 
 ment of a pasha, as in slipping out of the under the influence of opium, who take 
 mud, and dirt, and mist, and cold, and my turban for a hat, and fancy I'm speak- 
 shudder, and blinking misery of an out-of- 
 door November evening in London, into 
 the oriental and carpeted warmth of Mr, 
 Gliddon's Divan. It is pleasant to think, 
 what a number of elegant and cheerful 
 places lurk behind shops, and in places 
 where nobody would expect them. Mr. 
 Gliddon's shop is a very respectable one; 
 but nobody would look for the saloon be- 
 yond it ; and it seems in good oriental 
 keeping, and a proper sesame, when on 
 touching a door in the wall, you find your- 
 self in a room like an eastern tent, the 
 
 English. We shall have the sultan 
 upon us presently. 
 
 L. With old Ibrahim to give us the 
 bastinado. I have no fair Persian at hand 
 to offer him ; and, if I had, wouldn't do 
 
 it. But hero's ■ ; he shall have 
 
 him. 
 
 0. (grinding with Mughter.) What, in 
 v/oman's clothes, to beguile him, and play 
 the lute ? 
 
 L. No; as a fair dealer; no less a pro- 
 digy, especially for a bookseller. You 
 should save your head every day by a new 
 Jrapery festooned up around you, and views joke; and we would have another new 
 exhibited on all sides of mosques, and Arabian Nights, or the Adventures of Sul- 
 
 minarets, and palaces rising out of the 
 water. 
 
 But here we are inside ourselves. What 
 do you think of it? 
 
 B. This is a tent indeed, exactly as you 
 have described it. It seems pitched in the 
 middle of the Ganges or Tigris ; for most 
 of the views are in the midst of water. 
 
 J. Yes ; we might fancy ourselves a 
 party of British merchants, who had pui-- 
 chased a little island in an Eastern gulf, 
 and built themselves a tent on it to smoke 
 in. The scenes, though they have a pano- 
 ramic effect, are really not panoramic daubs. 
 This noble edifice on the left, touched in 
 
 tan Mahmoud and the Fair Dealer. You 
 should be Scheherezade turned into a man. 
 Every morning, the prince's jester should 
 say to you, " Brother Scratch-his-head, il 
 you are awake, favour his Majesty with a 
 iiandsome come-off." 
 
 E. I cannot help thinking we are the 
 Calenders, got into the house full of ladies ; 
 and that we shall have to repent, and rub 
 our faces with ashes, crying out, " This 
 is the reward of our debauchery : This is 
 the reward of takin^ too many cups ol 
 coffee : This is the reward of excessive girl 
 and tobacco." 
 
 L. But, alas ! in that case we should 
 
 752 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 nave the repetit-ance without the lady, 
 which is unfair. No ladies, I believe, are 
 admitted here, Mr. Gliddon ? 
 
 Mr. G. No, sir ; it has been often ob- 
 servea to me, by way of hint, that it was 
 a pity ladies were not admitted into Eng- 
 lish cofl'ee-houses, as they are on the con- 
 tinent ; but this is a smokin«- as well as a 
 cofiee-room. Ladies do not smoke in Kn^^- 
 iand, as they do in the East; and ihen, as 
 extremes meet, and the most respectable 
 creatures in the world render a place, it 
 seems, not respectable, I was to take care 
 how I risked my character, and made my 
 Divan too condbrtable. 
 
 0. And we call ourselves a gallant 
 nation ! We also go to the theatres to sit 
 and hear ourselves complimented on our 
 hbeial treatment of women, and suffer 
 them all the while to enjoy the standing- 
 room ! 
 
 C. Women are best away, after all. We 
 should be making love, while they ought to 
 be making the coffee. 
 
 L. Women and smoking would not do 
 together, unless we smoked perfumes, and 
 saw their eyes through a cloud of fragrance, 
 like Venus in her ambrosial mist. This 
 room, I confess, being full of oriental 
 scenes, reminds one of other things oriental 
 — of love and a lute. I could very well 
 fancy myself Noureddin, sitting here with 
 my fair Persian, eating peaches, and send- 
 ing forth one of trie song-s of Hafiz over 
 those listening waters. 
 
 J. The next time Mr. Gliddon indulg-es 
 js with a new specimen of his ma«nifi- 
 cence, he must give us animate instead of 
 inanimate scenes, and treat us with a series 
 of subjects out of the Arabian Nights — 
 lovers, ^enii, and elegant festivities. 
 
 Mr. G. Gentlemen, here is a little fes- 
 tivity at hand, not, I hope, altogether 
 inelegant. Your coffee and cigars are 
 ready. 
 
 C. Ah, this is the substantial picturesque. 
 I was beginning to long for something 
 oriental to eat, elegant or not ; an East- 
 dmnpling for instance. 
 
 H. 1 wonder whether they have any puns 
 in the East. 
 
 J. To be sure they have. The elegancies 
 of some of their writers consist of a sort 
 of serious punning, like the conceits of 
 our old prosers ; such as, a man was " de- 
 serted for his deserts ;" or " graceless, 
 though full of gracefulness, was his grace, 
 and in great disgrace." 
 
 C. But I mean proper puns ; puns 
 worthy of a Pundit. 
 
 L. Vou have it. it is part of theu daily 
 
 expunditure. How can there be men and 
 not puns? 
 
 To pun is human ; to forgive it, fine. 
 
 H. There's an instance in Blue Beard ; 
 in a pun set to music by Kelly ; 
 
 Fat'waa,, i^afima, See-Umbs here! 
 
 C. Good. I think 1 see Kelly, who used 
 to stick his arms out, as if he were request- 
 ing vou to see his limbs ; and Mrs. Bland, 
 whom he used to sing it to — a proper 
 little Fatima. Come ; i feel all the beauty 
 of the room, now that one is " having 
 something." This is really very Grand, 
 Signior ; though to complete us, I think we 
 ought to have some Sublime Poit. 
 
 Mr. G. Excuse me : wkining is not al- 
 lowed to a true Mussulman. 
 
 C. Some snuft', however. 
 
 Mr. G. The best to be had. 
 
 IF. Take s©me of mine ; 1 have cro]-ped 
 the flower of the shop. 
 
 J. You sneeze, C I thought you too 
 old a snuff-taker for that. 
 
 C. The air of the water always makes 
 me sneeze It's the Peisian gulf liere. 
 
 IV. This is a right pinch, friend C. 
 I'll help you at another, as you've helped 
 me. 
 
 C. Snuff's a capital thing. I cannot 
 help thinking there is something providen- 
 tial in snuff. If you observe, different re- 
 freshments come up among nations at dif- 
 ferent eras of the world. In the Eliza- 
 bethan age, it was beef-steaks. Then tea 
 and coffee came up; and people being 
 irritable sometimes, perhaps with the new 
 light let in upon them by the growth of 
 tlie press, snuft' was sent us to " support 
 uneasy thoughts." During the Assyrian 
 monarchy, cherry-brandy may have been 
 the thing. I have no doubt Semiramis took 
 it ; unless we suppose it too matronly a 
 drink for So-Merea-Mi.ss. 
 
 (Here the whole Assyrian monarchy is 
 run down in a series of puns.) 
 
 H Gentlemen, we shall make the Tour 
 of Babel before we have done. 
 
 L. Talking of the refreshments of dif- 
 ferent ages, it is curious to see how we 
 identify smoking with the I'astern nations; 
 whereas it is a very modern thing among 
 them, and was taught them from the west 
 One wonders what the Turks and Persians 
 did before they took to smoking; just as 
 the ladies and gentlemen of these nervous 
 times wonder how their ancestors existed 
 without tea for breakfast. 
 
 J. Coffee is a modern thins too in the 
 East, though the usual accompaniment of 
 
 753 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 their tobacco. " Coffee witliout Tobacco," 
 quoth the Persian, as our friend's learned 
 placard informs us, " is like meat without 
 salt."* But coffee is of Eastern growth. 
 It is a species of jasmin. I remember, in 
 a novel I read once, the heroine was de- 
 scribed in grand terms, as " presiding at 
 the hysonian altar ;" that is to say, making' 
 tea. This lady might have asked her lover, 
 whether before his hysonian recreation, he 
 would not " orientalize in a cup of jessa- 
 mine." 
 
 fF. I met with a little story in a book 
 yesterday, which I must tell you, not be- 
 cause it is quite new or very applicable, 
 
 * A quotation from a prospectus pnMished by Mr, 
 Gliddon. As this prospectus is written in the '• style 
 social," and contains some particulars of his establisli- 
 ment, whi'h our article has not noticed, we lay a fevir 
 p'assages from it before our readers : — 
 
 " The recreation of smoking, which was introduced 
 into this country in an aee of g-reat men, by one of 
 the greatest and most accomplished men of that or any 
 other age, was for a long time considered an elegance, 
 and a mark of good-breedmg. Its very success gra- 
 dually got it an ill name by rendering it too common 
 and popular ; and S'unething became necessary to give 
 it a new turn in its favour, — to alter the association of 
 ideas connected with it, and awaken its natural friends 
 to a due sense of its merits. Two circumstances com- 
 bined to effect this desirable change. One was the 
 discovery of a new mode of smoking by means of roll- 
 ing up the fragrant leaf itself, and making it perfirm 
 the office of Us own pipe; the otiier was the long 
 military experience in our late wars, which have ren- 
 dered us so renowned , and which, by throvving the 
 most gallant of our gentry upon the hasty and humble 
 recreations eagerly snatched at by all campaigners, 
 opened their eyes to the difference between real and 
 imaginary good breeding, and made tliem see that 
 what comforted the heart of man under such grave 
 circumstances, must have (|nalities in it that deserved 
 to be rescued from an ill name. Thus arose the cigar, 
 and with it a reputation tliat has been continually in- 
 creasing. There is no rank m society into which it 
 has not made its way, not excepting tlie very highest. 
 If James the First, an uncouth prin<te, unworthy of hi.s 
 clever, though mistaken race, and who liated the g.al- 
 lant introducer of tobaci^o, did not think it beneath his 
 princely indignation to write in abuse of it, George ths 
 Fourth, who has unqiiestional)ly a better taste for some 
 of the best things in the world, has not thought it be- 
 neath his princely rerinement to give the cigar his 
 countenance. 
 
 " The art of smoking is a contemplative art; and 
 being naturally allied to other arts meditative, hatn 
 an attachment to a book and a newspaper. Bonks 
 and newspapers are atxordingly found at the Cigar 
 Divan; the latter consisting of the principal daily 
 papers, and the former of a pkofuse collection of 
 
 THE MOST ENTKBTAINING PERIODICALS. Tile situation 
 
 of the house is unexceptionable, being at an equal dis- 
 tance from the city and the west end, and in tlie imme- 
 diate neighbuwhuud uftlie great theatres. Writers of the 
 niost opposite parties have conspired to speak in the 
 nighest terms of the establishment, on their own per- 
 tonal knowledge; and sliould any authority be wanting 
 to induce a readerof this paper to taste a!l the nuiuaiit 
 .idvantages of fragrance, and tine drinks, and war, nth, 
 and (juiet, and literature, which they have done the 
 ijroprietor the honour to expatiate on, he may tind it, 
 it a man of wit and the town, m the person of Kielding ; 
 ■f a phiiosoplier, in that of Hobbes ; if a divine, in I hat 
 jf Aldrich; and if a soldier, seaman, patriot, statesman, 
 or cavalier, in the all-accomplished person of sir Wal- 
 ter Raleigh." — See also an article in the New Monthly 
 Maga.i.uc, for January, W26. 
 
 but because it is Eastern, and made me 
 laugh. 1 don't know whether it is in the 
 jest-books; but I never saw it before. A 
 fellow was going home through one of the 
 streets of Bagdad with a forbidden bottle 
 of wine under his cloak, when the cadi 
 stopped hitn. " What have you got there, 
 fellow ?" The fellow, who had contrived 
 to plant himself against a wall, said, " No- 
 thing, sir." " Ptit out your hand, sir." 
 The right hand was put out ; there was 
 nothing in it. " Your left, sir.' The lefi 
 was put out, equally innocent. " You see, 
 sir," said the fellow, " I have nothing." 
 " Come away from the wall," said tlit 
 cadi. " No, sir," returned he, " it will 
 break " 
 
 H. Good. That is really dramatic. It 
 reminds me that I must be off to the play. 
 
 J. And I. 
 
 C. And I. 
 
 O. And 1. We'll make a party of it 
 and finish our evening worthily with Shak- 
 speare; one of the greatest of men, and 
 most good-nattiied of punsters. 
 
 L. By the by, Wr. Gliddon, your room 
 is not so large as in the lithographic print 
 they have made of it; but it is more East- 
 ern and picturesque. 
 
 JF. We'll have a more faitliful print te 
 accompany this conversation, for 1 am re- 
 solved to be treacherous for this night only, 
 and publish it. It is not a proper specimen 
 of what my friends cnvld <ay ; but it is not 
 unlike something of v. htii they do; and 
 sociality, on all sides, will make the best 
 of It. i(^ 
 
 LAURENCE-KIRK SNUFF-BOXES. 
 
 James Sandy, the inventor of these 
 pocket-utensils, lived a few years ago at 
 Alyth, a town on the river Isla, in Perth- 
 shire, North Britain. The genius and ec- 
 centricity of character which distmguished 
 him have been rarely surpassed. Deprived 
 at an early age of the use of his legs, he 
 contrived, by dint of ingenuity, not only 
 to pass his lime agreeably, but to render 
 himself an useful member of society. 
 
 Sandy soon displayed a taste for me- 
 chanical pursuits; and contrived, as a 
 ■workshop for his operations, a sort of cir- 
 cular bed, the sides of which being raised 
 about eighteen inches above the clothes, 
 were employed as a platform for turning- 
 lathes, table-vices, and cases for tools of all 
 kinds. His talent for practical mechanics 
 was universal. He was skilled in all sorts 
 of turning, and constructed several verv 
 
 754 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 curious lathes, as well as clocks and musical 
 instruments of every description, which 
 were no less admired for the sweetness of 
 ttieir tone than the elegance of their work- 
 manship. He excelled, too, in the con- 
 struction of optical instruments, and made 
 *ome reflecting telescopes, the specula of 
 which were not inferior to those finished 
 oy the most eminent London artists. He 
 likewise suggested some important im- 
 provements in the machinery for spinning 
 flax; and, as before stated, he was the first 
 who made the wooden-jointed snuff-boxes, 
 generally called Laurence-Kirk boxes, some 
 of which, fabricated by this self-taught ar- 
 tist, were purchased and sent as presents 
 to the royal family. 
 
 To his other endowments he added an 
 accurate knowledge of drawing and en- 
 graving, and in both these arts produced 
 specimens of great merit. 
 
 For upwards of fifty years Sandy quitted 
 his bed only three times, and on these oc- 
 casions his house was either inundated with 
 water, or threatened with danger from fire. 
 His unbounded curiosity prompted him to 
 hatch different kinds of birds' eggs by the 
 natural warmth of his body, and he reared 
 his various broods with all the tenderness 
 of a parent. On visiting him it was no 
 unusual thing to see singing birds of differ- 
 ent species, to which he ma} be said to 
 have given birth, perched on his head, and 
 warbling the artificial notes he had taught 
 them. 
 
 Naturally possessed of a good constitu- 
 tion, and an active, cheerful turn of mind, 
 his house was the general coffee-room of 
 the village, where the affairs of church and 
 state were freely discussed. In conse- 
 quence of long confinement his countenance 
 had rather a sickly cast, but it was remark- 
 ably expressive, particularly when he was 
 surrounded by his country friends. This 
 singular man had acquired by his ingenuity 
 and industry an honourable independence, 
 and died possessed of considerable pro- 
 perty. About three weeks before his death 
 he married. 
 
 INN-YARDS. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 It was a November morning — sullen and 
 lowering. A dense fog left the houses but 
 half distinguishable on either side the way, 
 as I passed through Holborn to the Sara- 
 cen's Head, Snow-hill, where I had taken 
 my place the preceding evening ia the 
 
 coach, in order to pay a long-promised visit 
 
 to my friend and schoolfellow T . My 
 
 feelings were any thing but enviable. They 
 were in a state of seasonable and almo.-t 
 intolerable irritation, resulting from all suc- 
 cessive evils of a shivering and early reiig- 
 nation of enveloping bed-clothes, a hurried 
 dressing, (productive of an utter failure in 
 the arrangement of the bow of my neck- 
 cloth,) a trembling hand that caused a gash 
 in my chin with a blunt razor, (all my 
 others had been officiously packed up by 
 Mrs. Sally,) a breakfast swallowed stand- 
 ing, (which I abominate, as it stands to 
 reason it must be unwholesome,) tea that 
 seemed " as if it never would grow cool" 
 though poured out in the saucer, and sun- 
 dry admonitory twitchings of the bit of 
 court-plaster on my sliced chin, threaten- 
 ing the total discomfiture of my habilimen- 
 tary economy. All these things tended but 
 little towards rendering my frame of mind 
 peculiarly equable, while hurrying forward 
 towards the point of destination, gulping 
 down fresh (no not fre.sh) mouthfuls of the 
 thick yellow atmosphere, at each extorted 
 exclamation of disgust and impatience. 
 
 At last I arrived in the inn-yard, fully 
 prepared for an expected look of surprise, 
 and accompanying exclamation of — "The 
 
 — coach, sir! why. Lord bless you, 
 
 sir, it's off long ago ; it leaves here at seven 
 precisely, and it's now nearly half past." 
 Conceive then what was my agreeable 
 astonishment when I learned that the real 
 time was only half past six ! I found that, 
 owing to my anxious fears lest I should be 
 too late, I had neglected to perceive that 
 my watch had gained half an hour in the 
 course of the night; and the shame I now 
 felt at having thus suffered my irritability to 
 get the better of me, led me to reflect upon 
 the patient gentleness of the mild and 
 amiable Fanny, (my friend's wife,) who is 
 indeed a jjerfect specimen of a delightful 
 woman. In her are joined those two qua- 
 lities so rarely united (yet, which, when 
 they are so, form a gem) — a truly feminine 
 and gentle heart, and a strong and well- 
 informed mind. It is truly delightful to 
 see her blend the domestic duties of a 
 housewife, (the fulfilment of which is ever 
 graceful in a female,) and the affectionate 
 attentions of a mother and wife, with lite- 
 rary information and attainments. 
 
 I was called off from this pleasing sub- 
 ject of reflection by a view of the scene 
 before me. The coach, a handsome, well- 
 built vehicle, stood on one side of the yard 
 in all the brilliancy of a highly-varnished 
 claret ground, and burnishe 
 
 755 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The four beautiful, spirited animals belona:- 
 ing to it, with their glossy bright skins 
 covered with cloths till the moment of 
 " putting to," were then led forth by a fel- 
 low in corduroy breeches, laying in massive 
 rolls on his large muscular limbs, and ter- 
 minating in a pair of dull and never-shining 
 top-boots — a waistcoat which had been of 
 red plush, spotted with black; but the 
 glories of its gules and sable were we!! 
 nigh effaced by the long line of successive 
 cross-qiiarterings of grease and mud — a 
 face hard and liny, thai looked impenetra~ 
 b)e, and certainly conveyed no idea to my 
 mind of a " Robin Ostler," who " n^ver 
 joy'd since the price of oats rose," much 
 less could it have ever been " the death of 
 him." He came forward with that slouch- 
 ing gait and hoarse rasping voice, so well 
 personified by the admirable and all-ob- 
 sei vin.g Matthews. 
 
 Then the coachman appeared — ■veil but- 
 toned up to the throat in an enormous box- 
 coat of a whitish drab colour, fastened with 
 immense mother-o'-pearl buttons — ayellov/ 
 Silk handkerchief round his neck, reaching 
 iust under the nether lip, and covering the 
 tips of his ears — a hat with brims, like the 
 walls of Babylon — and an air of affected 
 noiifhahiiice, which tells you, that you are 
 expected to look upon him in a very dif- 
 ferent light from the attentive " coachee " 
 of some few years back. He is now a 
 complete fine gentleman ; for as the gen- 
 tleman affects the coachman, why should 
 not the coacliman affect the gentleman? 
 They are now not to be known apart. 
 
 The " luggage" is then brought forth and 
 " loaded" — and all the passengers installed 
 in their different places. The last direc- 
 tions are given. " iVlore last words," and 
 a paper of biscuits is handed in at the 
 coach-window to the little boy who is going 
 
 to , under the special care of the 
 
 coachman, and, as his mamma delightedly 
 observes, is already become a favourite 
 with the " kind-looking lady " opposite to 
 him. The small parcel " to be left at Mr. 
 K — 's at the small white cottage" is snugly 
 slipt into the coach-pocket — and the final 
 " all right " is given from the impatient 
 passengers " behind." How different is 
 the quiet and orderly manner in which a 
 vehicle is thus despatched to go hundreds 
 of miles, from the dire bustle and utter 
 " conf ision of tongues" attendant upon the 
 departure of a French diligence. 
 
 Imagine a spacious yard, paved with 
 stones shaped like enormous " sugared al- 
 monds," jutting out in all directions to the 
 utter annoyance of the five poor animals. 
 
 or rather skeletons, in rope harness, "which 
 are about to be yoked to an uncouth ma- 
 chine, looking the complete antipodes of 
 rapidity of motion — of a colour perfectly 
 indescribable, but something approaching 
 to a dingy red, intermixed with a rusty, 
 dusty black — straw peeping out in every 
 direction ; whether from roof, or sides, or 
 entangled among the broken, rickety steps, 
 which project in awful forewarning of 
 grazed shins and sprained ancles. The 
 Conducteur in his dark blue jacket turned 
 up with scarlet — leather breeches shining 
 with the perpetual friction of the saddle — 
 boots, like brewing vats — a hat, very nearly 
 a " perfect cone," with a rim, set in the 
 middle of a regular copse-wood of coai 
 black hair, surmounting a face whose dark 
 complexion, fiercely sparkling eyes, and 
 stiff raustachios, help to give force +0 the 
 excessive tension of muscle in his counte- 
 nance, which is actually convulsed with ire, 
 as he sends forth volleys of nacres and nior- 
 blens at the maudit entefe on the roof, who 
 ] ersists in loading the different articles ii? 
 exact opposition to all the passionate re- 
 monstrances and directions of poor Mnn- 
 xicnr le Conducteur. Femmes de chamhre,^ 
 shrieking at the very top of their voices — 
 " Garcons of fifty " equally vociferous in 
 bawling " On vient ! on vient .'" though no> 
 one calls — Comnilssioiiaires insisting upon 
 the necessity of passports to incredulou'» 
 I'-Ufj'lishmen, with an incessant " Mais (pie 
 t/iuble done. Monsieur t" — Hordes of beggars 
 sliouting forth their humble petitions ot 
 " Pour t'amonr dn bon Dieu un petit Hard, 
 Monsieur." '' Ah ! Seigneur, quest-ce </ue 
 jai Jait de me.i clefs !^' screams the land- 
 lady. " Sacre nam de tonnerre ! tais-toif 
 done," growls the landlord, in a voice like 
 the thunder he invokes. 
 
 At last the ponderous vehicle is set in 
 motion amid the deafening clamour of the 
 surrounding group, and the hideous, un- 
 relentingly, eternal cracking of the Coni- 
 ducteurs detested fouet ! 
 
 M. H. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 THE TURNPIKE MAN. 
 
 " Good and bad of all sorts." 
 
 As the " Commissioners" rely on the 
 trust reposed in the " Pikeman," I imagine 
 him to be worthy of being shown in the 
 most favourable colours. Like a good 
 sexton, he must attend to his toll — like & 
 
 756 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 salesman, know his head of cattle — like a 
 lottery prize-seeker, be acquainted with his 
 number — like Fielding's Minos, in his 
 " Journey from this world to the next," 
 shut his gate against those who are brought 
 up improperly to the bar. A modern GiL. 
 pin should scarcely risk a ride unwittingly 
 through his demesne. 
 
 In the " dead waste and middle of the 
 night," when sleep steals over him wearilv, 
 how many calls of the coachman, the chaise 
 driver, the stanhope gentleman, the impor- 
 tant bagman, and the drover, is he obliged 
 to obey! The imperative "Pike!" — 
 "Gate!" — "Hallo!" — are like so many 
 knelU rung in his ear. The clock is a 
 friend to most men in the various occu- 
 -.lations of life; the shadow on the grass 
 warns the shepherd and hind to retire to 
 rest; the dial gives the gardener leave 
 to quit his vegetable and tioral world in 
 safety till the succeeding morning; but the 
 pikeman finds no solace in the instructive 
 progress of his Dutch-clock, or in the more 
 highly favoured one with a window before its 
 pulselike-pendulum, (as the person with a 
 window in his breast,) or in the weather 
 betokening " man and woman," who, like 
 an unhappy couple, never go out together. 
 
 Who that has looked upon the pikeman's 
 contracted span — his little white-painted 
 hut, like a showman's figured canvass — but 
 shrewdly guesses that the best portions of 
 his sunside of comforts are on the outside? 
 What a Jack in the Box !* He seems in 
 his room like a singing-bird in a cage. His 
 cat and dog are his companions, save when 
 the newsman, postman, or any man, in 
 short, arrives. JMunden's " Crack" is not 
 to be seen at every turnpike gate. A mag- 
 pie, or blackbird, often hangs and whistles, 
 iike himself, in stationary captivity. Yet 
 he is a man of some information. The 
 waggoner, the duellist, the huckster, and 
 the Gretna folks, in pursuit of romantic 
 happiness, sometimes make him useful. 
 The horse patrol consults him in the way 
 of business ; few fights occur without his 
 knowledge; and even the political ex- 
 press gives him broad hints as to the secret 
 operations of his majesty's ministers. He 
 is completely an fait in all common con- 
 cerns in his vicinity — a local " finger-post." 
 
 Occasionally, I have seen a chubfaced, 
 curly-headed child playing near his " box" 
 on the roadside, like idleness in ease, with 
 Tishes and flags round its brow, enjoying 
 
 * The original " Jack in the Box," with the nutine«:- 
 prater at the bottom, has disappeared with its contem- 
 porary, the " Horn Alphabet." to the no small loss of 
 »U ){ood young people. 
 
 the luxuries of fancied greatness, and twist- 
 ing leaves and weeds together — emblems 
 of our varied and united virtues. And 
 I have beheld a pikeman's housewife (if 
 her dwelling may be called a house) busily 
 employed within her narrow sphere to 
 " keep things straight," and " make both 
 ends meet," with an understanding, that 
 *' all's well that ends well."* And I 
 have observed her lovely child, kneeling 
 before its mother on a stool, with its palms 
 pressed together, in the grateful attitude of 
 an acknowledged beneficent Providence. 
 
 / once knew an upright and a civil pike- 
 man. He had seen better days. — One of 
 the beauties of education is, that it distin- 
 guishes a man, however he is placed. — He 
 was planed down, as a carpenter migh^ 
 say, from the knots of pride, to smooth 
 humanity. To use a beautiful, though 
 much quoted, apostrophe by Avon's bard, 
 " I shall not look upon his like again I" 
 All good characters give useful example: 
 — they teach as they live, and win inferiors 
 in virtue by the brightness aac placiditv of 
 their decline and fall 
 
 There is a difference between a Tyburn- 
 gate official, and a promiscuous sojourner, 
 who guards the pass of a new, lone road, 
 through which scatcely a roadster trots. 
 The cockney keeper of cockney riders, is 
 rarely without " short cut" and the " ready " 
 in word and deed. In his short-pocketed 
 white apron he stands defiance, and seems 
 to say, " Who cares ?" His knowing wink 
 to the elastic arm of the coachee, which in- 
 dicates the " all right!" has much meaning 
 in it. His twirl of the sixpence on his 
 thumb nail, and rattle of " coppers " for 
 " small change," prove his knowledge of 
 exchange and the world. 
 
 The pikeman out of town is allowed a 
 scrap of garden-ground, which he sedu- 
 lously cultivates. In town, he has not the 
 liberty of a back door — to be acquainted 
 with his boundaries, you need only look at 
 the " Farthing pie gate" for an example. 
 He may be sometimes seen in a chair, in 
 front of his domicile, making remarks on 
 " men and manners." His name hangs on 
 a thread over his door: if he is an honest 
 man, equestrians will appreciate his merits, 
 and do well if they imitate his philosophy. 
 
 J. R. P. 
 
 Contented in my little house. 
 
 On every call I wait 
 To take the toll • to ope and shot 
 
 The five-barr'd turnpike (fate. 
 
 Rustic Fitiu 
 
 757 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 EOBEET NOETH, ESQ., OF SCAEBOEOUGH. 
 
 This portrait, cop'ed from a picture at 
 Scarborough by Mr. Baynes, jun., and not 
 before engraven, is of a very worthy per- 
 son, whose eccentriciti'-s in well doing ren- 
 dered him in some degree remarkable. Mr. 
 Robert North, whom it represents, was born 
 at that place, of which his father was vicar, 
 on the second of November, 1702. His 
 education was liberal, iifter completing 
 his studies at one of the universities he 
 visited the continent, and was distinguished 
 for refinement of manners and exemplary 
 
 benevolence and piety. In the latter part 
 of hi life he sought retirement, and seldom 
 went abroad except to the church, which he 
 regularly attended on every occasion when 
 service was performed. He generally ap- 
 peared absorbed in meditation, and was 
 accustomed to make ejaculatory prayers, 
 or fervent aspirations, as he walked. Once 
 in every year he had a sort of gala-day for 
 the entertainment of liis female friends, 
 whom he charmed by his pobte attention 
 and pleasing conversation. With the nexi 
 
 758 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 norniiig he resumed his usual seclusion for 
 'he ensuing twelvemonth. lie lived many 
 vears in full expectation of the conimence- 
 neni of the millennium. 
 
 But tnat which has given celebrity to 
 "he name of tiie late " Robert North, Esq." 
 tt Scarborough is the founding, in tlie year 
 ' 728, of a very useful institution, called "The 
 Amicable Society," for clothing and edw- 
 jating the children of the poor; which under 
 he government of a president, four irus- 
 ^ees, and ft)ur wardens, annually elected, 
 A-ith a fund for its support, arising from the 
 A-eekly subscriptions of the members, col- 
 eclions made in the church, and other 
 voluntary donations, continues to flourish. 
 The number of children thus clothed and 
 -educated, now in the school, is sixty, and 
 the number of members two hundred and 
 sixiy-five. 
 
 This institution has preserved many 
 children from the contagion of evil exam- 
 ple, and enabled them to follow useful oc- 
 cupations in life with credit and advantage. 
 Several, who, by their early education at 
 this seminary, attained a competent know- 
 ledge of navigation, became mates and 
 commanders of vessels, and eventually 
 benefactors and patrons of the institu- 
 tion. 
 
 The exact day of Mr. North's death does 
 not appear; but his interment is dated in 
 the parish -register of Scarborough, 14th 
 October, 1760. 
 
 Mr. North, by a singular codicil to his 
 will, gives one pair of his silver candle- 
 slicks to the celebrated Dr. Young, author 
 of the poem on the Last Day, &:c. ; and the 
 other pair to the Rev. James Hervey, author 
 of the Meditations among the Tombs, &c 
 " I call these," he says, " in some measure 
 legacies to the public, having given them 
 to persons so well able to employ them for 
 the benefit of mankind." 
 
 The other legacies by this codicil are 
 usually in themselves remarkable, and all 
 the bequests are accompanied by remarks, 
 which denote the peculiar character of the 
 donor's disposition : for example^" To the 
 lady Lowther, of Swillington, a curious 
 basket made of h^ads, the product of the 
 virgin amusements of my grandmother— 
 and her two sisters— it seeming highly 
 proper to present a thing, which has gained 
 the applause of most people, to a person 
 who I hope has gained the applause of all. 
 1 o Mrs. Philadelphia Boycott, my ^Kerry 
 s^al set in gold, witn Mr. Addison's head 
 pno-raven ori" it— which will be very fitly 
 iepos.led in the hands of a lady, whose 
 Iraers arc much celebrated for their wit 
 
 and humour. Jn pursuance of an old pro- 
 mise, to Mrs. Barbara Tatton a picture in 
 needleivork, which was likewise made at 
 the leisure hours of my aforesaid grand- 
 mother and her sisters, and which 1 suppose 
 to have been designed for king Charles IL 
 — the subject of which may perhaps some- 
 times engage her to reflect on this great 
 truth, that the finest wit, if it deviate from 
 the paths of virtue, is but a more elegant 
 sort of folly. To Mrs. Christiana Hargrave, 
 spinster, my silver coffee-pot, silver tea-pot, 
 the silvei stands for them, and my silver 
 tea-canisiers, milk-pot. and tea-spoons — 
 beinu all of them baubles of some dignity 
 and importance, even to women of sense, 
 when in complaisance to the customs of an 
 inconsiderate age they condescend to trifle. 
 To the Rev. Thomas Ada.ii,* re&tor o1 
 Wmtringham in Lincolnshire, my maho- 
 gany bureau and bookcase — which may 
 serve as a cabinet in which to reposit his 
 nianuscripts, till he may think it proper to 
 make a cabinet of the world. Li pursuance 
 of an old piomise to Mrs. Susannah Adam, 
 his wife, my gold sniiff-box — but if the 
 contents of it prejudice her constitution, 1 
 hope she will upon this occasion follow the 
 example of many fine ladies, who have 
 many fine things which they never use. 
 My silver cup and best silver tankard to 
 Barnabas Legard, of Erompton, county ol 
 York, Esq., a person qualified by experi- 
 ence to teach our fine gentlemen a truth, 
 which perhaps many of them will be sur- 
 prised to hear — that temperance is the most 
 delicious and refined luxury. To ensign 
 William Massey, (my godson,) son of the 
 late ('apt. John Massey, of Hull, my 
 sword ; and hope he will, if ever occasion 
 require it, convince a rash world that he 
 has learned to obey his God as well as his 
 general, and that he entertains too tine a 
 sense of honour ever to admit any thing 
 into the character of a good soldier, which 
 is inconsistent with the duty of a good 
 Christian.-f I give the si.m of forty pounds, 
 to be paid into tlie king's exchequer. — I 
 give thirty pounds to be added to the 
 common stock of onr East Lidia comjjany 
 — which two last legacies I leave, as the 
 best method 1 know, though not an exact 
 one, of making restitution for the injustice 
 1 may have done, in buying (inadvertently) 
 
 * Tlie Whole WorVs of the Rev. Thomas Adam have 
 been lately first collected in three vols, by the Rev. 
 VV. Sir.ith. 
 
 t A brave man thinks no one his superior who does 
 him an injury, for he has it then in his power to iiiaVf 
 himself superior to the other by forgiving it. 
 
 TestrJor 
 
 759 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 any uncustomed goods ; and which I 
 hope will be accepted by the great Judge 
 3t' all men, in case I do not meet with a 
 oetter before I die. — I give the sum of one 
 hundred pounds to the person who shall 
 Within four years after my decease make 
 and publish tiie best tragedy, entitled Fir- 
 tite Triumpkaiit — wherein among such 
 others, as the poet shall think proper to 
 introduce, shall be drawn the character of 
 a viituous man unconquered by misfor- 
 tunes, &,c. I give the sum of one hundred 
 pounds to the person who shall, within four 
 years after my decease, make and publish 
 the best comedy ; wherein — among such 
 others as the poet shall think proper to in- 
 troduce — shall be drawn the four following 
 characters, viz. of a fine gpntleman, a fine 
 iady, a beau, and a coquet ; the two first 
 to be drawn with a thorough taste for reli- 
 gion and virtue, accompanied with fine 
 sense and humoui, and to be crowned with 
 success ; the two last with the fopperies 
 and follies common to persons of thesre 
 denominations, and to be made objects of 
 contempt and ridicule," &c.* 
 
 Mr. North's Prizes for the Poets. 
 
 Nothing further appears to be known 
 respecting Mr. North, except that, through 
 the "Gentleman's Magjazme" for July, 
 1734, he proposed, and was the anonymous 
 donor of fifty pounds, " as a prize for the 
 poets," to encourao^e them " to make the 
 best poem, Latin or English, on Life, Death, 
 
 * Be.-i(tes these bequests, Mr. North desired that 
 two inanusf^npt-books, consisting of miscellaneous 
 pieces, and partirularly a disroTirse, the tirst and last 
 parts whereof were composed with a view of their beinij 
 preached instead of a serir.on at his funeral, should 
 be printed in one volume after his decease, at an ex- 
 pense of one luinlred pounds, and directed the nrotits 
 of the hooks sold to be expended in causing an impres- 
 sion to he made of four sermons by archbishop Sharp 
 and liishop Beveridge, containing a description of the 
 Joys of Heaven and the Torments of the Uan:ned ; 
 together with some directions how men may oytain 
 the one, and escape the other; the said four sermons to 
 be printed on good paper, and in a fair (;haracter, 
 l)onnd or stitched m slro«g covers, and given gratis 
 among soldiers, sailors, poor persons, and common 
 labourers. He farther gave to the archliishop of Yorli 
 two hundred pounds, in trust, to be applied towards 
 the building or other uses and services of another 
 church, or a chapel of ease in Scarborough aforesaid, 
 provided any such church or chapel should be erected 
 within ten years after his decease. He also gave fifty 
 pounds to the Society for promoting Christian Know- 
 ledge ; and hfty pounds to the Society for propagating 
 the (jospel in foreign parts " t desire the lord arch- 
 bishop of York (Hiitton) wilt do me the honour to 
 accept the picture of Po[ie Gregory I , which has been 
 co'iimended, and was a legacy to me from the painter, 
 Mr. Jotin Settrington. I desire the lord bishop of Car- 
 lisle (Osbaldeston) will do me the honour to accept 
 siiV own picture, drawn liy the same hand. ' 
 
 'i'hese particulars, and those preceding, are contained 
 in " A Biographical Sketch" of Mr. North, printed at 
 tiBarborough by and for John Cole, 1823. Svo. po. 16. 
 
 Judgment, Heaven, and Hell, viz. all thf 
 said subjects jointly, and not any singk 
 one independent of the rest:" and, that 
 the poets might not be discouraged " upon 
 suspicion of incapacity in their judges," he 
 entirely resigned the decision of tlie best 
 poem to " universal suffrage" and election 
 by " vote ;" or, as he is pleased to call it, 
 in the Magazine for August, " the public 
 vote of kingdoms." He presumes that this 
 scheme " will probably be most agreeable 
 to t/ie poets themselves, because they wil 
 be tried by such a number as is not capa- 
 ble of being bribed, and because this 
 method of determination will, as he con- 
 ceives, tend most to the honour of that 
 poet who shall succeed." In October he 
 prescribes that the voters shah sign a de- 
 claration, disclaiming undue a.fluence ; 
 and he suggests, that if the majority of 
 candidates prefer a determinate number of 
 judges to the public at large, he will accord 
 to that arrangement, provided they express 
 their desires with their poems. Accord.- 
 ingly, the Gentleman's Magazine of May, 
 173.'), '' informs the candidates, that as the 
 majority of them are for a decision by a 
 select number of judges, the donor is de- 
 sirous that Mr. Urban should apply to 
 three particular gentlemen of unexception- 
 able merit, lo undertake this office ;' and 
 it IS announced, that the poems will be 
 published in " an entire Magazine Extra- 
 ordinary,' to render which " acceptable, to 
 those who have no great taste for poetry," 
 there will be added " something of general 
 use." In the following July the poems 
 appeared in the promised " Gentleman's 
 Magazine Extraordinary, printed by E. 
 Cave, at St. John's Gate, for the benefit oj 
 the poets ;" whereto was added, as of" 2;ene- 
 ral use," agreeably to the above promise, 
 and for those " who have no great tasie in 
 poetry," the Debates in the first session of 
 parliament for 1735. 
 
 What gratification Mr. North derived 
 from his encouragement of " the poets,'" is 
 to be inferred from this — that, in the supple- 
 ment to the Gentleman's Magazine of the 
 same year, 1735, he announced, that other 
 prizes thereafter mentioned would be given 
 to persons who should " make and send'" 
 to Mr.Urban, before the 11th of June, 1736, 
 the four best poems, entitled " The Chris- 
 tian Hero" — viz. 
 
 " 1. To the person who shall make thf 
 best will be given a gold medal, (in- 
 trinsic value about ten pounds,) whicb 
 shall have the head cf the right hon 
 the lady Elizabeth Hastings on one 
 side, and that of James Oglethorpe. 
 
 760 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 Esq. on the other, with this motto — 
 ' England may chalienge the world, 
 1736; 
 " 2. To the author of the second, a com- 
 plete set 01 Archbishop Tillotsoii's 
 Sermons 
 " 3. To the author of the third, a complete 
 set of Archbishop Sharpe's Sermons. 
 And, 
 " 4. To the author of the fourth, a set of 
 Cooke's Sermons." 
 In the Magazine of February, 1736, Mr. 
 North bei;-s pardon of the lady Elizaljeth 
 Hastings, (a female of distinguished piety,) 
 for the uneasiness he had occasioned her by 
 proposing to engrave her portrait on his 
 prize medal : being, " however, desirous 
 that the poets should exercise their pens," 
 he propo-^es to substitute the head of arch- 
 bishop TiUotson, and "hopes that J\Jr. 
 Oglethorpe will be prevailed upon to con- 
 sent that the medal shall bear his effigies." 
 Several of the poems made by " the poets" 
 for this second prize appear in the Maga- 
 zine of the same year, to which readers, 
 desirous of perusing the effusions elicited 
 oy Mr. North's liberality, are referred. 
 
 The " James Oglethorpe, Esq." whose 
 head Mr. North coveted for his prize medal, 
 was the late general Oolethorpe, who died 
 in 1785, at the advanced age of ninety- 
 seven, the oldest general in the service. 
 Besides his military employments, first as 
 secretary and aide-de-camp to prince Eu- 
 gene, and afterwards in America, and at 
 home durinc^ the rebellion in 1745, he was 
 distinguished as a useful member of the 
 House of Commons, by proposing several 
 regulations for the benefit of trade and the 
 reform of prisons. In 1732 he settled the 
 colony of Georgia, and erected the town of 
 Savannah, and arrived in England in June, 
 1734, with several Indian chiefs. This 
 gentleman's public services at that time, 
 and his eminent philanthropy, were induce- 
 ments to Mr. North to do him honour. 
 The following is an interesiing account of 
 the presentation of the Indians at court. 
 
 On the 1st of August, 1734, Tomo Cna- 
 chi, the king, Senauki his wife, with Too- 
 anakowki, their son, Hillispilli, the w;ir 
 captain, and the other Cherokee Indians, 
 brought over by Mr. Oglethorpe from 
 Georffia, were introduced to his majesty at 
 Kensington, who received rhem seated on 
 nis throne ; when Tomo Chachi, micho, or 
 <ing, made the following speech, at the 
 same time presenting several eagles' fea- 
 thers, trophies of their country. 
 
 " This day I see the majesty of your face 
 the greatness of your house, and the num- 
 ber of your people. I am come for the good 
 of the whole nation, called the Creeks, to 
 renew the peace which was long ago had 
 with the English. I am come over in my 
 old days, though I cannot live to see any 
 advantage to myself; I am come for the 
 good of the children of all the nations of the 
 Upper and of the Lower Creeks, that they 
 may be instructed in the knowledge of the 
 English. 
 
 " These are the feathers of tne eagle, 
 which is the swiftest of birds, and who 
 ilieth all round our nations. These feathers 
 are a sign of peace in our land, and have 
 been carried from town to town there ; and 
 we have brought them over to leave with 
 you, O great king, as a sign of everlasting 
 peace. 
 
 O great king, whatsoever words you 
 shall say unto me, I will tell them faith- 
 fully to all the kings of the Creek nations " 
 lo which his majesty graciously an- 
 swered, 
 
 " I am glad of this opportunity of assur- 
 ing you of my regard for the people from 
 whom you come, and am extremely well 
 pleased with the assurances you have 
 brought me from them, and accept very 
 gratefully this present, as an indication of 
 their good disposition to me and my people. 
 I shall always be ready to cultivate a good 
 correspondence between them and my own 
 subjects, and shall be glad of any occasion 
 to show you a mark of my particular friend- 
 ship and esteem." 
 
 Tomo Chachi afterwards made the fol- 
 lowing speech to the queen. 
 
 " I am glad to see this day, and to have 
 the opportunity of seeing, the mother of this 
 great people. 
 
 " As our people are joined with your 
 majesty's, we do humbly hope to find you 
 the common mother and protectress of us 
 and all our children." 
 
 Her majesty returned a suitably gracious 
 answer. 
 
 The war captain, and other attendants of 
 Tomo Chachi, were very importunate to 
 appear at court in the costume of their 
 own country, merely a covering round the 
 waist, the rest of the body being naked 
 but were dissuaded from it by Mr. Ogle- 
 thorpe. But their faces were variously 
 painted after their country manner, some 
 half black, others triangular, and others 
 with bearded arrows instead of whiskers, 
 Tcmo Chachi, and Senauki, his wife, were 
 dressed in scarlet, trimmed with gold. 
 On the 17th of the same month Tomo 
 
 761 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Cliachi, and the re«t of the Indians, dined 
 
 with the lady Dutry at Putney ; and then 
 
 j waited on tlie archbishop of Canterbury, 
 
 j(Potter,) who received them with the ut- 
 
 [ most kindness and tenderness, and ex- 
 
 ■ pressed his fatherly concern for their igno- 
 
 ! ranee with respect to Christianity, and his 
 
 j stronci; desire for tiieir instruction. liis 
 
 grace, though very weak, would not sit 
 
 down, the micho therefore omitted speaking 
 
 to iiim what he intended, and only desired 
 
 his blessing; adding, that what he had 
 
 further to say he would speak to Dr. Lynch, 
 
 his grace's son-in-law, and then withdrew. 
 
 He was afterwards entertained at a noble 
 
 collation, and had a conference with Dr. 
 
 Lynch, expressing his joy, as believing some 
 
 good persons would be sent among-st them 
 
 to instruct their youth. 
 
 On the .30th of October the Indian king, 
 queen, prince, &c. set out from the Georgia 
 office, in the king's conches, for Gravesend, 
 to embark on their return home. During 
 their stay in Kngland, which had been about 
 four months, his majesty allowed them 2()/. 
 a week for their subsistence. Whatever 
 was curious and worthy observation in and 
 about London and Westminster had been 
 carefully shown them; and nothing had 
 been wanting to contribute to their diver- 
 sion and amusement, and to give them a 
 just idea of English politeness and respect. 
 In return, they e xpressed themselves heartily 
 attached to the British nation. They had 
 about the value of 400/. in presents. Prince 
 William presented the young micho, .John 
 Towanohowi, v^'ith a gold watch, with an 
 admonition to call upon Jesus (Christ every 
 morning when he looked on it, which he 
 promised. They appeared particularly 
 delighted with seeing his highness perf. .rm 
 his exercise of riding the managed horse, 
 the Horse Guards pass in review, and the 
 agreeable appearance of the barges, &c. on 
 the Thames on loid mayor's day. In the 
 same ship embarked several relations of the 
 English settled in Georgia, with sir Francis 
 Bathurst, his son, three daughters, and ser- 
 vants ; together with fifty-six Saltzburghers, 
 newly arrived from Rotterdam. These 
 people had been at the German church in 
 Friiiity-lane, where 47/. was collected for 
 them.* 
 
 MENDH^ MINES. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, The very great entertainment I 
 
 hT,v» derived from your Every-Day Book 
 
 n duces me to contribute to your present 
 
 Gentleman's Magazine, 1734. 
 
 publication, if you consider the accom. 
 paiiying copy from an old record merits 3 
 place in the Table Book. It formed part 
 of a brief held by counsel in a cause, 
 " Hembury and Day," tried at Taunton 
 assizes in 1820. On referring to the papers I 
 find that the present Mr. justice Gaselee was 
 the counsel employed. Some of these old 
 Mendip laws are recognised in " CoUin- 
 son's Plistory of Somersetshire." 
 I am. 
 Your very obedient servant, 
 
 John Pinchard. 
 Taunton, August 24, 1827. 
 
 Laws and Orders of the Mendip 
 Miners. 
 
 Be it known that this is a true Copy of 
 the Enrollment in the King's F.xchequer in 
 the time of King Edward the Fourth, of a 
 dispute that was in the County of Somerset, 
 Between the Lord Bonfield and the tenants 
 of Chnwton and the prior of Green Oare ; 
 the said prior complaining unto the Kin^ 
 of great injuries and wrongs that he had 
 upon Mendip, being the King's Forrest. 
 The said King Edward, commanded the 
 lord Chock the lord Chief Justice of Eng- 
 land to go down into the County of Somer- 
 s'-t, to Mendi| p, and sit in concord and 
 Peace in the said County concerning Men- 
 dipp upon pain of high displeasure. The 
 said Lord Chock sate upon Mendipp on a 
 place of my Lord's of Bath, called the 
 Forge, Whereas he commanded all the 
 Commoners to appear, and especially the 
 four Lords Royal of Mendipp (that is to 
 say) the Bishop of Bath, my Lord of 
 Glaston, my Lord of Bon Held, the Lord of 
 Chewton, and my Lord of Richmond, with 
 all the appearance to the Number of ten 
 Thousand people. A Proclamation was 
 made to enquire of all the company how 
 they would be ordered. Then they with 
 one consent made answpr. That they would 
 be Ordered and tryed by the four Lords of 
 the Royalties. And then the four Lords 
 Royal were agreed, that the Commoners of 
 Mendipp should hem out their outlets as 
 much the Summer as they be able to Win- 
 ter, without hounding or pounding upon 
 whose ground soever they went to take 
 their course and recourse, to which the four 
 Lords Royal did put their Seals, and were 
 also agreed that whosoever should break 
 the said Bonds should forfeit to the King 
 1000 Marks, and all the Commoners their 
 Bodies and goods to be at the King's plea- 
 sure or command that doeth either hound 
 or pound. 
 
 762 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The old Ancient Occupation of 
 Miners upon Mendifp, being trie 
 King's Forrest within the County of 
 Somerset one of the four Staples of 
 England ivhich have been Exercised, 
 used and continued through the said 
 Forrest of Mendipp from the time 
 whereof no Man living hath no me- 
 mory ; as hereafter doth particularly; 
 ensue the Order ; 
 F RsT. That, if any man whatsoever he 
 be thai doetli intend to venture his Life to 
 be a Workman in the said Occupation, he 
 must fir.st of all crave licence of the Lords 
 of the Soyle where he doth purpose to 
 work, and in his absence of his said 
 Officers, as the lead-reave or Bailiff, and 
 the lord, neither his Bailiffs can deny him. 
 2d Item. That, after the first Licence 
 had, the Workman shall never need to ask 
 leave again, but to be at his free will to 
 pitch within the Forrest, and to break the 
 ground where and in what place it shall 
 please him, to his behalf and profit, using 
 himself justly and truly. 
 
 3d Item. If any doth begin to pitch or 
 groof he shall heave his hacks through two 
 ways after the Rate. — Note, that he that 
 throw the hack must stand 'o the Girdle or 
 Waste in the same Groof, and then no IMan 
 shall or may work witiiin his hack's throwe : 
 provided always, that no man shall or can 
 keep but his wet, and dry Goof, and Jiis 
 Mark— 
 
 4rH Item. That, when a Woi'kman have 
 landed his Oare, he may carry the same, to 
 cleansing or blowing, to what Minery it 
 shall please him, fur the speedy making out 
 of the same, so that he doth truly pay the 
 lord of the Soyle, where it was landed, his 
 due, which is the Tenth part thereof — 
 
 5Tti Item. That if any Lord or Officer 
 hath once given licence to any Man to 
 build, or set up an heai-th, or Washing- 
 house, to wash, cleanse or blow the Oare, 
 He that once hath leave shall keep it for 
 ever, or give it to whom he will, so that he 
 doth justly pay his Lot-lead, which is the 
 Tenth pound which shall be blown at the 
 Hearth or hearths, and a'so that he doth 
 keep it Tenantable, as the Custom doth 
 require — 
 
 6th Item. That, if any of that Occupa- 
 tion doth pick or steal any lead or Oare to 
 the value of thirteea-pence halfpenny* the 
 lord or his Officer may Arrest all his Lead- 
 works, house and hearth, witli all his Groofs 
 and Works, and keep them as safely for his 
 
 own Use; and shall take the person that 
 hath so offended, and br'ing him wheie his 
 house is, or his work, and all his Tools or 
 Instruments which to the Occupation be- 
 longs, as he useth, and put him into the 
 said house, and set Fire on all together 
 about hiin, and banish him from that Oc- 
 cupation before the Miners for ever — 
 
 7th Item. That, if ever that person do 
 pick or Steal thei-e any more, he shall be 
 tryed by the Common Law, for this Custon 
 and Law hath noe more to do with him — 
 
 8th Item. That every Lord of Soyle -t 
 Soyles ought to keep two Mynedrie Courts 
 by the year, and to swear twelve Men or 
 more of the same occupation, for the orders 
 of all Misdemeanours and wrongs touching 
 the Mynedi-ies. 
 
 9th Item. The Lord, or Lords, may 
 make three manner of Arrests, (that is to 
 say) ye first is for strife between man and 
 man, for their workes under the Earth. &c.; 
 the second is for his own duty, for Lead oi 
 Oare, wheresoever he find it within the sard 
 Forrest; the third is upon felon's goods of 
 the same occupation, wheresoever he fini.^ 
 it within the same Hill, &c, — 
 
 lOiH Item. That, if any Man, by means 
 of Misfortune take his Death, as by falling 
 of the E?rth upon him, by drawing or 
 Stifling, or otherwise, as iri time past many 
 have been, the Workmen of the same Oc- 
 cupation are bound to fetch him out of the 
 Earth, and to bring him to Christian burial, 
 at their own Costs and Charges, although 
 he be Forty Fathoms under the Earth, as 
 heretofore hath been done; and the Coro- 
 ner, or any Officer at large, shall not have 
 to do with him in any respect. 
 
 THIRTEEN-PENCE HALFPENNY. 
 
 Hangman's Wages. 
 Jack Ketch a Gektleman. 
 
 Dr. Samuel Pegge, who is likely to be 
 remembered by readers of the article on 
 the Revolution-house at Whittington, he 
 having, on the day he entered his eighty- 
 fifth year, preached the centenary sermon 
 to commemorate the Revolution, was an 
 eminent antiquary. He addressed a paper 
 to the Society of Antiquaries, on " the vul- 
 gar notion, though it will not appear to be a 
 vulgar error, that thirteen-pence halfpenny 
 is the fee of the executioner in the common 
 line of business at Tyburn,* and that, 
 
 * Thineen-pcnce halfpenny. This particular sum is • "The executions, on ordinary occasions, M'ere re- 
 
 tbe subject of an article immediately ensuing^ the pre- moved from this n;emorahle place, and were perforitK^d 
 lant. IB the street of the Olc Bailey, at the door of Newg-ati- 
 
 763 
 n 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 therefore, it is called hangman s ivagcs." It 
 is proposed from this paper to give an ac- 
 count of the origin of the saying. 
 
 According to Dr. Pegge, the office of 
 hangman was, in some parts of the king- 
 dom, annexed to other posts; for the 
 porter of the city of Canterbury was tlie 
 executioner for the county of Kent, tempo- 
 rrbus lien. II. and Hen, III. ; for which 
 he had an allowance from the sheriff, who 
 was reimbursed from the exchequer, of 
 twenty shillings per annum.* From the 
 great and general disesteera wherein the 
 office is held, the sheriffs are much obliged 
 to those who will undertake it, as otherwise 
 its unpleasant and painful duty must fall 
 upon themselves. For, to them the law 
 looks for its completion, as they give a 
 receipt to the gaoler for the bodies of con- 
 demned criminals whom they are to pu- 
 nish, or cause to be punished, according 
 to their respective sentences. Sometimes 
 in the country, sheriffs have had much 
 difficulty to procure an executioner. Jn 
 short, although, in the eyes of the people 
 generally, a stii;ma attaches to the hangman, 
 yet, in fact, the hangman is the sheriff's 
 immediate deputy in criminal matters, as 
 his urider-shenfi'is for civil purposes. The 
 nature and dignity of the office in some 
 particulars, and the rank of the officer, 
 called Squire Ketch, will be found to be 
 supportable, as well as the fee of office. 
 
 And first, as regards the sheriff himself. 
 The sheriff is, by being so styled in the 
 king's patent under the great seal, an 
 esquire, which raises him to that rank, 
 unless he has previously had the title adven- 
 titiously. None were anciently chosen 
 sheriffs, but such gentlemen whose fortunes 
 and stations would warrant it; so, on the 
 other hand, merchants, and other liberal 
 branches of the lower order, were admitted 
 first into the rank of gentlemen, by a grant 
 of arms, on proper qualifications, from the 
 earl marshal, and the kings of arms, re- 
 spectively, according to their provinces. 
 After a negotiant has become a gentleman, 
 lourtesy will very soon advance that ranlc, 
 md give the party the title of esquire ; and 
 50 it happened with a worthy geitilemaii, 
 'OT so a hangman will be proved to have 
 been. This remarkable case happened in 
 thp year 1616, in the manner following. 
 
 Ralph Brooke, whose real name was 
 
 This was first Tiractised on the 9th of December, 1783. 
 ?ee the printed arcoant. Every of these executions [ 
 was told hy Mr. Reed, 1785, is attended with an ex- 
 pense of upwards of nine pound.s. Twenty persmis 
 *ere hanged at once in Feliruary, 1785." — Dr. Pegge. 
 * Ma'lox's History of the Kxchequer, ii. p. 373. 
 
 Brokesmouth, at that time " York herald," 
 put a trick upon sir William Segar, " garter 
 king of arms," which had very nearly cost 
 both of them their places. Brooke em- 
 ployed a person to carry a coat of arms 
 ready drawn to garter, and to pretend it 
 belonged to one Gregory .Brandon, a gen- 
 tleman who had formerly .lived in London, 
 but was then residing in Spain. The mes- 
 senger was instructed to desire garter to set 
 his hand to this coat of arms : and to pre- 
 vent deliberation, he was further »o pretend 
 that the vessel, which was to carry this 
 confirmation into Spain, when it had re- 
 ceived the seal of the office and garter's 
 hand, was just ready to sail.* This being 
 done, and the fees paid, Brooke carried it 
 to Thomas earl of Arundel, then one of the 
 commissioners for executing the office o' 
 earl marshal ; and, in order to. vilify garter^ 
 and to represent him as a rapacious, negli- 
 gent officer, assured his lordship that thos-3 
 were the arms of Arragon, with a canton 
 for Brabant, and that Gregory Brandon 
 was a mean and inconsiderable person. 
 This was true enough ; for he was the 
 common hangman for London and .\Jiddle- 
 sex. Kalph Brooke afterwards confessed 
 all these circuiiistances to the commis- 
 sioners who represented the earl marshal ; 
 the consequence of which was, that, by 
 order of the king, when he heard the case, 
 garter was committed to prison for negli- 
 gence, and the herald for treachery. There 
 was this previous result, however, that 
 Gregory Brandon, the hangman, had be- 
 come a gentleman; and, as the Bastard 
 says in King John, '' could make any Joan 
 a gentlewoman." 
 
 Thus was this Gregory Brandon ad- 
 vanced, perhaps from the state of a convict, 
 to the rank of a gentleman ; and though it 
 was a personal honour to himself, notwith- 
 standing it was surreptitiously obtained by 
 the herald, of which Gregory Brandon, 
 gentleman, was perhaps ignorant, yet did 
 it operate so much on his successors in 
 office, that afterwards it became transferred 
 from the family to the officer for the time 
 being ; and from JVIr. Brandon's popularity, 
 though not of the most desirable kind, the 
 mobility soon improved his rank, and, with 
 a jocular complaisance, gave him the title 
 of esgitire, which remains to this day. 
 
 It seems too as if this office had once, 
 like many other important offices of state, 
 
 • These arms actually appear in Edmondson's Bo'iJ 
 of Heraldry, annexed to the name of Brandon, v\z 
 the arms of Arrag-on with a difference, and the arms d 
 Brabant in a cautou. 
 
 764 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 been hereditary. Shakspeare has this pas- 
 sage in Coriulanus, act, ii. sc. 1 
 
 " Menemus.—Mnrc'ms, in a cheap esUmatioii, is 
 worth all ydur predeces><ors. since Deucalion; th ugli, 
 pf'radveiituie, some of the t)est of them were heredi- 
 tary hangmeu." 
 
 This looks as if the office of executioner 
 had run in some family for a generation or 
 two, at the time when Shakspeare wrote; 
 and that it was a circumstance well under- 
 stood, and would be well relished, at least 
 by the galleries. Tiiis might, indeed, with 
 regard to time, point at the ancestors of 
 Mr. Brandon himself; for it was in the 
 reign of king James I. that this person was 
 brought within the pale of gentil.ty. N:iy, 
 more, we are told by Dr. Grey, in Ins 
 Notes on Shakspeare,* that from this gen- 
 tleman, the hangmen, his successors, bore 
 Tor a considerable time his Christian name 
 of Gregory, though not his arms, they 
 being a personal honour, till a greater man 
 arose, viz. Jack Ketch, who entailed the 
 present official name on all who have 
 hitherto followed him.f 
 
 Whether the name of Ketch be not the 
 provincial pronunciation of Catch among 
 the cockneys, may be doubted, notwith- 
 standing that learned and laborious com- 
 piler, B. E., gent., the editor of the " Cant- 
 
 but the rash and precipitate saddler oi 
 liawtry, on his road to the fatal tree, refused 
 this little regale, and hastei ed on to the 
 place of execution ; where, hut not untif 
 utter he had been turned oif. and it was 
 too late, a reprieve arrived. Had he 
 stopped, as was usual, at the gallows house, 
 the time consumed there would have been 
 tlie means of saving his life. He washangedj 
 as truly as unhappily, for leaving his liquor. 
 
 Similar means of refreshment were an- 
 ciently allowed to convicts, on their pas- 
 sage to Tyburn, at St. Giles's hospital ; foi 
 we are told by Stowe, that they were there 
 presented with a bowl of ale, called " St. 
 Giles's bowl; thereof to drink at llieii 
 pleasure, as their last refreshing in thr- 
 life." Tyburn was the established scenir 
 of executions in common cases so long ago 
 as the first year of king Henry IV. ; Smith- 
 field and St. Giles's Field being reserved 
 for persons of hiuher rank, and for crimes 
 of uncommon magnitude, such as treason 
 and heresy. In the last of these, sir John 
 Oldcastle, loid Cobham, was burnt, oi 
 rather roasted, alive ; having been hanged 
 up over the fire by a chain which weni 
 round his waist.* 
 
 The executioner of the duke of Mon 
 mouth (m July, 1685) was peculiarly un 
 
 iiig Dictionary," says that Jack Kltch, fur successful in the operation. The duke said 
 
 so he spells it, was the real name of a 
 iiangraan, which has become that of all his 
 successors. 
 
 So much for the office. It now remains 
 to consider the emoluments which apper- 
 tain to it, and assign a reason why thirteeu- 
 pence halfpenny should be esteemed its stand- 
 ard fee for inflictingthe last stroke ofthe law. 
 
 Before proceeding to matters of a pecu- 
 niary nature, it may be allowed, per- 
 haps, to illustrate a Yorkshire saying. It 
 was occasioned by a tiuly unfortunate man, 
 whose guilt was doubtful, and yet suffered 
 the sentence of the law at York. This per- 
 son was a saddler at Bawtry, and hence 
 the saying among the lower people to a 
 
 to him, " Here are six guineas for you : 
 pray do your business well ; do not serve 
 tne as you did my lord Russell : I have 
 heard you struck him three or four times 
 Here, (to his servant,) take these remain- 
 ing guineas, and give them to him if he 
 does his work well." 
 
 Executioner. — " I hope I shall." 
 
 Monmouth. — " If you strike me twice, I 
 oannot promise you not to stir. Pr'ylhee 
 let me feel the axe." He felt the edgre, and 
 said, " I fear it is not sharp enough." 
 
 Eo'ecutioner. — " It is sharp enough, and 
 heavy enough." 
 
 The execuiioner pioceeded to do his 
 office ; but the note says, " it was under 
 
 man who quits his friends too early, and such distraction of mind, that he fell into 
 will not stay to finish his bottle: — "He the very error which the duke had so ear- 
 will be hano-ed for leaving his liquor, like nestly cautioned him to avoid ; wounding 
 the saddler of Bawtry." The case was him so slightly, that he lifted up his head, 
 
 this : There was formerly an ale-house, and looked him in the face, as if to upbraid 
 
 which house to this day is called " The Gal- him for making his death painful ; btit said 
 
 .ows House, "situate between the city of York nothing. He then prostrated himself again, 
 
 and their Tyburn ; at this house the cart used and received two other ineffectual blows; 
 
 always to stop, and there the convict and the 
 other parties were refreshed with liquors ; 
 
 • Vol. ii, p. 163. 
 
 1 The hanffman was Vnown by the name of Gregory 
 in the year 1612, as we learn from the Mercurms Aaii- 
 cus, p. cS3. 
 
 upon which the executioner threw down his 
 
 • Rapin. See also Bale's Life and Trial of Sir Joha 
 Oldca.stle. St. Giles's was then an independent vil- 
 lage, and is still called St. Giles's in the Fields, to 
 distinguish it from St. Giles's, Cripplegate ; he'mg botf' 
 in the i>aiue dioce.i>e. 
 
 765 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 axe in a fit of horror; crying out, ' he 
 could not tinish his work:' but, on being 
 brouoht to himself by tlie threats of the 
 sheriffs, took up the fatal weapon again, 
 and at two other strokes made a shift to 
 separate the head from the body.'"* 
 
 As to the fee itself, " thirteen-pence half- 
 penny — hangman's wages,'' it appears to 
 have been of Scottish extraction. Tlie 
 ^cottish mark (not ideal or nominal money, 
 like our mark) was a silver coin, in value 
 tkirteeu-pence hulfpeuny and two placks, 
 or two-thirds of a penny ; which plack is 
 likewise a coin. This, their mark, bears the 
 same proportion to their pound, which is 
 twenty-pence, as our mark does to our 
 pound, or twenty shillings, being two-thirds 
 of it. By these divisions and sub-divisions 
 of their penny (for they have a still smaller 
 piece, called a bode) or half a plack) they 
 can reckon with the greatest minuteness, 
 and buy much less quantities of any article 
 than we can.f Tins Scottish mark whs, 
 upon the union of the two crowns in the 
 person of king James I., made current in 
 t'tigland at the value of thirteen-pence 
 Halfpenny, (without regarding the fraction,) 
 by proclamation, in the first year of that 
 king; where it is said, that " the coin of 
 silver, called the maik piece, shall be from 
 henceforth current within the said kingdom 
 of England, at the value of thirteen-pence 
 halfpeny.''J This, probably, was a revolu- 
 tion in the current money in favour of the 
 hangman, whose fee befoie was perhaps no 
 more than a shilling. There is, however, 
 veiy good reason to conclude, from th:i 
 singularity of the sum, that the odious tale 
 of " hangman's wages " became at this 
 time, or soon after, applicable to the sum 
 of thirteen-pence halfpenny. Though it was 
 contingent, yet it was then very consider- 
 able pay ; when one shilling per day was a 
 standirig annual stipend to many respect- 
 able officers of various kinds. 
 
 Nothing can well vary more than the 
 perquisites of this office ; for it is well 
 known that Jack Ketch has a post-obit in- 
 terest in the convict, being entitled to iiis 
 clothes, or to a Composition for them ; 
 tliough, on the other hand, they must very 
 frequently be such garments that, as Shak- 
 speare s;Ays, " a hangman would bury with 
 those wlio wore them."§ 
 
 * Lord Somers's Tracts, vol. i. pp. 219, 220; thi 
 D'lte taken from the Review < f the reigns of Chnrle*. 
 mij James, p 885. 
 
 t Mr. Rav, in his Itinerary, gives the fractional 
 oarfs of the Scottish penay. 
 
 I i'he proclainarioii may be seen inStrvpe's ,\nna1.=, 
 vol. \v. p. 384, where the mark-piece ii valued exactly 
 HE thirteen-pence hgilfpenny. 
 
 i Coriolan'-H, act '. sc 8. 
 
 This emolument is of no modern date, 
 and has an affinity to other droits on very 
 dissimilar occasions, which will be men- 
 tioned presently. The executioner's per- 
 quisite is at least as old as Henry VI I i,; 
 for sir Thomas More, on the morning of 
 his execution, put on his best gown, which 
 was of silk camlet, sent him as a present 
 while he was in the Tower by a citizen ol 
 I^ucca, with whom he had been in corre 
 spondence ; but the lieutenant of the Towf i 
 was of opinion that a worse gown would 
 be go d enough for the person who was to 
 have it, meaning the executioner, and pre- 
 vailed upon sir Thomas to change it, which 
 he did for one made of frize.* Thus the 
 antiquity of this obitual emolument, so well 
 known in Shakspeare's time, seems well 
 established; and, as to its nature, has a 
 strong resemblance to a fee of a much 
 longer standing, and formerly received by 
 officers of very great respectability. For 
 anciently " garter king of arms" had spe- 
 cifically the gown of the party on the crea- 
 tion of a peer; and ai-ain, when arch- 
 bishops, bishops, abbots, and priors, did 
 homage to the king, their upper garment 
 was the perquisite even of the lord cham- 
 berlain of the household. The fee in the 
 latter case was always compounded for, 
 though garter's was often formerly received 
 in kind, inasmuch as the statute which 
 gives this fee to the lord chamberlain directs 
 the composition, because, as the words are, 
 " it is more convenient that religious men 
 should fine for their upper garment, than 
 to be stripped.''f The same delicate ne- 
 cessity does not operate in the hangman's 
 case, and his fee extends much farther than 
 either of them, he being entitled to all the 
 sufl^erer's garments, having first rendered 
 them useless to the party. Besides this 
 perquisite, there has always been a pecu- 
 niary compliment, where it could possibly j 
 be afforded, given by the siifi'erer to the 
 executioner, to induce him to be speedv 
 and dexterous in the operation. The.'-e 
 outward gifts may likewise be understood 
 as tokens of inward forgiveness 
 
 " Upon the whole," says Dr. Pegge, " 1 
 conceive that what I have offered above, 
 though with much enlargement, is the 
 meaning of the ionominious term affixed 
 to the sum of thirteen-pence halfpenny, 
 and I cannot but commiserate those for 
 whom it is to be paid. "J 
 
 • Wore's Life of sir Thomas More. n. 271. 
 
 t Stat. 13 Kdward I. 
 
 t Pegge's Carialia Miscellanea. 
 
 76G 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 THE KUNNING HOUSE AT MERKOW, SURREY. 
 
 Die first point of peculiarity that strikes 
 t.ie traveller on approaching the '■'■ Running 
 Horse " is the pictorial anomaly on the 
 front of the house — the sign represents a 
 race-horse with a rider on its back ; but 
 the painter has given us a horse standing 
 as still as most horses would be glad to do 
 after having been running horses for more 
 than half a century. Our " Running 
 Horse " then, stands hard by the church in 
 the village of Merrow, {olim Merewe,) 
 about two miles from Guildford, in Surrey, 
 on the road leading from the latter place 
 to. London by way of Epsom. It is at the 
 intersection of the high roads leading to 
 Epsom, to Guildford, to Stoke, and to 
 Albury, Share, and Dorking. The latter 
 raad passes over Merrow Downs, upon 
 which, at the distance of a quarter of a 
 mile from our hostel, is the course whereon 
 Guildford races are annually held. 
 
 Guildford races formerly attracted a 
 very numerous assemblage of spectators. 
 Tlie elderly inhabitants of the above-named 
 ancient boiough relate that, such was the 
 intlux of company, not a bed was to be 
 had in Guildford unless secured some 
 
 weeks before the sports commenced. From 
 some cause, the nature of which the guud 
 people of Guildford have never been able 
 satisfactorily to ascertain, the races have, 
 for several years, gradually declined in 
 celebrity and importance, and at present 
 they are too often but thinly attended. The 
 programme of the sports, which annually 
 issues from the Guildford press, is embel- 
 lished with a wood-cut, an impression I 
 believe of the same block that has been 
 used for the last century. The course is 
 not considered by sportsmen a good one, 
 but its situation, and the views it commands, 
 are delightful. 
 
 When king George the First was at lord 
 Onslow's at Clandon, (the adjoining: parish,) 
 he gave a plate of one hundred guineas to 
 be run for ; and this is now the principal 
 attraction to the proprietors of horses. 
 The members for the borough of Guildford 
 also give a plate of fifty pounds, and there 
 is g-enerally a subscription plate besides. 
 
 Our hostel, the " Running Horse " at 
 Merrow, is the place of rendezvous for all 
 the " running horses." Its stable door* 
 bear highly characteristic and interesting 
 
 VUL. III. 
 
 767 
 
 3D 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 trophies of the r.onours obtjintd by their 
 former temporary inmates. The best 
 formed pumps tiiat ever trod the floors of 
 Ahnack's or the saloons of Carlton palace, 
 are not more delicately turned than the 
 shoes, (albeit they are of iron,) which, hav- 
 ing done their duty on the course, and 
 brought their high-mettled wearers first to 
 the winning-post, are now securely nailed 
 against the honoured portals, as memorials 
 of his success. They are placed heel to 
 heel, and within the oval is carved, in rude 
 characters, the name of the horse, w.ith the 
 day on which he won for his master the 
 purse of gold. What an association of 
 ideas does the simple record convey 1 Here, 
 on a fine warm evening in June, the even- 
 ing preceding 
 
 " the great, tV important day, 
 
 Big with the fate of jockey and of horse," 
 arrived the majestic " Cydnus." His fine 
 proportions were hid from vulgar gaze, by 
 cloths of purest white. As he walked 
 slowly up the village street ridden by his 
 jockey, a stripling of sixteen, his approach 
 was hailed by the acclamations of the vil- 
 lage boys, and the calmer admiration of the 
 men, all looking forward jo their holiday 
 on th-e succeeding day. "Here, I say; 
 here, here ; — here comes one of the lacers ! 
 — There's a pnrty creatur ! laic — look at 
 his long legs — laiv, Jem, I say, look what 
 long steps he do take — fancy how he must 
 gallop, if he walks so — pnrty fellur ! — I'm 
 suie he'll win — mind if he don't now!" 
 Meanwhile the noble animal arrives at the 
 inn door — high breeding, whether in biped 
 or quadruped, is not to be kept waiting — 
 out comes the host in an important bustle, 
 with the bright key of the stable door 
 swinging upon his finger. He shows the 
 way to the best stall, and then takes his 
 station at the door to keep out the inqui- 
 sitive gazers, while the jockey and trainer 
 commence their tender offices of cleaning 
 and refreshing the horse after his unusual 
 exercise of walking the public road. This 
 done, he is fed, clothed, and left to his 
 repose upon as soft a bed as clean straw 
 will make, while the jockey and trainer 
 adjourn to the house, the admiration of the 
 knot of idlers who are there assembled to 
 hear the pedigree, birth, parentage, educa- 
 tion, and merits of " the favourite." Other 
 norses soon arrive, and the conversation 
 takes a more scientific turn, while the 
 jockies make their own bets, and descant 
 learnedly upon those of their masters, till 
 they betake themselves to rest, " perchance 
 to dream" of the important event of the 
 succeeding day. 
 
 Long beforp thp d^w has left the shor* 
 herbage on the neighbouring downs, the 
 jockies are busily engaged in the stables ; 
 and before the sun's heat has exceeded that 
 of an April noon, they are mounted, and 
 gently cantering over the turf, with the 
 double object of airing their horses and 
 showing them the course over which, in a 
 few hours, they are urged, at their utmost 
 speed, in the presence of admiring thou- 
 sands. What an elating thought for the 
 youthful rider of " the favourite ;" with 
 what delight does he look forward to the 
 hour when the horse and his rider will be 
 the objects of attraction to hundreds of fair 
 one's eyes glancing upon him with looks of 
 admiration and interest j while, in his dap- 
 per silk jacket and cap of sky-blue and 
 white, he rides slowly to the weighing- 
 place, surrounded by lords and gentlemen 
 " of high degree." Within a short space 
 the vision is realized — more than realized — 
 for he has won the first heat "by a length." 
 In the next heat he comes in second, but 
 only " half a neck" behind, and his horse 
 is still fresh. The bell rings again for sad- 
 dling ; and the good steed is snuffing the 
 air, and preparing for renewed exertions, 
 while his rider " hails in his heart the 
 triumph yet to come." The bell rings for 
 starting — " They are off," cry a hundred 
 voices at once. Blue and white soon takes 
 the lead. " Three to one" — " five to one" 
 — -" seven to one" — are the odds in his 
 favour ; while at the first rise in the ground 
 he gives ample proof to the admiring 
 " cognoscenti " that he " must win." A 
 few minutes more, and a general hum of 
 anxious voices announces that the horses 
 are again in sight. " Which is first?" — 
 " C>h, blue and white still." — " I knew it ; 
 I was sure of it." Here comes the clerk of 
 the course flogging out the intruders within 
 the rails, and here comes the gallant bay — 
 full two lengths before the only horse that, 
 during the whole circuit of four miles, has 
 been once within speaking distance of him. 
 He keeps the lead, and wins the race with- 
 out once feeling the whip. Here is a mo- 
 ment of triumph for his rider! he is 
 weighed again, and receives from his 
 master's hand the well-earned reward of 
 his " excellent riding." The horse is care- 
 fully reclothed, and led back to his stable, 
 where his feet are relieved from the shoes 
 which are destined to assist in recording, to 
 successive generations of jockies, the gallant 
 feats, performed by 
 
 " Hearts thai then beat hi(tb for prmise. 
 But feel that pulse no more." 
 
 768 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Our hostel, however, must not be thus 
 •luitted. — The date inscribed within the 
 circle above the centre window is, I think, 
 1617. (I have a memorandum of it some- 
 where, but have mislaid it.) The house is 
 plastered and washed with yellow ; but its 
 gables, Elizabethan chimnies, and project- 
 ing bay window, (a very proper kind of 
 window for a " running horse,") render it 
 a much more picturesque building than I 
 have been able to represent it on the small 
 sc^le of my drawing. In front of it, at 
 about the distance of thirty yards, there was 
 formerly a well of more than a hundred feet 
 in depth ; the landlord used to repair this 
 well, receiving a contribution from all who 
 made use of it ; but other wells have of 
 late years been dug in the neighbourhoQd, 
 and the use of this has subsequently been 
 confined to the inmates of the public-house. 
 
 The church of Merrow, of which there is 
 a glimpse in the background, is worthy of 
 further notice than I have the means of 
 affording in the present communication. 
 
 November, 1827. Piiilippos. 
 
 WILLIAM CAPON, 
 
 The Scene Painter. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — Presuming you may not have been 
 acquainted with the late Mr. William 
 Capon, whose excellence as a gothic archi- 
 tectural scene-painter has not been equalled 
 by any of his compeers, I venture a few 
 particulars respecting him. 
 
 My acquaintance with Mr. Capon com- 
 menced within only the last five or six 
 years, but his frank intimacy and hearty 
 good-will were the same as if our inter- 
 course had been of longer date. A memoir 
 of him, in the " Gentleman's Magazine," 
 seems to me somewhat deficient in its 
 representation of those qualities. 
 
 The memoir just noticed assigns the dale 
 of his birth at Norwich to have been 
 October 6, 1 757 ; and truly represents, that 
 though wanting but ten days of arriving at 
 the seventieth year of his age when he 
 died, hi« hale appearance gave little indi- 
 cation of such a protracted existence. He 
 laboured under an asthmatic affection, of 
 which he was accustomed to complain, 
 v/hile his fund of anecdote, and his joculir 
 riai'vpte in recitation, were highly amusing. 
 His mannei of relating many of tho follies 
 of the Clival monarchs, now defunct, whs 
 worn to set the table in a roar ; and could 
 his rpminiscences be remembered, they 
 would present a detail quite as amusing 
 
 as scare tnat have recently diverted tlie ' 
 town. Kemble he deified ; he confessed 
 that he could not get rid of old prejudices 
 in favour of his old friend ; and, to use his 
 own phrase, " there never was an actor like 
 him." I have often seen him in ecstasy i 
 unlock the glazed front of the frame over ^ 
 his drawing-room chimney-piece, that en- \ 
 closed a singularly beautiful enamel por- j 
 trait of that distinguished actor, which will 
 shortly be competed for under the auction- 
 eer's hammer. Some of his finest drawings 
 of the Painted Chamber at Westminster, 
 framed with the richness of olden times, 
 also decorated this room, which adjoined 
 his study on the same floor. His larger 
 drawings had green silk curtains before 
 them ; and these he would not care to 
 draw, unless he thought his visitors' ideas 
 corresponded with his own respecting the 
 scenes he had thus depicted. The mo:>t 
 valuable portion of his collection was a 
 series of drawings of those portions of the 
 ancient city of Westminster, which modern 
 improvements have wholly annihilated. 
 During the couise of demolition, he often 
 rose at daybreak, to work undisturbed in 
 his darling object; and hence, some of the 
 tones of morning twilight are so strictly 
 represented, as to yield a hard and unartist- 
 like appearance. 
 
 It was a source of disquiet to Mr. Capon 
 that the liberality of publishers did not 
 extend to such enlargements of Smith's 
 Westminster, as his own knowledge would 
 have supplied. In fact, such a work could 
 not be accomplished without a numeious 
 list of subscribers ; and as he never issued 
 a prospectus, the whole of his aoundant 
 antiquarian knowledge has died with him, 
 and the pictoiial details alone remain. 
 
 Mr. Capon was, greatly to his incon- 
 venience, a creditor of the late Richard 
 Brinsley Sheridan, of whom he was accus- 
 tomed to speak with evident vexation. He 
 had been induced to enter into the corn 
 promise offered him by the committee of 
 management of Drury-lane theatre, and 
 give a receipt barring all future claims. 
 This galled him exceedingly ; and more than 
 once he hinted suspicions respecting the 
 conflagration of the theatre, which evinced 
 that he had brooded over his losses till his 
 judgment had become morbid. 
 
 But he is gone, and in him scciety bar 
 lost an amiable and respected individual. 
 To the regret of numerous friends he ex 
 pired on the 26th of September at his re- 
 sidence, No. 4, North-street, Westminster. 
 I am, &c. 
 
 November 3, 1 8'27. A. W. 
 
 76^ 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 €nvvitk ^3la^* 
 
 No. XLIIT. 
 
 S?Tom " Brutus of Alba," a Tragedy, by 
 umTate, 1678.] 
 
 Ragusa, and four more Witches, about to 
 raise a storm. 
 
 Rag. 'Tis time we were preparing far the storm. 
 Heed me, ye daughters of the mystic art; 
 Look that it be no common hurricane. 
 But such as rend the Caspian cliffs, and from 
 Th' Hyrcanian hills sweep cedars, roots and all. 
 Speak; goes all right? 
 
 All. Uh! Uh! Uhl Uii! 
 
 \st W. The cricket leaves our cave, and chirps no 
 more. 
 
 %d W. I stuck a ram, hut could not stain my steel. 
 
 3d W. His fat consumed m th' fire, and nevei 
 smok'd. 
 
 Kth W. I found this morn upon our furnace wall 
 Mysterious words wrought by a slimy snail. 
 Whose night-walk fate had guided in that form. 
 
 2(j W. Thou'rt queen of mysteries, great Ragusa. 
 How hast thou stemm'd the abyss of our black science, 
 Traced dodging nature thro' her blind 'scape-roads. 
 And brought her naked and trembling to the light ! 
 
 Kag. Now to our task — 
 Stand off ; and, crouching, mystic postures make. 
 Gnawing your rivel'd knuckles till they bleed. 
 Whilst I fall prostrate to consult my art. 
 And mutter sounds too secret for your ear. 
 
 fstorm rises?) 
 
 Rag. The storm's on wing, comes powd<?rmg from 
 the Nore ; 
 Tis past the Alps already, and whirls forward 
 To th' Appenine, whose rifted snow is swept 
 To th' vales beneath, while cots and folds lie buried. 
 Thou Myrza tak'st to-mght an airy march 
 To th' Pontic shore for drugs; and for more speed 
 On my own maple crutch thou shalt be mounted. 
 Which bridled turns to a steed so manageable. 
 That thou may'st rein him with a spider's thread. 
 
 4fA JV. And how if I o'ertake a bark ia the way? 
 
 Rag. Then, if aloft thou goest, to tinder scorch 
 The fanns ; but if thou tak'st a lower cut. 
 Then snatch the whips off from the steersman's haad, 
 4nd soHce him m the foam. 
 
 Ath fV. He shall be drench'd. 
 
 (^storm thivftens.) 
 
 flag. Aye, this is music ! now methinks I hear 
 The shrieks of sinking sailors, tackle rent. 
 Rudders unhing'd, while the sea-raveners swift 
 Scour thro' the dark flood for the diving corpses. 
 
 (the owl cries.) 
 H» I art thou there, my melancholy sister ? 
 Tbok think'st thy nap was short, and art surpris'd 
 To find night fallen already. 
 More tnrf to tV fira, till the bUck mesh fencent 
 
 Bum th' oil of bRiilisV to fret tfc« itorm. 
 That was a merry clap : I know that clonit 
 Was of my Fricker's rending, Kricker rent it ; 
 
 'tis an ardent Spirit: but beshrew him, 
 'Twas he seduced me first to hellish arts. 
 He found me pensive in a desart glin. 
 Near a lone oak forlorn and thunder-cleft. 
 Where discontented I abjnred the Gods, 
 And bann'd the cruel creditor that seiz'd 
 My MuUees,* sole subsistence of my life. 
 
 He promised me full twelve years* absolute reiga 
 
 To banquet all my senses, but he lied. 
 
 For vipers' ftesh is now my only food. 
 
 My drink of springs th>at stream from sulpli'iou 
 
 mines ; 
 Beside with midnight cramps and scalding sweats 
 
 1 am almost inured for hell's worst tortures. — 
 I hear the wood-nymphs cry ; by that I know 
 My charm has took — 
 
 bat day clears np, 
 And heavenly light wounds my infections eye?. 
 
 1st W. Now, sullen Dame, dost thou approve onr 
 works ? 
 
 Rag. 'Twas a brave wreck : O, you have well pei- 
 form'd. 
 
 2d W. Myrza and I bestrid a cloud, and soar'd 
 To lash the storm, which we pursued to th' Citj, 
 Where in my flight I snatch'd the golden globe, 
 That high on Saturn's pillar blaz'd i' th' air. 
 
 Sd W. I fired the turret of Minerva's fane. 
 
 4<A W. I staid i' th' cell to set the speJl a work. 
 The lamps burnt ghastly blue, the furnace sho>>k ; 
 The Salamander felt the heat redoubled. 
 And frisk'd about, so well I plied the fire. 
 
 Rag. Now as I hate bright day, and love mee».«iiia«. 
 You shall be all my sisters in the art : 
 I will instruct ye in each mystery; 
 Make ye all Ragusas. 
 
 All. Ho 1 Ho ! Ho ! 
 
 Rag. Around me, and I'll deal to each her dole. 
 There's an elf-lock, tooth of hermaphrodite, 
 A brace of mandrakes digg'd in fairy ground, 
 A lamprey's chain, snake's eggs, dead sparks of th<i!» 
 
 der 
 Quench'd in its passage thro' the cold mid air, 
 A mermaid's fin, a cockatrice's comb 
 Wrapt i' the dried caul of a brat still-bom. 
 Bum 'em. — 
 
 I n whispers take the rest, which named aloud 
 Would fright the day, and raise another storm. 
 
 All. Hoi Ho! Ho! Hoi 
 
 Soziman, a wicked Statesman, employ 
 Ragusa for a charm. 
 
 Rag. — my drudges I'll employ 
 To frame with their best arts a bracelet for thee. 
 Which, while thou wear'st it lock'd on thy left arau 
 Treason shall ne'er annoy thee, sword and poison 
 In vain attempt ; Nature alone have power 
 Thy substance to dissolve, nor she herself 
 Till many a winter-shock hath broke thy temtxx. 
 
 * Her cowi. 
 
 770 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Sot. Medea for her J&son less performed ! 
 My ^reatenin? soul aspires to range like thee, 
 lo unknowD worlds, to search the reign of Night. 
 Admitted to thy dreadful mysteries, 
 [ should be more than mortal. 
 
 Rag. Near my cell, 
 Mong'st circling rocks (in form a theatre) 
 Lies a snug vale — 
 
 Sos. With horror I have view'd it ; 
 Tis blasted all and bare as th' ocean beech. 
 And seems a round for elves to revel in. 
 
 Rag. With my attendants there each waining' moott 
 My dreadful Court I hold, and sit in state : — 
 And when the dire transactions are dispatch'd, 
 Our zany Spirits ascend to make us mirth 
 With gambals, dances, masks and revelling songs. 
 Till our mad din strike terror through the waste. 
 Spreads far and wide to th' cliflFs that bank the main. 
 And scarce is lost in the wide ocean's roar. 
 Here seated by me thou shall view the sports. 
 Whilst demons kiss thy foot, and swear thee homage. 
 
 Rag7(sa, with the other f Fitches, having 
 finished the bracelet. 
 
 Rag. Proceed we then to ioisu onr black projects. — 
 View here, till from your green distilling eyes 
 The poisonous glances center on this bracelet, 
 A fatal gift tor our projecting son ; — 
 Seven hours odd minutes has it steept i' th' gall 
 Of a vile Moor swine- rooted from his grave. 
 Now to your bloated lips apply it round. 
 And with th' infectious dew of your blacU areaths 
 Comoleat its baleful force. 
 
 a Tragedy ; 
 
 [From the " Fatal Union,' 
 Author Unknown.] 
 
 Dirge. 
 
 Noblest bodies are but gilded clay. 
 
 Put away 
 
 But the precious shining rind. 
 
 The inmost rottenness remains behind. 
 
 Kings, on earth though Gods they be. 
 
 Yet in death are vile as we. 
 
 He, a thousand Kings before. 
 
 Now is vassal unto more. 
 
 Vermin now insulting lie. 
 
 And dig for diamonds in each eye ; 
 
 Whilst the sceptre-bearing hand 
 
 Cannot their inroads withstand. 
 
 Here doth one in odours wade. 
 
 By the regal unction made; 
 
 While another dares to gnaw 
 
 On (hat tongue, his people's law. 
 
 Fools, ah 1 fools are we that so centrive. 
 
 And do strive. 
 
 In each gaudy ornament. 
 
 Who shall his corpse in the best dish present. 
 
 C.L. 
 
 ISLE OF 'VIGHT 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Hay Harvest Custom. 
 
 Sir, — Perhaps you may deem the follow- 
 ing singular tenure from " Horsey's Beau- 
 ties of the Isle of Wight, 1826," worth 
 adding to those already perpetuated in the 
 Svery-Day Book, and your present agree- 
 able continuation of it. 
 
 At the foot of St. John's Wood are two 
 meadows, on" on each hand, the main road 
 running between them. These meadows 
 are known by the name of Monk's Meads. 
 It is a remarkable circumstance, that the 
 first crop of hay they produce annually is 
 reaped, not by the owner, nor the person 
 who may rent the land, but by the tenant 
 of Newnham farm, which is situated up* 
 wards of two miles distant, and has no 
 connection whatever with the land. There 
 is a legend attaching to this circumstance. 
 The tale is, that one of the monks of Quarr 
 was in the habit of visiting the family that 
 once occupied Newnham farm, and as his 
 visits were pretty frequent, and he was 
 accustomed to put up bis horse at the far 
 mer's expense, he bequeathed to the tenan 
 of Newnham farm the first crop of haji 
 which these meadows produce annually, 
 each meadow to be reaped for his benefi. 
 every alternate year; and the warrant for 
 his doing so was to be the continuance of a 
 rude image in the wall of the house. 
 Whether this be the legal tenure or not is 
 another question ; one thing is certain, the 
 idol is preserved in the wall, the farmer 
 comes on the specific day for the crop, and 
 the produce is carried to Newnham. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 May 17, 1827, Dick Diet's Son. 
 
 ORIGIN OF HAY-BAND? 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Many of our origins and customs are 
 derived from the Romans. In the time of 
 Romulus, a handful of hay was used in his 
 ranks instead of a flag; and his military 
 ensign, who commanded a number of sol- 
 diers, was called a band, or ancient bearer. 
 Thus it will appear, that a twisted band of 
 hay being tied round a larger quantity of 
 hay, for its support, it is, agreeably to the 
 derivation, properly called a hay-band. 
 
 This word might serve for the tracing a 
 variety of " bands," — as the " band of 
 gentleman pensioners," — the "duke of 
 York's band," cum multis, et cat. 
 
 P. 
 
 771 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 BRISTOL HIGH CROSS. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 The High Cross, which formerly stood at 
 Bristol, was first erected in 1373 in the 
 High-street, near the Tolsey ; and in suc- 
 ceeding times it was adorned with thii 
 effigies of four kings, who had been bene- 
 factors to the city, viz. king John facing 
 north to Broad-street, king Henry IH. east 
 to Wine-street, king Edwa;-d KL west to 
 Corn-street, and king Edward IV. south to 
 High-street. 
 
 After the original Cross had stood three 
 hundred and sixty years at the top of High- 
 street, a silversmith who resided in the 
 house (now 1827) called the Castle Bank, 
 facing High-street and Wine-street, offered 
 to swear that during every high wind his 
 premises and his life were endangered by 
 the expected fall of the Cross ! — A petition, 
 too, was signed by several respectable citi- 
 zens ! to the corporation for its removal, 
 with which that body complied with great 
 reluctance, and saw its demolition with 
 great regret J 
 
 In the year 1633 it was taken down, en- 
 larged, and raised higher, and four other 
 statues were then added, viz. king Henry 
 VI. facing east, queen Elizabeth west, king 
 James I. south, and king Charles I. north; 
 the whole was painted and gilded, and en- 
 vironed with iron palisadoes. 
 
 In 1733, being found incommodious by 
 obstructing the passage of carriages, it was 
 again taken down, and erected in the centre 
 of College-green, the figures facing the 
 same points as before. On that occasion it 
 was painted in imitation of grey marble, 
 tl)e ornaments were gilt, and the figures 
 were painted in their proper colours. 
 
 About the year 1762 it was discovered 
 that it prevented ladies and gentlemen 
 from walking eight or ten abreast, and 
 its final ruin resolved upon ; and it was 
 once more taken down by the order of the 
 Rev. Cuts Barton, then dean, and strange 
 to say, as if there were no spot in the whole 
 city of Bristol whereon this beautiful struc- 
 ture could be again erected, it was given 
 by the " very reverend" gentleman to Mr. 
 Henry Hoare of Stcurton, who afterwards 
 set it up in his delightful gardens there. 
 
 The following extracts from some old 
 newspapers, preserved by the Bristol anti- 
 quary, the late Mr. George Symes Catcott, 
 are interesting. 
 
 " August 21, 1762. — Several workmen 
 are now employed in raising the walls in > 
 College-green, and taking down the High 
 Cross, which, when beautified, will be put 
 
 up in the middle of the grass-plot near the 
 lower green, about thirty yards from whzre 
 it now stands." 
 
 " A.D. 1764.— Epigram:— 
 
 * Ye people of Bristol deplore the sad loas 
 
 Of the kings and the queens that once reigned io jroa.? 
 
 Cross ; 
 Tho' your patrons they were, and their reigas were ao 
 
 good, 
 fjike Nebuciiadnezer they're forced to the wood. 
 Your great men's great wisdom you surely must pity, 
 Who'ye banished what all men admir'dfrom the city." 
 
 "October, 1764. — To the printer (of one 
 of the Bristoi newspapers) — 
 
 " Sir, — By inserting the following in 
 your paper you will oblige, &c. : — 
 
 " In days of yore, when haughty France was taroec, 
 
 In that great battle, which from Cressy's named. 
 
 Our glorious Edward and his Godlike son 
 
 To England added what from France they'd won. 
 
 In this famed reign the High Cross was erected. 
 
 And for its height and beauty much respected. 
 
 Succeeding times (for gratitude then reigned 
 
 On earth, nor was by all mankind disdained) 
 
 The Cross adorned with four patron kings, 
 
 So History assures the muse that sings ; 
 
 Some hundred years it stood, to strangers showj» 
 
 As the palladium of this trading town : 
 
 Till in king Charles the first's unhappy reign 
 
 'Twas taken down, but soon was raised agnin ; 
 
 In bulk and height increased, four statues more 
 
 Were added to the others, there before : 
 
 Then gilded palisadoes fenc'd it round — 
 
 A Cross so noble grac'd no other ground. 
 
 There long it stood, and oft admir'd had been, 
 
 Till mov'd from thence to adorn the College-green 
 
 There had it still remained ; but envious fat». 
 
 Who secret pines at what is good or great, 
 
 Raised up the ladies to conspire ils fall. 
 
 For boys and men, and dogs defiled it all. 
 
 For those fauks condemned, this noble pile 
 
 Was in the sacred college stow'd a while. 
 
 From thence these kings, so rery great and good. 
 
 Are sent to grace proud Stourton's lofty wood. 
 
 " R. .'«.'' 
 
 Mr. Britton obser>-es, that " the im- 
 provements and embellishments of this 
 Cross in 1633 cost the chamber of Bristol 
 207/. Its height from the ground was 
 thirty-nine feet six inches. After taking 
 it down in 1733 it was thrown into the 
 Guildhall, where it remained till some gen- 
 tlemen of the College-green voluntarily 
 s"bscribed to have it re-erected in the cen- 
 tre of that open space ; but here it was not 
 suffered long to continue, for in 1763 the 
 whole was once more levelled with the 
 ground, and thrown into a secluded cornei 
 of the cathedral, so insensible were the 
 Bristoli^ns of its beauty and curiosity. Mr* 
 
 772 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Hoare expended about 300/. in its removal 
 
 to and re-erection at Stourton. The present 
 structure at Stourton, however, varies in 
 many particulars from the original Cross. It 
 constitutes not only an unique garden orna- 
 ment in its present situation, but is singu- 
 larly beautiful fonts architectural character, 
 its sculpture, and its eventful history." 
 
 1821. — A clergyman of Bristol (the Rev. 
 Mr. Sayer) having an occasion to write to 
 sir R. C. Hoare, bart. received in reply a 
 letter containing the following paragraph : — 
 " I am glad to hear that the citizens of 
 Bristol show a desire to restore the ancient 
 monuments of their royal benefactors; pray 
 assure them, that T shall be very happy to 
 contribute any assistance, but my original 
 is in such a tottering state that no time 
 should be lost." 
 
 Thus the beautiful High Cross which 
 once adorned the city of Bristol may now, 
 through the liberality of sir R. C. Hoare, 
 be transplanted (if we may use the expres- 
 sion) to its native soil, after a banishment 
 of fifty-seven years. Its reappearance in 
 the College-green would be beautiful and 
 highly appropriate. 
 
 At a meeting of the Bristol Philosophi- 
 cal and Literary Society on the 19th April, 
 1827, Mr. Richard Smith read a paper 
 from Thomas Garrard, Esq. the chamberlain 
 of Bristol, on the subject of the High Cross, 
 together with a brief notice of " the well 
 of St. Edith " in Peter-street. The latter, 
 as well as the remains of the Cross, are still 
 preserved at sir R. C. Hoare's at Stourton. 
 Many other interesting particulars may be 
 found in the Bristol Mirror, April 28, 1827. 
 
 August, 1827. A. B. 
 
 ORIGIN OF THE WORD TAILOR. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Dear Sir, — Bailey derives " tailor from 
 tailler, French, a maker of garments :'' 
 but when a boy I remember perfectly well, 
 my grandfather, who was facetious, and 
 attached to the usages of the past, ac- 
 f|uainting me with his origin of the word 
 " tailor." He stated it nearly thus : — 
 " The term tailor originated between a 
 botcher (a man that went from farm-house 
 to farm-house, and made and repaired 
 clothes by the day) and his wife— who, 
 going to a town fair without her husband, 
 returned in a storm at a late hour, all be- 
 spattered with mud. The wearied botcher 
 had searched for her in vain, till meeting 
 a neighbour, who told him his wife was 
 gone home draggletailed. he exclaimed, 
 
 * God be praised ! shes where she ougn 
 to be ; but the De'el take the tail-o'her. 
 His brother villagers ever after called him 
 (not the botcher) but the tail o'her — hence 
 tailor. The Devil among the Tailors per- 
 haps owes its origin to a similar freak." 
 
 Speaking of a tail, the following from 
 Bailey may not be inappropriate. — " Kent- 
 ish long tails. The Kentish men are said to 
 have had tails for some generations, by 
 way of punishment, as some say ; for the 
 Kentish pagans abusing Austin the monk 
 and his associates, by beating them, and 
 opprobriously tying fish-tails to them ; in 
 revenge of which, such appendages grew 
 to the hind parts of all that generation. 
 But the scene of this lying wonder was not 
 in Kent, but at Carne, in Dorsetshire. 
 Others again say, it was for cutting off the 
 tail of Saint Thomas of Canterbury's horse; 
 who, being out of favour with Henry II., 
 riding towards Canterbury upon a poor 
 sorry horse, was so served by the common 
 people. Credat Jiidceus Apella" 
 
 " Animals' tails " were worn at country 
 festivals by buffoons and sportmakers ; for 
 which, see " Plough Monday," in the 
 Every-Day Book ; and also, see Liston, in 
 Grojan, " I could a tail unfold !"' &c. 
 Yours truly, 
 
 * » P 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 THE CLERK IN THE DARK. 
 
 ■' Set forth, but not allowed to be sung in 
 all Churches, of all the people together.'" 
 
 Once oa a time, 'twas afternoon, 
 
 And winter — while the weary day- 
 Danced off with Phoebus — to the tune 
 Of " O'er the hills and far away" 
 
 I went to church, and heard the clerk 
 Preface the psalm with " Pardon me. 
 
 But really friends it is go dark, 
 Do all I may I cannot see" 
 
 The " quire" that used the psalms to chant 
 Not dreaming to be thus misled — 
 
 Struck up in chorus jubilant, 
 The clerk's apology instead! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 " The force of habit'' should mot keep 
 Our trust in other heads so sure, 
 
 That reason may drop oflF to sleep. 
 Or sense enjoy a sinecure. 
 
 AX 
 
 773 
 
THE TABLE -BOOK. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 CINDERELLA. 
 
 Of all the narratives either of fact or of 
 fiction there are none, I will pledge my 
 veracity, like the Fairy Tales of the Nursery, 
 for interesting all the best feelings of our 
 nature, and for impressing an imperishable 
 and beautiful morality upon tlie heart. Was 
 there ever, can you imagine — was there ever 
 a young woftian hardened and heartless 
 enough to explore a forbidden closet, after 
 she had perused the romantic history of 
 Bluebeard ? Would she not fearfully fancy 
 that every box, bag, and bottle, jar, jelly, 
 and jam-pot was grinning hideously at her 
 in ihe person of one of the departed Mrs. 
 Bluebeards ? In fact, there is not a tale that 
 does not convey some fine instruction, and, 
 I would venture to affirm, that does not 
 produce more salutary influence on the 
 youthful raind, than all that Dr. Gregory 
 and Mrs. Chapone, Dr. Fordyce and Miss 
 Hannah More, have ever, in their wearisome 
 sagacity, advised. 
 
 Of the whole of these entertaining sto- 
 ries, perhaps the best, and deservedly the 
 most popular, is the History of Cinderella. 
 How deeply do we sympathise in her cin- 
 ders ! how do we admire her patient en- 
 durance and uncomplaining gentleness, — 
 her ikoble magnanimity in not arranging 
 her sisters' tresses amiss — for presuming to 
 be her miss-tresses — and finally, how do 
 we rejoice at her ultimate and unexpected 
 prosperity ! Judge then of my horror, 
 imagine my despair, when I read the New 
 Monthly Magazine, and saw this most ex- 
 quisite story derived from the childish folly 
 of a strolling player ! The account, which 
 is in a paper entitled " Drafts on La Fitte," 
 states, that the tale originated in an actual 
 occurrence about the year 1730 at Pa/is. 
 It is to this effect : — An actor, one Theve- 
 nard, saw a shoe, where shoes are frequently 
 to be seen, viz. at a cobbler's stall, and, like 
 a wise man, fell deeply in love with iU 
 He immediately took his stand by the stall 
 all the rest of the day — but nobody came 
 for the shoe. Next morning " Ecce iterum 
 Crispinus," he was with the cobbler agaiu^ 
 still nobody came : however, to make a 
 short story of a lomg one, day after day the 
 poor actor stood there, till the proprietor of 
 the shoe applied for it, in the person ot a 
 most elegant young woman ; when mon- 
 sieur Thevenard took the opportunity of 
 telling her, he admired her foot so much he 
 was anxious to gain her hand ; to this mo- 
 dest desire she kindly complied, and ihey 
 
 were accordingly married. Thus ends this 
 pitiful account. He must have had an in- 
 ventive fancy, indeed, who could manufac 
 ture the sweet story of Cinderella out ol I 
 such meagre materials — it was making a 
 mountain out of a molehill ! The gentle 
 and interesting Cinderella dwindles down 
 into a girl, whose only apparent merit wa» 
 her economy in having her shoe patched — 
 and the affable and affluent prince melts 
 away into a French actor. Were the prize 
 of squeezing her foot into the litlle slipper 
 only to become the bride of an actor, I 
 should imagine the ladies would not have 
 been quite so anxious to stand in her 
 shoes ! 
 
 Now, gentle reader, as I have told you 
 what is nat the origin of my story, it is but 
 incumbent on me to tell you what is. — In 
 the thirteenth book of the " Various His- 
 tory" of iElian is the real genuine narrative 
 from which Cinderella is derived — it is the 
 twenty-third anecdote : and the similarity 
 of the two stories is so great, that, I trust 
 a simple repetition of it will prove beyona 
 a doubt the antiquity, as well as the rank, 
 of my favourite Cinderella. Of all the 
 Egyptians, says the historian, Rhodope 
 was reckoned the most beautiful ; — to her, 
 when she was bathing. Fortune, ever fond 
 of sudden and unexpected catastrophes^ 
 did a kindness more merited by her beauty 
 than her prudence. One day, when she 
 was bathing, she judiciously left her shoes 
 on the bank of the stream, and an eagle 
 (naturally mistaking it for a sheep or a little 
 child) pounced down upon one of them, 
 and flew oifwith it. Flying with it directly 
 over Memphis, where king Psammeticus* 
 was dispensmg justice, the eagle dropped 
 the shoe in the king's lap. Of course the 
 king was struck with it, and admiring the 
 beauty of the shoe and the skill and pro- 
 portion of the fabrication, he sent thi ough 
 all the kingdom in search of a foot that 
 would fit it ; and having found it attached 
 to the person of Rhodope, he immediately 
 married her. 
 
 P.S. — I have given my authority, chapter 
 \nd verse, for my story ; but still farther to 
 substantiate it, I am willing to lay both my 
 Eanie and address before the reader. 
 
 Mr. Smith, 
 
 JH'ovember, 1827. London. 
 
 • Psammeticns was one of the twelve kinsfs of Egypt, 
 and reigned about the year 670 B. C, jnst"2400 yeart 
 before the poor Frenchman's time ! — (See his Uistorjr » 
 Herodotus, book ii. nap. S and 3.) 
 
 I 
 
 774 
 
 J 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 HOR^ CRAVENS. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 chapel ainongsi them, and remain true to 
 their prophetess ; who, as they suppose, 
 
 is bat vanish'd from the earth awhile, 
 
 To come again with bright unclouded smile. 
 
 While residing a few days at a gentle- 
 man's house in the neighbourhood, I fre- 
 On the highest part of Sutton Common quently observed the Cowling Joannites, 
 
 IIlTCHINGSTONE FeaST CoWLING 
 
 Moons. 
 
 in Craven, is a huge block of solid granite, 
 of about fifty yards ia circumference, and 
 about ten yards high. It is regarded as a 
 great natural curiosity, and has for gene- 
 rations been a prominent feature in the 
 legends and old wife's tales of the neigh- 
 bourhood. On the west side is an artificial 
 excavation, called " Tlie Chair," capable of 
 containing six persons comfortably, though 
 I remember it once, at a pinch, in a tre- 
 mendous thunder shower, containing eight. 
 On the north side is a similar excavation, 
 called " The Churn," from its resemblance 
 to that domestic utensil ; on the top is a 
 natural basin, fourteen yards in circum- 
 ference. This stone is the boundary-mark 
 for three townships and two parishes, viz. 
 the townships of Sutton, Cowling-, and 
 Laycock, and the parishes of Kildwick and 
 Keighley. From time immemorial it has 
 been customary to hold a feaSt round 
 iJitchingstone on the 1st of August, the 
 amusements at which are of a similar 
 nature with those of the village feasts and 
 tides (as they are called in some places) in 
 the vicinity, as dancing, racing, &c. At a 
 short distance from Hitchingstone are two 
 smaller stones, one on the east, called Kid- 
 stone, the other on the north-east, called 
 Navaxstone ; whence the three names are 
 derived I am ignorant. 
 
 The inhabitants of Cowling, or Cowling- 
 head, the village from which the township 
 takes its name, are known in Craven as 
 " Moons;" an epithet of derision, which is 
 said to have had its origin from the follow- 
 ing circumstance: — Cowling-head is a wild 
 mountain village, and the inhabitants are 
 not famed for travelling much ; but it is 
 told, that once upon a time, a Cowling 
 shepherd got so far from home as Skipton, 
 (six miles ;) on entering Skipton it was a 
 fine moonlight night, and the shepherd is 
 said to have made this sagacious remark : 
 " Hovf like your Skipton moon is to our 
 Cowling-head moon." Be the story true 
 or not, the inhabitants are called " Moons ;" 
 and in the vulgar vocabulary of Craven a 
 
 with their long beards, rambling up and 
 down the fells. A friend likened them to 
 the ancient Druid priests, but I thought 
 they more resembled goats, and formed no 
 bad substitute for that animal, which is 
 almost wholly banished from the fells of 
 the district. 
 
 He's got t'Oil-bottle in his Pocket. 
 This is a Craven saying, and is applied 
 to a person, who, like the heathen Janus, 
 has two faces ; in other words, one who 
 acts with duplicity, who will flatter you to 
 your face, and malign you behind your 
 back. Alas ! how many are there amongst 
 all ranks, and in all places, who have " gol 
 t'oil bottles in their pockets.** 
 
 Swine Harry. 
 
 This is the name of a field on the side ol 
 Pinnow, a hill in Lothersdale, in Craven ; 
 and is said to have derived its name from 
 tlie following singular circumstance. A 
 native of the valley was once, at the dead 
 of night, crossing the field with a pig which 
 he had stolen from a neighbouring farm- 
 yard ; he led the obstir.ate animal by a rope 
 tied to its leg, which was noosed at the end 
 where the thief held it. On coming to a 
 ladder-style in the field, being a very cor- 
 pulent man, and wishing to have both 
 hands at liberty, but not liking to release 
 the pig, he transferred the rope from his 
 hands to his neck ; but when he reached 
 the topmost step his feet slipped, the pig 
 pulled hard on the other side, the noose 
 tightened, and on the following morning 
 he was found dead. I believe this story 
 to be a fact; it was told me by an aged 
 man, who said it happened in his father's 
 time. 
 
 Sept. 2, 1827. T. Q. M. 
 
 THOMAS SMITH, 
 
 A Quack Extraordinary. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 The following advertisement, somewhat 
 silly fellow is "called a " Cowling moon." abridged from the original, which must 
 
 Not knowing a single inhabitant of Cow 
 ling I cannot speak of their civilization ; but 
 it does not say much for their advancement 
 ia knowledge, that the Joannites have a 
 
 have been put forth upwards of a century 
 ago, abundantly proves, that quackery and 
 puffing had made some progress even uX 
 that period : — 
 
 775 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 *' In King-street, Westminster, at the 
 Queen's-arms and Corn-cutter, liveth Tho 
 mas Smith; \\ho, by experience and in- 
 genuity, has learnt the art of taking out 
 and curing all manner of corns, without 
 pa n, or drawing blood. He likewise takes 
 out all manner of nails, which cause any 
 disaster, trouble, or pain, which no man in 
 England can do the like. He cures the 
 tooth-ache in half an hour, let the pam be 
 never so great, and cleanses and preserves 
 the teeth. He can, witli God's assistance, 
 perform the same in a little time. 
 
 " I wear a silver badge, with three 
 verses ; the first in English, the second in 
 Dutch, the third in French, with the States 
 of Holland's crovvnet on the top, wliicli was 
 gave me as a present by the States-general 
 <if Holland, for the many cures, &c. My 
 name on the badge underwritten, Thomas 
 Smitei, who will not fail, God willing, to 
 make out every particular in this bill, &c. 
 
 '' The famousest ware in England, which 
 never fails to cure the tooth-ache in half an 
 hour, price one shilling the bottle. Likewise 
 a powder for cleansing the teeth, which 
 makes them as ivory without wearing them, 
 and without prejudice to the gums, one 
 shilling the box. Also two sorts of water 
 for curing the scurvy in the gums ; though 
 they are eaten away to the bottom, it will 
 fieal them, and cause them to grow as firm 
 as ever, very safe, without mercury, or any 
 unwholesome spirit. To avoid counter- 
 feits, they are only sold at his own house, 
 &c., price of each bottle half a crown, or 
 more, according to the bigness, with direc- 
 tions."— Hurl. MSS. 
 
 Smith is mentioned in the Tatler. He 
 used to go out daily in quest of customers, 
 and made a periodical call at all the coffee- 
 houses then in London. 
 
 H. M. L. 
 
 ©isirobfriei^ 
 
 DUNCHURCH, COW, AND CALF. 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — I am confidently assured, that the 
 following coincidences really occur, '^'ou 
 may not perhaps deem them unworthy of 
 the very small space they will occupy in 
 your amusing columns, of which I have 
 ever been a constant reader. T. R. 
 
 At Dunchurck, near Coventry, is an mn, 
 or public-house, called the Dim Coiv, which 
 supplies its landlord with the milk of ex- 
 istence. He is actually named Dunculf ; 
 the product of his barrels may be, there- 
 ioix., not unaptly termed, — mothefa milk. 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 
 
 No. XIV. 
 The Circulation of the Blood, &c 
 
 Two thousand years have elapsed since 
 the time of Hippocrates, and there has 
 scarcely been added a new aphorism tc 
 those of that great man, notwithstanding 
 all the care and application of so many 
 ingenious men as have since studied medi- 
 cine. 
 
 There exist evident proofs that Hippo- 
 crates was acquainted with the circulation 
 of the blood. Almelooven, in vindication 
 of this father of medicine not having more 
 amply treated of this subject in his works, 
 assigns this reason, that Hippocrates having 
 many other important matters to discuss, 
 judged that to enlarge upon what was so 
 well known, and had been so well explained 
 by others, was as needless as it would have 
 been to have written an Iliad after Homer. 
 It is less requisite here to cite passages as 
 proofs of Hippocrates's knowledge on this 
 vital principle in the animal economy, than 
 to state the fact of his acquaintance with 
 it. Briefly it may suffice to mention, that 
 Hippocrates compares the course of rivers, 
 which return to their sources in an unac- 
 countable and extraordinary manner, to the 
 circulation of the hlood. He says, that 
 " when the bile enters into the blood it 
 breaks its consistence, and disorders its 
 regular course." He compares the admira- 
 ble mechanism of the blood " to clues of 
 thread, whose filaments overlap each other;" 
 and he says, that " in the body it performs 
 jufit such a circuit, alivays terminating 
 where it l)c'iran.'' 
 
 Mr. Dutens is of opinion that Plato, 
 Aristotle, Julius Pollux, Apuleius, and 
 other ancients, treat the circulation of the 
 blood as well known in their time. To 
 that end he cites passages from their writ- 
 ings, and proceeds to affirm, that what re- 
 duces to a very small degree the honour of 
 Harvey's claim to the discovery is, that 
 " Servetus had treated of it very distinctly 
 before him, in the fifth part of his book De 
 Christianismi Restitutione ; a work so very 
 scarce, that there are but few who can boast 
 of having seen it in print. Mr. Wotton, in 
 his Reflections upon the Ancients and Mo 
 
 776 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 (terns, cites this passage of Servetus entire. 
 In this passage Servetus distinguishes three 
 sorts of spirits in the human body, and 
 says that blood, " which he calls a vital 
 spirit, is dispersed through the body by the 
 anastomosis, or mutual insertion of two 
 vessels, at their extremities, into one ano- 
 ther." Here it deserves observation, that 
 Servetus is the first who employed that 
 term to express the communication between 
 the veins and arteries. He makes " the 
 expanded air in the lungs contribute to the 
 formation of blood, which comes to them 
 from the right ventricle of the heart, by the 
 canal of the pulmonary artery." He says, 
 that " the blood is there refined and perfected 
 by the action of the air, which subtilises it 
 and blends itself with that vital spiiit, 
 which the expanded heart then receives as 
 a fluid proper to carry life every where." 
 He maintains that " this conveyance and 
 manner of preparing the blood in the lungs 
 is evident from the junction of the veins 
 with the arteries in this viscera." And he 
 concludes with saying, that " the heart having 
 received the blood thus prepared by the 
 lungs sends it forth again by the artery of 
 ;'ts left ventricle, called the aorta, which 
 distributes it into all parts of the body." 
 Andreas Cesalpinus, who lived likewise ui 
 the sixteenth century, has two passages 
 which completely contain all that we know 
 about the circulation of the blood. He ex- 
 plains at length " how the blood, gushing 
 from the right ventricle of the heart through 
 the pulmonary artery to pass into the lungs, 
 enters anastomosically into the pulmonary 
 veins, to be conveyed to the left ventricle 
 of the heart, and afterwards distributed by 
 the aorta into all parts of the body." Let 
 it be remarked, that, according to Boer- 
 haave, the first edition of Cesalpin's book 
 was at Venice in 1571 ; that is, almost 
 sixty years before Harvey's work appeared, 
 who studied at Padua, which is not far 
 from Venice ; and spent a considerable part 
 of his time there. 
 
 Johannes Leonicenus says, that the 
 .amous Paul Sarpi, otherwise known by the 
 name of Father Paul, was he who dis- 
 covered the circulation of the blood, and 
 first discerned " the valves of the veins, 
 which, like the suckers of a pump, open to 
 let the blood pass, but shut to prevent its 
 return;'' and that he communicated this 
 secret to Fabricius ab Aquapendente, pro- 
 fessor of medicine at Padoua in the six- 
 teenth century, and successor to Fallopius, 
 who discovered it to Harvey, at that time 
 studying physic ucder nim in the university 
 of Padoua. 
 
 SERVETUS. 
 
 His Books — Curistianismi Restitutic 
 — De Trinitate Erroribus — De 1 ri- 
 
 NITATE DiALOGORUM. 
 
 Mr. Dutens, in the course of his remarks 
 on Servetus's discourse concerning the cir- 
 culation of the blood, observes as follows : — 
 " Servetus published on this subject two 
 difi'erent books. That for which he was 
 burnt at Geneva, in 1533, is entitled 
 C/iristianismi Restitutio, and had been 
 printed but a month before his death. The 
 care they took to burn all the copies of it 
 at Vienne in Dauphiny, at Geneva, and at 
 Frankfort, rendered it a book of the greatest 
 scarcity. Mention is made of one copy of 
 it in the catalogue of Mr. de Boze's books, 
 p. 40, which has been regarded as the only 
 one extant. I have had in my hands a 
 surreptitious copy of it, published at Lon- 
 don, which formerly belonged to Dr. 
 Friend; in the 143d, 144th, and 145th 
 pages of which occurs the passage (on the 
 circulation.) The book is in quarto, but 
 without the name of the place where it was 
 printed, or the time when, and is incom- 
 plete, the bishop of London having put a 
 stop to the impression, which, if I mistake 
 not, was about the year 1730. Care should 
 be taken not to confound this with anothei 
 work of his, printed in 12mo, in 1531, 
 without mention of the place where, but 
 supposed to be at Lyons. It is entitled 
 Di; Trinitatis Erroribus Libri Septeni, per 
 Michaelein Serveto, alius Reves,ab Aragonia 
 Hispanum ; and there is along with it ano- 
 ther treatise, printed in 1532, entitled Dia- 
 logorum de Trinitate, Lib. 2. de Justitiu 
 llegni Christi, Capitnla 4. per Michaelon 
 Serveto, alias Reves, ab Aragonia Hispa- 
 num. This last, which is very scarce, anJ 
 sold once for one hundred pistoles, (that is 
 40/. sterl.) is in the library of the duke of 
 Roxburgh at London, where I have seen it, 
 but it contains not the passage referred to, 
 which IS only to be met with in the cor- 
 rected and enlarged edition of that work, 
 published in 1 .'>53, and entitled Christia- 
 nismi Restitutio." 
 
 Dr. Sigmond, in a recent work, entitled 
 " The Unnoticed Theories of Servetus," 
 speaks of a Life of Servetus in the His- 
 torical Dictionary;* another, ascribed to 
 M. de la Roche, in the " Biblioihfeque An- 
 gloise," with extracts relating to Servetus's 
 Theory of the Circulation of the Blood ; 
 and a third, by M. DArtigny, in the " Me- 
 moires des Hommes lllustres," who extracted 
 
 • Of which there is an English transiation in 8vo. 
 
 777 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ihe history of the trial from the archives of 
 {lie archbishop of Vienne in Dauphine. 
 " And I have lately read with considerable 
 pleasure," says Dr. Sigrnond, " an Apology 
 for the Life of Servetus, by Richard Wright ; 
 not because he adds any thing- to our pre- 
 vious knowledge of his life and conduct, 
 but that a spirit of candour and liberality 
 entitles the volume to much consideration. 
 He has evidently not met with the Christi- 
 anismi Restitutio.^' 
 
 In relation to this latter work by Serve- 
 tus, Dr. Sigmond says, " The late Dr. Sims, 
 for many years president of the Medical 
 Society of London, bequeathed to me his 
 copy of Servetus, to which he has prefixed 
 the following note : — ' The fate of this work 
 has been not a little singular ; all the copies, 
 except one, were burned along with the 
 author by the implacable Calvin. This 
 copy was secreted by D. Colladon, one of 
 the judges. After passing through the 
 library of the landgrave of Hesse Cassel, 
 It came into the hands of Dr. Mead, who 
 endeavoured to give a quarto edition of it; 
 but before it was nea-^ly completed, it was 
 seized by John Kent, messenger of the 
 press, and William Squire, messenger in 
 ordinary, on the 29tli of May, 1723, at the 
 instance of Dr. Gibson, bishop of London, 
 and burnt, a very few copies excepted. 
 Tlie late duke de Valliere gave near 400 
 guineas for this copy, and at his sale it 
 brought 3810 livres. It contains the first 
 account of the circulation of the blood, 
 above 70 years before the immortal Harvey 
 published his discovery.' " 
 
 " In justice to the memory of my late 
 valued friend," says Dr. Sii^mond, " 1 must 
 state my conviction that this copy is not 
 the original one ; at the same time, I firmly 
 believe he iinasined it to be that which he 
 has described. Yet he was well known as 
 an accurate man, as a judicious collector of 
 books: and, indeed, to him is the Medical 
 Society of London indebted for its valuable 
 and admirable library." Dr. Sigmond's 
 correction of Dr. Sims's note is substantial ; 
 but it may be corrected still further. 
 Dr. Sims mistook as to the book having 
 brought 3810 livres at the duke de Val- 
 liere's sale. The duke gave that sum for 
 the book at the sale of M. Gaignat in 1769, 
 and when the duke's library was sold in 
 1784, it produced 4120 livres. There is n 
 particular account of it in the catalogue of 
 that collection, by De Bure, torn. i. p. 289. 
 That copy has hitherto been deemed unique. 
 u Dr. Sigmond's another copy of Serve- 
 tus' own edition? 
 
 Dr. Sigmond's own work, printed last 
 
 year, is itself scarce, in consequence c 
 having been suppressed or withdrawn from 
 publication.* This circumstance, and the 
 curiosity of its purpose, may render an ex- 
 emplifying extract from it agreeable: — 
 
 " I have quoted," says Dr. S., " the 
 ■whole of Serue^jw's theories verbatim. Those 
 that relate to the phenomena of mind, as 
 produced by the brain, will at this time 
 have an additional interest, when Gall and 
 Spurzheim have attracted the attention of 
 philosophers to the subject. With some 
 degree of boldness he has fixed upon the 
 ventricles of the brain, and the choroid 
 plexus, as the seat of that ray divine which 
 an immortal Creator has shed upon man, 
 and man alone. The awe and veneration 
 with which such a subject must be ap- 
 proached, are increased by the conviction 
 that though we may flatter our fond hopes 
 with the idea that some knowledge has 
 been gained, we are still lost in the same 
 labyrinth of doubt and uncertainty that we 
 ever were. 
 
 " After giving his description of the pas- 
 sage of the blood from the right ventricle 
 of the heart through the lungs, to the left 
 ventricle of the heart, he gives his reasims 
 for his belief in his doctrine of the circula- 
 tion, and observes that Galen was unac- 
 quainted with the truth. He then com- 
 mences that most extraordinary passage 
 upon the seat of the mind. The blood, he 
 supposes, having received in its passage 
 through the lungs the breath of life, is sent 
 by the left ventricle into the arteries ; the 
 purest part ascends to the base of the brain, 
 where it is more refined, especially in the 
 retiform plexus. It is still more perfected 
 in the small vessels, the capillary arteries, 
 and the choroid plexus, which penetrate 
 every part of the brain, enter into the ven- 
 tricles, and closely surround the origin of 
 the nerves. From the vital spirit it is now 
 changed into the animal spirit, and acts 
 upon the mass of brain, which is incapable 
 of reasoning without this stimulus. In the 
 two ventricles of the brain is placed the 
 power of receiving impressions from ex- 
 ternal objects; in the third is that of rea- 
 soning upon them ; in the fourth is that of 
 remembering them. From the communi- 
 cation through the foramina of the ethmoid 
 bone, the two ventricles receive a portion 
 of external air to refresh the spirit, and to 
 give new animation to the soul. If these 
 
 \ 
 
 * It is entitled " The Unnotleed Theories of Serve- 
 tus, a Dissertation addressed to the Medical Soci-'tv of 
 Stockholm. By fJeorge Sigmond, M.D. late of Jesus 
 College, Cambridge, and fo>'mer]y President of the 
 Royal Physical Society of Kdinburgh. London, 18S26." 
 Svo. pp. go. 
 
 778 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ventricles are oppressed by iheintroductior 
 of noxious vapour, epilepsy is produced , 
 if a fluid presses on the choroid plexus, 
 apoplexy ; and whatever affects this part oi 
 the brain causes loss of mental power. 
 
 " I have transcribed his notions on vege 
 table and animal life : they are more curl 
 ous than correct. They are contained in 
 the second Dialogue on the Trinity, which 
 is remarkable from its being the best proof 
 that the doctrines of Servetus were com- 
 pletely at variance with the Unitarianism 
 of which he was accused. It is a dialogue 
 between Peter and Michael, ' mudum gene 
 rationis Christi docens, quod ipse non sit 
 creatura, nee finitse potentise, sed vere ado- 
 randus, verusque Deus.' 
 
 " He here enters very minutely into the 
 soul, as the breath of life; and the whole 
 of the theories he has advanced are in sup- 
 port of the passages in the Bible, relative 
 to the Almighty pouring into the nostrils of 
 man the breath of life. A long metaphy- 
 sical and theological discussion, difficult to 
 be understood, follows; but not one sylla- 
 ble can be found contrary to the precepts 
 of Christianity, or to the pure faith he 
 wished to instil into the mind. In another 
 part of the work there is a dissertation upon 
 the heart as the origin of faith, which he 
 believes, on the authorities he cites from 
 the Bible, to be the seat of some degree of 
 mental power. The heart, he supposes, 
 deliberates upon the will, but the will obeys 
 the brain." 
 
 Persons disposed to inquiries of the 
 nature last adverted to, may peruse a re- 
 markable paper on the functions of the 
 heart, as connected with volition, by sir 
 James Mackintosh; it was drawn up in 
 consequence of a table conversation with 
 Mr. Benjamin Travers, and is inserted by 
 that gentleman in an appendix to his work 
 on Constitutional Irritation.* 
 
 It remains further to be observed respect- 
 ing Servetus, that, according to Dr. Sig- 
 mond, another of his theories was, that " in 
 the blood is the life." His notions " on 
 vegetable and animal life," are in his work 
 "DeTrinitatisErroribus, LibriVIT."12mo. 
 1531. This book appears in the " Biblio- 
 theca Parriana," by Mr. Bohn, with the 
 following MS. remarks on it by Dr. Parr. 
 
 " Liber rarissimus. I gave two guineas for this 
 book." S. P. 
 
 • " An Inqiiiry concerning: that disturbed State of 
 the Vital Functions, usualljr denominated Constitii- 
 tionai Irritation. Bv Benjamin Travers, F.R.S. 
 Senior Surgeon to St. Thomiis's Hospital, and Presi- 
 dent of the Medico-Chirurgical and Hunterian Societies 
 ^London, &c. second edition. London, 1827." 8vo. 
 
 " Servettis was burnt for this book. He might be » 
 heretic, but he was not an infidel. I have his 
 life, in Latin, written by Allwoerden, which 
 should be read by all scholars and true Chris- 
 tians." S. P. 
 
 Dr. Sigmond's opinion of Servetus evi- 
 dently concurs with Dr. Parr's. Towards 
 the close of Dr. Sigmond's Introduction to 
 his " Dissertatio, quaedam de Serveto com- 
 plectens," he says, " Of his religious opi- 
 nions I have but little to say : the bitter 
 prejudices, the violent hatred, the unmanly 
 persecutions that disgraced the early intro- 
 duction of a reformed religion, have fortu- 
 nately given place to the milder charities of 
 true Christianity. The penalty of death, 
 by the most cruel torture, would not now 
 be inflicted on a man who offered to the 
 world crude and undigested dreams, "r the 
 visionary fancies of a disturbed imagina- 
 tion ; and these, to say the very worst, are 
 the sins for which Servetus expired at the 
 stake, surrounded by the books his ardent 
 and unconquerable spirit had dared to 
 compose. 
 
 A sincere love of Christianity beams 
 forth in every page of the work I have be- 
 fore me- His great anxiety was to restore 
 religion to that purity, which he believea 
 it to have lost. The doctrine he opposed 
 was not that of Christ; it was that of the 
 churchmen who had established, in his 
 name, their own vain and fleeting opinions 
 The best proof that Calvin and Melancthoii 
 had deserted the mild, the charitable, the 
 peaceful religion of truth, and that they 
 followed not the divine precepts of their 
 gentle Master, was, and is, that they pur- 
 sued, even unto death, a helpless, poor, and 
 learned man." 
 
 It is well known that Servetus was de- 
 nounced by Calvin to the government of 
 Geneva, and that the civil authorities re- 
 ferred the case back to Calvin. "At the 
 instance of Mr. Calvin and his associates 
 he was condemned to be burnt alive ; which 
 sentence was executed October 27, 1,553. 
 He was upwards of two hours in the fire ; 
 the wood being green, little in quantity, 
 and the wind unfavourable."* It is not 
 now the fashion to burn a man for heresy : 
 the modern mode is to exaggerate and dis- 
 tort his declared opinions; drive him from 
 society by forging upon him those which 
 he disclaims; wound his spirit, and break 
 his heart by continued aspersions ; and, 
 when he is in his grave, award him the re- 
 putation of having been an amiable and 
 mistaken man. « 
 
 * Dr. Adam Clarke : Bibliographical Diet voL fi. 
 
 779 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 LINES, 
 
 On seeing in the Table Book the Signature 
 of a brother, fV. W. K. 
 
 Where'er those well-known characters I see. 
 They are, and ever will be, dear to me! 
 How oft in that green field, beneath the shade 
 9f beechen-boughs, whilst other youngsters play'd. 
 Have 1, a happy schoolboy, o'er and o'er, 
 Conn'd those dear signs, which now I read once more ! 
 How oft, as on tiie daisied grass I laid. 
 Full pleas'd, the W. W. K. I've read !— 
 When once espied, how tedious 'twas to wait 
 The crippled postman's well-known shuffling gait. 
 As. slowly creeping down the winding lane. 
 With such a sluggish pace he onward came ; 
 Or if in school, — his ring no sooner heard. 
 Than home, with all its sweets, to mind ret'urr'd ; 
 And whilst the letter's page its news reveal'd. 
 The gath'ring drop my boyish sight conceal'd ! 
 
 Something then whisper'd. Bill, that life begun 
 So well, the same still happily would run ; 
 That tho' for years the briny sea divide. 
 Or be it good, or ill, that each betide. 
 The same fond heart would throb in either's breast, 
 Fondness by years and stealing time increas'd ! 
 So, as in early days it first beiiame. 
 Shall it in riper life, be still the same. 
 That by and by, wlien we're together laid 
 Neath the green moss-grown pile — it may be said. 
 As lonely footsteps tow'rds our hillock turn, 
 " They were in life and death together one 1" 
 
 DOVER PIG. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — To the fact of the underwritten 
 narrative there are many livinpj witnesses of 
 high respectability. Anatomists and phi- 
 losophers may not think it unworthy their 
 notice, and the lovers of the marvellous will 
 doubtless be interested by a subject which 
 assimilates with the taste of all. 
 
 On the 14 th of December, 1810, several 
 considerable falls of the cliffs, both east 
 and westward of Dover, took place ; and 
 one of these was attended by a fatal do- 
 mestic catastrophe. A house, situated at 
 the base of that part of the cliffs between 
 Moat's Bulwark and where the Dover Gas 
 Company's works are built, was buried, 
 with its inmates, consisting of the father, 
 mother, and five of their children, and a 
 sister's child. The father only was dug 
 from the ruins alive. All his family 
 perished with the ruin of his household 
 property. 
 
 Behind the house, which stood just clear 
 of the cliffs' base, in an excavation, was a 
 pig-sty; which, when the cliff fell, was 
 
 inhabited by a solitary and very fat hog, 
 supposed to weigh about eight score. In 
 the midst of his distress, the unfortu- 
 nate owner of the quadruped forgot this 
 animal ; and when it occurred to his re- 
 collection, so much time had passed since 
 the accident, that the pig was numbered 
 with the dead. In the ensuing summer, 
 Oil the evening- of the 23d of May, some 
 workmen of the Ordnance department, 
 going home from labour, stopped, as they 
 had sometimes done before, to contemplate 
 the yet remaining ruin. While thus en- 
 gaged, a sound broke the sdence of the 
 moment. It seemed like the feeble grunt- 
 ing of a hog. The men listened, and the 
 sound was repeated, till it ceased to be 
 matter of doubt. One of them immediately 
 went to the commanding officer of the 
 Ordnance, and returned with a party of the 
 miners, who set to work; and as soon as 
 they had cleared away the chalk from be- 
 tore the chasm, the incarcerated animal 
 came staggering forth, more like the ana- 
 tomy of a pig than a living one. Its skin 
 was covered with a long shaggy coat : the 
 iris had disappeared from its eyes; and 
 the pupils were pale, and had almost lost 
 their colour. Nothing beyond these parti- 
 culars was apparent externally. With 
 great attention to its feeding, the creature 
 recovered from its debility, and its coat 
 fell off, and was renewed as before. Wher 
 I saw this hog in the following November, 
 the eyes were of a yellowish tint, and thi- 
 iris only discoverable by a faint line rour^d 
 the pupil ; no defect snowed itself in the 
 vision of the organ : and, but for being told 
 that the pig before me was the one buried 
 alive for six months, there was nothing 
 about it to excite curiosity. To the ownei 
 it had been a source of great profit, by its 
 exhibition, during the summer season, at 
 the neighbouring towns and watering- 
 places; and, finally, it ended its existence 
 in the way usual to its race, through the 
 hands of the butcher. 
 
 I have stated the supposed weight of 
 this long-buried quadruped at the time of 
 its incarceration, to be about eight score, 
 or twenty stone ; when liberated, it was 
 weighed, and had lo&t half of its former 
 quantity, being then four score. A pecu- 
 liar character of the pi? is — its indiscrimi- 
 nate gluttony and rapid digestion. The 
 means by which the life of this particular 
 animal was sustained during the long period 
 of its imprisonment, may be worth tl" 
 consideration of the zootomist. 
 I am, &c. 
 
 September, 1827. K. B. 
 
 780 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ANECDOTES. 
 
 Juries. 
 
 Levinz reports a case in the King's 
 Bencli, " Foster v. Hawden," "wherein tlie 
 jury, not agreeing, cast lots for their verdict, 
 and gave it according to lot; for which, 
 upon the motion of Levinz, the verdict was 
 set aside, and the jury were ordered to at- 
 tend next term to be fined." 
 
 On an appeal of murder, reported in 
 Coke, the killing was not denied by the 
 murderer, but he rested his defence upon a 
 point of law, viz. that the deceased had 
 provoked him, by mocking him ; and he 
 therefore contended that it was not murder. 
 iThe judges severally delivered their opi~ 
 ,nions, tliat it was murder; but the jury 
 could not agree. They however came to 
 I the following understanding — " That they 
 'should bring in, and offer their verdict not 
 ■guilty ; and if the court disliked thereof, 
 [that then they should all change their ver- 
 jdict, and find him guilty." They broug-Jit 
 jin a verdict of Not Guilty. The court de- 
 murred, and sent tliem back; when, ac- 
 Icording to the above understanding, they 
 ! returned again in a few minutes with a 
 I verdict of Guilty. 
 
 In 1752, Owen, a bookseller, was pro- 
 isecutedby the attorney-general, on inform- 
 ation, for a libel, the direction of the 
 lord chief justice Lee to the jury does not 
 appear at full length in the State Trials, 
 but it seems that he " declared it as his 
 opinion, that the jury ought to find the de- 
 fendant guilty." The jury brought in their 
 verdict " Not Guilty." The report pro- 
 ceeds to state, " that the jury went away ; 
 but at the desire of the attorney-general, 
 they were called into court again, and asked 
 this leading question : viz. " Gentlemen of 
 the Jury, do you think the evidence laid 
 before you, of Owen's publishing the book 
 hy selling it, is not sufficient to convmce 
 you tiiHt the said Owen did sell this book." 
 Upon which the foreman, without answer- 
 ing the question, said, " Not guilty, not 
 guilty;" and several of the jury said, 
 " That is our verdict, my lord, and we 
 abide by it." Upon which the court broke 
 up, and there was a prodigious shout in 
 the hail. 
 
 A Question — Mal-apropos, 
 When Dr. Beadon was rector of Eliham, 
 in Kent, the text he one day took to preach 
 from was, " Who art thou ?'' After read- 
 ing it he made a pauje, for the congrega- 
 tion to reflect on the words ; when a gen- 
 tleman in a military dress, who at the 
 
 instant was proceeding up the middle ais!« 
 of the ctiurch, supposing it a question ad- 
 dressed to him, replied, "I, sir, am an 
 officer of the sixteenth regiment of foot, on 
 a reci'uiting party here ; and have come to 
 church, because I. wish to be acquainted 
 with the neighbouring clerg^y and gentry." 
 This so deranged the divine and astonished 
 the congregation, that the sermon was con- 
 cluded with considerable difficulty. 
 
 GLASS. 
 
 Pliny informs us, the art of making glass 
 was accidentally discovered by some mer- 
 cliants who were travelling with nitre, and 
 stopped near a river issuing from Mount 
 Carmel. Not readily finding stones to rest 
 their kettles on, they employed soirie pieces 
 of their nitre for that purpose. The nitre, 
 gradually dissolving by the heat of the fire, 
 mixed wilh the sand, and a transparent 
 matter flowed, which was, in fact, trlass. It 
 IS certain that we are more indebted to 
 chance than genius for many of the most 
 valuable discoveries. 
 
 VAIllA. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Tomb of King Alfred. 
 
 Many Englishmen, who venerate the 
 name of Alfred, will learn, with surprise 
 and indignation, that the a-hes of this 
 |)atriot king, after having been scattered by 
 the rude hands of convicts, are probably 
 covered by a building at Winchester, erect- 
 ed in 1788 for the confinement of criminals. 
 No one in the neighbourhood was suffi- 
 ciently interested towards his remains to 
 attempt their discorery or preservation. 
 
 Olo Law Books. 
 
 It is remarkable, that the oldest book in 
 ihe German law is entitled " Spiegel," or 
 the Looking-glass which answers to our 
 " Mirror of Justices:" it was compiled by 
 Fxkius de Keckaw, and is inserted in 
 Goldastus's Collectanea. One of the an- 
 cient Icelandish books is likewise styled 
 " Speculum Regale." There is also in 
 Schrevelius's Teutonic Antiquities a col- 
 lection of the ancient laws of Pomerania 
 and Prussia, under the title of" Speculum." 
 Surely all this cannot be the effect of puw 
 accident. 
 
 781 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Curious Will of an Attorney. 
 
 Mr. Lambe, an attorney, who died at 
 Cambridge in Che year IHOO, left about 
 eleven hundred pounds; and directed his 
 executors (three gentlemen of the univer- 
 sity) to appropriate the sum of eight hun- 
 dred pounds as they rr.ight think proper. 
 For this arduous task he bequeathed them 
 one hundred pounds each. 
 
 s. s. s. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 * Those tell in hoiBely phrase who lie below.' 
 
 Blair. 
 
 In Bois Church-yard, near Chesham, Bucks, 
 
 In Memory of 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth, Wife of 
 
 Mr. Edward Pinchbeck, 
 
 of Chesham, who departed this 
 
 Life 1st Oct. 1781, aged 60 years. 
 
 Here a painful head is at rest. 
 
 Its violent throbbings are o'er ; 
 Her dangerous mortified breast. 
 
 Neither throbs nor aches any more. 
 Her eyes, which she seldom could clone 
 
 Without opiates to give her some rest, 
 Are now most sweetly composed. 
 
 With her whom her soul did love best. 
 
 On a Rail in Chesham Church-yard. 
 
 lu memory of Sarah Bachelor, wife of Benjamin 
 Bachelor, daughter of Joseph and Sarah Barnes, irho 
 departed this life May 23d, 1813, aged 25 years. 
 
 These three lines aie on the reverse of 
 the rail in question: — 
 
 My time was short not long in this world to stay God 
 Summon'd me and I was snatch'd away pray God 
 
 to bless 
 And friends be kind to my husband and children left 
 
 behind. 
 
 A plain white marble slab, placed over 
 the remains of the illustrious Boerhaven, in 
 St. Peter's, Leyden, bears only these four 
 words in black letters. 
 
 Salutifero Boerhavii Genio Sacrum. 
 
 J. J. K. 
 
 A FILL UP 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 There is nothing 1 find so difficult to fill 
 up as my spare time. Talk as they will 
 about liberty, it is after all nothing but a 
 sort of independent ennui — a freedom we 
 are better without, if we do not know how 
 .v> use it. To instance myself: — the first 
 thing I do on the cessation of my daily 
 Avocations, which terminate rather early, is 
 
 to throw my two legs upon one chair, anj 
 recline my back against another — when, 
 after a provoking yawn of most ambiguous 
 import, I propound to myself with great 
 gravity — what the deuce shall I do? A 
 series of questions instantly occur, whicli 
 are as instantly answered — sfenerally in 
 the negative. Shall I read Blackstone? — 
 no: Coke upon Littleton? — worse still; 
 Fearne on Contingent Remainders? — horrid 
 idea ! — it was recommended the other day 
 to a young friend of mine, who befc" he 
 got to the end of the first page was taken 
 with a shivering fit, from which he h.is no* 
 yet recovered — no, no; confound the law! 
 I had enough of that this morning — What's 
 to be done then? The Table Book does 
 not come out till to-morrow — Scott's novels 
 (unfashionable wretch) I don't like, — have 
 read the Epicurean already twenty times — 
 and know Byron by heart. Take up my 
 flute, mouthpiece mislaid, and can't play 
 without — determined to try, notwithstand- 
 ing it should be my three thousandth 
 failure ; accordingly, blow like a bellows for 
 about half an hour — can make nothing ci 
 it, suddenly stop, and throw the instrument 
 to the other end 6f the room — forgetting 
 the glass in the bookcase, the largest pane 
 of which it goes through with a loud crash. 
 Still musical, persist in humming a favouritp 
 air I have just thought of — hit the tune to a 
 T, and immediately strike up a most de- 
 lightful strain, beg'inning " Sounds deli- 
 cious," &:c., when a cry comes from the 
 parlour, " We really must leave the house 
 if that horrid noise is to be continued !" — 
 Rather galled by this rub — begin to get 
 '^ngry — start up from my two chairs and 
 walk briskly to the fireplace — arrange my 
 hair pettishly — then stick my hands in my 
 pockets, and begin to muse — glass catches 
 my eye — neckcloth abominably out of or- 
 der, instinctively untie and tie it ag^ain — 
 tired of standing — sit down to my desk — 
 commence a Sonnet to the Moon, get on 
 swimmingly to the fifth line, and then — a 
 dead stop — no rhyme to be got, and the 
 finest idea I ever had in my life in danger 
 of being lost — this will never do — deter- 
 mined to brine: it in somewhere, and after 
 a little alteration introduce it most satis- 
 factorily into a poem I had begun yesterday 
 on Patience, till, upon reading the whole 
 over, I find it has nothing- whatever to do 
 with the subject; and disgusted with the 
 failure tear up both poem and sonnet in a 
 tremendous rage. Still at a loss what to 
 do — at length I have it — got a communica« 
 tion for the Table Book — I'll take a walk 
 and leave it — GuLiELuira. 
 
 782 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 fioU. 
 
 Under severe affliction I cannot make up 
 this sheet as I wish. This day week my second 
 son was brought home with his scull frac- 
 tured. To-day intelligence has arrived to me 
 of the death of my eldest son. 
 
 7'he necessity I have been under of sub- 
 mitting recently to a surgical operation on 
 myself, wilh a long summer of sickness to 
 every member of my family, and accumulated 
 troubles of earlier origin, and of another 
 nature, have prevented me too often from 
 satisfying the wishes of readers, and the 
 claims of Correspondents. I crave that they 
 will be pleased to receive this, as a general 
 apology, in lieu of particular notices, and in 
 the stead of promises to effect what I can no 
 longer hope to accomplish, and forbear to 
 attempt. 
 
 December 12, 1827. W. Hone. 
 
 WINTER FLOWERS. 
 
 Chkysanthemum Indicum. 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Country, for the greater part of which wc 
 are indebted to the London Horticultural 
 Society. Many of the flowers are much 
 larger than the largest full-blown Provence 
 rose, highly aromatic, and of extremely 
 bright, vivid, and varied colours ; as white, 
 yellow, copper, red, and purple^ of all the 
 different gradations of tint, and several of 
 those colours mixed and blended. Some 
 very fine specimens of this flower have 
 been exhibited at the society's rooms and 
 greenhouse. Nothing, in my opinion, could 
 equal their beauty and splendour ; not even 
 the well-known collection of carnations and 
 foreign picot^es of my neighbour, ]\v, 
 Hogg, the florist. 
 
 This flower gives a very gay appearance 
 to the conservatory and the greenhouse at 
 this season of the year, when there is hardly 
 another in blossom ; and it may also be 
 introduced into the parlour and drawing- 
 room ; for it flowers freely in small sized 
 pots of forty-eight and thirty-two to the 
 cast, requires no particular care, is not im- 
 patient of cold, and is easily propagated by 
 dividing the roots, or by cuttings placed 
 under a hand-glass in the months of May 
 or June, which will bloom the following 
 autumn, for it is prodigal of its flowers ; 
 the best method is to leave only one flow- 
 ering stem in a pot. 
 
 The facility wilh which it is propagated 
 
 Sir, — While the praises of our wild, na- 
 /ive, simple flowers, tlie primrose, the vio- will always make the price moderate, and 
 let, the blue bell, and daisy, as well as th« render it attainable by any one; there is 
 blossoms of the hawthorn, wild rose, and much dissimilarity in the form of the flow- 
 honey-suckle, have been said and sung in ers, as well as in the formation of the petals 
 many a pleasant bit of prose and verse in — some flowers are only half spread, and 
 the pages of your extra-ordinary Every- have the appearance of tassels, while others 
 Day Book, as connected with the lively are expanded fully, like the Chinese aster ; 
 descriptions given therein of many a rural some petals are quilled, some half quilled, 
 sport and joyous pastime, enjoyed by our some are flat and lanceolated, some crisped 
 forefathers and foremothers of the " olden and curled, and others are in an imbricated 
 time," particularly in that enlivening and form, decreasing in length towards the cen- 
 mirth-inspiring month, sweet May; when tre. There is also some variation in tlieir 
 both young and old feel a renovation ol time of flowering, some come much earlier 
 their health and spirits, and hail the return than others. 
 
 of sunshine, verdure, and flowers ; permit This plant is not a stranger to the coun- 
 
 me to call the attention of such of your try, for it was introduced about thirty-five 
 
 readers as are fond of flowers (and there is years ago; but the splendid varieties, of 
 
 no one who has " music in his soul" and which lam speaking-, are new, having been 
 
 a taste for poetry, that is not) to that highly brought hither, mostly from China, by th« 
 
 interesting plant, the Indian Chrysanthe- Horticultural Society within these four or 
 
 mum which serves, by its gay blossoms, to five years; and as the society has made a 
 
 cheer the gloom, and enliven the sadness liberal distribution of plants and cuttings 
 
 of those dreary months, November and to tne different nurserymen and florists 
 
 December. round London, who are members thereof, 
 
 Since the introduction of the Camellia they can now be easily obtained. There is 
 and the Dahlia, I know of no plant that little chance of its ever ripening its seed, 
 produces so striking an effect upon the sight from its coming into flower at the com- 
 as the Chrysanthemum. We have now mencement of winter, so that we can only 
 about forty distinct varieties cf it in the look for fresh varieties from India or China. 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 783 
 
 3E 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 In conclusion, I will just note down a 
 few that particularly engaged my attention, 
 namely :— 
 
 The pure or large paper white. 
 
 The large white, with yellow tinged flow- 
 erets, or petals round the disk or centre. 
 
 The early blush. 
 
 The golden lotus. 
 
 The superb clustered yellow. 
 
 The starry purple. 
 
 The bright red, approaching to scarlet. 
 
 And the brown, red, and purple blended. 
 I remain, sir, &c. 
 
 Paddington, Jerry Blossom. 
 
 December, 
 
 Darnell ^lapsf* 
 
 No. XLIV. 
 
 [From " Blurt, Master Constable :" a Co 
 medy by T. Middleton, 1602.] 
 
 Lover kept awake by Love. 
 
 Ah I how can I sleep ? he, who truly loves, 
 Burns oitt the day in idle fantasies ; 
 And when the lamb bleating doth bid good night 
 Unto the closing day, then tears begin 
 To keep quick time unto the owl, whose voice 
 Shrieks like the bellman in the lover's ears : 
 Love's eye the jewel of sleep oh ! seldom wears. 
 The early lark is waken'd from her bed. 
 Being only by Love's plaints disquieted ; 
 And singing in the morning's ear she weeps, 
 Being deep in love, at lovers' broken sleeps. 
 But say a golden slumber chance to tie 
 With silken strings the cover of Love's eye ; 
 Then dreams, magician-like, mocking present 
 Pleasures, whose fading leaves more discontent. 
 
 Violetta comes to seek her Husband at the 
 house of a Curtizan. 
 
 Violetta. — Imperia, the Curtizan. 
 
 Vio. By your leave, sweet Beauty, pardon my ex- 
 cuse, which sought entrance into this house : good 
 Sweetness, ha^e you not a Property here, improper to 
 your bouse ; my husband ? 
 
 Imp. Hah I your husband here ? 
 
 Vio. Nay, be as you seem to be. White Dove, with- 
 oot gall. Do not mock me, fairest Venetian. Come, I 
 know he is here. 1 do not blame him, for your beauty 
 i^ilds over his error. 'Troth, I am right glad that you, 
 my Countrywoman, have received the pawn of his 
 affections. Vou cannot be hardhearted, loving him ; 
 .lor hate me. for I love him too. Since we both love 
 him, Jet us not leave him, till we have called home the 
 jl huslacdry of a sweet Straggler. Prithee, good 
 .vencb, asobiia well. 
 
 Imp, So, so, go^ 
 
 Vio. If he deserve not to be used tv ell (as I'd be lotb 
 he should deserve it), I'll engage myself, dear Beauty, 
 to thind honest heart : give me leave to love him, and 
 I'll give him a kind of leave to love thee. I know he 
 hears me. I prithee try my eyes, if they know him ; 
 that have almost drowned tfaemselves in their own sail, 
 water, because they cannot see him. In troth, I'll not 
 chide him. If I speak words roiKfher than soft kissesi 
 my penarre shall be to see him kiss thee, yet to bold 
 my peace. 
 
 Good Partner, lodge me in thy private bed ; 
 Where, in supposed folly, he may end 
 Determin'd Sin. Thou smilest. I know tbon wilt. 
 What looseness may term dotage, — truly read, 
 Is Love ripe-gather'd, not soon withered. 
 
 Imp. Good troth, pretty Wedlock, thou makest my 
 little eyes smart with washing themselves in brine. I 
 mar such a sweet face ! — and wipe off that dainty red I 
 and make Cupid toll the bell for your lovesick heart I 
 — no, no, no — if he were Jove's own ingle Ganymede — 
 fie, fie, fie — I'll none. Your Chamber-fellow is within. 
 Thou shalt enjoy him. 
 
 Vio. Star of Venetian Beauty, thanks 1 
 
 I From " Hoffman's Tragedy, or Revenge 
 for a Father," 1631. Author Unknown.] 
 
 The Sons of the Duke of Saxony run 
 away with Lncibel, the Duke of Austria's 
 Daughter. — The two Dukes, in separate 
 pursuit of their children, meet at the Cell 
 of a Hermit : in which Hermit, Saxony 
 recognises a banished Brother; at whif:k 
 surprised, all three are reconciled. 
 
 Austria. That should be Saxon's tongue. 
 
 Saxony. Indeed 1 am the Duke of Saxony. 
 
 Austria. Then thou art father to lascivious soas. 
 That have made Austria childless. 
 
 Saxony. Oh subtle Duke, 
 Thy craft appears in framing the excuse. 
 Thou dost accuse my young sons' innocence. 
 I sent them to get knowledge, learn the tongues. 
 Not to be metamorphosed with the view 
 Of flattering Beauty — peradventure painted. 
 
 Austria. No, I defy thee, John of Saxony. 
 My Luclbel for beauty needs no art ; 
 Nor, do I think, the beauties of her mind 
 p>er inclin'd to this ignoble course, 
 But by the charms and forcings of thy sons. 
 
 Saxony. O would tliou ^vould'st maintain thy word^ 
 proud Duke ! 
 
 Hermit. I hope, great princes, neither of you dare 
 Commit a deed so sacrilegious. 
 This holy Cell 
 
 Is dedicated to the Prince of Peace. 
 The foot of man never profan'd this floor ; 
 Nor doth wrath here with his consuming voice 
 Affright these buildings. Charity with Prayer 
 Humility with Abstinence combined. 
 Are here the guardians of a grieved mind . 
 
 784 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 jJMtnn. Fatter, we obey ttiy holy t<bk«. 
 Duke John of Saxony, receive ray faith ; 
 Till our ears hear the true course, which thy soaH 
 Have taken with me fond and misled child, 
 I proclaim truce. Why dost thou sullen stand ? 
 .f thou mean peace, give me thy princely hand. 
 
 Saxony. Thus do I plight thee truth, and promise 
 peace. 
 
 Austria. Nay, but thy eyes agree not with thy heart. 
 In vows of combination there's a grace. 
 That shews th' intenfion in the outward face. 
 Look chearfuUy, or I expect no league. 
 
 Saxony. First give me leave to view awhile the 
 person 
 Of this Hermit. — Austria, view him well. 
 I* he not like my broiher Roderic ? 
 
 Austria. He's like him. But I heard, he lost his 
 life 
 tiOna: since in Persia by the Sophy's wars. 
 
 Hermit. I heard so much, my Lord. But that report 
 Was purely feign'd ; spread by my erring tongue. 
 As double as my heart, when I was young. 
 I am that Roderic, that aspired thy throne ; 
 That vile false brother, that with rebel lireath. 
 Drawn sword, and treach'rous heart, threaten'd your 
 death. 
 
 Saxoni/. My brother 1 — nay then i' faith, old John 
 lay by 
 Thy sorrowing thoughts ; turn to thy wonted vein. 
 And be mad John of Saxony again. 
 Mad Roderic, art alive ? — my mother's son. 
 Her joy, and her last birth !— oh, she conjured me 
 To use tbee thus ; [_embrai:ing him] and yet I baaish'd 
 
 thee. — 
 Body o' me ! I was unkind, I know ; 
 But thou deservd'st it then : but let it go. 
 Say thou wilt leave this life, thus truly idle. 
 And live a Statesman ; thou shalt share in reign. 
 Commanding all but me thy Sovereign. 
 
 Hermit. I thank your Highness ; 1 will think on it • 
 But for my sins this sufferance is more tit. 
 
 Saxony. Tut, tittle tattle, tell not rr.e of sin. — 
 Now, Austria, once again thy princely hand : 
 I'll look th^'e in the face, and smile ; and swear. 
 If any of my sons have wroug'd thy child, 
 I'll help thee in revenging it myself. 
 But if, as I believe, they mean but honour, 
 (As it appeareth by these Jousts proclaim'd). 
 Then thou slialt be content to name* him thine, 
 And thy fair daughter I'll account as mine. 
 
 Austria. Agreed. 
 
 Saxony. Ah, Austria I 'twas a world, when you and I 
 Ran these careers; but now we are stiff and dry. 
 
 Austria. I'm glad you are bo pleasant, good rnv 
 Lord. 
 
 Saxony. 'Twas my old mood : but I was soon turn'd 
 sad. 
 With over -grieving for this long lost Lad, — 
 And now the Boy is grown as old as I ; 
 His very face as full of gravity. 
 
 C.L. 
 
 IBferobn-ied 
 
 * By one of the'Duke's mua (h«r Lover') w bonoor 
 •f Laeib«l. 
 
 OF THJE 
 
 AJVCIENTS AND MODERNS. 
 
 No. XV. 
 Ancient Surgery. 
 
 Mr. Bernard, principal surgeon to kinj 
 William, affirms respecting ancient surgical 
 skill as follows : — 
 
 There is no doubt but the perfection to 
 which surgery has been carried in these 
 last ages, is principally owing to the dis- 
 coveries which have been made in anatomy. 
 But the art of curing wounds, to which all 
 the other parts ought to give way, remains 
 almost in the same slate in which the 
 ancients transmitted it to us. 
 
 Celsus and other ancients have described 
 a mode of operating for the stone, although 
 it must be owned that a method, deserving 
 the preference in many respects, and known 
 by the name of niognus apparatus or the 
 grand operation, was the invention of 
 Johannes de Komanis, of Cremona, who 
 lived at Rome in the year 1520, and pub- 
 li>hed his work at Venice in 1535. The 
 instrument that we make use of in trepan- 
 ning was doubtless fiist used by the an- 
 cients, and only rendeied more perfect by 
 Woodall and Fabricius. Tapping, like- 
 wise, is in all respects an invention of 
 theirs. Laryn^oton^.y, or the opening of 
 the laiynx in the quinsey, was practised by 
 them with success ; an operation which, 
 though safe and needful, is out of use at 
 present. Calen. in particular, supported 
 by reason, experience, and the authority of I 
 Asclepiades, justly applauds it as the ulti- 
 mate resource in the case of a quinsey. 
 Hernia intestalis, with the distinguishing 
 difterences of the several species of that 
 malady, and their n)ethod of cure, are 
 exactly described by the ancients. They 
 also cured the pterygion and cataract, and 
 treated the maladies of the eye as judi 
 ciously as modern oculists. The opening of 
 an aitery and of the jugular vein is no 
 more a modern invention, than the appli- 
 cation of the ligature in the case of an 
 aneurism, which was not well understood 
 by Fiederic Ruysch, the celebrated anato- 
 mist of Holland. The extirpation of the 
 amygdales, or of the uvula, is not at all a 
 late invention, though it must be owned 
 the efficacious cauteries now used in the 
 case of the former, were neither practised 
 Qor known by the ancients. The method 
 
 785 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 we now use of treating the fistula lacryma- 
 lis, a cure so nice and difficult, is precisely 
 that of the ancients, with the addition that 
 Fabricius made of the cannula for applying 
 the cautery. As to the real caustic, which 
 makes a considerable article in surgery, 
 althougti Costeus, Fienus, and Severinus 
 have written amply on that subject, yet it 
 IS evident from a single aphorism of Hip- 
 Docrates, that this great physician knew 
 the use of it as well as those who have 
 come after him: and besides, ii is frequently 
 spoken of in the writings of all the other 
 ancients, who without doubt used it with 
 great success in many cases where we have 
 left it off, or know not how to apply it. 
 The cure of the varices by incision appears, 
 from the works of Celsus and Paulus £gi- 
 netus, to have been a familiar practice 
 among the ancients. The ancients describe 
 the mode of curing the polypus of the ear, 
 a malady little understood by the moderns. 
 They were likewise well acquainted with 
 all kind of fractures and luxations, and the 
 means of remedying them ; as well as with 
 all the sorts of sutures in use among us, 
 besides many we have lost. The various 
 amputations of limbs, breasts, &c. were 
 performed among them as frequently and 
 with as great success as we can pretend to. 
 As to the art of bandaging, the ancients 
 knew it so well, and to such a degree of 
 perfection, that we have not added any 
 thing considerable to what Galen taught in 
 his excellent tract on that subject. As to 
 remedies externally applied, we are in- 
 debted to them for having instructed us in 
 the nature and properties of those we now 
 use ; and in general methods of care, par- 
 ticularly of wounds of the head, the mo- 
 derns, who have written most judiciously 
 upon it, thought they could do no better 
 service to posterity, than comment upon 
 that admirable book which Hippocrates 
 v/rote on this subject. 
 
 Ancient Chemistry. 
 
 It is agreed almost by all, that chemistry 
 was first cultivated in F-gypt, the country 
 Bf Cham, of whom it is supposed primarily 
 10 have taken its name, Xtj^sia, Chemia, sive 
 Chamia, the science of Cham. Tubal- 
 Jain, and those who with him found out 
 the way of working in brass and iron, must 
 nave been able chemists ; for it was impos- 
 sible to work upon these metals, without 
 first knowing the art of digging them out 
 of the mine, of excavating them, and of 
 refining and separating them from the 
 ore. 
 
 Potable Gold. 
 
 From the story of the golden fleece, tbe 
 golden apples that grew in the gardens of 
 the Hesperides, and the reports of Mane- 
 tlion and Josephus with relation to Seth's 
 pillars, deductions have been made in fa- 
 vour of the translation of metals; but to 
 come to real and established facts, it ap- 
 pears that Moses broke the golden ealf, re- 
 duced it into powder, to be mingled with 
 water, and gave it to the Israelites to drink : 
 in one word, he rendered gold potable. 
 
 It was objected within a century, that this 
 operation was impracticable, and by some 
 it was affirmed as having been impossible. 
 But the famous Joel Langelotte affirms in 
 his works, that gold may be entirely dis- 
 solved by attrition alone ; and the ingenious 
 Homberg assures us, that by pounding for 
 a long while certain metals, and even gold 
 itself, in plaiu ivater, those bodies have 
 been so entirely dissolved as to become 
 potable. Frederic III., king of Denmark^ 
 being curious to ascertain the fact, engaged 
 some able chemists of bis time to attempt 
 it. After many trials they at last succeeded, 
 but it was in following the method of Mo- 
 ses ; by first of all reducing the gold into 
 small parts by means of fire, and then 
 poundmg it in a mortar with water, till it 
 was so far dissolved as to become potable. 
 This fact is unquestionable ; and probably 
 Moses, who was instructed in all the learn- 
 ing of the Egyptians, became acquainted 
 with the method from that ancient and 
 erudite people, from whom the most emi- 
 nent philosophers of Greece derived their 
 knowledge. 
 
 Mummies. 
 
 The art of embalming bodies, and of 
 preserving them for many ages, never 
 could have been carried so far as it was 
 by the Egyptians, without the greatest 
 skill in chemistry. Yet all the essays to 
 restore it have proved ineffectual; reiterated 
 analyses of mummies have failed to discover 
 the ingredients of which they were com- 
 posed. There were also, in those mummies 
 of Egypt, many things besides, which fall 
 within the verge of chemistry : such as their 
 gilding,* so very fresh, as if it were but o'! 
 fifty years' standing; and their stained silk, 
 vivid in its colours at the end of thiee 
 thousand years. In the British Museum 
 
 • The ancients also understood gilding with beate7>, 
 or water gold. — /jKs inaurari arcjento vivo, legitiu.uJl 
 erat. Pli'n. Hibt. IJatar. lib. ixxiii. c. 3. ' Vixruf. 
 lib. vii. e» 8. , . , 
 
 786 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 there is a mummy covered all over with 
 tiUets of granulated glass, various in colour, 
 'vhich shows that at that time they under- 
 stood not only the making of glass, but 
 could paint it to their liking. These glass 
 ornaments are tinged with the same colours, 
 and set off in the same taste, as the dyes 
 in which almost all other mummies are 
 painted. 
 
 Painting on Cloth. 
 
 Their manner of painting upon linen 
 was, by first -drawing upon it the outlines 
 of the design, and then filling each com- 
 partment of it with different sorts of gums, 
 proper to absorb the various colours; so 
 that none of them could be distinguished 
 from the whiteness of the cloth. They 
 then dipped it for a moment in a caldron 
 full of boiling liquor prepared for the pur- 
 pose; and drew it thence, painted in all 
 the colours they intended. These colours 
 neither decayed by time, nor moved in the 
 washing ; the caustic impregnating the 
 liquor wherein it was dipped, having 
 penetrated and fixed every colour inti- 
 mately through the whole contexture of 
 the cloth. 
 
 Imitation of Precious Stones. 
 
 The preceding instance is sufficient to 
 prove that chemistry had made g^reat pro- 
 gress among the Egyptians. History affords 
 similar instances of extraordinary attain- 
 ment by this wonderful people, who were 
 so ingenious and industrious, that even 
 their lame, blind, and maimed were in 
 constant employment. With all this, they 
 were so noble-minded, as to inscribe their 
 discoveries in the arts and sciences upon 
 pillars reared in holy places, in order to 
 omit nothing that might contribute to the 
 public utility. The emperor Adrian attests 
 this in a letter to the consul Servianus, upon 
 presenting him with three curious cups of 
 glass, which, like a pigeon's neck, reflected, 
 on whatever side they were viewed, a 
 variety of colours, representing those of the 
 precious stone called obsidianum, and which 
 some commentators have imagined to be 
 cat's-eye, and others the opal. In this art 
 of imitating precious stones, the Greeks, 
 who derived their knowledge from the 
 Egyptians, were also very skilful. They 
 could give to a composition of crystal all 
 the different tints of any precious stone 
 they wanted to imitate. They remarkably 
 excelled in an exact imitation of the ruby, 
 the hyacinth, the emerald, and the sapphire. 
 
 ' Gold— Nitre— Artificial Hatching, ,^c. 
 
 Diodorus Siculus says, that some of th6 
 Egyptian kings had the art of extracting 
 gold from a sort of white marble. Strabo 
 reports their manner of preparing nitre, and 
 mentions the considerable number of mor- 
 tars of granite, for chemical purposes, that 
 were to be seen in his time at Memphis. 
 They likewise, by artificial means, hatched 
 the eggs of hens, geese, and other fowls, at 
 all seasons. 
 
 Medical Chemistry. 
 
 Egyptian pharmacy depended much upon 
 chemistry ; witness their extracted oils, and 
 their preparations of opium, for allevi- 
 ating acute pains, or relieving the mind 
 from melancholy thoughts. Homer intro- 
 duces Helen as ministering to Telemachus 
 a medical preparation of this kind. TheK 
 also made a composition or preparation o. 
 clay or fuller's earth, adapted to the relier 
 of many disorders, particularly where it 
 was requisite to render the fleshy parts dry, 
 as in dropsy, &c. They had different me-' 
 thods of composing salts, nitre, and alum, 
 sal cyrenaic or ammoniac, so called from 
 being found in the environs of the temple 
 of .Jupiter Ammon. They made use of th*? 
 litharge of silver, the rust of iron, and cal- 
 cined alum, in the cure of ulcers, cuts, boils, 
 defluctions of the eyes, pains of the head, 
 &c. ; and of pitch against the bite of ser- 
 pents. They successfully applied caustics. 
 They knew every different way of preparing 
 plants, or herbs, or grain, whether for 
 medicine or beverage. Beer, in particular, 
 had its origin among them. Their unguents 
 were of the highest estimation, and most 
 lasting ; and their use of remedies, taken 
 from metallic substances, is so manifest in 
 the writings of Pliny and Dioscorides, thai 
 it would be needless, and indeed tedious, 
 to enter upon them. The latter especially 
 often mentions their metallic preparations 
 of burnt lead, ceruse, verdigrise, and burnt 
 antimony, for plasters and other external 
 applications. 
 
 All these chemical preparations the Egyp- 
 tians were acquainted with in their phar- 
 macy. The subsequent practice of the 
 Greeks and Romans presents a field too 
 vast to be observed on. Hippocrates, the 
 contemporary and friend of Democritus, was 
 remarkably assiduous in the cultivation o'f 
 chemistry. He not only understood itj 
 general principles, but was an adept in 
 many of its most useful parts. Galen 
 knew that the energy of fire mi-^ht bj 
 
 m 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 applied to many useful purposes ; and that, 
 by the instrumentality of it, many secrets 
 in nature were to be discovered, which 
 otherwise must for ever lie hid ; and he in- 
 stances this in several places of his works. 
 Dioscorides has transmitted to us many of 
 the mineral operations of the ancients, and 
 in particular that of extracting quicksilver 
 from cinnabar ; which is, in effect, an exact 
 description of distillation. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 TALES OF TINMOUTHE PRIORIE. 
 
 No. IL 
 
 THE WIZARD'S CAVE. 
 
 ** Here nerer shines the sun ; here nothing breeds 
 Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven. 
 And when they shewed me this abhorred pit. 
 They told me, here, at dead time of night, 
 A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes. 
 Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urcfeias. 
 Would make such fearful and confused cries, 
 As any mortal body, bearing it. 
 Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly." 
 Titm Andromcui. 
 
 Young Walter, the soaof Sir Robert tbeKnightj 
 Far fam'd for his valour in border-fight. 
 Sat prattling so sweet oh his mother's knee. 
 As his arms twin'd her neck of pure ivOry. 
 
 Now tell me, dear mother, young Walter said. 
 Some feat to be done by the bow or the blade* 
 Where foe may be quell'd or some charm be UBdone ; 
 Or lady, or treasure, or fame may be won. 
 
 The lady, she gaz'd on her war-born child. 
 
 And smooth'd down his ringlets, and kiss'd hiin, and 
 
 smil'd ; 
 And she told him high deeds of the Percy brave. 
 Where the lance e'er could pierce, or the helm-plume 
 
 wave. 
 
 And she told wild tales, all cf 
 .'here treasures were hidden in mountain or deB ; 
 /here wizards, for ages, kept beauty in thrall 
 rieath the mould'ringdamp of their dank donjcHi wall. 
 
 But list thee, my Walter, by Tinmouthe's tmvers 
 
 grey. 
 Where chant the eowl'd monks all by night and by 
 
 day ; 
 In a cavern of rock scoop'd under the sea. 
 Lye treasures ib keeping of Sorcery. 
 
 It avails not the Cross, ever sainted and true. 
 It avails not the pray'rs of the prior Sir Hugh, 
 It avails not, O dread I Holy Virgin's care, 
 Qrsat treasure long held by dark SatbaD ia tbers. 
 
 1 ar, far 'neath the sea, in a deep rocky edl. 
 Bound down by the chains of the strongest speB, 
 Lies the key of gold countless as sands on the «ttor». 
 And thew it will rest 'till old tin»e is no more. 
 
 Nay, say not so, nwjther, can heart that is bold 
 Not win from the fiend all this ill-gotten gold ? 
 Can no lion-soul'd knight, with his harness true. 
 Do more than eowl'd moo'ks with their beads e'er eaa 
 do? 
 
 Now hush thee yonng Walter, bow like to thy sire I 
 Thy heart is too reckless, thii»e eye fall of fire: 
 When reason with courage can help thee m need, 
 I will tell hoW the treasure from spell may be freed. 
 
 Full many a long sanimer with scetted breath. 
 
 Saw the fiowers blossom wild on the north nKmittaia 
 
 heath ; 
 And the fleetest in chase and the stoutest in fight. 
 Grew young Walter, the sob of Sir Robert the KnighJ. 
 
 Fall many a long winter of sleet and of snow. 
 
 Swept through the cold valleys where pines only 
 
 grow; 
 But heedless of sleet, snow, or howling Mast, 
 Young Walter e'er brav'd thera* the first and the las!. 
 
 Who is that young knight in the Percy's band ? 
 Who wieldeth the falchion with master hand ? 
 Who strideth the war-steed in border fight ? 
 'Tis Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight f 
 
 Thy promise, dear mother, I claim from thee now. 
 When my reason can act with my Made and my bow ; 
 But the lady she wept o'er bold Walter her so«. 
 Jot peril is great where renown can be woa. 
 
 And the lady she told what to brave knights befell, 
 Who reckless of life sought the dark treasure cell ; 
 Who failing to cooqwer the fiends of the cave. 
 For ever must dwell 'neath the green ocean wave. 
 
 No tears the bold bent of young Walter conld turn. 
 And he laugh'd at her fears, as in veriest scorn — 
 
 Then prepare thy good harness* my bonny traw 
 
 son. 
 Prepare for thy ta&k on the eve of Saint John. 
 
 O loud was the green ocean's howling din, 
 
 When the eve of Saint John was usher'd ia : 
 
 And the shrieks of the sea-gulls, high whirling in aJT 
 
 Spread far o'er the land like the screams of despair. 
 
 The monks at their vespers sing loud and shrill. 
 But the gusts of the north wind are louder still 
 And the hymn to the Virgin is lost in the roar 
 Of the billows that foam on the whitea'd shore. 
 
 Deep sinks the raail'd heel of the knight in the sand. 
 As be seeks the dark cell, arm'd with basnet aDd" 
 
 brand ; 
 And clank rings th« steel of bis arentayle bright, 
 ▲s be springs np ths rocks in the darknes* of aishi 
 
 788 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 His plume it is raven and wares o'er his crest, 
 And qaails not the heart-blood that flows in his breast : 
 Unblenched his proud eye that shines calm and serene. 
 And floats in the storm his bright mantel of green. 
 
 Now leaping, now swarving the slipp'ry steep. 
 One spring and the knight gains the first cavern keep ; 
 The lightnings flash round him with madd'ning glare. 
 And the thunderbolts hiss through the midnight air. 
 
 Down deep in the rock winds the pathway drear. 
 And the yells of the spirits seem near and more near, 
 And the flames from their eye-balls burn ghastly blue 
 As they dance round the knight with a wild halloo. 
 
 Fierce dragons with scales of bright burnished brass. 
 Stand belching red fire where the warrior must pass ; 
 But rushes he on with his brand and his shield, 
 And with loud shrieks of laughter they vanish and 
 yield. 
 
 Huge hell-dogs come baying with murd'rous notes. 
 
 Sulphureous flames in their gaping throats ; 
 
 And they spring to. but shrinks not, brave Walter the 
 
 Knight, 
 And again all is sunk in the darkness of night. 
 
 Still down winds the warrior in pathway of stone. 
 Now menae'd with spirits, now dark and alone ; 
 Till far in the gloom of the murky air 
 A pond'rous lamo sheds unearthly glare. 
 
 Then eager the knight presses on to the flaiae. 
 Holy mother! — Why shudders his stalwart frame? 
 A wide chasm opes 'neath hts wond'ring view. 
 And now what availeth his falchion true. 
 
 Loudly the caverns with laughter ring. 
 
 And the eyeless spectres forward spring : 
 
 Now shrive thee young Walter, one moment of fear. 
 
 And thy doom is to dwell 'neath the ocean drear. 
 
 One instant Sir Walter looks down from the brink 
 Of the bottomless chasm, then ceases to shrink ; 
 Doffs hauberk and basnet, full fearless and fast. 
 And darts like an eagle the hell-gulf past. 
 
 Forefend thee, good knight, but the demon fell 
 Now rises to crush thee from nethermost hell ; 
 And monsters most horrible hiss thee around. 
 And coil round thy limbs from the slimy ground. 
 
 A noise, as if worlds in dire conflict crash. 
 Is heard 'mid the vast ocean's billowy splash ; 
 But it quails not the heart of Sir Robert's brave son. 
 He will conquer the fiend on the eve of Saint John. 
 
 He seizes the bugle with golden chain. 
 
 To sound it aloud once, twice, and again ; 
 
 It turns to a snake in his startled grasp, 
 
 Avi its mouthpiece is srm'd with the sting of th« MP 
 
 In vain is hell's rage, strike fierce as it maf 
 The Wizard well knows 'tis the end of his sway ; 
 For the bugle is fill'd with the warrior's breath. 
 And thrice sounded load in the caverns of death. 
 
 The magic cock crows from a brazen bill. 
 And it shakes its broad wings, as it shouts so shril) 
 And down sinks in lightning the demon array. 
 And the gates of the cavern in thunder give way. 
 
 Twelve pillars of jasper their columns uprear. 
 Twelve stately pillars of crystal clear. 
 With topaz and amethyst, sparkles the floor. 
 And the bright beryls stud the thick golden door. 
 
 Twelve golden lamps, from the fretted doom. 
 Shed a radiant light through the cavern gloom, 
 Twelve altars of onyx their incense fling 
 Round the jewell'd throne of an eastern king. 
 
 It may not be sung what treasures were seen. 
 Gold heap'd upon gold, and emeralds green. 
 And diamonds, and rubies, and sapphires untold. 
 Rewarded the courage of Walter the Bold. 
 
 A hundred strong castles, a hundred domains. 
 With far spreading forests and wide flowery plains. 
 Claim one for their lord, fairly purchas'd by right, 
 Hight Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight. 
 
 The tradition of the " Wizard's Cave'' 
 is as familiar to the inhabitants and visitors 
 of Tynemouth, as " household words. " 
 Daily, during the summer season, even fair 
 damsels are seen risking their slender 
 necks, to ascertain, by adventurous explor- 
 ation, whether young Walter the knight 
 might not, in his hurry, have passed over 
 some of the treasures of the cave : but 
 alas ! Time on this, as on other things, 
 has laid his heavy hand ; for the falling in 
 of the rock and earth, and peradventure 
 the machinations of the discomfited " spi- 
 rits," have, one or both, stopped up the 
 dark passage of the cavern at the depth of 
 ten or twelve feet. The entrance of the 
 cave, now well known by the name of 
 " Jingling Geordie's Hole," is partly formed 
 by the solid rock and partly by masonry, 
 and can be reached with some little danger 
 about half way up the precipitous cliff on 
 which Tynemouth castle and priory stand. 
 It commands a beautiful haven, or sandy 
 bay, on the north of Tynemouth promon- 
 tory, badly sheltered on both sides by fear- 
 ful beds of black rocks, on which the oceas 
 Heats with a perpetual murmur. 
 
 London, Dec. 4, 1827. 
 
 AXfa. 
 
 789 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 PERSONS OF DISTINCTION. 
 Uprightness in Death. 
 
 Of German pride we have the following 
 extraordinary anecdote: — A German lord 
 left orders in his will not to be interred, 
 but that he might be enclosed upright in a 
 pillar, which he had ordered to be hollow- 
 ed, and fastened to a post in the parish, in 
 order to prevent any peasant or slave from 
 walking over his body. 
 
 Taking a Liberty. 
 
 The most singular instance of British 
 pride is related of a man, known in his 
 time by the name of the " Proud Duke of 
 Somerset.'' This pillar of" the Corinthian 
 capital of polished society" married a se- 
 cond wife. One day, with an affectionate 
 ease, she suddenly threw her arm round 
 his neck, and fondly saluted him. " Ma- 
 dam," said the unmanly peer, " my first 
 wife was a Percy, and she would not have 
 taken such a liberty." 
 
 Royal Dinner Time. 
 
 The kham of the Tartars, who had not a 
 house to dwell in, who subsisted by rapine, 
 and lived on mare's milk and horse-flesh, 
 every day after his repast, caused a herald 
 to proclaim, *' That the kham having dined, 
 all other potentates, princes, and great 
 men of the earth, might go to dinner." 
 
 Self-Esteem. 
 
 Some Frenchmen, who had landed on 
 the coast of Guinea, found a negro prince 
 seated under a tree, on a block of wood for 
 his throne, and three or four negroes, armed 
 with wooden pikes, for his guards. His 
 sable majesty anxiously inquired, *' Do 
 they talk much of me in France ?'' 
 
 Guinea Sovereigns. 
 
 The different tribes on the coast of Gui- 
 nea have each their king, whose power is 
 not greater than that of the negro prince 
 mentioned in the preceding anecdote. These 
 monarchs often name themselves after ours, 
 or adopt the titles of great men, whose ex- 
 ploits they have heard of. 
 
 In the year 1743, there was among them 
 a " King William," whose august spouse 
 called herself " Queen Anne." There was 
 another who styled himself the " Duke of 
 Marlborough." 
 
 This king William was a little Caesar. 
 For twenty years he had carried on a war 
 
 ^Igainst one Martin, w.io had dared to at- 
 tempt to become his equal. At length, 
 after a famous and decisive general engage- 
 ment, wherein William lost three men, and 
 his rival five, Martin made overtures foi 
 a cessation of hostilities, which was agreed 
 to, on the following conditions : 
 
 1. That Martin should renounce the title 
 of king, and assume that of captain. 
 
 2. That captain Martin should never more 
 put on stockings or slippers when he went 
 on board European ships, but that this bril- 
 liant distinction should thenceforth solely 
 belong to king William. 
 
 3. That captain Martin should give the 
 conqueror his most handsome daughter in 
 marriage. 
 
 In pursuance of this glorious treaty, the 
 nuptials were solemnized, and king Wil- 
 liam went on board a Danish ship in 
 stockings and slippers, where he bought 
 silk to make a robe for his queen, and a 
 grenadier's cap for her majesty's headdress. 
 Captain Martin paid a visit of ceremony to 
 his royal daughter on occasion of her 
 finery, and declared she never appeared so 
 handsome before. This wedding ended a 
 feud, which had divided the sable tribe into 
 combatants as sanguinary and ferocious as 
 the partisans of the white and red rose in 
 England. 
 
 Titles. 
 
 Until the reign of Constantine, the title 
 of " Illustrious" was never given but to 
 those whose reputation was splendid in 
 arms or in letters. Suetonius wrote an ac- 
 count of those who had possessed this title. 
 As it was then bestowed, a moderate book 
 was sufficient to contain their names ; nor 
 was it continued to the descendants of those 
 on whom it had been conferred. From 
 the time of Constantine it became very com- 
 mon, and every son of a prince was " illus- 
 trious." 
 
 Towards the decline of the Roman em- 
 pire the emperors styled themselves " divi- 
 nities !" In 404, Arcadius and Honorius 
 issued the following decree: — 
 
 " Let the officers of the palace be warned 
 to abstain from frequenting tumultuous 
 meetings ; and those who, instigated by a 
 sacrilegious temerity, dare to oppose the 
 authority of our divinity, shall be deprived 
 of their employments, and their estates con- 
 fiscated." The letters of these emperors 
 were called " holy." When their sons 
 spoke of them, they called them — " Their 
 father of diviiie memory ;" or " Their 
 divine father." They called their own 
 laws " oracles," and " celestial oracles."! 
 
 790, 
 
TTTT^ TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Their subjects addressed them by the titles 
 if " Your Perpetuity, Your Eternity." A 
 aw of Theodore the Great ordains thus — 
 ' If any magistrate, after having concluded 
 I public work, put his name rather than 
 that of Our Perpetuity, let him be judged 
 juilty of high treason." 
 
 De Meunier observes, that the titles 
 which some chiefs assume are not always 
 honourable in themselves, but it is suffi- 
 cient if the people respect them. The king 
 )f Quiterva calls himself the " Great Lion ;" 
 and for this reason lions are there so much 
 respected, that it is not permitted to kill 
 them, except at royal huntings. 
 
 The principal officers of the empire of 
 Mexico were distinguished by the odd 
 titles of "Princes of unerring javelins;" 
 ■' Hackers of men ;" and " Drinkers of 
 blood." 
 
 The king of Monomotapa, surrounded 
 by musicians and poets, is adulated by 
 such refined flatteries, as " Lord of the Sun 
 and Moon ;" " Great Magician ;" and 
 " Great Thief!" 
 
 The king of Arracan assumes the title of 
 " Emperor of Arracan ; Possessor of the 
 White Elephant, and the two Ear-rings, 
 and in virtue of this possession, legitimate 
 lieir of Pegu and Brama, Lord of the 
 twelve provinces of Bengal ; and of the 
 twelve Kings who place their heads under 
 his feet." 
 
 His majesty of Ava, when he writes to a 
 foreign sovereign, calls himself — "The King 
 of Kings, whom all others should obey; the 
 Cause of the Preservation of all Animals ; 
 the Regulator of the Seasons ; the Absolute 
 Master" of the Ebb and Flow of the Sea ; 
 Brother to the Sun; and King of the Four 
 and Twenty Umbrellas." These umbrellas 
 
 Our English kings were apostrophizeii 
 by the title of " Your Grace." Henry VIH. 
 was the first who assumed the title o/ 
 " Highness," and at length "Majesty." 
 Francis L began to give him this last title, 
 in their interview in the year 1520. Our 
 first " Sacred Majesty " was our " Most 
 dread Sovereign, His Highness, the JMost 
 High and Mighty Prince, James L" 
 
 The Great Turk. 
 
 This designation of the sovereign of the 
 Ottoman empire was not conferred, as some 
 have imagined, to distinguish him from his 
 subjects. Mahomet H. was the first Turk- 
 ish emperor on whom the Christians be- 
 stowed the title of *' The Great Turk." 
 The distinction was not in consequence of 
 his noble deeds, but from the vast extent of 
 his territories, in comparison of those of 
 the sultan of Iconia, or Cappadocia, his 
 contemporary, who was distinguished b-y 
 the title of "The Little Turk." After the 
 taking of Constantinople, Mahomet II. de- 
 prived " The Little Turk" of his dominions, 
 yet he still preserved the title of " The Great 
 Turk," though the propriety of it was de- 
 stroyed by the event. 
 
 AN INSCRIPTION, 
 
 Said to have been dug out of the Rmna oj 
 a Palace at Rome. 
 
 Under this monument repose the ashes 
 of DoMiTiAN, the last of the Caesars, the 
 fourth scourge of Rome ; a tyrant, no less 
 deliberate than Tiberius, no less capricious 
 
 are always carried before him as a mark of than Caligula, and no less outrageous than 
 
 his dignity 
 
 Nero. 
 
 When satiated with issuing edicts to 
 spill human blood, he found an amusement 
 in stabbing flies with a bodkin. 
 
 His reign, though undisturbed by war, 
 occasioned no less calamity to his country 
 than would have happened from the loss of 
 twenty battles. 
 
 He was magnificent from vanity, aff'able 
 fiom avarice, and implacable from cow- 
 ardice. 
 
 He flattered incessantly the soldiery, who 
 Formerly (says Houssaie) the title of governed him, and detested the senatPj 
 " Hiohness" was only given to kings. It who caressed him. 
 was conferred on Ferdinand, king of Arra- He insulted his country by his laws, 
 gon, and his queen Isabella, of Castile, heaven by his impiety, and nature by hi? 
 Charles V. was the first who took that of pleasures. 
 
 "Majesty;" not in quality of king of Spain, While livmg, he was deified; and the 
 i.ut as emperor. assassins alone, whom 
 
 The titles of the king of Achem are sin- 
 gular and voluminous. These are a few of 
 the most striking: — "Sovereign of the 
 Universe, whose body is luminous as the 
 sun ; whom God created to be as accom- 
 plished as is the moon at her plenitude; 
 whose eye glitters like the northern star ; a 
 King as spiritual as a ball is round — who 
 when he rises shades all his people— from 
 under whose feet a sweet odour is wafted, 
 &c. &c." 
 
 his 
 
 hsiA 
 
 791 
 
THE TABLE .BOOK. 
 
 •wnt to despatch him, could convince him 
 of nis mortality. 
 
 This monster governed during fifteen 
 ycb.'-s ; yet the administration of Titus, the 
 delight of humankind, was confined to two. 
 
 Ye passengerj ! who read this inscrip- 
 tion, blaspheme not the Gods ! 
 
 DICKEY FLETCHER. 
 To the Editor. 
 
 I hastily transcribe the following, origin- 
 ally written for the Hull Advertiser, and 
 printed in that paper for September 27, 
 S827, and subsequently in some of the 
 London and provincial newspapers. 
 
 On Saturday, September 22, 1827, the 
 inhabitants and visitants of Bridlmgton 
 Quay, by a fatal accident, were suddenly 
 deprived of the services of Richard Kletcher, 
 the facetious and well-known bellman of 
 that place, whose singular appearance, 
 rhyming propensity, peculiar manner of 
 pronunciation, and drawling and general 
 originality, have so long been a source of 
 amusement. In the forenoon of the above- 
 mentioned day he was following his usual 
 vocation, with that accustomed gaiety and 
 cheerfulness for which he was remarkable, 
 when having occasion to call at the lodging- 
 house of Mr. Gray, he accidentally fell 
 down the steps of a cellar-kitchen and 
 broke his neck. The death of " poor 
 Dickey," and the shocking manner in w hich 
 it occurred, excited much commisera- 
 tion. The deceased was seventy-nine years 
 of age, and left a widow at the age of 
 eighty-nine, the relict of a former bellman, 
 to whom he had been united about four 
 years — during which period the antiquated 
 pair formed a striking pattern of attach- 
 ment. Dickey was a freeman of Hull, and 
 the manner in which he made up his mirid 
 to vote for a candidate is deserving of 
 mention. In the event of a contested 
 election he was uniformly for the " third 
 man ;" as, he would say, " the other two 
 would not think of looking after me, but 
 for kirn." 
 
 A specimen of Dickey's rhyming eccen- 
 tricities appeared in the Hull Advertiser of 
 August 5th, 1825; a copy of which, and 
 the paragraph accompanying it, is here 
 given : — 
 
 *' The company at Bridlington Quay are 
 
 often highly amused by that eccentric little 
 creature, yclep'd ' the bellman.' He is 
 cuite a lion ; — being a poet as well as a 
 crier. His poetry is uncommonly original 
 and if his pronunciation, when improvising. 
 be not so too, it is uncommonly Yorkshire 
 which is as good. The following lines art 
 a very faithful imitation of the ' cry ' this 
 singular-looking being drawled forth oi 
 Saturday morning, July 30 : — 
 
 Taek'n oop this forenoon apod noarth sans 
 Two keyes, wich I ev i' my ans ; — 
 Wo-hever as lost 'um miis coora te inea, 
 An they sal ev 'um agean an we can agrea.''° 
 
 " Dickey's late marriage was one of tht 
 * largest and the funniest' known in Brid 
 lington for a long time ; a barouche and 
 pair were gratuitously provided on the 
 occasion, as well as a wedding-dinner and 
 other et cceteras. Since ' they twain be- 
 came one flesh,' Dickey has been very 
 proud of walking abroad, at fair times and 
 public occasions, with ' his better part,' 
 when they generally formed objects of con 
 siderable attraction to those to whom they 
 were not particularly known." 
 
 T. C. 
 
 Bridlington, October, \Q27. 
 
 ANOTHER ODD SIGN.* 
 
 At Wold Newton, near Bridlington, 
 there is a public-house with the sign of a 
 crooked billet, and the following lines oi 
 an angular board : — 
 
 First side 
 
 When this comical stick grew in the wood 
 Our Alb was fresh and very good, 
 Step in and taste, O do make haste. 
 For if you don't 'twill surely waste. 
 
 Second side. 
 
 When you have view'd the other side. 
 Come read this too before you ride ; 
 And now to end we'll let it pass. 
 Step in, kind friends, aod take a olass. 
 
 Bridlington. 
 
 T. C. 
 
 • See Table Book, vol. i. p. 636. 
 
 792 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 TO FANNY. 
 
 No, Fanny, no, it may not be I 
 
 Though parting break my heart in twain, 
 This hour I go, by many a sea 
 
 Divided — ne'er we meet again. 
 
 I love thee , and that look of thine, 
 That tear upon thy pallid cheek. 
 
 Assures me that I now resign 
 
 What long it was my joy to seek. 
 
 Oh I once it was my happiest dream, 
 My only hope, my fondest prayer; 
 
 'Tis gone, and like a meteor beam 
 Hath past, and left me to despair. 
 
 Yet may you still of joy partake. 
 Nor find like me those hopes decay. 
 
 Which ever, like a desert lake. 
 Attract the sight to fade away. 
 
 I could not brook to see that eye. 
 
 So fall of life, so radiant now, 
 I could not see its lustre die. 
 
 And time's cold hand deface thy brow— 
 
 And death will «orae, or soon or late, 
 (I could not brook to know that liour,) 
 
 But, if I do not learn thy fate, 
 I'll think thou ne'er canst feel his pow'r. 
 
 Yes I I will fly I though years may roll. 
 And other thoughts may love estrange, 
 
 'Twill give some pleasure to ray soul 
 To know I cannot see thee change. 
 
 Then fare thee well, death cannot bring 
 One hour of anguish more to me ; 
 
 Since I have felt the only sting 
 He e'er could give, in leaving thee. 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF ILLUSION. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — I am a person unable to reckon 
 upon the certain receipt of sixpence per 
 annum, and yet I enjoy all the pleasures 
 this sublunary world can afford. My as- 
 sertion may startle, but its truth will be 
 apparent when I declare myself a visionary, 
 or, what is called by the world, " a castle 
 builder." Many would denounce my pro- 
 fession as useless and unprofitable; but 
 he object constantly desired and inces- 
 santly pursued by mankind is happiness, 
 which they find as evanescent and delusive 
 as the silver of the moon upon the waters. 
 
 Most men attach to certain states of tx 
 istence every pleasure that the earth can 
 bestow. Some enter these by laborious 
 and careful steps, but find them, upon ex- 
 amination, devoid of the charms which 
 their enthusiastic imaginations had painted. 
 Others, more ardent and less calculating, 
 rapidly ascend towards the object of their 
 wishes, and when their hands are stretchea 
 forth to grasp it they lose their high foot- 
 ing by an incautious step, and fall into an 
 abyss of despondence and are lost for ever. 
 How different a fate is mine ! I have been 
 the conqueror of nations, without feeling a 
 pang at the recollection of the blood spilled 
 in raising me to my exalted situation. I 
 have been the idol and defender of my 
 country, without suffering the anxieties of 
 a statesman. I have obtained the affections 
 of an amiable girl, without enduring the 
 solicitudes of a protracted courtship. In 
 fact, I possess every earthly pleasure, with- 
 out any of the pains of endeavouring to 
 obtain them. True it is, that the visions I 
 create are easily dispelled, but this is a 
 source of gratification rather than regret. 
 When glutted with conquest, I sini< into 
 love ; and on these failing to charm me, I 
 enter upon scenes more congenial to the 
 desires with which I feel myself inspired 
 Every wish that I conceive is instantly 
 gratified, and in a moment I possess that 
 which many devote their whole lives to 
 obtain. Surely the existence I lead is an 
 enviable one ; yet many calling themselves 
 my friends (and I believe them to be such) 
 would wish me to think otherwise. Some- 
 times, to gratify their desires, I have en- 
 deavoured to break the fairy spells that bind 
 me ; but when I dissipate the mist in which 
 I am almost constantly surrounded, the 
 scenes of misery that present themselves to 
 my view have such an effect upon my 
 senses, that on returning to my peculiar 
 regions they appear doubly delightful, from 
 being contrasted by those of the real world, 
 
 I have obtruded this epistle on your no- 
 tice, in vindication of a practice which has 
 been deprecated by many ; solely, as I 
 believe, from their powers of imagination 
 being unable to lead them into the abodes 
 where I so happily dwell. Should you 
 think it unworthy a place in your miscel- 
 lany, its rejection will not occasion me a 
 moment's mortification, as I already possess 
 a reputation for literary acquirements, far 
 surpassing any which has been given to 
 the most celebrated writers that have flou- 
 rished since the creation of your miserabl* 
 world. 
 
 November 6, 1827. T. T. B. 
 
 793 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 OLD MACARONIC POEM. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — T am a literary lounger, and diur* 
 nally amuse myself, during about four 
 hours, in poring over old poetical MSS. in 
 the British Museum : the result of yester- 
 day's idle labours was the accompanying 
 transcript from a macaronic drinking song, 
 which appears to me a very curious amal- 
 gamation of jollity and devotion. If you 
 coincide in this opinion, perhaps you will 
 honour its unknown author by inserting it 
 in your delightful miscellany, which, like 
 the diving bell, restores to the world many 
 interesting relics of antiquity, and rescues 
 them from eternal oblivion. 
 
 t am, sir, your obedient servant 
 and constant reader, 
 
 Le Flaneur. 
 Reading Room, 
 
 Brit. Mus. Nov. 22, 1827. 
 
 From the Cotton MS. Vespasian A.xxv. 
 
 There is no tre that groive 
 On earthe, that I do knowe, 
 More w'orthie praise I trowe,' 
 
 Than is the vyne, 
 Whos grapes, as ye may rede, 
 Their licoure forthe dothe shede 
 Wherof is made indede 
 
 All our good wyne. 
 And wyne, ye maye trust me, 
 Causethe men for to be 
 Merie, for so ye see 
 
 His nature is ; 
 Then put asyde all wraths 
 For David shovvde us hatha 
 Vinum letificat 
 
 Cor hominis. 
 
 «Vyne taken with excesse. 
 As Sf^ripture dothe expresse, 
 Causethe ereat hevmes 
 
 Unto the mynde t 
 But theie that take pleasure 
 To drinke it with measure. 
 No doute a great treasure 
 
 They shall it finde.. 
 Then voide you all sadnes, 
 Drinke your wyne with gladnes . 
 To take thought is raadnes. 
 
 And marke well this • 
 And put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut Kapia> 
 
 3. 
 How bringe ye that to pas 
 Cordis .^ucunditas. 
 Is BOW and ever was 
 
 Thii lyfe of man * 
 
 Sitlie that mirthe bathe no peare. 
 Then let ns make good cheare, 
 And be you merie keare, 
 
 While that ye can ; 
 And drinke well of this wyne. 
 While it is good and fyne. 
 And showe some outwarde syne 
 
 Of joye and blisse ; 
 Expell from you all wrathe, &c. nt vavn. 
 
 This thinge full well ye ken, 
 
 Hevines duUeth men. 
 
 But take this niedicien then. 
 
 Where'er ye come : 
 Refreshe yourself therewith, 
 For it was said long sithe. 
 That vinum acuit 
 
 Ingenium. 
 Then give not a chery 
 For sider nor perrye, 
 Wyne maketh man merie, 
 
 Ye knowe well this ; 
 And put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut supi 
 
 In hope to have release 
 From all our hevines. 
 And mirthe for to encrease 
 
 Sum dele the more, 
 Pulsemus organa. 
 Simul cum cithara, 
 Vinum et musica 
 
 Vegetabit cot. 
 But sorowe, care, and strife 
 Shortnethe the days of life, 
 Bothe of man and of wyfe 
 
 It will not mis; 
 Then put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut sipir. 
 
 A merie herte in cage 
 Makethe a lustie age. 
 As telleth us the sage. 
 
 Ever for the noynes; 
 Because we should delight 
 In mirthe, bothe daye and night. 
 He saith an hevie fright 
 
 Driethe up the bones. 
 Wberfor, let us alwaye 
 Rejoice in God, I saye. 
 Our mirthe cannot decaye 
 
 If we do this. 
 And put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut supra. 
 
 Nowe ye that be presente, 
 Jjaud God Omnipotent, 
 That hathe us given and sent 
 
 Our dalie foode. 
 When thorowe sinne.we're slaLca, 
 Hs sent his sob againe, 
 Ds to redeeme from paice 
 
 By his sweete bloodei 
 
 794 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 And he is the treive vyne. 
 From whome distill'd the wyne. 
 That boughte your soul&s and rnyno. 
 
 You knowe well this : 
 Then put asyde all wrathe, 
 VoT David showde us bathe 
 Vinum letificat 
 
 Cor hominis. 
 
 ANTY BRIGNAL AND THE BEG- 
 GING QUAKER. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 A few years ago a stout old man, with 
 long grey hair, and dressed in the habit of 
 the Society of Friends, was seen begging in 
 the streets of Durham. The inhabitants, 
 attracted by the novelty of a " begging 
 Quaker," thronged about him, and several 
 questioned him as to his residence, &c. 
 Amongst them was " Anty Brignal," the 
 police-officer, who told him to go about his 
 business, or he would put him in the kitty* 
 " for an imposteror." " Who ever heard," 
 said Anthony, "of a begging Quaker?'' 
 " But," said the mendicant, while tears 
 flowed adown his face, " thou knowest, 
 friend, there be bad Quakers as well as 
 good ones ; and, I confess to thee, I have 
 been a bad one. My name is John Tay- 
 lor ; I was in the hosiery business at N , 
 
 and through drunkenness have become a 
 bankrupt. The society have turned me 
 out, my friends have deserted me. I have 
 no one in the world to help me but my 
 daughter, who lives in Edinburgh, and I 
 am now on my way thither. Thou seest, 
 friend, why I beg ; it is to get a little money 
 to help me on my way : be merciful, as thou 
 hopest for mercy." " Come, come," said 
 the officer, " it won't do, yon know ; there's 
 not a word of truth in it; 'tis all false. 
 Did not I see you drunk at Nevill's Cross 
 'a public-house of that name) the other 
 night?" " No, friend," said the man of 
 unsteady habits, " thou didst not see me 
 drunk there, but I was there, and saw thee 
 drunk; and thou knowest when a man is 
 drunk he thinks every body else so !" This 
 was a poser for the police-officer. The 
 crowd laughed, and " Anty Brignal " slunk 
 away from their derision, while money fell 
 plentifully into the excended hat of the dis- 
 owned quaker. 
 
 T. Q. M. 
 
 * 1^ 18 tne house of correction called in Durham. 
 
 For the Table Book 
 
 THE ORPHANS. 
 
 Written on seeing a suall Lithocra 
 PHic Print of two Female Orphan 
 Children.^ 
 
 1. 
 
 Like two fair flowers that grow in some lone spot. 
 
 Bent by the breeze that wafts their fragrance round- 
 Pale, mild, and lovely ; but by all forgot, — 
 They droop neglected on the dewy ground. 
 
 Thus left alone, without a friend or guide 
 
 To cheer them, through life's drear and rugged way 
 
 Stand these two pensive mourners side by side, 
 To sorrow keen, and early grief, a prey. 
 
 3. 
 
 Low in the grave, o'er which the cypress spreads 
 Its gloon.y shade, in death their parents sleep ; 
 
 Unconscious now they rest their weary heads, 
 Nor hear their children sigh, nor see them weep. 
 
 And see, a tear-drop gems the younger's eye. 
 While struggling from its coral cell to start ; 
 
 Oh, how that pearl of sensibility 
 In silence pleads to every feeling heart. 
 
 5. 
 
 Not Niobe, when doom'd by cruel fate 
 To weep for ever in a crystal shower. 
 
 Could claim more pity for her hapless state. 
 Than does, for you, that drop of magic power 
 
 Breathes there on earth, of human form posspst, 
 Oi<» who would in those bosoms plant a thorn. 
 
 And banish thence the halcyon's tranquil nest. 
 While fhey its loss in secret anguish moum ? 
 
 7. 
 
 Perish the wretch ! who with deceitful wile 
 Forsaken innocence would lead astray, 
 
 And round her like a tieach'rous serpent coil. 
 And having stung, relentless haste away. 
 
 May you the orphan's friend find ever near 
 
 To guard you safe, and strew your path with flowers 
 
 May hope's bright sun your gloomy morning cheer, 
 And shine in splendour on your evening hours. 
 
 R. B, 
 
 Sept. 1827. 
 
 ^9« 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 JACK THE VIPER. 
 
 This is an odd name for a man, who does 
 not bear the appearance of a viper, or " a 
 snake in the grass." He is a rough sort of 
 fellow, has been at Waterloo, but did not 
 obtain a medal. He, nevertheless, carries 
 the hue of a triumphant soldier, wears an 
 honest sunburnt face, and might be trusted 
 with his majesty's great seal, or that of 
 another description in the British Museum. 
 He is a lover of ringing bells and swine; 
 but without regular employment. A sin- 
 gular piece of human construction, lone, 
 and erratic in his love of nature. A shep- 
 herd lies down at ease by the sides of his 
 flocks and fountains, listens to the plaints 
 )f injured birds, the voice of water and 
 -he music of skies, and dreams away his 
 existence, years of youth, manhood, and 
 old age. Jack is more tranquil even than 
 the shepherd. He creeps silently in woods 
 and forests, and on retired hot banks, in 
 search of serpentine amusement — he is a 
 viper catcher. Strange that creatures, 
 generally feared and shunned by mankind, 
 should win Jack's attention and sympathy, 
 Yet, true it is, that Jack regards them as 
 the living beauties of solitude, the lovely 
 but startling inhabitants of luxuriant spots 
 in the sultry summer. Were we to look 
 round us, in the haunts of men, we could, 
 perhaps, discover beings as fearful and 
 awakening. Jack has travelled, seen the 
 world, and profited by his travels ; for he 
 has learned to be contented. He is not 
 entirely idle, nor wholly industrious. If 
 he can get a crust sufficient for the day. he 
 leaves the evil if it should visit him. The 
 first time I saw him was in the high noon 
 of a scorching- day, at an inn in Layton- 
 stone. He came in while a sudden storm 
 descended, and a rainbow of exquisite 
 majesty vaulted the earth. Sitting down 
 ai a table, he beckoned the hostess for his 
 beer, and conversed freely with his ac- 
 quaintance. By his arch replies I found 
 that I was in company with an original — 
 a man that might stretch forth his arm in 
 the wilderness without fear, and, like Paul, 
 grasp an adder without harm. He play- 
 fully entwined his fingers with their coils 
 and curled crests, and played with their 
 forked tongues. He had unbuttoned his 
 waistcoat, and as dexterously as a fish- 
 woman handles her eels, let out several 
 inaiies and adders, warmed by his breast, 
 and spread them on the table. He took 
 ot* his hat, and others of different sizes and 
 
 lengths twisted before me ; some of them 
 when he unbosomed his shirt, returned to 
 the genial temperature of his skin ; some 
 curled round the legs of the table, and 
 others rose in a defensive attitude. He 
 irritated and humoured them, to express 
 either pleasure or pain at his will. Some 
 were purchased by individuals, and Jack 
 pocketed his gain, observing, " a frog, or 
 mouse, occasionally, is enough for a snake's 
 satisfaction."' 
 
 The " Naturalist's Cabinet " says, that 
 " in the presence of the grand duke of 
 Tuscany, while the philosophers were mak- 
 ing elaborate dissertations on the danger of 
 the poison of vipers, taken inwardly, a 
 viper catcher, who happened to be present, 
 reques:8d that a quantity of it might be put 
 into a vessel ; and then, with the utmost 
 confidence, and to the astonishment of the 
 whole company, he drank it off. Every 
 one expected the man instantly to drop 
 down dead ; but they soon perceived theii 
 m.istake, and found that, taken inwardly, 
 the poison was as harmless as water." 
 
 William Oliver, a viper catcher at Bath, 
 was the first who discovered that, by the 
 application of olive oil, the bite of the viper 
 is effectually cured. On the 1st of June, 
 I 735, he suffered himself to be bitten 'oy 
 an old black viper ; and after enduring all 
 the agonising symptoms of auproaching 
 death, by using olive oil, he perfectly re- 
 covered. 
 
 Vipnr's flesh was formerly esteemed foi 
 its medicinal virtues, and its salt was 
 thought to exceed every other animai pro- 
 duct, in giving vigour to a languid consti- 
 tution. 
 
 Augtist, 1827. 
 
 A SKETCH IN SPA FIEEDS 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — Allow me to draw your attention 
 to a veteran, who in the Egyptian expedi- 
 tion lost his sight by the ophthalmy. and 
 now asks alms of the passenger in the little 
 M venue 'eading from Sadler's Wells to Spa 
 Fields, along the eastern side of the New 
 River Head. 
 
 His figure, sir, would serve for a model 
 of Belisarius, and even his manner oi 
 soliciting would be no disgrace to the Ro- 
 man general. I am not expert at drawing 
 poitraits, yet will endeavour by two or 
 three lines to give a slight conception of 
 this. His present height is full six feet, 
 
 796 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 but in his youth it mvist have been nearly 
 two inches more ; as the weight of about 
 sixty-five years has occasioned a slight cur- 
 vature of the spine. His limbs are large 
 and muscular, his shoulders broad, his 
 chest capacious, the lines of his counte- 
 nance indicate intelligence ; his motion is 
 not graceful, for he appears to step without 
 confidence, occasioned no doubt by his 
 blindness. 
 
 Now, sir, give his head no other covering 
 than a few very short grey hairs, and button 
 him up close in the remains of a dragoon 
 dress, and you have his likeness as exact as 
 an u'nskilful artist can give it. 
 
 O. 
 
 N.B. — An old woman must lead him. 
 
 FROM MY NOTE BOOK. 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 MooRE, in his life of Sheridan, says, that 
 " he (Sheridan) had a sort of hereditary 
 fancy for difficult trifling in poetry ; parti- 
 cularly to that sort which consists in rhym- 
 ing to the same word through a long string 
 of couplets, till every rhyme that the lan- 
 guage supplies for it is exhausted :" and 
 quotes some dozen lines, entitled " JNly 
 Trunk," and addressed " To Anne," where- 
 in a lady is made to bewail the loss of her 
 trunk, and rhymes her lamentation. The 
 editor, in a note, says, " Some verses by 
 general Fitzpatrick on lord Holland's fa- 
 ther, are the best specimen I know of this 
 scherzo." The general's lines I have never 
 seen, and it is probable they are only in 
 MS. ; but le Seigneur des Accords, in his 
 Bizarrures, (ed. 138o, Paris, Richer, feuillet 
 27,) quotes sixty lines, rhyming on a very 
 indecent word from " un certain hure contre 
 les femmes," composed by Drusac, " un 
 Tolosain rimailleur imitant Marot ;" and 
 who is there stated to have composed 3(iO 
 or 400 verses on the same subject, and to 
 the same rhyme. And at feuillet 162 of 
 ;he same work and edition, the Seigneur 
 adduces two other remarkable instances of 
 '•' difficult trifling in poetry." Speaking of 
 one of which, he says, " Vn Allemant 
 nomm6 Petrus Porcius Porta, autrenient 
 Petrus Placentius, a fait un petit poeme 
 laborieux le possible auquel il descrit Puc- 
 NAM PoncoRUM en 350 vers ou eLviron, 
 qui commencent tous par P, dont j'ai rap- 
 port^ ces XVI suivas pour example, et pour 
 
 contenter ceux qui ne Font pas veil." The 
 quotation referred to commences with 
 
 "PrsBoelsis Proauis Pulchrfe Pro^nate Patrop*" 
 
 and concludes with 
 
 " Pingui Porcoru Pingendo Poemate Pugnan>. ' 
 
 The other instances adduced by the Sei- 
 gneur of this laborious folly, is related also 
 of a German, by name Christianus Pierius ; 
 who, says the author, " depuis pen de 
 temps a fait un opuscule d'environ mille ou 
 donze ces vers, intitule Christus Ciuci- 
 fixus, tous les mots duquel commencent 
 par C." Four lines are quoted ; they are 
 as follows : — 
 
 Currite Castalides Christi Comitante Camoenae 
 Concelabrature CuctA'Tim Carmine Certum 
 Confugium Collapsorum Concurrite Cantiis 
 CoQcinnaturae Celebres Celebresque Cothurnos. 
 
 I myself recollect seeing and copying at 
 Notting Hill some lines written (1 think) 
 on the battle of Waterloo, (the copy of 
 which I have however lost;) which, al- 
 though short, were sufficiently curious. 
 They were in an album belonging to the 
 sister of a schoolfellow, (W. O. S.,) and, 
 as far as I have ever seen, were unique in 
 their species of the paronoemic genus. The 
 first line began with " A," and each subse- 
 quent one with a successive letter of the 
 alpliabet, and each word alliterated to the 
 initial letter of the line where it was placed. 
 The poem went through the whole of the 
 alphabet, not even excepting X or Z, and 
 must have required a v/orld of Patience and 
 Perseverance to Perfect. 
 
 Marot, christened Clement, the French 
 poet, who is said, in a quotation from le 
 Seigneur des Accords in the foregoing note, 
 to have been imitated by Drusac, lived in 
 the rei^n of Francis I., and was a Protest- 
 ant. There is a portrait of him at page IGl 
 of " Les Vrais Portraits des Hommes lllus- 
 tres " of Theodore de B^ze, Geneva, l.")85, 
 whereto a short sketch of his life is attached ; 
 which says, that " par une admirable feli- 
 cite d'esprit, sans aticune cognoissance des 
 langnes ni des sciences, il surpassa tous les 
 poetes qui I'auoient devanc^." He was 
 twice banished on account of his religion ; 
 and when in exile translated one-third of 
 the Psalms into French verse. " Mais au 
 reste," says Theodore," ayant passe presque 
 toute sa vie ^ la suite de cour, (oil la pi^te 
 et I'honestet^ n'ot guferes d'audiance,) il ne 
 se soucia pas beaucoup de reformer sa v if 
 
 797 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 peu Chr^tlenne, ains se gouiiernoit k sa 
 snauifere accoutumee mesmes en sa vieil- 
 iesse, et mourut en I'&ge de 60 ans a Turin, 
 oil il s'esfoit retire sous la faueur du Lieu- 
 tenant du Roi." He was a Quercinois, 
 having been born at Cahors, in Quercy. 
 
 The following lines were written after 
 his death by Jodelle, who was famed for 
 these " vers rapportez." 
 
 Quercy, la Cour, le Piedmont, I'Univers 
 Me fit, me tint, m'enterra, me cognent, 
 Quercy mon los, la cour tout mon temps eat. 
 Piedmont mes os, et I'univers mes vers. 
 
 GuiLDHAi.L. — Misson, in his " M^moires 
 et Observations faites par un Voyageur en 
 Angleterre," published anonymously at the 
 Hague in 1698, under this head, accounts 
 thus philologically for the name : — '* II est 
 a croire que la grande salle eloit autrefois 
 doree, puisque le mot de Guild ou Gild-hall, 
 signifie salle doree." To do him justice, 
 however, after quoting so ridiculous a pas- 
 say:e, I must annex his note, as follows : — 
 " D autres disent que Guild est un ancien 
 mot qui signifie ji(co?-joor^: Guildhall; la 
 salle des incorporez ou associez.'' — p. 236. 
 
 Juliet was no dtfubt a delectable little 
 creature, but, like most of the genus, she 
 was but a flimsy metaphysician. " What's 
 : in a name ?" that depends now-a-days on 
 the length or age of it. The question should 
 be put to a Buckinghamshire meeting man, 
 if one would desire to know the qualities 
 of all the component parts of an Abraham 
 or Absalom. In some parts of the country, 
 people seem to think they have bilked the 
 devil, and booked sure places in heaven 
 for their children, if, at their christening, 
 they get but a scriptuie name tacked to the 
 urchins. " In proof whereof," Esther, 
 Aaron, and Shadrack Puddyfat, with mas- 
 ter Moses Myrmidon, formed a blackberry- 
 in^ party that I fell in with a summer back 
 near Botley, on the road between Chesham 
 and Hemel Hempstead. At a farm-house 
 in Bucks it is no uncommon sight for the 
 twelve apostles to be seen tucking in greens 
 and bacon, or for the tribes of Israel to be 
 found drunk together in a pot-house. Some 
 poor drunken-brained bigots would not ac- 
 cept even the free services of a ploughman, 
 whose name was not known before the 
 flood 
 
 Note. — The names above seem sc very 
 ludicrous, that I have no doubt there "will 
 be many sceptics to the belief of their 
 
 reality if this passage be printed ; but I de* 
 clare positively, on the word, honour, and 
 faith of a man and a gentleman, that they 
 are as true, real, and existent, as Thomas 
 Tomkins, or any other the most usual ana 
 common place. 
 
 J. J. K. 
 
 WHIMSIES. 
 An Essay on the Understanding. 
 
 *' Harry, I cannot think," says Dick, 
 " What makes my ancles grow so thick :" 
 " You do not recollect," says Harry, 
 " How great a calf they have to carry." 
 
 " Old Westminster Quibbles.* 
 
 Toes. 
 
 A fellow did desire 
 To warm at a fire 
 
 His toes, liefore he wen* home ; 
 But the man said " No, 
 If you put fire and toe 
 
 Together, you will barn the looa." 
 
 R. C. 
 
 One did ask, why B 
 Was put before C, 
 
 And did much desire ta know- 
 Why a man must he. 
 Before he can see. 
 
 And I think I have hit on it now. 
 
 The Red Nose. 
 
 A Man did surmise. 
 That another man's eyes 
 
 Were both of a different frame ; 
 For if they had been matches. 
 Then, alas ! poor wretches. 
 
 His nose would a set 'em in a flame. 
 
 " New Westminster Quibbles.* 
 The Soldier. 
 
 " There is one soldier less," 
 Exclaimed sister Bess, 
 
 As a funeral passed by the door; 
 Then said Mr. Brown, 
 " I " bet you a crown, 
 
 I'll prove it is one soldier mort." 
 
 Scilicet 
 
 Why every silly clt 
 Has pretensions to wit. 
 
 You may learn if you listen to my dittj ; 
 The word scilicet 
 In law means to wit, 
 
 So citizens, by law, most be wic^> ; 
 
 79§^ 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 IKISH PIPES. 
 
 A young friend brings me from Ireland 
 a couple of pipes, in common use among 
 the labouring people in Dublin and Clun- 
 mel. Their shape and materials being 
 wholly different from any in England, they 
 are represented in the above engraving, 
 which shows their exact size. The bowl 
 part, formed of iron, like the socket of a 
 candlestick, is inserted in a piece of maho- 
 gany carved, as here shown, in the shape 
 
 of a violin, or a pair of bellows, or other 
 whimsical form ; and the mahogany is 
 securely bound and ornamented with brass 
 wire : to a small brass chain is attached a 
 tm cover to the bowl. The tube is of dog- 
 wood, such as butchers' skewers are made 
 of, or of a similar hard wood ; and, being 
 movable, may be taken out for accommo- 
 dation to the pocket, or renewal at plea- 
 sure. These pipes cost sixpence each. 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 799 
 
 3F 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 The dudeen, or sliort pipe, the " liule 
 itube of magic power," wherewith the Irish 
 labourer amuses himself in England, is 
 thus mentioned in a note on the " Fairy 
 Legends and Traditions of the South of Ire- 
 land,'' by Mr. Crofton Croker : — '■^Dudeen 
 signifies a little stump of a pipe. Small 
 tobacco-pipes, of an ancient form, are fre- 
 quently found in Ireland on digging or 
 .ploughing up the ground, particularly in 
 the vicinity of those circular intrenchments, 
 called Danish forts, which were more pro- 
 bably the villages or settlements of the 
 native Irish. These pipes are believed by 
 the peasantry to belong to the Cluricaunes, 
 and when discovered are broken, or other- 
 wise treated with indignity, as a kind of 
 retort for the tricks which their supposed 
 owners had played off." Mr. Croker sub- 
 joins a sketch of one of these pipes, and 
 adds, that " In the Anthologia Ilibernica, 
 vol i. p. 352, (Dublin, 1793,) ther€ is a 
 print of one, which was found at Bran- 
 nockstown, county Kildare, sticking be- 
 tween the teeth of a human skull ; and it is 
 accompanied by a paper, which, on the 
 authority of Herodotus, (lib. i. sec. 36,) 
 Strabo, (lib. vii. 296,) Pomponius Mela, (2,) 
 .and Solinus, (c. 15,) goes to prove that the 
 northern nations of Europe were acquainted 
 with tobacco, or an herb of similar proper- 
 ties, and that they smoked it through small 
 tubes — of course, .long before the existence 
 ^of America was known." 
 
 No. XLV. 
 FACEUP. 
 
 Holding in Capife. 
 
 First Oent. 'Tis well known I ain a Gentlemnn. 
 
 >My father was a man of •:6'500 a year, and he held 
 
 something in capite too. 
 
 Second Oent. So does my Lord something — 
 Foolish Lord. ^"v. by my troth, what I hold in 
 
 capite is worth little or noihing. 
 
 Fool's Experience. 
 
 Paqe. He that's first a scholar, and next in love, the 
 year after is either an arrant fool or a madman. 
 ifaster. How came your knavery by such expen- 
 
 ence? 
 Page. Ai fools do by news: gomebody told me so, 
 
 «nd I bcUara i^ . 
 
 3. 
 
 Modern Sybarite. 
 
 softly, ye villains ! — the rogues of ehftir- 
 
 men have trundled me over some damn'd nutshell or 
 other, that gave me such a jeik as has half murder'd 
 me, 
 
 4. 
 Spare diet of Spaniards. 
 
 ■Spaniard. The air being thin and rarified generally 
 provides us good stomachs. 
 
 Englishman. Aye, and the earth little or nothing to 
 satisfy 'em with ; I think a cabbage is a jewel among 
 you. 
 
 Span. Why, truly a good cabbage is respected. But 
 our people are often very luxurious, they abound very 
 often. 
 
 Eng. O no such matter, faith, Spaniard! 'death, 
 if they get but a piece of beef, they shall hang all the 
 bones out, and write underneath Here hath been beej 
 eaten, as if 'twere a miracle. And if they get but a 
 lean hen, the featliers shall be spread before the door 
 with greater pride than we our carpets at some princely 
 solemnity. 
 
 5. 
 Foolish Form. 
 
 Servant (io my Lord Stately' s Gentleman Usher.) 
 Sir, here's your Lord's footman come to tell you, your 
 Lord's hat is blown out of his hand. 
 
 Lord W. Why did not the footman take it up ? 
 
 Usher. He durst not, my Lord ; 'tis above him. 
 
 Lord }V. Where ? a'top of the chimney ? 
 
 Usher. Above his office, my Lord. 
 
 Lord }V. How does this fool, for want of solid 
 greatness, swell with empty ceremony, and fortify 
 himself with outworks! That a man must dig thro 
 •rubbish to come at an ass. English Friar. 
 
 'Cast Books. 
 
 Waiting maid. I have a new Bible too; and when 
 -my Lady left her Practice of Piety, she gave it me. 
 
 Newcastle. 
 
 7. 
 Good at guessing 
 
 Nay, good Mr. Constable, you are e'en the luckiest 
 at being wise that -ever Lknew. Newcastle. 
 
 8. 
 Essays at Essays. 
 
 1. eternal blockhead, did younever write Essays ? 
 
 2. I did essay to write 'Essays, but J cannot say I 
 writ Essays. Newcastle. 
 
 9. 
 
 Hard words. 
 
 Indiscerptibility, and Essential Spissihide: words 
 which, though I am no competent judge of, for want of 
 languages, yet I fancy strongly ought to mean nothing 
 Mrs. Afra Behm- 
 
 800 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ■JO 
 
 16. 
 
 Scandals to Atheism. 
 
 a late learned Doctor ; -who, though himself 
 
 tio grreat assertor of a Deity, yet was observed to be 
 continually persuading this sort of men [the rakehelly 
 blockheaded Infidels about town] of the necessity and 
 truth of our religion ; and being asked how he came 
 to bestir himself so much this way, made answer, that 
 it was because their ignorance and indiscreet debauch 
 made them a Scandal to the Profession of Atheism. 
 
 Behn. 
 11. 
 
 Excuse for being afraid in a Storm. 
 
 Master. Courage I why what dost thou call courage? 
 Hector himself would not have exchanged his ten years* 
 siege for oar ten days' storm at sea. A Storm I a hun- 
 dred thousand fighting men are nothing to it ; cities 
 sack'd by fire, nothing. "Tis a resistless coward, that 
 attacks a man at disadvantage ; an unaccountable 
 magic, that first conjures down a man's eourage, and 
 then plays the devil over him ; and, in fine, it is a 
 Storm 1 
 
 Mate. Good lack, that it should be all these terrible 
 things, and yet that we should outlive it 1 
 
 Master. No goda-uiercy to our courages tho', I tell 
 yon that now ; but like an angry wench, when it had 
 huffed and bluster'd itself weary, it lay still again. 
 
 Beh». 
 
 12. 
 
 Dutch Gallantry 
 
 Mate. What, beat a woman, Sir ? 
 
 Master. 'Psha, all's ope for that ; if I am provoked, 
 anger will have its effects upon whomsoe'er it light : 
 10 said Van Tromp, whep he took his Mistress a cuflf 
 on the ear for finding fault with an ill-fashioned leg he 
 nade her. I liked his hupiour well. Beh», 
 
 13. 
 Dutchman. 
 
 sitting at home in the chimney comer, curs- 
 ing the face of Duke de Alva upon the jugs, for laying 
 an imposition on beer. Behn. 
 
 14. 
 Rake at Church. 
 
 I shall know all, when I meet her in the 
 
 chapel to-morrow. I am resolved to venture thither 
 tho' I am afraid the dogs will bark me out again, ar 
 by that means let the congregation know how mud 
 ho. a stiaoger to the place. Durfe, 
 
 15. 
 
 Lying Traveller 
 
 Yon do not believe me then? the de-til take me, if 
 these home-bred fellows can be saved: they neither 
 know nor bejibve half the creation. Lacy. 
 
 EngUshBeau, contrasted with a French ona, 
 
 a true-bred English Beau has indeed th« 
 
 powder, the essence, the toothpick, the snuff-box ; and 
 is as idle ; but the fault is in the flesh— ;he has not 
 the niotion, and looks stiff under all this. Now a 
 French Fop like a Poet, is born so, and would be 
 known without clothes ; it is in his eyes, his nose, 
 his fingers, his elbows, his heels. They dance when they 
 walk, and sing when they speak. We have nothing it 
 that perfection as abroad ; and our cuckolds, as weli 
 as our grapes, are but half ripened, Burnahy. 
 
 17. 
 Fanciful Recipe, prescribed for sick Fancy 
 
 The juice of a lemon that's civil at seasons. 
 Twelve dancing capers, ten lunatic reasons ; 
 Two dying notes of an ancient swan ; 
 Three f ighs, a thousand years kept, if you can ; 
 Some scrapings of Gyges's ring may pass. 
 With the skin of a shadow caught in a glass ; 
 Six pennyworth of thoiiglits untpld ; 
 The jelly of a star, before it be cold ; 
 One ounce of courtship from a country daughter; 
 A grain of wit, and a quart of laughter. — 
 Boil these on the fire of Zeal (with some beech-coals 
 lest the vessel burst). — If you can get these ingre- 
 dients, I will compound them for you. Then, when 
 the patient is perfectly recovered, she shall be married 
 in rich cloth of rainbow laced with sunbeams. 
 
 Stroie. 
 18. 
 Beauties at Church. 
 
 Fair Women in Churches have as ill effect as fine 
 Strangers in Grammar schools: for tho' the boys keep 
 on the humdrum still, yet none of 'em mind their lesion 
 for looking about 'em. Fans. 
 
 Expedients 
 
 I have observed the wisdom of these Moors : for 
 Bome days since being invited by one of the chie^ 
 Bashaws to dinner, after meat, sitting by a huge fire' 
 and feelinc his shins to bum, I reque^ted him to pull 
 back his chair, but he very unde- standingly seat for 
 three or four masons, and removed the chimney. 
 
 Brome. 
 20. 
 
 Mayor ofQueenhorow, a Christian, giv- 
 ing orders for feasting Hengist, a Pagan 
 King of Kent, who has invited himself to 
 the Mayor's table. 
 
 give charge the mutton come in all raw ; the 
 
 King of Kent is a Pagm, and must be served so. And 
 let those ofiBcers, that seldom or never go to church 
 bring it in; it will he the better takea 
 
 Middleton. 
 
 801 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 21. 
 
 Fat man s device to get a dainty. 
 I have a privilege. I was at the tavern the other 
 day ; in the next room I smelt hot venison. I sent but 
 a drawer to tell the company, " one in the house with 
 a great belly longed for a corner," and I had half a 
 pasty sent me immediately. Sliirley. 
 
 22. 
 Miser's Servant. 
 
 Friend. Camelion, how now, have you turned away 
 your master ? 
 
 Camelion. No; I sold my place. As I was thinking 
 to run away, comes this fellow, and offers me a break- 
 fast for my good will to speak to my master for him. 
 I took him at his word, and resigned my office, and 
 t\irned over my hunger to him immediately. Now I 
 serve a man. Shirley. 
 
 23. 
 IFalking. 
 
 Fine Lady. I am glad I am come home, for I am 
 even as weary with this walking; for God's sake, 
 whereabouts does the pleasure of walking lie ? 1 swear 
 I have often sought it till I was weary, and yet I coald 
 ne'er find it. T. Killegreic. 
 
 24. 
 Foolish Sukor. 
 
 Alderman. Save, you. Sir. 
 
 Suitor. You do not think loe damn'd. Sir, that joa 
 bestow 
 That salutation on me ? 
 
 Aid. Good, Sir, no. 
 Whom would you speak with here ? 
 
 Suit. Sir, my discourse 
 Points at one Alderman Covel. 
 
 Aid. I am the party. 
 
 Suit. I understand you have a daughter, is 
 Of most ijnknown perfections. 
 
 Aid. She is as Heaven made her — 
 
 Suit. She goes naked then ; 
 The tailor has no hand in her. 
 
 C.L. 
 
 OF THE 
 
 Craben M^\t&* 
 
 No. III. 
 
 He had been in Yorkshire dale 
 
 Among the winding scars. 
 Where deep and low the hamlets lie. 
 Beneath a little patch of sky. 
 
 And little patch of stars. — Wordsworth. 
 
 Proem. 
 In the summer of 1823 I was residing 
 Jor it few days at a solitary inn amongst the 
 hills of Craven. One afternoon 1 had 
 
 planned an excursion to a neighbouring 
 cave, but was prevented from going there 
 by a heavy rain which had fallen durinij 
 the whole of the day. I had no friends in 
 the neighbourhood, and could not have 
 procured at my inn any work worth tlie 
 perusal. The library of my landlord was 
 small, and the collection not remarkable foi 
 being well chosen ; it consisted of Pamela, 
 Baron Munchausen, Fox's Martyrs, the 
 Pilgrim's Progress, and a few other public- 
 ations of an equally edifying description. 
 1 should have been at a loss how to have 
 spent the tedious hours, had I not had a 
 companion. He was a stout, elderly man, 
 a perfect stranger to me ; and by his con- 
 versation showed himself possessed of a 
 very considerable share of erudition : hi>- 
 language was correct, his remarks strong 
 and forcible, and delivered in a mannei 
 energetic and pointed. While engaged in 
 conversation, our ears were stunned by a 
 number of village lads shouting and halloo- 
 ing at the door of the inn. On inquiring ot 
 the landlord into the cause of this disturb- 
 ance, we were informed that a poor woman, 
 who was reputed to be a witch, had taken 
 shelter at his house from the inclemency of 
 the storm, and that some idle boys, on see- 
 ing her enter, were behaving in the rudt 
 manner already mentioned. 
 
 The landlord having left the room, I 
 said to my companion, " So you have 
 witches in Craven, sir ; or, at least, those 
 who pretend to be such. I thouglit thai 
 race of ignorant impostors had bean long 
 extinct, but am sorry to find the case is 
 otherwise.'' 
 
 The stranger looked at me, and said, 
 " Do you then disbelieve the existence of 
 witchcraft 1" 
 
 " Most assuredly," I replied. 
 
 " But you must confess that witchcraft 
 did exist ? " 
 
 " 1 do ; but think not its existing in the 
 prophetical ages to be any evidence of its 
 being permitted in the present." 
 
 " But learned works have been written 
 to prove the existence of it in late times — 
 Ynu are aware of the treatises of Glanvill 
 and Sinclair ?" 
 
 "True; and learned men have some- 
 times committed foolish actions; and cer- 
 tainly Glanvill and Sinclair, great as their 
 talenis undoubtedly were, showed no great 
 wisdom in publishing their ridiculous effu- 
 sions, which are nothing mofe than the 
 overflowings of heated imaginations " 
 
 My companion seeing I was not to be 
 convinced by any arguments he could ad- 
 vance, but that, like the adder in holy writ, 
 
 802 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 r -was «< deaf to the voice of tlie charmer, 
 charm he never so wisely," thus addressed 
 me:—" I was like you, sceptical on the 
 subject of our present discourse ; but the 
 doubts I once entertained have long since 
 vanished ; and if you can attend patiently 
 to a history I will relate, I think you will 
 be convinced that witchcraft does exist ; or 
 at least has existed in very modern times." 
 The stranger then related the story of 
 
 The Wise Woman of Littondale, 
 " In the year 17 — , in a lonely gill, not 
 far distant from Arnclifte, stood a solitary 
 cottage : a more wretched habitation the 
 imagination cannot picture. It contained 
 a single apartment, inhabited by an old 
 woman, called Bertha, who was throuo-hout 
 the valley accounted a wise woman, and a 
 practiser of the * art that none may name.' 
 I was at that time very young, and unmar- 
 ied ; and, far from having any dread of 
 ler, would frequently talk to her, and was 
 xlways glad when she called at my father's 
 louse. She was tall, thin, and haggard ; 
 4er eyes were large, and sunk deep in their 
 >ockets ; and the hoarse masculine intona- 
 ions of her voice were anything but pleas- 
 ng. The reason I took such delight in the 
 •ompany of Beitha was this — she was pos- 
 pssed of much historical knowledge, and 
 elated events which had occurred two or 
 hree centuries ago, in a manner so minute 
 nd particular, that many a time I have 
 leen induced to believe she had been a 
 pectatress of what she was relating. Bertha 
 vas undoubtedly of great age; but what 
 hat age was no one ever knew. I have 
 requently interrogated her on the subject, 
 )ut always received an evasive answer to 
 ny inquiries. 
 
 " In the autumn, or rather in the latter 
 end of the summer of 17 — , I set out one 
 evening to visit the cottage of the wise 
 woman. I had never beheld the interior ; 
 and, led on by curiosity and mischief, was 
 determined to see it. Having arrived at 
 the cottage, I knocked at the gate. ' Come 
 in,' said a voice, which I knew was Bertha's. 
 I entered ; the old woman was seated on a 
 three-legged stool, by a turf fire, surrounded 
 by three black cats and an old sheep-dog. 
 ' Well,' she exclaimed, ' what brings you 
 here ? what can have induced you to pay a 
 visit to old Bertha?' I answered, ' Be not 
 offended ; I have never before this evening 
 viewed the interior of your cottage ; and 
 wishing to do so, have made this visit; I 
 also wished to see you perform some of 
 your incantations' I pronounced the last 
 word ironically. Bertha observed it and 
 
 said, 'Then you doubt m power, think mf 
 an impostor, and consider my incantations 
 mere jugglery ; you may think otherwise; 
 but sit down by my humble hearth, and in 
 less than half an hour you shall observe 
 such an instance of my power as I have 
 never hitherto allowed mortal to witness.' 
 I obeyed, and approached the fire. I now 
 gazed around me, and minutely viewed me 
 apartment. Three stools, an old deal table, 
 a few pans, three pictures of Merlin, 
 Nostradamus, and Michael Scott, a cal- 
 dron, and a sack, with the contents of 
 which I was unacquainted, formed the 
 whole stock of Bertha. The witch having 
 sat by me a few minutes, rose, and said, 
 ' JNow for our incantations; behold nie, 
 but interrupt me not.' She then with chalk 
 drew a circle on the floor, and in the midst 
 of it placed a chafing-dish filled with burn- 
 ing embers ; on this she fixed the caldron, 
 which she had half filled with water. 
 
 " She then commanded me to take my 
 station at the farther end of the circle, 
 which I did accordingly. Bertha then 
 opened the sack, and taking from it various 
 ingredients, threw them into the ' charmed 
 pot.' Amongst many other articles I 
 noticed a skeleton head, bones of different 
 sizes, and the dried carcasses of some small 
 animals. My fancy involuntarily recurred 
 to the witch in Ovid — 
 
 Semina, floresqiie, et succos m coquit acres ; 
 Addidit et exceptas lima pernocte pniinas, 
 Et strigis infames ipsis cum carnibus alas, 
 Vivacisque jecur cervi ; quibus insuper addit, 
 Ora caputque novem coraicis saecula passae.' 
 
 While thus employed, she continued mut- 
 tering some words in an unknown language ; 
 all I remember hearing was the word komg. 
 At length the water boiled, and the witch, 
 presenting me with a glass, told me to look 
 through it at the caldron. I did so, and 
 observed a figure enveloped in the steam ; 
 at the first glance I knew not what to make 
 of it, but I soon recognised the face of 
 N , a friend and intimate acquaint- 
 ance : he was dressed in his usual mode, 
 but seemed unwell, and pale. I was asto- 
 nished, and trembled. The figure having 
 disappeared. Bertha removed the caldron, 
 and extinguished the fire. ' Now," said 
 she, ' do you doubt my power ? I have 
 brought before you the form of a person 
 who is some miles from this place; was 
 there any deception in the appearance ? I 
 am no impostor, though you have hitherto 
 regarded me as such.' She ceased speak- 
 ing : I hurried tow ards the door, and said, 
 'Good night.' 'Stop,' said Bertha, *1 
 
 803 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 have not done with yoU'; 1 will show you 
 something more wonderful tlian the ap- 
 pearance of this evening: to-morrow, at 
 midnight, go and stand upon Arncliffe 
 bridge, and look at the water on the left 
 side of it. Nothing will harm you ; fear 
 not.' 
 
 " ' And why should I go to ArncliflTe 
 bridge? What end can be answered by it? 
 The place is lonely ; I dread to be there at 
 such an hour; may I have a companion ?' 
 
 " ' No.' 
 
 " ' Why not?' 
 
 " ' Because the charm will be broken.' 
 
 " ' What charm ?' 
 
 " ' I cannot tell.' 
 
 " ' You will not.' 
 
 " ' I will not give you any further in- 
 lormation : obey me, nothing shall harm 
 you.' 
 
 " ' Well, Bertha,' I said, ' you shall be 
 obeyed. 1 believe yoa would do me no 
 injury. I will repair to Arncliffe bridge 
 to-morrow et midnight; good night.' 
 
 I then left the cottage, and returned 
 home. When I retired to rest I could 
 not sleep; slumber fled my pillow, and 
 with restless eyes 1 lay ruminating on the 
 strange occurrences at the cottage, and on 
 what I was to behold at Arnclifife bridge. 
 Morning dawned, I arose unrefreshed and 
 fatigued. During the day I was unable to 
 attend to any business ; my coming adven- 
 ture entirely engrossed my mind. Night 
 arrived, I repaired to Arncliffe bridge : 
 never shall I forget the scene. It was a 
 lovely night : the full orb'd moon was sail- 
 ing peacefully through a clear blue cloud- 
 less sky, and its beams, like streaks of silvery 
 lustre, were dancing on the waters of the 
 Skirfare ; the moonlight falling on the hills 
 formed them into a variety of fantastic 
 shapes ; here one might behold the sem- 
 blance of a ruined abbey, with towers and 
 spires, and Anglo-Saxon and Gothic arches ; 
 at another place there seemed a castle 
 frowning in feudal grandeur, with its but- 
 tresses, battlements, and parapets The 
 stillness which reigned around, broken only 
 by the murmuring of the stream, the cot- 
 tages scattered here and there along its 
 banks, »nd the woods wearing an autumnal 
 tinge, all united to compose a scene of 
 calm and perfect beauty. I leaned against 
 the left battlement of the bridge; I waited 
 a quarter of an hour — half an hour — an 
 hour — nothing appeared. I listened, all 
 was silent ; I looked around, I saw nothing. 
 Surely, I inwardly ejaculated, I have mis- 
 taken the hour ; no, it must be midnight ; 
 Bertha has deceived me , fool that I am. 
 
 why have I obeyed the beldam? Thtis 1 
 reasoned. The clock of the neighbouring 
 church chimed — I counied the strokes, it 
 was twelve o'clock ; I had mistaken the 
 hour, and I resolved to stay a little longer 
 on the bridge. I resumed my station, 
 which I had quitted, and gazed on the 
 stream. The river in that part runs in a 
 clear still channel, and ' all its music dies 
 away.' As I looked on the stream I heard 
 a low moaning sound, and perceived the 
 water violently troubled, without any ap- 
 parent cause. The disturbance havino; 
 continued a few minutes ceased, and the 
 river became cairn, and again flowed along 
 in peacefulness. What could this mean ' 
 Whence came that low moaning sound ? 
 What caused the disturbance of the river ? I 
 asked myself these questions again and 
 again, unable to give them any rational 
 answer. With a slight indescribable kind 
 of fear I bent my steps homewards. Or) 
 turning a corner of the lane that led to mj 
 father's house, a huge dog, apparently of 
 the Newfoundland breed, crossed my path, 
 and looked wistfully on me. ' Poor fel- 
 low !' I exclaimed, ' hast thou lost thy 
 master? come home with me, and I will 
 use thee well till we find him.' The dos 
 followed me ; but when I arrived at my 
 place of abode, I looked for it, but saw no 
 traces of it, and I conjectured it had found 
 its master. 
 
 " On the following morning I again re- 
 paired to the cottage of the witch, and 
 found her, as on the former occasion, seated 
 by the fire. ' Well, Bertha,' I said, ' I 
 have obeyed you ; I wa>s yesterday at mid- 
 night on Arncliffe bridge.' 
 
 " ' And of what sight were you a wit- 
 ness V 
 
 " ' I saw nothing except a slight disturb- 
 ance of the stream.' 
 
 " ' I know,' she said, ' you saw a dis- 
 turbance of the water, but did you behold 
 nothing more V 
 
 " ' Nothing.' 
 
 " ' Nothing ! your memory fails you.' 
 
 " ' I forgot. Bertha; as I was proceed- 
 ing home, I met a Newfoundland dog, 
 which I suppose belonged to some tra- 
 veller.' 
 
 " ' That dog,' answered Bertha, * never 
 belonged to mortal ; no human being is 
 his master. The dog you saw was Bar- 
 gest ; you may, perhaps, have heard of 
 him.' 
 
 " ' I have frequently heard tales of Bar- 
 gest, but I never credited them. If the 
 legends of my native hills be true, a death 
 may be expected to follow his appeararce ' 
 
 m-L 
 
THE TAELE BOOK. 
 
 " ' You are right, and a death will follow 
 lis last night's appearance.' 
 
 " ' Whose d'eath?' 
 
 " ' Not yours.' 
 
 " As Bertha refused to make any further 
 communication, I left her. In less than 
 three houis after I quitted her I was in- 
 formed that my friend N , wliose 
 
 figure I had seen enveloped in the mist of 
 the caldron, had that morning committed 
 suicide, by drowning himself at Arncliffe 
 bridge, in the very spot where 1 beheld the 
 disturbance of the stream !" 
 
 Such was the story of my companion ; 
 the tale amused me, but by no means in- 
 creased my belief in witchcraft. I told the 
 narrator so, and we again entered into a 
 serious discussion, which continued till the 
 inn clock struck seven, when the stranger 
 left me, saying, that he could not stay any 
 longer, as he had a distance often miles to 
 travel that evening along a very lonely road. 
 
 The belief of witchcraft is still very pre- 
 valent ill Craven ; and there are now re- 
 siding in different parts wise men and 
 wise women, whom the country people 
 consult when any property is stolen or lost, 
 as well as for the purpose of fortune-telling. 
 These impostors pretend generally to prac- 
 tise divination by the crystal, as in the tale 
 — a mode of deception which Moncrieff has 
 very ingeniously ridiculed in his " Tom 
 and Jerry." Witches and wizards are not 
 so common as they were a few years ago 
 amongst us. The spread of education, by 
 means of National and Sunday Schools, 
 goes a great way to destroy superstition. 
 Few witches were better known in Craven 
 than Kilnsay Nan, who died a few years 
 ago. This old hag travelled with a Guinea 
 pig in her breast, which she pretended 
 solved questions, and used at times to open 
 a witchcraft shop in Bag's-alley, Skipton : 
 her stock of spells was not very large, for 
 it only consisted of her Guinea pig, and 
 about half a pack of dirty cards. 
 
 Littondale, the romantic valley which 
 forms the scene of the above tale, is at the 
 extremity of the parish of Burnsal, where 
 Wharfdale forks off into two great branches, 
 one whereof retains the name of Wharfdale 
 to the source of the river; and the other, 
 which is watered by the Skirfare, (some- 
 times called the Litton and Litton Bech,) 
 is called Littondale. The ancient name 
 was Amerdale; and by that designation 
 Wordsworth alludes to it in his " White 
 Doe," 
 
 " The deep fork of Amerdale." 
 
 The whole of the dale is in the parish of 
 Arncliffe ; so called, according to my great 
 
 authority in Craven matters-, Dr. Whitaker 
 from Gajin, an eagle, and clyjrj:, a rock ,, 
 i. e. the eagle's rock; " as it afforded many 
 secure retreats for that bird in its ridges of 
 perpendicular limestone." The western, 
 side of the valley extends toPennigent; on 
 the skirts of which mountain are many 
 ancient places of interment, called " Giants' 
 Graves," thought to be Danish. 
 
 During the last summer I took a ride up 
 Littondale, principally with a view of in- 
 specting Arncliffe church, on the venerable 
 tower of which I had frequently gazed at a 
 distance. Alas !' it is the only venerable 
 tiling about the church, all the rest of which 
 has been rebuilt in a most paltry and insig- 
 nificant style — not an ornament about it,, 
 inside or outside : as Dr. Whitaker truly 
 says, " it has been rebuilt with all the 
 attention to economy, and all the neglect, 
 both of modern elegance and ancient form, 
 which characterises the religious edifices of 
 the present day." It is indeed, as the same 
 historian observes, " a perfect specimen" of 
 a " plain, oblong, ill-constructed building, 
 without aisles, choir, column, battlements, 
 or buttresses ; the roof and wainscotting o( 
 deal, the covering of slate; the walls run- 
 ning down with wet, and the whole resem- 
 bling a modern conventicle, which this year 
 may serve as a chapel, and the next as a 
 cockpit." The remarks that Arncliffe church 
 leads the doctor to make ought to be thuih- 
 dered in the ears of every " beautifier" from 
 Cornwall to Berwick upon Tweed : — 
 
 " Awakened by the remonstrances of 
 their ecclesiastical superior, a parish dis- 
 covers that, by long neglect, the roof of 
 their church is half rotten, the lead full 
 of cracks, the pews falling down, the 
 windows broken, the mullions decayed, 
 the walls damp and mouldy. Here it is 
 well if the next discovery be not the value 
 of the lead. No matter whether this cover- 
 ing have or have not given an air of dignity 
 and venerable peculiarity to the churcii for 
 centuries. It will save a parish assess- 
 ment ; and blue slate will harmonize very 
 prettily with the adjoinirirg' cotton-mill ! The 
 work of renovation proceeds — the stone 
 tracery of the windows, which had long 
 shed their dim religious light, is displaced, 
 and with it all the armorial achievements 
 of antiquity, the written memorials ol 
 benefactors, the rich tints and glowing 
 drapery of saints and angels — but to console 
 our eyes for the losses, the smart luminous 
 modern sash is introduced ; and if this be 
 only pointed at top, all is well ; for all is — 
 still Gothic!* Next are condemned the 
 
 * Rylstone chaoel has been " beaiitified" in this way 
 
 805 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 massy oaken stalls, many of them capable 
 of repairs, many of them wanting none : 
 *hese are replaced by narrow slender deal 
 pews, admirably contrived to cramp the 
 tall, and break down under the bulky. 
 Next the fluted wood work of the roof, with 
 all its carved enrichments, is plastered over. 
 It looked dull and nourished cobwebs I 
 Lastly, the screens and lattices, which, from 
 a period antecedent to the Reformation, had 
 spread their light and perforated surfaces 
 from arch to arch, are sawn away ; and, in 
 the true spirit of modern equality, one un- 
 distinguishing blank is substituted for 
 separation's which are yet canonical, and to 
 distinctions which ought to be revered." 
 
 In Littondale is the celebrated cave 
 Doukerbottom Hole : the road leading to 
 It is steep and difficult to travel for one 
 anused to hilly countries ; but the tourist 
 will receive an ample recompense for the 
 badness of the road, by the splendid views 
 obtained from all parts of it of Whernside 
 and the neighbouring hills. It is some 
 years since I saw Doukerbottom Cave ; 
 and at this distance of time I fear to at- 
 tempt a description of its wonders; but I 
 remember that the entrance is steep and 
 rather dangerous ; the first chamber very 
 spacious and lofty, and the roof starred with 
 beautiful stalactites formed by the dripping 
 of the limestone ; that then the cavern be- 
 comes narrower and lower, so much so, 
 that you have to stoop, and that at the end 
 the ear is stunned by a waterfall, which 
 discharges itself into some still lower cave. 
 I remember, too, that I visited it in com- 
 pany with an amiable dissenting minister, 
 and that we were highly amused at the 
 jokes and tales of our one-eyed guide, Mr. 
 Proctor, of Kilnsay. I have just been in- 
 quiring after that worthy and eccentric old 
 fellow, and find that he is dead. I am 
 sorry for it ; and if my reverend friend 
 should see this article, I doubt not but he 
 will lament with me, that poor old Proctor 
 is gone. For many years he had been 
 guide to Doukerbottom Cave and Whern- 
 side. 
 
 In Littondale is a ridge of rock, called 
 Tenant's Ride, from one of the Tenant 
 family having galloped along it while 
 hunting. A dangerous feat truly, but not 
 so daring as is generally supposed ; |or I 
 am given to understand the ridge is seven 
 yards wide, and perfectly level. There are 
 fine waterfalls in the valley. I trust that 
 a time will come when Littondale will be 
 more frequented than at present. 
 
 T. Q. M. 
 
 December, 1827. 
 
 HAGBUSH-LANE 
 
 From desire to afford the destroyers ol 
 Corrall's cottage time to reflect, and make 
 reparation for the injury they had inflicted 
 on the old man and his wife ; and wishing 
 to abstain from all appearance of strife- 
 making, the Ionic has remained till now 
 untouched. 
 
 On the 28th of November Mr. S., as 
 the agent of a respectable clergyman 
 whose sympathy had been excited by 
 the statements of the Table Book, called 
 on me to make some inquiries into the 
 case, and I invited him to accompany me 
 to Corrall's shed. We proceeded by a 
 stage to the " Old Mother Red Cap," 
 Camden-town, and walked from thence 
 along the New Road, leading to IloUoway, 
 till we came to the spot at the western 
 corner of Hagbush-lane, on the left-hand 
 side of the road. We had journeyed for 
 nothing — the shed had disappeared from 
 the clay swamp whereon it stood. Alonu 
 the dreary line of road, and the adjacent 
 meadows, rendered cheerless by alternate 
 frosts and rains, there was not a human 
 being within sight; and we were at least 
 a mile from any place where inquiry could 
 be made, with a chance of success, respect- 
 ing the fugitives. As they might have re- 
 tired into the lane for better shelter during 
 the winter, we made our way across the 
 quaggy entrance as well as we could, and 
 1 soon recognised the little winding grove. 
 so delightful and lover-like a walk in days 
 of vernal sunshine. Its aspect, now, was 
 gloomy and forbidding. The disrobed trees 
 looked black, like funeral mutes mourning 
 the death of summer, and wept cold drops 
 ■upon our faces. As we wound our slippery 
 way we perceived moving figures in the 
 distance of the dim vista, and soon came 
 up to a comfortless man and woman, a 
 poor couple, huddling over a small smoul- 
 dering fire of twigs and leaves. They told 
 ns that Corrall and his wife had taken 
 down their shed and moved three weeks 
 before, and were gone to live in some of 
 the new buildings in White-conduit fields. 
 The destitute appearance of our informants 
 in this lonely place induced inquiry re- 
 specting themselves. The man was a Lon- 
 don labourer out of employment, and, for 
 two days, they had been seeking it in the 
 country without success. Because they 
 were able to work, parish-officers would 
 not relieve them ; and they were with- 
 out a home and without food. They had 
 walked and sauntered during the two 
 nights, for want of a place to sleep in. 
 
 806 
 
A LAST LOOK AT HAGBUSH-LANE. 
 
 and occasionally lighted a fire for a little 
 warmth — 
 
 " The world wn« not the<r f ritna, nor tlio world's law " 
 
 We felt this, and Mr. S. and myself contri- 
 buted a trifle to help them to a supper and 
 a bed for the night. It was more, by all 
 its amount, than they could hare got 
 in that forlorn place. They cheerfully 
 undertook to show us to Corrall's present 
 residence, and set forward with us. Before 
 
 we got out of Hagbush-lane it was dark, 
 but we could perceive that the site of Cor- 
 rall's cottage and ruined garden was occu- 
 pied by heaps of gas-manure, belonging to 
 the opulent landowner, whose labourers 
 destroyed the poor man's residence and his 
 growing stock of winter vegetables. 
 
 "A man may see how this world 
 
 goes with no eyes, Look with thine ears; 
 see how yon' justice rails upon yon' simple 
 
 807 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 thief. Hark in thine ear : change places ; 
 and handy dandy, which is the justice, 
 which is the thief? 
 
 ' Through tatter'd cloaths small vices do appear ; 
 Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold, 
 And the strong lance of justice hartless breaks : 
 Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it." 
 
 We found Corrall and his wife aridcliild 
 at No. 3, Bishops-place, Copenhagen-street. 
 The overseers would have taken ihem into 
 16 workhouse, but the old man and his 
 wife refused, because, according to the 
 workhouse rules, had they entered, they 
 would have teen separated. In " The Form 
 of Solemnization of Matrimony," it is en- 
 joined, after the joining of hands, "Those 
 whom God hath joined together, let no 
 man put asunder ;" and though this pre- 
 scription is of the highest order of law, yet 
 it is constantly violated by parochial autho- 
 rity. Corrall is sixty nine years old, and 
 his wife's lungs appear diseased. Were 
 they together in the poor-house they would 
 be us well circumstanced as they can ever 
 hope or wish ; but, this not being allowed, 
 they purpose endeavouring to pick up a 
 living by selling ready dressed meat and 
 small beer to labouring people. Their 
 child, a girl about seven years of age, seems 
 destined to a vagabond and lawless life, 
 unless means can be devised to take her 
 off the old people's hands, and put her 
 to school. On leaving them I gave tne 
 wife five shillings, which a correspondent 
 sent for their use :* and Mr. S. left his 
 address, that, when they get settled, they 
 may apply to him as the almoner of the 
 benevolent clergyman, on whose behalf 
 he accompanied me to witness their situa- 
 tion. - 
 
 This notice will terminate all remark 
 on Hagbush-lane: but I reiterate, that since 
 it ceased to be used as the common high- 
 way from the north of England into Lon- 
 don, it became a green lane, affording 
 lovely walks to lovers ot rural scenery, 
 which lawless encroachments have de- 
 spoiled, and only a few spots of its former 
 beauty remain. It is not " waste " of the 
 manors through which it passes, but be- 
 longs to the crown ; and if the Commis- 
 sioners of Woods and Forests survey and 
 inquire, they will doubtless claim and pos- 
 sess themselves of the whole, and appro- 
 priate it by sale to the public service. True 
 it is, that on one or two occasions manor 
 homages have been called, and persons 
 
 • I am sorry I cannot remember the initials to this 
 gentleman's letter, which has been accidentally mis- 
 Uid. 
 
 colourably admitted to certain parcels ; but 
 the land so disposed of, a homage could not 
 legally admit claimants into possession of; 
 nor could an entry on the court rolls confer 
 a legal title. Indeed the court rolls them- 
 selves will, at least in one instance, show tha^ 
 the steward has doubted his lord's right ; and 
 the futility of such a title has seemed so ob- 
 vious, that some who retain portions of Hag- 
 bush-lane actually decline admission through 
 the manor-court, and hold their possessions 
 by open seizure, deeming such a holding as 
 legal, to all intents and purposes, as any 
 that the lord of the manor can give. Sucl 
 possessors are lords in their own right— 
 a right unknown to the law of England- 
 founded on mere force ; which, were ii 
 exercised on the personalties of passengers. 
 would infallibly subject successful claimants 
 to the inconvenience of taking either a long 
 voyage to New South Wales, or, peihaps, 
 a short walk without the walls of Newgate, 
 there to receive the hijjfhest reward the 
 sheriff's substitute can bestow. 
 
 OF THE 
 
 A.M.IENTS AND MODERNS 
 
 No. XXXV. \ 
 
 Ancient Chemistry, &c. 
 
 Distillation. — It has been questioned 
 whether the ancients were acquainted with 
 this art, but a passae;e of Dioscorides not 
 only indicates the practice, but shows that 
 the name of its principal instrument, the 
 alembic, was derived from the Greek lan- 
 guage. Pliny gives the same explanation, 
 as Dioscorides does, of the manner of ex- 
 tracting quicksilver from cinnabar by dis- 
 tillation. And Seneca describes an instru- 
 ment exactly resembling the alembic. 
 Hippocrates even describes the process ol 
 distillation. He talks of vapours from the 
 boiling fluid, which meeting with resistance 
 stop and condense, till they fall in drops. 
 Zosimus of Panopolis, an Egyptian city, 
 desires his students to furnish themselves 
 with alembics, gives them directions how 
 to use them, describes them, and presents 
 drawings of such as best deserve to be 
 employed in practice. 
 
 Alcalis and Acids. — Of the substances 
 promiscuously termed lixivial salt, sal alcali. 
 
 80» 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 •ock-salt, &c., Aristotle spea'ks,whenhe says 
 that in Umbria the burnt ashes of rushes and 
 reeds, boiled in water, yield a great quan- 
 tity of salt. Theophrastus observes the 
 same. Varro relates of dwellers on the 
 borders of the Rhine, who having neither 
 sea nor pit salt, supply themselves by 
 means of the saline cinders of burnt plants. 
 Pliny speaks of ashes as impregnated wiih 
 salts, and in particular of the nitrous ashes 
 of burnt oak ; adding, that these salts are 
 used in medicine, and" that a dose of lixivial 
 ashes is an excellent remedy. Hippocrates, 
 Celsus, Dioscorides, and especially Galen, 
 often recommend the medical use of sal 
 alcali. To the mixture of acids and alcali, 
 Plato ascribed fermentation. Solomon 
 seems to have known this effect of them, 
 when he speaks of " vinegar upon nitre." 
 
 Cleopatra's Pearl. — A convincing proof 
 of the ability of tlie ancients in chemistry 
 is the experiment witii which Cleopalia 
 entertained Marc Antony, in dissolving be- 
 fore him, in a kind of vinegar, a pearl of 
 very great value, (above 45,-*50/. sterling.) 
 At present we know not of any *' vinegar" 
 that can produce this effect; but the fact is 
 well attested. Probably the queen added 
 something to the vinegar, omitted by the 
 historian. The aid of Dioscorides, sur- 
 named Phacas, who was her physician, 
 might have enabled her thus to gain her 
 wager with Marc Antony, that she would 
 exceed him in the splendour and costliness 
 of her entertainment. But Cleopatra her- 
 self was a chemical adept, as appears from 
 some of her performances still in the libra- 
 ries of Paris, Venice, and the X'atican. 
 And Pliny informs us of the emperor Caius, 
 that by means of tire he extracted some 
 gold from orpiment. 
 
 MalleabiUty of Glass. — Tlie method of 
 rendering glass ductile, which is to us a 
 secret, was assuredly a process well 
 known to the ancients. Some still doubt 
 of it, as others have of the burning glasses 
 of Archimedes. Because forsooth they do 
 not know how it could be eifected, they 
 will not admit the fact, notwithstanding the 
 exact accounts we have of it, till somebody 
 again recovers this lost or neglected secret, 
 as Kircher and Buffbn did that of Archi- 
 Jnedes's mirrors. Pliny says, the fiexibUity 
 of glass was discovered in the time of 
 Tiberius; but that the emperor fearing 
 lest gold and silver, those most precious 
 metals, should thereby fall in their value, 
 so as to become contemptible, ordered the 
 residence, workhouse, and tools of the in- 
 genious artisan to be destroyed, and thus 
 strangled the art in its infancy, f etrcnius 
 
 is more diffuse. He says, that in the timp 
 of Tiberius there was an artificer who made 
 vessels of glass, which were in their com- 
 posi'ion and fabric as strong and durable 
 as silver or gold ; and that being introduced 
 into the presence of the emperor, he pre 
 sented him with a vase of this kind, such 
 as he thought worthy of his acceptance. 
 Meeting with the praise his invention de- 
 served, and finding his present so favour- 
 ably received, he threw the vase with such 
 violence upon the floor, that had it been of 
 brass it must have been injured by the 
 blow; he took it up again whole, but 
 dimpled a little, and immediately repaired 
 it with a hammer. While in expectation 
 of ample recompense for his ingenuity, the 
 emperor asked him whether any body else 
 v,'as acquainted with this method of pre- 
 paring glass, and being assured that no 
 other Was, the tyrant ordered his head to be 
 immediately struck off; lest gold and sil- 
 ver, added he, should become as base as 
 dirt. Dion Cassius, on this head, confirms 
 the attestations of Pliny and Petronius. 
 Ibn Abd Alhokim speaks of malleable glass 
 as a thing known in the flourishing times of 
 ligypt. Greaves, in his work on Pyramids, 
 mentions him as a celebrated chronologisl 
 among the Arabians, and' cites from him 
 that " Saurid built in the western pyramid 
 thirty treasuries, filled with store of riches 
 and utensils, and with signatures made of 
 precious stones, and with instruments of 
 iron arid vessels of earth, and with arms 
 which rust not, and with glass which might 
 be bended, and yet not broken, &c.'' 
 There is, however, a modern chemical com- 
 positibn, formed of silver dissolved in acid 
 spirits, and which is called cornn lunce, or 
 horned moon, a transparent body, easily 
 put into fusion, and very like horn or glass, 
 and which will bear the hammer. Borri- 
 chius, a Danish physician of the seven- 
 teenth century, describes an experiment of 
 his own, by which he obtained a pliant and 
 malleable salt : he gives the receipt, and 
 concludes from thence, that as glass for the 
 most part is only a mixture of salt and 
 sand, and as the salt may be rendered duc- 
 tile, glass may be made malleable : he even 
 imagines that the Roman artificer, spoken 
 of by Pliny and Petronius, may have suc- 
 cessfully used antimony as the principal 
 ingredient in the composition of his vase. 
 Descartes supposed it possible to impart 
 malleability to glass, and Morhoff assures 
 us that Boyle was of the same opinion. 
 
 Paiuting on Glass. — This art, so far as it 
 depends upon chemistry, was carried for- 
 merly to high perfection. ( Jf this we hav^ 
 
 :i01-) 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 striKmg instances in the windows of ancient 
 churches, where paintings present tliem- 
 selve? in the most vivid colours, without 
 uetractrng from the transparency of the 
 glass. Boerhave and others observe, that 
 we have lost the secret to such a degree, 
 that there are scarcely any hopes of recover- 
 ing it. Late experiments go far towards a 
 successful restoration of this art. 
 
 Democritns. — This eminent man, who 
 was a native of Abdera in Thrace, flourish- 
 ed upwards of four centuries before the 
 Chrisiian sera. For the sake of acquiring 
 wisdom he travelled into Egypt, and abode 
 with the priests of the country. He may 
 je deemed the father of experimental phi- 
 losophy. It is affirmed that he extracted 
 :.he juice of every simple, and that there 
 ■vas not a quality belonging to the mineral 
 or vegetable kingdoms that escaped his no- 
 tice. Seneca says, that he was the inventor 
 af reverberating furnaces, the first who 
 rave a softness to ivory, and imitated nature 
 in her production of precious stones, par- 
 ticularly the emerald. 
 
 Gunpowder. — Viigil and his commenta- 
 tor Servius, Hyginus, Eustathius, La Cerda, 
 Valerius Flaccus, and many other authors, 
 speak in such a manner of Salmoneus's at- 
 tempts to imitate thunder, as suggest to us 
 that he used a composition of the nature of 
 ojunpowder. He was so expert in mecha- 
 nics, that he formed machines which imi- 
 rated the noise of thunder, and the writers 
 of fable, whose surprise in this respect may 
 be compared to that of the Mexicans when 
 they first beheld the fire-arms of the Spa- 
 niards, give out that Jupiter, incensed at 
 ihe audacity of this prince, slew him with 
 lightning. It is much more natural to sup- 
 pose that this unfortunate prince, as the in- 
 ventor of gunpowder, gave rise to these 
 fables, by having accidentally fallen a 
 victim to his own experiments. Dion and 
 Joannes Antiochenus report of the emperor 
 Caligula, that he imitated thunder and 
 lightning by means of machines, which at 
 the same time emitted stones. Themistius 
 relates, that the Brachn.ans encountered 
 one another with thui.der ai:o lightning, 
 which they had tht art ct iaunu-'iing from 
 in high at a consideraMe ai«tai:ce. Aga- 
 ihias reports of Anthe.nius Trafiensis,. that 
 '.aving fallen out with his neighboo*, Zeno 
 ■"he rhetorician, he set fire to his bouse v^-.th 
 thunder and lightning. Philostiaies speak- 
 ing of the Indian sages, says, thai when 
 ihey were attacked by their enemies they 
 lid not leave their walls to fight them, but 
 repelled and put them to flight by thunder 
 iod lightning In another place he alleges 
 
 that Hercules and Bacchus aitempting u 
 assail them in a fort where they were en- 
 trenched, were so roughly received by re- 
 iterated strokes of thunder and lightning, 
 launciied upon them from on high by the 
 besieged, that they were obliged to letire 
 The effects ascribed to these engines could 
 scarcely be brought about but by gunpow- 
 der, in Julius Africanus there is a receipt 
 for an ingenious composition to be thrown 
 upon an enemy, very nearly resembling 
 tliat of gunpowder. But that the ancients 
 were acquainted with it seems proved be- 
 yond doubt, by a clear and positive passas^e 
 of an author called Marcus Graecus, whos^ 
 work in manuscript is in the Royal Library 
 at Paris, entitled " Liber Ignium." The 
 author, describing several ways of encoun 
 tering an enemy, by launching fire upor; 
 him, among others gives the following re- 
 ceipt : — Mix together one pound of livt 
 sulphur, two of charcoal of willow, and 
 six of saltpetre ; reduce them to a very fine 
 powder in a marble mortar. He directs a 
 certain quantity of this to be put into a 
 long, narrow, and well-compacted cover, 
 and so discharged into the air. Here we 
 have the description of a rocket. The 
 cover with which thunder is imitated he 
 represents as short, thick, but half-filled, 
 and strongly bound with packthread, which 
 is exactly the form of a cracker. He then 
 treats of diff'erent methods of preparing 
 the match, and how one squib may set firt 
 to another in the air, by having it enclosed 
 within it. In short, he speaks as clearly oi 
 ihe composition and effects of gunpowdei 
 as any body in our times could do. Thi!< 
 author is spoken of by Mesne, an Arabian 
 physician, who flourished in the beginning 
 of the ninth century. There is reason to 
 believe that he is the same of whom Galen 
 speaks. 
 
 Generation. 
 
 There are two theories on this sunject 
 among the moderns. Harvey, Stenon, Graaf, 
 Redi, and other celebrated physicians, 
 maintain that all animals are oviparous, 
 and spring from eggs, which in the animal 
 kingdom are what seed is in the vegetable. 
 Hartsoeker and Lewenhoek are of a differ- 
 ent opinion, and maintain that all animals 
 spring by metamorphosis from little animals 
 of extreme minuteness. 
 
 The first of these systems is merely a 
 revival of that taught by Empedocles, as 
 cited by Plutarch and Galen, and next tC' 
 him Hippocrates, Aristotle, and Macrobius. 
 The other system, that of animalcula o' 
 
 810 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 permatic verraiculi, is but a revival of the 
 pinions of Democritus and other ancients. 
 Hippocrates, founding himself upon a 
 rincipie universally received by antiquity 
 hat nothing arises from nothing, advanced 
 that nothing in nature absolutely perished ; 
 that nothing, taking it altogether, was pro- 
 duced anew; nothmg born, but what had 
 a prior existence ; that what we call birth, 
 B only such an enlargement as brings from 
 darkness to light, or renders visible, those 
 small animalcula which were before imper- 
 ceptible. He maintains that every thing 
 increases as much as it can, from the lowest 
 10 the highest degree of magnitude. Thfse 
 principles he afterwards applies to genera- 
 .ion, and declares that the larger sizes arise 
 ■ut of the lesser; that all the parts success- 
 ively expand themselves, and grow and 
 iicrease proportionally in the same series 
 ' 'f time; that none of them in reality takes 
 he start of another, so as to be quicker or 
 •lower in t,'-ro.wth; but that those whicli are 
 idturally larger sooner appear to the e^e, 
 han those which are smaller, though they 
 ■y no means preceded them in birth or 
 r xistence. 
 
 Polypi. — The multiplicity of animation 
 if which the polypus is capable, supposed 
 o have been discovered by the moderns, 
 vas known to the ancients. There are 
 lassages of Aristotle and St. Augustine, 
 vherein they speak of it as a thing which 
 liey knew from their own experience. The 
 dtter, in his book entitled " De Quan- 
 itate Aniinae," relates, that one of his 
 liends performed the experiment before 
 lim of cutting a polypus in two; and that 
 mmediately the separated parts betook 
 hemselves to flight, moving with precipita- 
 lon, the one one way, and the other ano- 
 lier. Aristotle, speaking of insects with 
 uany feet, says, that there f>re of these 
 inimals or insects, as well as of plants and 
 rees, that propagate themselves by shoots : 
 aid as what were but the parts of a tree 
 before, become thus distinct and separate 
 irees ; so in cutting one of these animals, 
 says Aristoile, the pieces which before com- 
 posed altogether but one animal, become 
 -ill of a sudden so many difiierent indivi- 
 duals. He adds, that the animating prin- 
 ciple in these insects is in effiect but one, 
 though multiplied in its powers, as it is in 
 plants. 
 
 The Sexual System of Plants. 
 
 Vivnnt in Venerem frondes, omnes<]ue vicissira 
 Felir arbor amat, nntant ad mutua palinae 
 Foedera, populeo suspirat popuJus ictu, 
 V.t platani platanis, alnoqiie assibilat alnus. 
 
 Claudiaa. de Auptiis Hunorii et Mariee, 
 
 Claudian's verses have been thus fa- 
 miliarly Englished: — "The tender boughs 
 live together in love, and the happy trees 
 pass their time entirely in mutual em- 
 braces. Palms by consent salute and 
 nod to each other; the poplar, smitten 
 with the poplar, sighs ; whilst planes and 
 alders express their affection in the melody 
 of whispers." This allusion to the "Loves 
 of the Plants" was not a mere imagination 
 of the old poet : their sexual difference 
 was known to the old philosopliers. " Na- 
 turalists," says Pliny, " admit the distinc- 
 tion of sex not only in trees, but in herbs 
 and in all plants." 
 
 Astronomy — Mathematics — Mecha- 
 nics — Optics, &c. 
 
 The Vibration of the Pendulum was em- 
 ployed, for the purpose it is still applied to, 
 by the ancient Arabians, long before the 
 epoch usually assigned to its first discovery. 
 A learned gentleman at Oxford, who care- 
 fully examined the Arabian manuscripts in 
 the library of that university, says, " The 
 advantages recommending the study of 
 astronomy to the people of the East were 
 many." He speaks of " the serenity of 
 tlieir weather ; the largeness and correct- 
 ness of the instruments they made use of 
 niuch exceeding what the moderns would 
 be willing to believe; the multitude of 
 their obseivations and writings being six 
 times more than what has been composed 
 by Greeks and Latins ; and of the number 
 of powerful princes who, in a manner be- 
 coming their own magnificence, aided them 
 with protection." He affirms, that it is 
 easy " to show in how many respects the 
 Arabian astronomers detected the deficiency 
 of Ptolemy, and the pains they took to cor- 
 rect him ; how carefully they measured 
 time by water-clocks, sand-glasses, immense 
 solar dials, and even by the vibrations of 
 the pendulum ; and with what assiduity and 
 accuracy they conducted themselves in 
 iliose nice attempts, which do so mucli 
 honour to human genius — the taking tne 
 distances of the stars, and the measure of 
 the earth." 
 
 Refraction of Light. — According to 
 Roger Bacon, Ptolemy, the great philoso- 
 pher and geometrician, gave the same ex- 
 planation of this phenomenon, which Des- 
 cartes has done since ; for he says, that " 
 ray, passing from a more rare into a more 
 dense medium, becomes more perpendicu- 
 lar." Ptolemy wrote a treatise on optics 
 ■whence Alhazen seems to have drawn 
 whatever is estimable 'n what he advance* 
 
 Ml 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 about th^ refraction of tight, astronomical re- 
 fraction, and the cause of the extraordinary 
 size of planets when they appear on the hori- 
 zon. Ptolemy, and after him Alhazen, said, 
 that " when a ray of light passes from a more 
 rare into a more dense medium, it changes its 
 direction when it arrives upon the surface 
 of the latter, describing a line which inter- 
 sects the angle made by that of its first 
 direction, and a perpendicular falling upon 
 it from the more dense medium." Bacon 
 adds, after Ptolemy, that " the angle form- 
 ed by the coincidence of those two lines is 
 not always equally divided by the refracted 
 ray ; because in proportion to the greater 
 or less density of the medium, the ray is 
 more or less refracted, or obliged to decline 
 from its first direction." Sir Isaac Newton 
 subsequently deducing the cause of retrac- 
 tion, from the attraction made upon the ray 
 of light by the bodies surrounding it, says, 
 " that mediums are more or less attractive 
 in proportion to their density." 
 
 Astronomic Refraction. — Ptolemy, ac- 
 quainted with the principle of the refraction 
 of light, could not fail to conclude that this 
 was the cause of the appearance of planets 
 upon the horizon before they came there. 
 Eience he accounted for those appearances 
 fiom the difference there was between the 
 medium of air, and that of ether which lay 
 beyond it; so that the rays of light coming 
 from the planet, and entering into the 
 denser medium of our atmosphere, must of 
 course be so attracted as to chanj^e their 
 direction, and by that means bring the star 
 to our view, before it really come upon 
 the horizon. 
 
 fFhy Stars appear largest upon the Hori- 
 zon is attempted to be accounted for by 
 Roj;er Bacon. lie says it may proceed 
 fro n this, that the rays coming from the 
 star are made to diverge from each other, 
 not only by passing- from the rare medium 
 of ether into the denser one of our sur- 
 rounding air, but also by the interposition 
 of clouds and vapours arising out of the 
 earth, which repeat the refraction and aug- 
 ment the dispersion of the rays, whereby 
 the object must needs be magnified to our 
 eye. He afterwards adds, that there has 
 been assigned by Ptolemy and Alhazen 
 another more reasonable cause. These 
 authors thought that the reason of a star's 
 pearing larger at its rising or setting than 
 wh3n viewed over head arose from this, 
 that when the star is over head there are no 
 imm liate objects perceived between it and 
 us, so t'.iat we judge it nearer to us, and 
 are not surprised at its littleness; but when 
 a Stat is viewed on the horizon, it lies then 
 
 so low that all we can see «pon earth inter- 
 poses between it and us, which making it 
 appear at a greater distance, we are sur- 
 prised at observing it so large, or rather 
 imagine it larger than it is. For the same 
 reason the sun and moon, when appealing 
 upon the horizon, seem to be at a greater 
 distance, by reason of the interposition o'l 
 those objects which are upon the surface of 
 our earth, than when they are over head; 
 and consequently there will arise in our 
 minds an idea of their largeness, augmented 
 by that of their distance, and this of course 
 must make them appear larger to us, when 
 viewed on the horizon, than when seen in 
 the zenith. 
 
 Perspective of the Ancients. — Most of 
 the learned deny the ancients the advantage 
 of having known the rule*" of perspective, 
 or of having put them in p...etice, although 
 Vitruvius makes mention of the principles 
 of Democritus and Anaxagoras respecting 
 that science, in amanner that plainly shows 
 they were not ignorant of them. " Anaxa- 
 goras and Democritus," says he, " were in- 
 structed by Agatarchus, the disciple of 
 Eschylus. They both of them taught the 
 rules of drawing, so as to imitate from any 
 point of view the prospect that lay in sight, 
 by making the lines in their draught, issu- 
 ing from ithe point of view there, exactly 
 resemble the radiavion of those in nature; 
 insomuch, that however ignorant any one 
 might be of the rules whereby this was 
 performed, yet they could not but know at 
 sitjht the edifices, and other prospects which 
 offered themselves in the perspective scenes 
 they drew for the decoration of the theatre, 
 where, though all the objects were repre- 
 sented on a plain surface, yet they swelled 
 out, or retired from the si£jht,just as objects 
 do endowed with all dimensions.'' Again 
 he says, that the painter Apatarius drew a 
 scene for the theatre at Tralles, " which 
 was .wonderfully pleasing to the eye, on 
 account that the artist had so well managed 
 the lights and shades, <that the architecture 
 appeared in reality to have all its projec- 
 tions." Pliny says, that Pamphilus, who 
 was an excellent painter, applied himself 
 much to the study of geometry, and main- 
 tained that " without its aid it was impos- 
 sible ever to arrive at perfection in that 
 art." Pliny elsewhere says, that Apelles 
 fell short of Asclepiodorus in " the art of 
 laying down distances in his paintings." 
 Lucian, in his Dialogue of Zeuxis, speab 
 of the effects of perspective in pictures 
 and iPhilostratus, in his preface to hu 
 Drawings, or History of Painting, makes 
 it appear that he knew this science; and 
 
 812 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 in his account of Menoetius's picture of the 
 siege of Thebes, describes the happy effects 
 of perspective when studied with care. 
 
 Optical Problem,, — Aristotle was the first 
 who proposed the famous problem respect- 
 ing the roundness of that image of the sun, 
 which is formed by his rays.passing through 
 a small puncture, even though the hole 
 itself be square or triangular. " Why is 
 it," inquires Aristotle, " that the sun, in 
 passing through a square puncture, forms 
 itself into an orbicular, and not into a 
 rectilinear figure, as when it shines through 
 a grate? Is it not because the efflux of its 
 rays, through the puncture, converges it 
 into a cone, whose base is the luminous 
 circle?" 
 
 Squaring the Circle. — If there remain 
 any hope of solving this problem it is 
 founded on that discovery of Hippocrates 
 of Cliios, called the squaring of the Litniihe, 
 which is said to have first put him in heart, 
 they say, to attempt the squaring of the 
 circle. This Hippocrates must not be con- 
 founded with the father of medicine, who 
 was of the isle of Cos. He who is spoken 
 of here was a famous geometrician, and 
 lived about five hundred years before Jesus 
 Christ. 
 
 Anaxagoras appears to have been the 
 first who dared this enterprise, and it was 
 when he was in prison at Athens. Plu- 
 tarch says positively that he achie^■ed it ; 
 but this must be looked upon only as a 
 general expression, Aristotle in many 
 places mentions the efforts of the Pythago- 
 reans Bryson and Antiphon, who likewise 
 flattered themselves with having found out 
 the square of the circle. Aristophanes 
 jeers the learned of his time for attempting 
 to resolve this problem. One of the nearest 
 approximations to the snlnlion of this pro- 
 blem is that of Archimeues. He found the 
 proportion of the diameter to the circum- 
 ference to be as 7 to '22, or somewhat be- 
 tween 21 and 22; and it is in making use 
 of Archimedes's method, that Wallis lays 
 down rules for attaining nearly the square 
 of the circle; yet they bring us not fully up 
 to it, how far soever we advance. Archi- 
 medes contented himself with what he had 
 in view, which was to find out a proportion 
 that would serve all the purposes of ordi- 
 nary practice. What he neglected to do, 
 by extended approximations was afterwards 
 performed by Apollonius, and by Philc of 
 Gadare, who lived in the third century. 
 
 The Squaring of the Parabola is one of 
 the geometrical discoveries which has done 
 most honour toArchimedes. It is remarked 
 to hav£ been the first instance of the reducing 
 
 a curve figure exactly into a square, iinlesj 
 we admit of Hippocrates's squaring the 
 lunulcB to have been of this sort. 
 
 The Burning Glasses, employed by Archi- 
 medes to set fire to the Roman fleet at the 
 siege of Syracuse, Kepler, Nauddus, and 
 Descartes have treated as fabulous, thoueh 
 attested by Diodorus Siculus, Lucian, Dion, 
 Zonaras, Galen, Anthemius, Eustathius, 
 Tzetzes, and other eminent authors. Some 
 have pretended to demonstrate by the rules 
 of catoptrics the impossibility of it ; but 
 Kircher, attentively observing the descrip- 
 tion which Tzetzes gives of the burning 
 glasses of Archimedes, resolved upon an 
 experiment; and having^, by means of a 
 number of plain mirrors, collected the sun's 
 rays into one focus, he by an increased 
 number of mirrors produced the most in- 
 tense degree of solar heat. Tzetzes says, 
 that " Archimedes set fire to Rlarcellus's 
 navy, by means of a burning glass com- 
 posed of small square mirrors, movii g 
 every way upon hinges; which, when 
 placed in the sun's rays, directed theni 
 upon the Roman fleet so as to I'educe it to 
 ashes at the distance of a bow-shot." Buf- 
 fon's celebrated burning glass, composed 
 of 168 little plain mirrors, produced so 
 considerable a beat, as to set wood in flames 
 at the distance of two hundred and nine 
 feet ; melt lead, at~that of one hundred and 
 twenty ; and silver, at that of fifty. 
 
 Anthemius of Tralles in Lydia, cele- 
 brated as an able architect, sculptor, and 
 mathematician, who in the emperor Justi- 
 nian's time built the church of St. Sophia 
 at Constantinople, wrote a sma41 treatise in 
 Greek, which is extant only in manuscript, 
 entitled " Mechanical Paradoxes, ''.wherein 
 is a chapter respecting burning glasses, 
 with a complete description of the requi- 
 sites, which, accoTding to this author, Ar- 
 chimedes must have possessed to enable him 
 to set fire to the Roman fleet. His elaborate 
 description demonstrates the possibility of 
 a fact so well attested in history. ,Zonaras, 
 speaking of Archimedes's glasses, m.entions 
 those of Proclus, who, he says, burnt the 
 fleet of Vitellius at the siege ot Constanti- 
 nople, in imitation of Archimedes, wtio 
 set fire to the Roman fleet at the siege of 
 Syracuse. He intimates that the manner 
 wherein Proclus effected this, was by 
 launchii^g upon the vessels, from the sur- 
 face of reflecting mirrors, such a quantity 
 of flame as reduced them to ashes. 
 
 Refracting Burning Glasses were cer- 
 tainly known to the ancients. Pliny and 
 Lactantius speak of glasses that burnt by 
 .refraction The former tell* of bills or 
 
 tio 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 globes of glass, or crystal, which exposed 
 to the sun transmit a heat sufficient to set 
 fire to cloth, or corrode away the dead flesh 
 of those patients who stand in need of 
 caustics; and the latter, after Clemens 
 Alexandrinus, takea notice that fire may be 
 kindled, by inturposing glasses filled with 
 water between the sun and the object, so as 
 to transmit the rays to it. Aristophanes, 
 :n his comedy of the Clouds, introduces 
 Socrates as examming Strepsiades about 
 the method he had discovered for getting 
 clear for ever of his debts. The latter re- 
 plies, that he thought of making use of a 
 burning glass, which he hud hitherto used 
 in kindling his fire; for, says he, should 
 they bring a writ against me, I'll immedi- 
 ttely place my glass in the sun, at some 
 little distance from the writ, and set it a 
 ^ire. 
 
 Erratum. 
 Col. 455, line 10 from the bottom, for " Hartley Coaj- 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 TREE TRANSLATION 
 
 OF A 
 
 DRINKING SONG, BY GOETHE. 
 
 Sung by the Poet at a Meeting of 
 Friends, to join which he and others 
 
 HAD travelled A CONSIDERABLE DIS- 
 TANCE. 
 
 1. 
 
 Celestial rapture seizes me. 
 
 Your inspiration merely ; 
 It lifts me to the winking stars, 
 
 I seem to touch them nearly : 
 Yet would I rather stay below, 
 
 I can declare sincerely. 
 My song to sing, my glass to ring 
 
 With those I love so dearly. 
 
 2. 
 
 Then wonder not to see me here 
 
 To prop a cause so rightful : 
 Of all lov'd things on this loir'd eartt 
 
 To me 'tis most delightful. 
 I Tow'd I would among ye be 
 
 In scorn of fortune spiteful; 
 So here I came, and here I am. 
 
 To sake the table quite full. 
 
 3. 
 
 When thus we shjuld together ro*^ 
 
 Not quickly to be sunder'd, 
 I hoped at other Poets' songs 
 
 My joy, too, should be thunder''*. 
 To join such brothers who would grudpe 
 
 To travel miles a hundred I 
 So eager some this day to come. 
 
 Through very haste they blunder'd. 
 
 Long life to him who guards our livesl 
 
 My doctrine's not learnt newly : 
 We'll first do honour to our King, 
 
 And drink to him most duly. 
 May he his foes without o'ercome, 
 
 Within quell all unruly ; 
 And grant support of every sort. 
 
 As we shall serve him truly ! 
 
 Thee next I give — thou only one. 
 
 Who all thy sex defeatest I 
 Each lover deems right gallantly. 
 
 His mistress the completest. 
 I therefore drink to her I love ; 
 
 Thon, who some other greetest, 
 Ne'er drink alone — still think thine owx. 
 
 A« I do mine — the sweetest 1 
 
 The third glass to old friends is due, 
 
 Who aid us when we need it. 
 How quickly flew each joyous day 
 
 With such kind hearts to speed it ! 
 Wheu fortune's storm was gathering dai k 
 
 We had less cause to heed it : 
 Uien fill the glass — the bottle pass — 
 
 A bumper ! — we've agreed it I 
 
 Since broader, fuller, swells the tide 
 Of friends, as life advances. 
 
 Let's drink to every lesser stream, 
 The greater that enhances. 
 
 With strength united thus we mee^ 
 And brave the worst mischances ; 
 
 Since oft the tide, must darkly glide 
 That in the sunlight dances. 
 
 Once more we meet together here. 
 
 Once more in love united : 
 We tmst that others' toils like ouis 
 
 Like ours will be reqnited. 
 Upon the self-same stream we see 
 
 Full many a mill is sited 1 
 May we the weal of all men leel, 
 
 Aiid with it be deligLted < 
 
 J.P.€. 
 
 814 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 GEOEGE BLOOMFIELD:. 
 
 This portrait of the elder brother of 
 Robert Bloomfield, " the Farmer's Bov," 
 is here pr>-sented from a likeness recently 
 drawn in water colours from the life, and 
 communicated to the Table Book for the 
 purpose of the present ens^raving. 
 
 The late Mr. Capel Llnfft, in a preface 
 to Robert Bloomfiold's " Farmer's Boy," 
 relates Robert's history, from a narrative 
 drawn up by George Bloomfield. It ap- 
 
 pears from thence, that their father die4 
 when Robert was an infant under a year 
 old ; that their mother had another family 
 by John Glover, a second husband; and 
 that Robert, at eleven years old, was taken 
 by a kind farmer into his house, and em- 
 ployed in husbandry work. Rob rt was 
 so small of his age, that his master said he 
 Avas not likely to get his living by hard 
 labour J his brother George informed his 
 
 VUL. III. 
 
 815 
 
 au 
 
1 
 
 THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 motkflr, if sli« would let him have Robert, 
 he weuld take him and teach him his own 
 trade, shoemaking; another brother, Na- 
 thaniel, offered to clothe him ; and the 
 mother and Robert, who was then fifteen 
 years old, took coach, and came to London 
 to George Bioomfield. " 1 have him in 
 my mind's eye," says George.; " a little 
 boy; not bigger. than boys generally are at 
 twelve years old. When I met Mm afid 
 his mother at the inn, (in Bishapsgate- 
 street,) he strutted before us, dreSsed just as 
 he came from keeping sheep, bogs, Set: — 
 his shoes filled full of stumps in the heels, 
 lie, looking about him, slipt up — his nails 
 were unused to a flat pavement. I remem- 
 ber viewing him as' he scampered up — ho\v 
 small he was — little thought that little 
 fatherless boy would be one day known and 
 esteemed by the most learned, the most 
 respected, the wisest, and the best men of 
 the kingdom." Robert developed his ta- 
 lents under the fostering of George, to 
 whose protection he was left by their mo- 
 ther. " She charged me," says George, 
 " as I valued a mother's blessing, to watch 
 over him, to set good examples for him, 
 and never to forget that he had lost his 
 father." Her injunctions were strictly ob- 
 served till Robert was eig-hteen, when 
 George, having housed him, and taught him 
 his trade, quilted London, -and left Robert 
 to pursue shoemaking and playing on the 
 violin. " Robert told me in a letter," says 
 George, " ' th^t he had sold his fiddle, and 
 got a wife.* Like most poor men, he got 
 a wife first, and had to get household stuiF 
 afterward. It took him some years to get 
 out of ready furnished lodgings. At 
 length, by hard working, &c. he acquired a 
 bed of his own, and hired the room up one 
 pair of stairs, at No. 14, Bell-alley,' Cole- 
 man-street. The landlord kindly gave him 
 leave to sit and work in the light garret, 
 two pair of stairs higher. In this garret, 
 amid six or seven other workmen, his ac- 
 tive mind employed itself in composing the 
 Farmer's Boy." George, with filial piety 
 and fondness, tells of his mother's pains to 
 imbue Robert's mind in infancy with just 
 principles. *' As his reason expanded," 
 continues George, " his love of God and 
 man increased with it. I never knew 
 his fellow for mildness of temper and good- 
 ness of disposition; and since I left him, 
 universally is he praised by those who know 
 him best, for the best of husbands, an in- 
 dulgent father, and quiet neighbour." 
 
 The progress and melancholy termina- 
 tion of Robert Bloomfield's life are familiar 
 to most readers of sensibility : they may 
 
 not know, perhaps, that his brother George 
 has long strugglea with poverty, and is now 
 ■an aged man, overwhelmed by indigence. 
 
 Two letters, written to a friend by a 
 gentleman of Thetford, Mr. Faux, and some 
 manuscripts accompanying them in George 
 ■Bloomfield's hand-writing, are now before 
 me. They contain a few particulars re 
 specting- George Bioomfield and his present 
 situation, which are here made known, with 
 the hope of interesting the public m the 
 behalf of a greatly distressed and very 
 ^worthy man. The following extract from 
 one of Mr.Faux's letters introduces George 
 Bloomfield's circumstances, and conveys an 
 idea of his character: it will be seen that 
 he, too, is a versifier. 
 
 " Thetford, Oct. 15, 1827 
 
 ** I have found the letter you allude to, 
 regarding his application to the overseers 
 of St. Pef^r's, I was rather inclined to 
 s«nd you a bundle of his letters and poetry 
 but I hardly think it fair without first con- 
 sulting poor old George, and obtaining his 
 permission. The letter enclosed, in answer 
 to my invitation to him to be present on 
 the day the duke of Grafton laid the firsJ 
 stone of the Pump-room, will show you 
 what a shy bird he is. His presence on 
 that occasion would have been highly 
 beneficial tc him ; but his extreme modesty 
 has been a drawback upon him through life, 
 leaving him generally with a coat ' scarcely 
 visible.' I believe he has been always poor, 
 and yet a more temperate man never 
 lived." 
 
 The 'ft^l lowing is the note above refer- 
 red to. 
 
 From George Bloomfield to Me. Faux 
 
 " Wednesday, 3 o'clock. 
 
 " I was just folding the papers to take 
 them to Stone, when the Master Fauxes 
 came in, with great good nature iii Irien 
 countenances, and delivered their father's 
 very kind invitation. I feel truly gialef'i!l 
 f(ir the kmdness : but when I can, witho-)* 
 ofl^'ence, avoid being seen, I have, through 
 life, consulted my sheepish feelings. I have 
 been accused of ' making myself scarce,' 
 and been always considered an ' unsocial 
 fellow : it is a task to me to go into a situa- 
 tion where I am likely to attract attention, 
 and the observation of men. In childhood 
 I read of an invisible coat — I ha it some- 
 times wen a coat scarcely visible ; but I 
 
 816 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 want a coat that would render me invisible. 
 i hope to be excused withoutgiving offence, 
 as i should be very ill at ease. 
 
 "Mr. Faux would have been presented 
 with the enclosed papers a fortnight back, 
 but I waited a favourable opportunity. 
 This week I had but little work to do.-— 
 Lo, lo ! here they are." 
 
 A poem by George Bloomfield, called 
 " The Spa," which, being of local interest, 
 has scarcely passed beyond provincial cir- 
 cles, induced the following public testimo- 
 nial to his talents and virtues. 
 
 Lines addressed to George Bloom- 
 field, BY THE Rev. Mr. Plumtree, 
 LATE Fellow of Clare Hall, Cam- 
 bridge. 
 
 Hail, aged minstrell well thine harp thon'st strong. 
 
 Tuneful and pleasingly of Thetford sung ; 
 
 Her abbey nunnery, and her mounds of war. 
 
 Her late discovered, healing, blessed. Spa ; 
 
 And with a skilful hand, and master's art. 
 
 Hast poured the tribute of a grateful heart. 
 
 Thy talent must not sleep. Resume thy lyre. 
 
 And bid it in some deeper notes respire. 
 
 Thy great Creator and thy Saviour claim 
 
 The emanations of a poet's flame. 
 
 Poets and prophets once were names entwin'd : 
 
 Ah, why was virtue e'er from verse disjoin'd? 
 
 Ah, why have Christians lent a willing ear 
 
 To strains 'twas sin to sing, 'twas sin to hear? 
 
 Will Christians listen to a Byron's lay ? 
 
 To Bloomfield, rather, admiration pay. 
 
 His simple verse, with piety enjoin'd. 
 More grateful steal on my attentive mind ; 
 And if it thrills with less tumultuous joy. 
 It is a pleasure free from all alloy. 
 Then, aged minstrel, strike thy lyre again. 
 And o'er the land be heard thy pleasing strain. 
 And, oh I may Britain's sons thy lay regard. 
 And give the aged minstrel his reward : 
 Not the cheap recompense of empty praise. 
 Nor e'en the crown of never-fading bays ; 
 But such as may effectually assuage 
 The wants and cares of thy declining age ; 
 And the last lay that shall tliy lyre employ. 
 Accompany a " heart " that sings for joy. 
 
 The hand of the " aged minstrel" is now 
 too weak to strike the lyre; nor will his 
 voice again be heard. Mr. James Burrell 
 Faux, of Thetford, Norfolk, is anxious for 
 immediate assistance in George Bloom- 
 field's behalf; and to that gentleman com- 
 munications and contributions should be 
 addressed. All that the Table Book can 
 do, is thus to make known the necessity of 
 the case, and to entreat pecuniary relief 
 from those who have hearts to feel, and 
 ability to give. 
 
 No. XLVI. 
 
 SERIOUS FRAGMENTS, 
 1. 
 
 Misery lays stronger bonds of love than Nat»"». ; an(! 
 they are more one, whom the same misfortnn- joined 
 together, than whom the same womb gave life. 
 
 H. KUUcew. 
 2. 
 Dying Person. 
 
 my soul 
 
 The warm embraces of he ' flesh is now, 
 Kv'n now forsaking; th's frail body must 
 Like a lost feather fall from off the wing 
 Of Vani ty— fy, Chamberlaiu. 
 
 eternity: 
 
 Within whose everlasting springs we shall 
 
 Meet with those joys, wnose blasted embryos were 
 
 Here made abortive — ff. Chaoibeiiam. 
 
 4. 
 
 Crown declined by a Spiritual person. 
 
 I know no more the way to temporal rule. 
 
 Than he that's bom, and has his years come to him. 
 
 On a rough desart — Middieton. 
 
 5. 
 To a Votaress. 
 
 Keep still that holy and immaculate fire. 
 You chaste lamp of eternity ; 'tis a treasure 
 Too precious for death's moment to partake, 
 The twinkling of short life. — Middieton. 
 
 The fame that a man wins himself is best ; 
 That he may call his own : honours put to him 
 Make him no more a man than his clothes do. 
 Which are as soon ta'en off; for in the warmth 
 The heat comes from the body, not the weeds ; 
 So man's true fame must strike from his own deeds. 
 Middieton, 
 
 Adventurers. 
 
 The sons of Fortune, she hag sent ns forth 
 
 To thrive by the red sweat of our own merits. — 
 
 Middieton, 
 
 8. 
 
 New made Honour. 
 
 ■—^—^— forgetfulness 
 Is the most pleasing virtue they can have, 
 Thatdo spring up from nothing ; for by the same. 
 Forgetting all they forget whence they can;e. 
 
 MidAUtoti. 
 
 BIT' 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 9. 
 
 (Enone forsaken. 
 
 Begail'd, disdain'd, and out of love, lire long, thoa 
 
 Poplar tree. 
 And let thy letters grow in length to witness this with 
 
 me. 
 Ah Venus, but for reverence unto thy sacred name. 
 To steal a silly maiden's love I mii^'ht account it 
 
 blame. — 
 And if the tales I hear be true, and blush for to recite. 
 Thou dost me wrong to leave the plains, and dally out 
 
 of sight. 
 False Paris ! this was not thy vow, when thon and I 
 
 were one. 
 To range and change old love for new ; bat bow those 
 
 days be gone. Feci. 
 
 10. 
 
 Epilepsy. 
 
 — your [Caesar's] disease the Gods ne'er gave to man, 
 But such a ooe as had a spirit too great 
 For all his body's passages to serve it ; 
 Which notes the excess of your ambition. 
 
 17. 
 
 Chapman. 
 
 11. 
 
 We are not tried but in our misery. He is a cun- 
 king coachman, that can cum well in a narrow room. 
 
 Anon, 
 
 12 
 
 Gray hairs. 
 
 upon whose reverend head 
 
 The milk-white pledge of wisdom sweetly spreads. — 
 
 Lodge. 
 
 13. 
 
 Ladies Dancing. 
 
 — — a fine sweet earthquake, gently moved 
 By the soft wind of whispering silks. — 
 
 Decker. 
 
 14. 
 
 ■ sharp witled Poets ; whose sweet verse 
 
 Makes heav'nly Gods break off their nectar draughts, 
 And lay their ears down to the lowly earth — 
 
 Alton. 
 
 15. 
 
 Grandsires' Love. 
 
 Old men do never truly doat, untlll 
 
 Their children bring them babies. Shirley. 
 
 16. 
 
 To a false Mistress. 
 
 ». thy name 
 
 ■weeceu'd once the name of him that spake ]t<— 
 Shirle^m 
 
 Herodfjealoics, to Mariumne. 
 
 Hast tliou beheld thyself, and could'st thou stain 
 So rare perfection ? — ev'n for love of thee 
 1 do profoundly bate thee 
 
 Lady Elizabeth Carew. 
 
 18. 
 
 Cleopatra. 
 
 The wanton Queen, that never loved for Love.^- 
 
 Lady E, Cam. 
 
 19. 
 
 Conceit of a Princess' love. 
 
 'Twas but a waking dream, 
 Wherein thou madest thy wishes speak, not her ; 
 In which thy foolish hopes strive to prolong 
 A wretched being : so sickly children play 
 With health-loved toys, which for a time delay. 
 But do not cure the &t. Rowley. 
 
 20. 
 
 Changing colour at sudden news. 
 
 Why look'st thou red, and pale, and both, and nei 
 ther? — ^Chapman. 
 
 21. 
 Rich Usurer to his Mistress. 
 
 I will not 'joy my treasure but in thee. 
 And in thy looks I'll count it every hour; 
 And thy white arms shall be as bands to me, 
 Wherein are mighty lordships forfeited.— 
 Then trium-jih, Leon, richer in thy love. 
 Than all the hopes of treasure I possess. 
 Never was happy Leon rich before; 
 Nor ever was 1 covetous till now. 
 That I see gold so 'fined in thy hair. 
 
 ChapTium, 
 
 22. 
 
 Puritan. 
 
 his face demure, with hand 
 
 On brccct, as you have seen a canting prsachei. 
 Aiming to cheat his audience, wanting matter. 
 Sigh, to seem holy, till he thought on something. — 
 
 Anon. 
 
 23. 
 Sects 
 
 Eternity, wliich puzzles all the world 
 
 To name the inhabitants that people it; 
 
 Eternity, whose nndiscover'd country 
 
 ■We fools divide befl>re we come to see it, 
 
 Making one part contain all happiness. 
 
 The other misery, then unseen fight for it ; 
 
 All sects pretending to a right of choice, 
 
 Yet none go willingly to take a part. anon. ^ 
 
 818, 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 24. 
 
 Man .s a vagabond both poor and prond. 
 
 He treads on beasts who give hira clothes and food ; 
 
 But the Gods catch him wheresoe'er he lurks, 
 
 Whip him, and set hira to all painful works :' 
 
 And yet he brags he shall be crown'd when dead. 
 
 Were ever Princes in a Bridewell bred ? 
 
 Nothing is sinfully begot but he: 
 
 Can base-born Bastards lawful Sorereigns be ? 
 
 Crowne. 
 25. 
 Wishes for Obicurily, 
 
 liow miserable a thing is a Great Man 1— 
 
 Take noisy vexing Greatness they that please ; 
 
 Give me obscure and safe and silent ease. 
 
 Acquaintance and commerce let me have none 
 
 With any powerful thing but Time atone : 
 
 My rest let Time be fearful to offend. 
 
 And creep by me as by a slumbering fnend; 
 
 Till, with ease glutted, to my bed I steal. 
 
 As men to sleep after a plenteous meal. 
 
 Oh wretched he who. call'd abroad by power. 
 
 To know himself can never find an hour! 
 
 Strange to himself, but to all others known. 
 
 Lends every one his life, but uses none ; 
 
 So, e'er he tasted life, to death he goes; 
 
 And himself loses, e'er himself he knows. Croxene. 
 
 26. 
 Mind constituted to Goodness. 
 
 yo« may do this, or any thing you have a mind 
 
 to; even in your fantasy there is a secret counsel, see- 
 in"' that all your actions, nay all your pleasures, are 
 ia some exercise of virtue — O, KUli^rew. 
 
 27. 
 
 Returned Pilgrim. 
 
 To man how sweet is breath ! yet sweetest of all 
 That breath, which from his native air doth fail. 
 How many weary paces have I measured. 
 How many knov/n and unknown dangers past. 
 Since I commenced my tedious pilgrimage. 
 The last great work of my death-yielding age ! 
 yet am 1 blest, that my returning bones 
 Shall be rak'C ap ia England's peaceful earth. 
 
 Anotu 
 
 28. 
 
 Usury. 
 
 Nature in all mfenor things hat)> set 
 
 A pitch or term, when they no moie shall get 
 
 Increase and offspring. Unrepaired houses 
 
 Fall to decay ; old cattle cease to breed ; 
 
 And sapless trees deny more fruit or seed : 
 
 The earth would heartless and infertile be. 
 
 If It should never have a jubilee. 
 
 Only the Usurer's Money 'genders still ; 
 
 Tbe longer, loftier ; age this doth not kiiL 
 
 He lives to see his Money's Money's Moner 
 Even to a hundred generatioos reach. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 29. 
 
 Love defined by contraries. 
 
 Fie, fie, how heavy is light Love in me I— 
 How slow runs swift Desire I — this leaden air. 
 This ponderous feather, merry melancholy ; 
 This Passion, which but in passion 
 Hath not his perfect shape.— Day, 
 
 30, 
 Good Faith. 
 What are we but our words f when they are past, 
 Faith should succeed, and that should ever last. 
 
 31, 
 
 Weeping for good news 
 
 I knew your eye would be first served ; 
 That's the soul's taster still for grief or joy. 
 
 Rov).€y 
 32. 
 
 Forsaken Mistress. 
 
 I thought the lost perfection of mankind 
 Was in that man restored ; and I have grieved. 
 Lost Eden too was not revived for him ; 
 And a new Eve, more excellent than the first. 
 Created for him, that he might have all 
 The joys he could deserve : and lie fool'd me 
 To think that Eve and Eden was in me: 
 That he was made for me, and I for him. 
 
 Crotent. 
 33. 
 
 Love surviving Hope. 
 Tis a vain glory that attends a Lover, 
 Never to say he qnits ; and, when Hope dies, 
 The gallantry of Love still lives, is charm'd 
 With kindness but in shadow. Browne. 
 
 34. 
 
 Warriors. 
 I hate these potent madmen, who keep all 
 Mankind awake, while they by their great deeds 
 Are drumming hard npon this hollow world. 
 Only to make a sound to last for ages. 
 
 Crotamg. 
 
 35. 
 
 Life. 
 
 What is't we live for ? tell life's finest ta!e— 
 To eat, to drink, to sleep, love, and enjoy, 
 ! And then to love no more I 
 To talk of things we know not, and to know 
 Nothing but things not worth the talking ot. 
 
 Sir R. Fane, jttm. 
 
 «19 
 
THE TAELE BOOK. 
 
 36. 
 
 42. 
 
 Brother, supposed dead, received by a 
 Sister • she shews him a letter, disclosing 
 an unworthy action done by him ; at which 
 he standing abashed, she then first congra- 
 tulates him : 
 
 now I meet your love. Pardon me, my 'bro- 
 
 Iher; I was to rejoyce at this your sadness, before I 
 fould share with you in another joy, 
 
 H. Killigrew. 
 
 37. 
 
 Person just dead. 
 
 'Twas but just now he went away; 
 I have not yet had time to shed a tear; 
 And yet the distance does the same appear. 
 As if he had been a thousand years from me. 
 Time takes no measure in eternity. 
 
 Sir Robert Uowwrd. 
 
 38. 
 French Character. 
 
 The French are passing courtly, 'ripe of wit; 
 Kind, but extreme dissemblers : you shall have 
 A Frenchman ducking lower than your knee. 
 At the instant mocking ev'n your very shoe-tyes. 
 
 Fordi 
 
 39. 
 Love must die gently. 
 
 I iopc'l, your great experience, and your years, 
 \^ ould have proved patience rather to your soul. 
 Than to break off in this untamed, passion. 
 Howe'er the rough hand of the untoward world 
 Hath molded your proceedings in this matter. 
 Yet I am sure the first intent was love. 
 Then since the first spring was so sweet and warm, 
 Jjet it die gently ; ne'er kill it with a scorn. Anon. 
 
 Poetic Diction, 
 
 worthiest poets 
 
 Shun common and plebeian forms of speech. 
 Every illiberal and affected phrase, 
 To clothe their matter ; and together tye 
 Matter and form, with art and decency. 
 
 CAaptaan. 
 I 4t. 
 
 Author Vanity. 
 
 — — the foolish Poet, that still writ 
 
 All his most self-loved verse in paper royal. 
 
 Or parchment ruled with lead, smooth'd with the 
 
 pumice. 
 Bound richly op, and strnng with crimson stiings.;. 
 Never so blest as when he writ and read 
 The ape-lovedissue of his brain ; and nevee 
 But jo/ing in himself, admiring ever—! 
 
 Chofman, 
 
 Good wit to be husbandstt 
 
 ' as of lions it is said, and eagles. 
 That when they go, they draw their seres and talonv 
 Close up, to shun rebating of their sharpness: 
 So our wit's sharpness, which we should employ 
 In noblest knowledge, we should never waste 
 In rile and vulgar. admirations. Chapman. 
 
 43. 
 
 Impossibility of attaining, a bar to desire. 
 Nothing is more ordinary, than for my Lady to love 
 her Gentleman ; or Mistress Anne, her father's man. 
 But if a country clown coming up hither, and seeking 
 for his lawyer in Gray's Inn, >should step into the 
 ■valks.and there should chance to spy some master- 
 ship of nature ; some famed Beauty, that for a time 
 hath been the name ; he would stand amazed, perhaps 
 wish tnat his Joan were such, but further would not be 
 stirred. Impossibility would 
 
 stop more bold desires. 
 And quench those sparis that else would turn to fires. 
 Edmund Prestuiick. 
 
 44. 
 Theory of men's choice in a Beauty. 
 
 1. — She has a most comjjlete and perfect beauty; 
 Bor can the greatest critic in this sort find any fault 
 with the least proportion of her face, but yet me- 
 thought I was no more taken with it, than I should be 
 with some curious well-drawn picture. 
 
 2. — Thatis somewhat strange. 
 
 1.— In my mind, not at all ; for it is not always that 
 we are governed by what the general fancy of the 
 world calls beauty : for each soul hath some predomi- 
 nant thoughts, which when they light on ought that 
 strikes on them, there is nothing does more inflame. 
 And as in music that pleaseth not most, which with 
 the greatest art and skill is composed ; but those airs 
 that do resemble and stir up some dormant passion, to 
 which the mind is addicted ; so, I believe, never yet 
 was any one much taken with a face, in which he did 
 not espy ought that did rouse ajd put in motion some 
 affection that hath ruled in his thoughts, besides those 
 features which, only for the sake of common opinion, 
 we are forced to say do please. E. Prestwick. 
 
 C.L. 
 
 GENERAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 THREE, THIRD, and THRICE. 
 
 " Thrice the brindled cat hath mewed — 
 
 Thrice to thine and thrice to mine. 
 
 And thrice again to make up mae." —Shaisputr^. 
 
 The ordinal, cardinal, or numeral, Three, 
 possesses stronger power of associating 
 application than any other figure in history, 
 or literature. Ixom ths first Dotiee of t^e 
 
 820 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Creation, ^lokim is understood to signify 
 the Trinity. Wlien the third day was 
 created, the sun, moon, and stars, were set 
 in the firmament. Christ's resurrection was 
 on the third day, and his crucifixion between 
 two thieves. Noah's sons were Shem, 
 Ham, and Japheth. Job's daughters were 
 Keziah, Jemima, and Kerenhappuck ; his 
 comforters were Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zo- 
 phar. Time is divided into three parts. 
 The ancients rose at the third hour. The 
 Brahmins have their Birmah, Vishnu, and 
 Siva; the Persians their Oromanes, Mithra, 
 and Mithras ; the Egyptians their Osiris, 
 Isis, and Orus ; the Arabians their Allah, 
 Al Uzza, and Manah ; the Phoenicians and 
 Tyrians their Belus, Urania, and Adonis; 
 the Greeks their Jupiter, Neptune, and 
 Pluto. Aristotle, Plutarch, and Macrobius, 
 wrote on the doctrine of numbers. Clotho, 
 Laehesis, and Atropos, were three Fates. 
 Tlie children that endured the fiery furnace 
 were Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. 
 Jupiter's thunderbolt had three forks; 
 Neptune's trident, three prongs ; Cerberus 
 three heads. The Pythian priestess sat on 
 a tripod.* There were the three Parcse ; 
 the three Furies ; three attributes of the 
 si;n, Sol, Apollo, and Liber; of the moon, 
 Hecate, Diana, and Luna. David prayed 
 three times a day. The Hindoos make 
 three suppressions of the breath when me- 
 ditating on the triliteral syllable O'M. The 
 Sabians prayed morning, noon, and night. 
 Three bows of the head, and three prostra- 
 tions are peculiar to some nations. In 
 England, are king, lords, and commons. 
 The ancients washed their eyes three times; 
 drunk potions out of three cups. The 
 Salians beat the ground three times in their 
 dance. Three times were allowed for ejre- 
 crations, for spitting on the ground and 
 sneezing. Juno Lucina was invoked three 
 times in favour of childbirth. Three steps 
 were allowed to ascend the throne or the 
 altar. Persons dipped thrice into wells for 
 cure. Persons were touched thrice for the 
 king's evil. Three parts of the old world 
 only were known. The three professions 
 are law, divinity, and physic. Three chirps 
 of a cricket is said to be a sign of death. 
 Colerid^'e makes his mastiff bitch liowi 
 three times for his Lady Christabel. The 
 papist crosses himself three times. The 
 raven's croak, or the owl's triad screech, 
 indicates (it is said) ill omens. Three 
 crows in a gutter betoken good to the be- 
 holder. The funeral bell is tolled thrice 
 
 • A milking-sfool ha« three lejfs. It is Bupersti- 
 tionsly left ia the field to keep witches from injuring 
 tb£ cattle. 
 
 for the death of a man. The third attacl: 
 of apoplexy is thought fatal. The third- 
 finger of the left hand bears the marriage 
 ring. A Latin motto is tria una injnncta: 
 The witches in Macbeth ask, " When shall 
 we three meet again T' There are signs of 
 the Three Crowns, Three Pigeons, Three 
 Cups, Three Tuns, Three Brewers, Three 
 Johns, Three Bells, and others, to an infi- 
 nite degree. In the church service are 
 the clerk, curate, and preacher'; three 
 priests serve at the papal shrine. In the 
 courts of justice are the judge, the jury, and' 
 the culprit. In physic, the physician's 
 consultation is three. An arbitration is 
 three. A dual public-house sign is, with 
 the gazer added quaintly, " We three 
 loggerheads be." The three warnings- 
 are celebrated. The Jews boasted of Abra- 
 ham, Isaac, and Jacob. The United King- 
 dom is England, (Wales included,) Ireland, 
 and Scotland. Who has not read of Three- 
 fingered Jack? of Octavius, Lepidus, and 
 Anthony ? A nest of chests is three. The 
 British toast is echoed by hip ! hip ! huz- 
 zah ! Three signals decided t+ie fate of 
 Lijcius Junius. In the third year of Cyrus 
 the name of Belteshazzar was revealed to 
 Daniel : his prophecy was, that " three 
 kings should stand up in Persia;" and' 
 Daniel mourned three weeks by reason of 
 his vision. The beast that he saw, had 
 three ribs in the mouth of it. The house- 
 holder went about the third hour, and saw 
 others standing idle in the market-place. 
 Daniel's petition was made three times. In 
 the Revelations, the third part of the crea- 
 tures which were in the sea and had life, 
 died. Faith, Hope, and Charity, are three 
 virtues. The priests' abodes in Eziekel 
 were three chambess. In the prophecy it 
 says, " A third part of the hair shall be 
 burnt; a third part fall by the sword; a^ 
 third part scattered by the wind." Demos- 
 thenes says, " Three years after, he met 
 with the same fate as ^schines, and was 
 also banished from Athens." History unites 
 an Aristides, a Cimon, and a Phocion 
 Peter's denial was given by the cock crow- 
 inif thrice. Homer, in his Frogs and Mice^ 
 says, 
 
 " Three warlike sons adorned my nuptial bed. 
 Three sons, alas 1 before their father, dead.'' 
 
 Pope Alexander III., 1182, compelled the 
 kings of England and France to hold the 
 stirrups of his saddle when he mounted 
 his horse. King Richard HL put an 
 end to the civil wars between the houses 
 of York and Lancaster, 1483. Peter III, 
 was depo-sed 1762. Virgil, 56i, lib. viii. 
 
 821. 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 s«ys, Nascenti cui tres animas Feronia 
 mater — ter letho sternendus erat: and 
 again, fre? ulnas — tribus nodis. Milton's 
 three fierce spirits were Ariel, Arioch, and 
 RaiTiiel. Lord Nelson's ship, the Victory, 
 attacked the Trinidad.* Fairs are usually 
 chartered for three days. Persons used to 
 walk three times round Horn church. The 
 pawnbroker has -three balls. A hearth has 
 a poker, tongs, and shovel. + The sentinel 
 asks — " Who comes there?" thrice, before 
 he dares level his firelock at the intruder. 
 Three candles in a room are said to indi- 
 cate death in the family. The bashaw wears 
 three tails. The passion flower has three 
 spires. 
 
 Thus, it will be readily seen, how inti- 
 mately the nunlber three hasbeen, and is, 
 connected with events and circumstances, 
 hypothetical and absolute. Were the sub- 
 ject worth tracing further, scarcely a poelic 
 or prose writer, but is liberal in the use of 
 this number. Considering, however, that 
 the adductions already given are such as to 
 jatisfy the most fastidious disciples of the 
 square root, need Lperform a triple evolu- 
 tion in this threefold science of pure and 
 mixed numbers ? I conclude by apologis- 
 ing for not having treated the subject like 
 a lexicographer, in technical and alphabeti- 
 cal routine. J. R, P. 
 
 December, 1827. 
 
 9. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM. 
 
 'EXiVffovTcei (yaj) fiftc^eti St at; sx eciptiir/svrai 
 Xiioi tvri XiSqi 01 H KaTaXv^mriTai. 
 
 Lqc. Ev. c. xxi. V. 6. 
 
 1. 
 
 Hark I again to the onset — the portals gape wide — 
 And the warriors stream forth in the rush of their 
 
 pride. 
 The cold reckless eye of the Roman glows red, 
 At the sound of their deathlike and trumpetless tread ; 
 Kor he knows that the workings of freniy are there. 
 The trinmph of death and the might of despair. 
 Hearts — that wildly live on but to riot in pain — 
 Lips — that laugh, as in scorn, at the links of the chain — 
 And full many a plume shall yon eagle let fall, 
 Ere she wing her fierce flight o'er the rift of the wall ; 
 Kre she soar on the dark cloud of conquest and rest. 
 On the rock of that temple, the strength of her hest. 
 
 • The Tres Noras are explained in the Every-Day 
 Boo\. 
 
 t For the use of which threepen"e. hearth-money, 
 w«k formerly paid. 
 
 Thy foes are around thee, fair city of peace ! — 
 Thy sons are fast sinking, the wicked increase — 
 Yet proudly, ev'n now, thy high-place dost thou hold. 
 Girt round with the pomp of their steel and their gold • 
 And a pearl of rich price, on thine hill-top art thou. 
 Meet to jewel the crown of a conqueror's high brow. 
 Yet deem not thy sons to that haughty array, 
 Will fling thee unheeded, unbled for away. 
 Shall the proud heathen tread where thy prophet* 
 
 have trod ? 
 Shall the Flamen exult in the " Holy of God?" 
 No — the hearts of thy children are one, — to hnil back 
 The merciless wrath of the Gentiles' attack. 
 For the home ef their fathers towers yet in their eye, 
 As they lived will they live, as they died wiH thetj die. 
 
 But weak is thine armour, and worthless thy might, 
 A fiercer than man strives against thee in fight. 
 And in vain shall the chiefs of thy battle withstand 
 The voice of -his thunder, the bolt in his hand; 
 His wrath knows no refuge, his might knows no bir. 
 The stout sipear he rendeth, and burns the swift car. 
 Thou shalt crumble to nought in the day of his wrath. 
 Like the reed trampled down in the whirlwind's wild 
 .path. 
 
 Weep, daughter of Jndali 1 that tempest hath come. 
 And It laughrtn to scorn the mild vengeance ofiRomf. 
 Weep, daughter of Judah ! a vengeance so dread 
 Is bursting e''en Jiow o'er thy desolate head. 
 That the stern Roman eyes it with doiibt and with 
 
 fear. 
 O'er the cheek of the conqueror there steals a soft tear 
 Aye I the heathen for thee feels a pang of regret — 
 — One bla2e — and thy sun Shall for ever be set; 
 
 One shoil flickering blaze; — and then passeth away 
 The glory of years in the work of a day : 
 The fair crown of Jacob lies trod in the dust. 
 And shipwreck'd is now the strong hold of his trust ; 
 Tho' the foxes have holes, and the fowls have a nest. 
 Yet the " seed of the Promised " finds nowhere to 
 
 rest; 
 And despised shall he live on, in darkness and night. 
 Till a Salem more blessed shall gladden his sight ; 
 The courts of whose house, in their measureless girth, 
 Shartl compass the trHies and the thousands of earfh ; 
 Where none, save in triumph, their voices shall raise, 
 And no trump shall peal forth save the trumpet oS 
 
 praise. 
 In a realm far above, o'er that red eagle's nest. 
 Where the proud cease from wrong, and the poor tie 
 
 at rest. 
 
 822 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 APOSTLE SPOONS. PATIENT CGURTSHrP. 
 
 To the Editor, 
 
 Dear Sir, — 1« Rocrer North's Life of hw 
 aroiher, Sir Dudley North, (4to. London, 
 1744,) occurs the following passage, which 
 ;n connection with the account you gave 
 your readers {Every-Day Book, vol. i. p. 
 1 76,) of " Apostle Spoons," may be accept- 
 able to you. 
 
 Mr. North, after some opposition, was 
 elected sheriiT of London ; and after stating 
 this, his biographer thus proceeds : " When 
 all the forms of this shrieval instalment 
 were over, Mr. North received the honour 
 of knighthood . . . and, as the custom 
 of feasting, lately laid aside, was now re- 
 sumed, Mr. North took a great hail, that 
 belonged to one of the companies, and Jcept 
 his entertainments there. He had diverse 
 very considerable presents from friends 
 and .relations, besides the compliments 
 of the several companies inviting them- 
 selves and wives to dinner, dropping their 
 gnineys, and taking apostles' spoons in the 
 room of them ; which, with what they ate 
 and drank, and such as came in the shape 
 of vvivesj (for they oft«n gratified a she- 
 friend or relation with that preferment,) 
 carried away, made but an indifferent bar- 
 !^ain. The Middle Templars, (because of 
 his relation to the lord chief justice North, 
 wfio was of that Society,) came Vt-ith a com- 
 pliment, and a purse of one hundred gui- 
 neys, and were entertained. The mirth 
 and rejoicing that was in the city, as well 
 at these feast? "t i- Tivate entertainments, 
 is scarce to be expressed " 
 
 In perusing this quaintly written volume, 
 there occur two or three passages, which 
 deserve to he ranked as aphorisms. For 
 your own reading I here add them : — 
 
 " Better a loss at sea than a bad debt on 
 land. The former has no worse conse- 
 quence than Jtself; but the other draws 
 .OSS of time and pains, which might be em- 
 ployed to more profit." 
 
 " Whoever serves a community, and 
 does not secure his reward, will meet with 
 quarrels instead of thanks, for all the good 
 he may have done it." 
 
 Sir Dudley was wont to remark, "Lay 
 nothing to heart which you cannot help^'' 
 A most useful .principle of life. 
 
 I am,&c. 
 
 ffhiiehaven, 
 A'c7;M2, 1827. 
 
 J. G, 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 T knew a man that went courting his 
 sweetheart the distance of tiiree miles every 
 eveninjr for fourteen years, besides dodgitija 
 her home after church, Sunday afternoons : 
 making above 15,000 miles. For the lirst 
 seven years he only stood and courted in 
 the door-porch ; but for the remaining 
 period, he ventured (what a liberty after a 
 septennial attachment !) to hang his hat on 
 a pin in the passage and sit in the kitchen 
 settle. The wedding — a consummation 
 devoutly to be wished — was solemnized 
 when Robert and Hannah were in tlieir 
 " sear and yellow leaf." They had no 
 family " to cry their fading charms into 
 ■the grave." Though their courtship had 
 been long, cool, and deliberat-e, they were 
 not the happiest couple in the village ; to 
 that union of temper, which is so essential 
 in wedded -life, they were strangers. 
 
 * * p 
 
 OLD AND FAITHFUL SERVANTS. 
 
 " In their death they were not divided." 
 
 2 Samuel i. S3. 
 
 To the Editor 
 
 Sir, — The following memorial I copied 
 from a tablet, on the right hand side of the 
 clergyman's desk, in the beautiful little 
 church at Hornsey. The scarceness of 
 similar inserdptions make this valuable. 
 
 S. T. L. 
 
 " Erfcted t^ the memory of Mary 
 Parsons, the diligent, faithful, and 
 affectionate servant, in a family during 
 a period of oT years. She died on 
 the •22d day of November, 180G, 
 aged 85. 
 
 ** Also to the viemory of Elizabeth 
 Decker, the friend and companion of 
 the above ; who, after an exemplary 
 service of 47 years in the same family, 
 died on the 2d of February, 1809, 
 aged 75. 
 
 " Their remains, by their mutual re- 
 
 ■quest, WERE INIEBRED IJ THE -SAMS 
 CRAVE." 
 
 823 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Of THE 
 
 ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 
 
 No. XXXVI. 
 
 Merely a cursory mention of all the im- 
 portant discoveries in geometry, mathe- 
 matics, and philosopliy, for which we are 
 indebted to the ancients, would form a 
 large book ; yet a few of these particulars 
 will be adverted to by way of concluding 
 the series of articles under the present 
 title. 
 
 Ancient Philosophers. 
 
 Tliales was the first we know of who 
 predicted eclipses. He pointed out the ad- 
 vantages that must arise from a due obser- 
 vation of the little bear or polar star ; and 
 taught that the earth was round, and the 
 ecliptic in an oblique position. 
 
 Pytheas also, by accurate observations at 
 Marseilles, more than 300 years before 
 Christ, determined the obliquity of the 
 ecliptic, by means of the solstitial shadow of 
 the sun upon a dial. He found the heigiit 
 of the gnomon was to the length of the 
 shadow as 600 to 213 4 ; whence he con- 
 cluded, that the obliquity of the ecliptic was 
 23° 49'. When Gassendi was at Marseilles 
 with the celebrated Peiresc, he reiterated 
 the experiment, and found it very just. 
 
 Tliales went to the Egyptians to be in- 
 structed in geometry, and himself instructed 
 them in that science. He showed them 
 how to measure the pyramids by the length 
 of their shades, and to determine the mea- 
 sure of inaccessible heights and distances, 
 by the proportion of the sides of a triangle. 
 He demonstrated the various properties of 
 the circle; he discovered, respecting the 
 isosceles triangle, that the angles at its base 
 were equal ; and he was the first who found, 
 that in right lines cutting one another, the 
 opposite angles are equal. 
 
 Anaximander, the successor of Thales, 
 was the inventor of the armillaiy sphere, 
 and of sun-horologes, or dials ; he was 
 likewise the first who drew a geographical 
 map. 
 
 Pythagoras was the first who gave sure 
 and fundamental precepts in music. Struck 
 by the difference of sounds which issued 
 from the hammers of a forge, but came into 
 unison at the fourth, and fifth, and eighth 
 percussions, he conjectured that this must 
 r*'Oceed from the difference of weight in 
 
 the hammers ; lie weighed them, and founa 
 he had conjectured right. Upon this he 
 wound up some musical strings, in number 
 equal to the hammers, and of a length pro- 
 portioned to their weight ; and 'found, that 
 at the same intervals, they corresponded 
 with the hammers in sound. Upon this 
 principle he devised the monochord ; an 
 instrument of one string, capable of deter- 
 mining the various relations of sound. He 
 also made many fine discoveries in geo- 
 metry. 
 
 Plato by his studies in mathematics was 
 enabled to devise the analytic method, or 
 that geometric analysis, which enables us to 
 find the truth we are in quest of, out of the 
 proposition itself which we want to resolve. 
 He it was who at length solved the famous 
 problem, respecting the duplication of the 
 cube. To him also is ascribed the solution 
 of the problem concerning the trisection of 
 an angle ; and the discovery of conic 
 sections. 
 
 Hipparchus discovered the elements of 
 plane and spherical trigonometry, 
 
 Diopkantes, who lived 360 years before 
 Jesus Christ, was the inventor of algebra. 
 It was from this science that the ancients 
 drew those long and difficult demonstra- 
 tions which we meet with in their works. 
 They are presumed to have aimed at con- 
 cealing a method which furnished them with 
 so many beautiful and ditficult demonstra- 
 tions ; and to have preferred the proving of 
 their propositions by reasonings adabsurdum, 
 rather than hazard the disclosure of the 
 means by which they arrived more directly 
 at the result of what they demonstrated. 
 We meet with strong traces of algebra in 
 the 13th book of Euclid. From the time ol 
 Diophantes, algebra made but small pro- 
 gress, till that of V'letus, who restored and 
 perfected it, and was the first who marked 
 the known quantities by the letters of the 
 alphabet. Descartes afterwards appliei^ 
 it to geometry. 
 
 Aristarchns was the first who suggested 
 a method of measuring the distance of thp 
 sun from the earth, by means of the hal» 
 section of the moon's disk, or that phasis cf 
 it wherein it appears to us when it is in jti 
 quadratures-. 
 
 Hipparchus was the first who calculatec 
 tables of the motion of the sun and mooi!. 
 and composed a catalogue of the fixed stars 
 He was also the first who, from the obsei- 
 vation of eclipses, determined the longi- 
 tude of places upon earth : but his highest 
 honour is, that he laid the first foundations 
 for the discovery of the precession of tl.f 
 equinoxes. 
 
 li 
 
 824 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Archmedes discovered the square of the 
 parabola, the properties of spiral lines, the 
 proportion of the sphere to the cylinder, 
 and the true principles of static-, and hy- 
 drostatics. His sagacity is evident from 
 the means he adopted to discover the quan- 
 tity of silver that was mixed along with the 
 gold, in the crown of king Hieron. He 
 reasoned upon the principle, that all bodies 
 immerged in water lose just so much of 
 their weight, as a quantity of water equal 
 to them in bulk weighs. Hence he drew 
 this consequence, that gold being more 
 compact must lose less of its weight, and 
 silver more j and that a ixiingled mass of 
 both, must lose in proportion to the quan- 
 tities mingled. Weighing therefore the 
 crown in water and in air, and two masses, 
 the one of gold, the other of silver, equal in 
 weight to the crown ; he thence determined 
 what each lost of their weight, and so solved 
 the problem. He likewise invented a per' 
 petiial screw, valuable on account of its 
 being capable to overcome any resistance ; 
 and the screw that still goes by his own 
 name, used in the elevating of water. He 
 alone defended the city of Syracuse, by op- 
 posing to the efforts of the Romans the 
 resources of his genius. By means of ma- 
 chines, of his own construction, he rendered 
 Syracuse inaccessible. Sometimes he hurled 
 upon the land forces stones of such enor- 
 mous size, as crushed whole phalanxes oi 
 them at once. When they retired from the 
 walls, he overwhelmed them with arrows 
 innumerable, and beams of a prod-igious 
 weight, discharged from catapults and ba- 
 listae. If their vessels approached the fort, 
 he seized them by the prows with grapples 
 of iron, which he let down upon them from 
 the wall, and rearing them up in the air, to 
 the great astonishment of every body, 
 shook them with such violence, as either to 
 J'reak them in pieces, or sink them to the 
 bottom. When they kept at a distance from 
 the haven, he focalized fire from heaven, and 
 wrapped them in sudden and inevitable con- 
 ^■"agration. He once said to king Hieron, 
 '' Give me but a place to stand upon, and 
 i will move the earth." The king was 
 dmazed by the declaration, and Archimedes 
 pave him a specimen of his power by 
 launching singly by himself a ship of a 
 prodigious size. He buiil for the king an 
 immense galley, of twenty banks of oars, 
 C(mtaining spacious apartments, gardens, 
 naiks, ponds, and every convenience re- 
 ;Hired by regal dignity. He constructed a 
 Aj'nere, representing, the motions of the 
 stars, which Cicero esteemed one of the 
 inventions ivhich did the highest honour to 
 
 human genius. He perfected the manner 
 of augmenting the mechanic powers, by the 
 multiplication of wheels and puUies; and 
 carried mechanics so far, that his •worLs 
 surpass imagination. 
 
 Mechanics. 
 
 The immense macliines, of astonishing 
 force, which the ancients adapted to the pur- 
 poses of war, prove their amazing profi- 
 ciency in mechanics. It is difficult to 
 conceive how they reared their buky 
 moving towers : some of them were a hun- 
 dred and fifty-two feet in height, and sixty 
 in compass, ascending by many stories, 
 naving at bottom a battering ram, of strength 
 sufficient to beat down walls ; in the middle, 
 a drawbridge, to be let down upon the 
 wall of the city attacked, affijrded easy 
 passage into the town for the assailants; 
 and at top a body of men, placed above 
 the besieged, harassed them without risk 
 to themselves. An engineer at Alexan- 
 dria, defending that city against the army 
 of Julius Caesar, by means of wheels, 
 pumps, and other machinery, drew from 
 the sea prodigious quantities of water, and 
 discharged it upon the adverse army to 
 their extreme discomfiture. 
 
 The mechanical enterprise and skill of the 
 ancients are evidenced by their vast pyra- 
 mids existing in Egypt, and the magnifi- 
 cent ruins of the cities of Palmyra and 
 Balbec. Italy is filled with monuments of 
 the greatness of ancient Rome. 
 
 Ancient Cities. 
 
 The finest cities of Europe convey no 
 idea of the grandeur of ancient Babylon, 
 which being fifteen leagues in circumfer- 
 ence, was encompassed with walls two 
 hundred feet in height, and My in breadth, 
 whose sides were adorned with gardens of 
 a prodigious extent, which arose in terraces 
 one above another, to the very summit o' 
 the walls. For the watering of these gar- 
 dens there were machines, which raised the 
 water of the Euphrates to the highest of 
 the terraces. The tower of Belus, arising 
 out of the middle of the temple, was of so 
 vast a height, that some authors have not 
 veritured to assign its altitude; others put 
 it a't a thousand paces. 
 
 Ecbatane, the capital of Media, was eight 
 leagues in circumference, and surrounded 
 with seven walls in form of an amphi 
 theatre, the battlements of which were oi 
 various colours, white, black, scarlet, blue, 
 and orange ; all of them covered with ajjit;' 
 or with gold. 
 
 825 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Persepolis was a city, which all histo- 
 rians speak of as one of the most ancient 
 and noble of Asia. There remain the 
 ruins of one of its palaces, which measured 
 six hundred pace* in front, and still displays 
 relics of its former grandeur. 
 
 The Lake Mceris >nd the Pyramids. 
 
 The lake Moaris was a hundred and fifty 
 eag'ues in circuit, and entirely the work of 
 one Egyptian king, who caused that im- 
 mense compass of ground to be hollowed, 
 to receive the waters of the Nile, when it 
 overflowed its usual level, and to serve as 
 a reservoir for watering Egypt by means of 
 canals, when the river was not of sufficient 
 height to overflow and fertilize the country. 
 From the midst of this lake arose two py- 
 ramids, of six hundred feet in height. 
 
 The other pyramids of Egypt, in bulk 
 and solidity so far surpass whatever we 
 know of edifices, that we should be ready 
 to doubt their having existed, did they not 
 still subsist. One of the sides of the base 
 oif the highest pyramid measures six hun- 
 dred and sixty feet. The free-stones which 
 compose it are each of them thirty feet 
 long. The moderns are at a loss to imagine 
 by what means such huge and heavy 
 masses were raised to a height of above 
 four hundred feet. 
 
 The Colossus of Rhodes. 
 This was another marvellous production 
 of the ancients. Its fingers were as large as 
 statues ; few were able with outstretched 
 arms to encompass the thumb. Ships 
 passed between its legs. 
 
 Stupendous Statues. 
 
 Semiramis caused the mountain Bagistan, 
 between Babylon and Media, to be cut out 
 into a statue of herself, which was seventeen 
 stadia high, that is, above half a French 
 league; and around it were a hundred 
 other statues, of proportionable size, though 
 less large. 
 
 It was proposed to Alexander the Great, 
 to make a statue of him out of mount 
 Athos, which would have been a hundred 
 and fifty miles in circumference, and tea 
 miles in height. The .design was ito make 
 him hold in his left hand a city, large 
 enough to contain ten thousand inhabit- 
 ants ; and in the other an urn, out of which 
 should flow a river into the sea. 
 
 Bridges — Glazed Windows. 
 In the structures of the ancients, the 
 hardness of their cement equals that of 
 
 marble itself. TTie firmness cf their high* 
 ways has never been equalled. Some wett 
 paved with large blocks of black marble. 
 Their bridges, some of which still remain^ 
 are indubitable monuments ofthe greatness 
 of their conceptions. The Roman bridge 
 at Gard, near Nismes, is one of them. It 
 serves at once as a bridge and an aqueduct, 
 goes across the river Garden, and connects 
 two mountains, between which it is en- 
 closed. It comprehends three stories; t!ie 
 third is the aqueduct, which conveys the 
 waters ofthe Eure into a great reservoir, to 
 supply the amphitheatre and city of Nismes. 
 Trajan's bridge over the Danube had 
 twenty piers of free-stone, some of which 
 are still standing, a hundred and fifty feel 
 high, sixty in circumference, and distant 
 one from another a hundred and seventy. 
 
 Among the ornaments and conveniences 
 of ancient buildings was glass. They de- 
 corated their rooms with glasses, as mir- 
 rors. They also glazed their windows, so 
 as to enjoy the benefit of light, without be- 
 ing injured by the air. This they did very 
 early ; but before they discovered that man- 
 ner of applying glass, the rich made use of 
 transparent stones in their windows, such 
 as agate, alabaster, phengifes, talc. &c. 
 
 Curious Mechanism. 
 
 The works of the ancients in miniature 
 were excellent. Archytas, who was contem- 
 porary with Plato, constructed a wooden pi- 
 geon, which imitated the flight and motions 
 of a living one. Cicero saw the whole of 
 Homer's Iliad written in so fine a character 
 that it could be contained in a nutshell.* 
 Myrmecides, a Milesian, made an ivory 
 chariot, so small and so delicately framed, 
 that a fly with its wing could at the same 
 time cover it ; and a little ivory ship of the 
 same dimensions. Callicrates, a Lacede- 
 monian, formed ants and other little ani- 
 mals out of ivory, so extremely small, that 
 their component parts were scarcely to be 
 distinguished. One of these artists wrote 
 a distich in golden letters, which he en- 
 closed in the rind of a grain of corn. 
 
 Microscopes, &c. 
 
 Whether, in such undertakings as on» 
 best artists cannot accomplish without 
 the assistance of microscopes, the ancients 
 were so aided, is doubtful, but it is certain 
 that they had several ways of helping and 
 strengthening the sight, and of magnifying 
 
 • In the Every-Day Book there is an acconnt of tha 
 meaas by which this perfonaance can be effected. 
 
 8^6 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 small objects. Jainblichus says of Pytha- 
 goras, that he applied himself to find out 
 instruments as efficacious to aid the hear- 
 ing, as a ruler, or a square, or even optic 
 glasses, W»-Tg«, were to the sight. Plu- 
 tarch speaks of mathematical instruments 
 •wliich Archimedes made use of, to mani- 
 fest to the eye the largeness of the sun ; 
 which may be meant of telescopes. Aulus 
 Gellius having spoken of mirrors that mul- 
 tiplied objects, makes mention of those 
 which inverted them; and these of course 
 must be concave or convex glasses. Pliny 
 says that in his time artificers made use of 
 emeralds to assist their sight, in works that 
 required a nice eye ; and to prevent us 
 from thinking that it was on account of its 
 green colour only that they had recourse to 
 It, he adds, that they were made concave 
 the better to collect the visual rays ; and 
 that Nero used them in viewing the combats 
 of the gladiators. 
 
 Sculpture. 
 
 Admirable monuments remam to us of 
 the perfection to which the ancients carried 
 the arts of sculpture and design. The 
 Niobe and the Laocoon, the Venus de Me- 
 dicis, the Hercules stifling Anlseus, that 
 other Hercules who rests upon his club, the 
 dying gladiator, and that other in the vine- 
 yard of Borghese, the Apollo Belvedere, the 
 maimed Hercules, and the Equerry in the 
 action of breaking a horse on mount Qui- 
 rinal, loudly proclaim the superiority of the 
 ancients in those arts. These excellences 
 are to be observed upon their medals, their 
 engraved precious stones, and their cameos. 
 
 Painting. 
 
 Of ancient painting the reliques are so 
 few and so much injured by time, that to 
 form a proper judgment of it, is at first dif- 
 ficult Yet if due attention be paid to pic- 
 tures discovered at Rome, and latterly in 
 the ruins of Herculaneum, the applause 
 which the painters of antiquity received 
 from their contemporaries may seem to have 
 been merited. Among the ancient paint- 
 ings in fresco, still at Rome, are a reclining 
 Venus at full length, in the palace of Bar- 
 barini; the Aldovrandine nuptials; a Co- 
 riolanus, in one of the cells of Titus's baths ; 
 and seven other pieces, in the gallery of 
 the college of St. Ignatius ; taken out of 
 a vault at the foot of mount Palatine; 
 among which are a satyr drinking out of 
 a horn, and a landscape with figures, both 
 cf the utmost beauty. There are also a 
 
 sacrificial piece, consisting of three figures, 
 in the Albani collection ; and an Gidipus, 
 and a sphynx, in the villa Altieri ; which 
 all formerly belonged to the tomb of Ovid. 
 From these specimens an advantageous 
 judgment may be formed of the ability of 
 the masters who executed them. Others, 
 discovered at Herculaneum, disclose a hap- 
 piness of design and boldness of expres- 
 sion, that could only have been achieved 
 by accomplished artists. Theseus van- 
 quishing the minotaur, the birth of Tele- 
 phus, Chiron and Achilles, and Pan and 
 Olympe, have innumerable excellencies. 
 There were found also, among the ruins of 
 that city, four capital pictures, wherein 
 beauty of design seems to vie with the 
 most skilful management of the pencil. 
 They appear of an earlier date than those 
 spoken of, which belong to the first cen- 
 tury ; a period when painting, as Pliny in- 
 forms us, was in its decline. 
 
 Mosaic. 
 
 Of this work, which the Romans made 
 use of in paving their apartments, a beauti- 
 ful specimen, described by Pliny, was found 
 in the ruins of Adrian's villa at Tivoli. It 
 represents a basin of water, with four 
 ])i::eons around its brim ; one of them is 
 drinking, and in that attitude its shadow 
 Hppears in the water. Pliny says, that on 
 the same pavement the breaking up of an 
 entertainment was so naturally represented, 
 that you would have thought you really 
 saw the scattered fragments of the feast. 
 
 Music. 
 
 The ancients have the whole merit of 
 havinjr laid down the first exact principles 
 of music ; and the writings of the Pytha- 
 goreans, of Aristoxenes, Euclid, Aristides, 
 Nichomachus, Plutarch, and many others, 
 even such of them as still remain, contain 
 in them every known theory of the science. 
 They, as well as we, had the art of noting 
 their tunes, which they performed by means 
 of letters either contracted, or reversed, 
 placed upon a line parallel to the words, 
 and serving for the direction, the one of the 
 voice, the other of the instrument. The 
 scale itself, of which Guy Aretin is the 
 supposed inventor, is no other than the 
 ancient one of the Greeks a little enlarged^ 
 and what Guy may have taken from a Greek 
 manuscript, written above eight hundred 
 years ago, which Kircher says he saw 
 at Messina in the library of the Jesuists, 
 wherein he found the hymns noted ast z» 
 
 827 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 m the manner of Aretin. The ancient lyre 
 was certainly i very harmonious instru- 
 ment, and wa^ so constructed, and so full 
 ot variety in Plato's time, that he regarded 
 It as aangerous, and too apt to relax the 
 mind. In Anacreon's time, it had already 
 obtained forty strings. Ptolemy and Por- 
 phyry describe instruments resembling the 
 lute and theorb, having a handle with keys 
 belonging to it, and the strings extended 
 from the handle over a concave body of 
 wood. There is to be seen at Rome an 
 ancient statue of Orpheus, with a musical 
 bow in his right hand, and a kind of violin 
 in his left. In the commentaries of Phi- 
 lostrates by Vigenere, is a medal of Nero 
 with a violin upon it. The flute was car- 
 ried to so high a degree of perfection by 
 Hie ancients, that there were various kinds 
 ')t them, and so different in sound, as to be 
 wonderfully adapted to express all manner 
 of subjects. 
 
 Tertullian mentions an organ invented 
 by Aichiniedes. " Beliold," says Tertul- 
 lian, " that astonishing and admirable 
 hydraulic organ of Archimedes, composed 
 of such a number of pieces, consisting each 
 of so many different parts, connected toge- 
 ther by such a quantity of joints, and con- 
 taining: such a variety of pipes for the 
 imitation of voices, conveyed in such a mul- 
 titude of sounds, modulated into such a 
 diversity of tones, breathed from so im- 
 mense a combination of flutes ; and yet all 
 taken together, constitute but one single 
 instrument." 
 
 That the ancients knew and practised 
 harmony is evident from Plato, Macrobius, 
 and other early writers. Aristotle, speak- 
 ing of the revolutions of the several planets, 
 as perfectly harmonizing with one ano- 
 ther, they being all of them conducted by 
 the same principle, draws a comparison 
 from music to illustrate his sentiments. 
 " Just as in a chorus," says he, " of men 
 and women, where all the variety of voices, 
 through all the different tones, from the 
 bass to the higher notes, being under the 
 guidance and direction of a musician, per- 
 fectly correspond with one another, and 
 form a full harm-ony."' Aurelius Cassiodo- 
 rus defines symphony to be " the art of so 
 adjusting the base to the higher notes, and 
 tliem to it, through all the voices and 
 instruments, whether they be wind or 
 strineed instruments, that thence an agree- 
 able harmony may result." Horace speaks 
 expressly of the bass and higher tones, and 
 the harmony resulting -from their concur- 
 rence. It is true, however, that the ancients 
 did riot mueh use harmony in concert, 
 
 One fine voice a.one, accompanied with 
 one instrument, regulated entirely by it 
 pleased them better than mere music with- 
 out voices, and made a more lively impres. 
 sion on their feelino- minds; and this is 
 vhat even we ourselves every day exps- 
 rience. 
 
 Tlie effects ascribed to the music of the 
 ancients are surprising, Plutarch reports 
 of Antigenidas, that by playing on the 
 tiute, he so roused the spirit of Alexander, 
 that he started from the table, and flew to 
 his arms. Timotheus when touchins: his 
 lyre so inflamed him with rage, that draw- 
 ing his sabre he suddenly slew one of his 
 guests ; which Timotheus no sooner per- 
 ceived, than altering the air from the Phry- 
 gian to a softer measure, he calmed his 
 passions, and infused into him the tenderest 
 feelings of grief and compunction for what 
 he had done. Jamblichus relates like ex- 
 traordinary effects of the lyres of Pythagoras 
 and Empedocles. Plutarch informs us of 
 a sedition quelled at Lacedemon by the 
 lyre of Terpander; and Boetius tells of 
 rioters having been dispersed by the musi- 
 cian Damon. 
 
 The delicacy of the ancient airs much 
 surpassed ours ; and it is in this respect, 
 principally, that we may be said to have 
 lost their m^sic. Uf their three kinds of 
 music, the diatonic, chromatic, and the 
 enharmonic, there exists now only the first, 
 which teaches the dividing the notes into 
 semi-notes: whereas the chromatic divided 
 each note into three, and the enharmonic 
 into four parts. The difficulty there was to 
 find voices and hands proper to execute the 
 chromatic kind, brought it first into neg- 
 lect, and then into oblivion , and for the 
 same reason the enharmonic, which was 
 still more difficult, has not come down to 
 lis. All which now remains of the ancient 
 music, is that which knows of no other 
 refinement than the demi-note, instead oi 
 those finer kinds, which carried on the 
 division of a note into threes and fours. 
 The variety of manner in which the ancient 
 music was performed, placed it in a rank 
 of dignity superior to ©urs. Our modes 
 are but of two kinds, the flat and sharp ; 
 whereas the ancients modified theirs into 
 five, the principal of which were the Ionic, 
 the Lydian, the Phrygian, the Doric, and 
 the iE,olic ; each adapted to express and 
 excite different passions : and by that 
 n.eans, especially, to produce such effects 
 as have been just noticed, and which are 
 incontestable from the authentic marnerin 
 which they have been recorded. 
 
 823 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Note — Here, if it were not necessary 
 to close this series of papers, they would 
 be extended somewhat further for the 
 purpose of relating the long-reaching views 
 of the ancients on other topics ; but no- 
 thing can conveniently be added save a 
 passage from the author whose volume has 
 supplied the preceding materials. " Hav- 
 ing' received from our ancestors the product 
 of all their meditations and researches, we 
 ought daily to add what we can to it, and 
 by that means contribute all in our power 
 to the increase and perfection of know- 
 ledge." 
 
 Seneca, speaking eighteen centuries ago, 
 of " the inventions of the wise," claims 
 them as an inheritance. — "To me," he 
 says, " ihey have been transmitted ; for 
 me they have been found out. But let us 
 in this case act like good managers, let us 
 im])rove what we have received; and con- 
 vey this heritage to our descendants in 
 better condition than it came to us. Much 
 remains for us to do, much will remain for 
 those who come after us. A thousand 
 years hence, there will still be occasion, 
 and still opportunity to add something to 
 the common stock. But had even every 
 thing been found out by the ancients, there 
 would still this remain to be done anew — to 
 put their inventions into use, and make 
 their knowledge ours." 
 
 MANNERS IN THE SEVENTEENTH 
 CENTURY. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — If the following extracts should suit 
 tlip Table Book, they are at your service. 
 Morley, November, 1827. J. S 
 
 1637. The bishoy) of Chester, writing 
 10 the archbishop of York, touching the 
 entertainment given by the Chester men to 
 Mr. Prynne, when on his road to Caernar- 
 von castle, has occasion to mention the re- 
 ception given to Prynne by the wife of 
 Thomas Aldersey, the alderman, relates, 
 ■'That, on her examination, she swears 
 thcrt Peter and Robert Ince brought Prynne 
 home to her house, where she was sittini^ 
 with other gossips, and neither expected nor 
 invited Prynne ; neither did she send for a 
 drop of wine for him, or bestowed any 
 other gift upon him, but the offier of a taste 
 of a pint of ivine, which she and her gossips 
 were then a drinking." 
 
 New Discovery of the Prelate's Tvranny, 
 p. 224. 
 
 1637. There came in my tyme to the 
 college, Oxford, one Nathaniel Conopios, 
 out of Greece ; he ivas the first I ever sato 
 drink coffee, which custom came not into 
 England till thirty years after. 
 
 1640. Found my father at Bathe extra- 
 ordinary weake ; I returned home with him 
 in his litter. 
 
 1 652. Having been robbed by two cut 
 throats near Bromley, I rode on to London, 
 and got 500 tickets printed. 
 
 The robber refusing to plead, was pressed 
 to death. 
 
 ] 654. May. Spring Garden till now had 
 been the usual rendezvous for the ladys and 
 gallants at this season. I now observed how 
 the women began to paint themselves, for- 
 merly a most ignominious thing, and only 
 used by prostitutes, 
 
 Evelyn. 
 
 1660. Jan. 16, I staid up till the bell- 
 man came by with his bell just under my 
 window, and cried " Past one of the clock, 
 and a cold frosty window morning.'' 
 
 When friends parted, they said, " God be 
 icith you." 
 
 My dining-room was finished with green 
 serge hanging and gilt leather, 
 
 Jan. 2. 1 had been early this morning 
 to Whitehall, at the Jewel office, to choose 
 a piece of gilt plate for my lord, in return 
 of his offering to the king, (which it seems 
 is usual at this time of year, and an earl 
 ifives 20 pieces in gold in a purse to the 
 king,) I choose a gill tankard, weighing 31 
 ounces and a half, and he is allowed 30 
 ounces, so I paid 1 25. for the ounce and half 
 over what he is to have : but strange it was 
 for me to see what a company ofSMALL fees 
 I was called upon by 2i great many to pay 
 there, tvhich I perceive is the manner that 
 courtiers do get their estates. 
 
 September. I did send for a cup of tea 
 (a China drink,) of which I had never drank 
 before. 
 
 November. To sir W, Batten's to din- 
 ner, he having a couple of servants married 
 to-day ; and so there was a great number 
 of merchants and others of good quality, on 
 purpose after dinner to make an ofi'ering, 
 which, when dinner was done, we did ; 
 and I gave 10*, and no more, though most 
 of them did give more, and did believe that 
 1 did also. 
 
 1661. Feb. Sir W. Batten sent my wife 
 half a dozen pair of gloves and a pair of 
 silk stockings and garters for her valentiver 
 
 629 
 
THE TABLE BOOK 
 
 May. We went to Mrs. Browne's, 
 where sir W. Pen and I were godfathers, 
 and Mrs. Jordan and Shipman jifodmo- 
 tliers. And there before and after tke 
 "hristening we were with the woman above 
 in her chamber. I did give the midwife 
 10*. and the nurse 5«. and the maid 2s. 
 But forasmuch I expected to give the name 
 to the child but did not, I forbore then to 
 give my plate, which I had in my pocket, 
 namely, six spoons and a porringer of 
 silver. 
 
 July. A messenger brought me word 
 that my uncle was dead, 1 rode over and 
 found my uncle's corps in a coffin, stand- 
 ing upon joynt-stools in the chimney in the 
 hall, but it began to smell, and so t caused 
 it to be set forth in the yard all night, and 
 watched by my aunt. In the morning my 
 father and I read the ivill ; after that done 
 we went about getting things, as ribands 
 and gloves, ready for the burial, which in 
 the afternoon was done ; we served the 
 people with wine and other things. 
 
 November. To church, and heard a sim- 
 ple fellow upon the praise of church mu- 
 sique, and exclaiming against metis wear- 
 ing their hats on in church. 
 
 Civet cats, parrots, and apes, sent as 
 presents to ladie.f ; and gentlemen lighted 
 home by link-hoys. Pepys. 
 
 The faire and famous comedian, Roxa- 
 lana, was taken to be the earle of Oxford's 
 misse, as at this time they began to call 
 levvii women. 
 
 Dined at Chaffinch's house ivarming. 
 Evelyn. 
 
 16C3. October. To Guildhall ; we went 
 Up and down to see the tables. By and 
 by the lord mayor came into the hall to 
 dinner, with the other great lords, bishops, 
 &c. I set near Creed. We had plenty of 
 pood wine, but it was very unpleasing that 
 we had no napkins, or knives, nor change 
 of trenchers, and drunk out of earthern 
 pitchers and wooden dishes. 
 
 1664. Home to bed, having got a strange 
 cold in my head, hy flinging off my hut at 
 dinrer. 
 
 To my lord chancellor's (sir Orlando 
 Bridgman, lord keeper,) in the garden, 
 where we conversed above an hour, walk- 
 ing up and down, and he would have me 
 walk ivith my hat on. 
 
 1665. At this time I have two tierces 
 o^ claret, two quarter casks of canary, and a 
 smaller vessel of sack ; a vessel of tent, 
 another of Malaga, and another of white 
 wine, all in my own cellar. 
 
 1666. February. This morning came 
 up to rny wife's bedside little Will Mercer 
 to be her valentine ; and brought her name 
 writ upon blue paper in gold letters, dont 
 by himself very prettily. But I am also 
 this year my wife's valentine, and it will 
 cost me 51. I find that Mrs. Pierce's little 
 girl is my valentine, she having drawn me. 
 But here 1 do first observe the fashion o: 
 drawing of mottos, as well as names: my 
 wife's motto was " Most courteous, most 
 fair;" mine I have forgot. One wonder [ 
 observed to-day, that there was no musique 
 in the morning to call up our new married 
 people, which iva» very mean methiuks. 
 
 16«7. June. Find my wife making tea, 
 a drink which her potticary tells her is 
 good for her cold and defluxions. 
 
 A flaggon of ale and apples drunk out of 
 a wood cup as a Christmas draught. 
 
 1669. May. My wife got up by 4 o'c. 
 to goto gather May Dew, which Mrs.Tur^ 
 iier hath taught her is the only thing in the 
 world to wash her face with. Pepys. 
 
 1671. To lord Arlington's, where we 
 found M'lle QueronaiKe ; it was univer- 
 sally reported, that the fair lady was bedded 
 one of these nights to the king, who was 
 often here ; and the stocking flung after the 
 manner of a married bride; however, 'twas 
 with confidence believed she was first made 
 a misse, as they call these unhappy crea- 
 tures, with solemnity at this time, '' I 
 
 1683. I went with others into the 
 duchess of Portsmouth's dressing-roome 
 within her bedchamber, where she was in 
 her morning loose garment, her maids 
 combing her, newly out of her bed, his 
 majesty and gallants standing about her. j 
 
 1685. January 25, Sunday. Dr. Dove 
 preached before the king. I saw this even- 
 ing such a scene of profuse gaming, and 
 the king in the midst of his three concu- ' 
 bines, as I had never seen before, luxurious 
 dallying and prophaneness. 
 
 February 6. The king died. I can never 
 forget the inexpressible luxury and pro- 
 phanenesse, gaming, and all dissoluteness, 
 and, as it were, total forgetfulness of God, 
 (it being Sunday evening,) which this day 
 se'nnight I was witnesse of. The king 
 sitting and toying with his concubines 
 Portsmouth, Cleavland, and Mazarine, &c. 
 and a French boy singing love songs ; 
 whilst about twenty of the great courtiers 
 and other dissolute persons were at basset 
 round a large table, a bank of at least 2000 
 in gold before them. Evelyn. 
 
 83Q 
 
THE COTTAGE WHEREIN ROBERT BLOOMFIELD WAS BORN, 
 AT HONINGTON, IN SUFFOLK. 
 
 Accompanying the portrait and papers 
 of George Bloomfield, copied and referred 
 to in the preceding sheet of the Table 
 Book, was a drawing, taken in October 
 last, of Robert Bloomfield's birth-place. 
 An engraving of it is here presented, in order 
 to introduce the following memorandum 
 drawn up by George Bloomfield, and now 
 lying before me in his hand-writing, viz. 
 
 "The PoExrcAL Freehold. 
 
 " February A, 1822, was sold atHoning- 
 ton Fox, the old cottage, the natal place of 
 Robert Bloomfield, the Farmer s Boy. 
 
 "My father, a lively little man, pre- 
 cisely five feet high, was a tailor, con- 
 stantly employed in snapping the cat, that 
 is, he worked tor the farmers at their own 
 houses, at a shilling per day and his board. 
 He was a gay knight of the thimble, and 
 as he wore a fashionable coat with a very 
 narrow back, the villagers called him 
 George Narrowback. My mother they 
 called Mrs. Prim. She wa's a spruce, neat 
 body, and was the village school-dame. 
 Her father found the money, and my father 
 bought the cottage in the year 1754. He 
 
 died in the year 1766, and, like many other 
 landed men, died intestate. My mother 
 married again. When I came of age she 
 showed me the title-deeds, told me I was 
 heir-at-law, and hoped she should finish 
 her days there. I promised her she should ; 
 but time rolled, and at length my wife, 
 after two years of affliction with the 
 dropsy, died, and left me with five infant 
 children, head and ears in debt. To 
 secure the cottage to my motlier, I per- 
 suaded my brother Robert to buy the title 
 and give all my brothers and sisters their 
 shares and me mine, and this money paid 
 my debts. Th6 Farmers Boy was now 
 the proprietor; but it was a poor freehold, 
 for he did all the repairs, and my mother 
 paid no rent. After my mother's death, 
 Isaac lived in it upon the same terms, — too 
 poor to pay rent or be turned out, Isaac 
 died, and left nine children. Bob kept the 
 widow in the place, did all the repairs, and 
 she, also, paid nothing. At length the 
 bankruptcies and delays of the London 
 
 booksellers forced Bob to sell ! 
 
 > " The late noble duKe of Graffon 
 
 gave my mother a gravestone ITus is al 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 831 
 
 3H 
 
THE T^BLfi BOOK. 
 
 that reuiaiiis to mark the village as the 
 birth-place of Giles, and all that now re- 
 mains in it belonging to the Bloomfields." 
 
 G. B. 
 
 With a sentence or two, by way of con- 
 tinuation to the appeal already made in be- 
 half of George Bloomfield, it was purposed 
 to conclude the present article; but just as 
 the sheet was ready for the press a packet 
 of his manuscript papers arrived, and ex- 
 tracts from these will exemplify his cha- 
 racter and his necessities. The following 
 address to one of his old friends is a fair 
 specimen of his talent for versifying : — 
 
 To Mr. Thomas Wisset, of Sapiston, 
 
 Psalm Singer, Parish Clerk, and 
 
 Sexton, &c. &c. 
 
 Respectfully I would impart. 
 
 In language most befitting. 
 The sorrows of an aching heart. 
 
 With care and trouble smitten. 
 
 I've lost the best of wives, d'ye see. 
 
 That e'er to man was given; 
 Alas I she was too good for me, 
 
 So she's lemov'd to heaven. 
 
 But while her happiness I trace. 
 
 Fell poverty pursuing, 
 Unli'ss another takes her place, 
 
 'Twill be my utter ruin. 
 
 children's clothes to rags are worn. 
 Nor have we wit to mend 'em ; 
 Their tatters flying all forlorn — 
 Kind Providence, defend 'em. 
 
 Dear Tom, thou art St. Andrew's clerk. 
 
 And glad I am to know it ; 
 Thou art a witty rhyming spark. 
 
 The merry village poet. 
 
 Make some fond woman to me fly. 
 
 No matter what her form be ; 
 If she has lost a leg or eye. 
 
 She still with love may charm me. 
 
 If she loves work. Oh ! what delight. 
 
 What joy it will afford her. 
 To darn our clothes from morn to night. 
 
 And keep us all in order. 
 
 Would some kind dame but hear my plaint, 
 
 And would thou to me give her, 
 St. Andrew 1 — he shall be my saint. 
 
 And thoa his clerk for ever. 
 
 Dear Tom, may all thy joys increase. 
 
 And to thee be it given, 
 When singing here on earth sba^ o^ase. 
 
 To pitch the key in Heaven. 
 
 George Bloomfield. 
 Hcv. 3,1803. 
 
 Prefixed to some MS. verses, written 
 by George Bloomfield in 1808, is the 
 subjoined account of the occasion that 
 awakened his muse. 
 
 "The April Fool. 
 
 " When on the wrong side of fifty I 
 married a second time ! My best friends 
 declared it was madness to risk a second 
 family, &c. &c. We married 7th of Fe- 
 bruary, 1807. Early in 1808 it was dis- 
 covered I should have an increase, and 
 Charles Blomfield, Esq. asked me when n 
 would happen. 1 ainswered, in April. 
 ' Sure,' says he, * it won't happen on the 
 Find !' — I felt the force of the remark — 
 the probability of my being an April Fool 
 — and wrote the following lines, and sent 
 them to Mr. B., from whom I received a 
 note enclosing another, value one pound. 
 The note said, ' My daughters are foolish 
 enough to be pleased with your April Fool, 
 and I am so pleased to see them pleased, I 
 send the enclosed, &c.' " 
 
 Trifles like these are only of importance 
 as traits of the individual. The next is 
 abstracted from a letter to an overseer, with 
 whom George Bloomfield necessarily cor- 
 responded, as may be surmised from thf 
 contents. 
 
 To Mr. Hayward, Thetford. 
 
 Bury St. Edmund's, Nov. 23, 1819. 
 
 Sir, — When a perfect stranger to you, 
 you treated me with great condescension 
 and kindness, I therefore enclose some 
 linps I wrote and addressed to the guar- 
 dians of the poor in this town. They have 
 assessed all such persons as ar-"" not legally 
 settled here to the poor and church rates, 
 and they have assessed me full double what 
 I ought to pay. What renders it more 
 distressing, our magistrates say that by 
 the local act they are restrained from in- 
 terfering, otherwise I should have been 
 exempt, on account of my age and poverty 
 So I sent my rhymes, and Mr. Gall, one of 
 the guardians, sent for me, and gave me a 
 piece of beef, &c. I had sold the only 
 coat I had that was worth a shilling, and 
 was prepared to pay the first seven shillings 
 and sixpence, but the guardians seem to 
 think, (as I do,) that I can never go on 
 paying — they are confident the gentlemen 
 ;.f St. Peter's parish will pay it for me — 
 bade me wait a fortnight, &c. The pressure 
 of the times is so great that the poor blame 
 the rich, and the rich blame the poor. 
 
 There is a figure in use called the 
 
 hyperbole ; thus we sometimes say of an 
 old man, " he is one foot in the grave, and 
 
 832 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 t*ot!)pr out.'' I might say I am one foot 
 
 in Tnelford workhouse, and t'other out. 
 
 The scripture tells me, that the providence 
 of God rules over all and in all places, 
 consequently to me a workhouse is, on my 
 own account, no such very dreadful thing ; 
 but I have two little girls whom I dread to 
 imprison there. I trust in Providence, and 
 nope both rich and poor will see better 
 days. 
 
 Your humble servant, 
 
 George Bloomfield. 
 
 Among George Bloomfield's papers is 
 the following kmd letter to him, from his 
 brother Robert. The feeble, tremulous 
 handwriting of the original corroborates its 
 expressions of illness, and is a sad memorial 
 of the shattered health of the author of the 
 Farmer's Boy, three years before his death. 
 
 " Shefford, July 18, 1820. 
 " Dear brother George, 
 
 " No quarrel exists — be at ease. I 
 have this morning seen your excellent letters 
 to your son, and your poem on the Thet- 
 ford Waters, and am with my son and 
 daughter delighted to find that your spark 
 seems to brighten as you advance in years. 
 You think that I have been weak enough 
 to be offended — there has been no such 
 thing ! I have been extremely unwell, and 
 am still a poor creature, but I now force 
 myself to write these few words to thank 
 you for the pleasure you have just given 
 me. 
 
 " My son, or my daughter, shall write 
 or me soon. 
 
 " Yours unalterably, 
 ' Brother, and Brother Bard, 
 
 " Rob. Bloomfield." 
 
 It may be remembered that Giles, the 
 '' Farmer's Boy," wa« Robert Bloomfield 
 himself, and that his master, the " Farmer," 
 was Mr. W. Austin of Sapiston. In re- 
 ference to his home at the farm Robert 
 wrote, of himself, 
 
 " the plonghman smiles. 
 And oft the joke runs hard od sheepish GUet, 
 Who sits joint-tenant of the comer stool, 
 The converse sharing, though in Duty's school." 
 
 Farmer's Boy. 
 
 The son of the benevolent protector of 
 Robert in his childhood sunk under mis- 
 fortune, and George records the fact by the 
 following lines, written in 1820 : — 
 
 The Unfortunate Farmer. 
 
 When Giles attuned his song in rural strains. 
 
 Be .an({ of Sap'stoo » grovee, her meads, and plains : 
 
 Discribed the vanous seasuos as th-'y rnlVi 
 Of homely joys and peace domeeti'! tnW. 
 The Farmer there, alas 1 no more bears rula, 
 And no "joint-tenants" sit in "Duty's schooi;' 
 No happy labourers now with humble fare 
 His fire-side comforts and instruction share. 
 No longer master he of those sweet fields. 
 No more for him the year its bounty yields. 
 Nor his the hope to see his children round 
 With decent competence and comfort crown d. 
 These scenes and hopes from him for ever flown, 
 la indigent old age he lives to mourn. 
 
 George Bloomfield subjoins, in explana- 
 tion, on these lines," My reading in the Bury 
 paper of the 6th of Dec. 1820, an advertise'- 
 ment of an assignment for the benefit of 
 creditors of the effects of Mr. Willian Au- 
 stin, gave rise to the above. Mr. A. was 
 the young master of Giles, when Giles was 
 the Farmer's Boy; and the adrnjrers of rural 
 poeliy, as well in the new as the old world, 
 have been made acquainted with the Austir. 
 family by means of the poem of that name 
 Mr. A. held the farm near thirty years, and 
 'twas the same that his grandfather till'd. 
 
 He has ten children, some of them very 
 young. He has been by some accused oi 
 imprudence: but the heavy poor-rates, (he 
 paid 36/ last year,) the weight of a numer- 
 ous family, and the depreciation of the 
 price of pioduce, were the principal causes 
 of his fail. He has been a most indulgent 
 father, a kind master, and a good neigh- 
 bour." 
 
 Twenty years after writmg the lines to 
 the " Psalm-singer, Parish Clerk, and Sex- 
 ton'' of Sapiston, George again berhymed 
 him. Preceding the effusion, is the follow- 
 ing 
 
 Memorandum. 
 
 " My old friend Wisset has now entered 
 his eighty-third year, and is blind, and 
 fherefore cannot write ; but he sent his kind 
 regards to me by a young man, and bade 
 him repeat four lines to me. The young 
 man forgot the lines, but he said they were 
 about old age and cold winter. I sent him 
 the following : — 
 
 Dear old Brother Bard, 
 
 Now clothed with snow is hill and dale. 
 And all the streams with ice are bound 
 
 How chilling is the wintry gale ! 
 How bleak and drear the scene around 
 
 Yet midst the gloom bright gleams appear. 
 
 Our drooping spirits to sustain, 
 Hope kindly whispers in the ear 
 
 Sweet Spring wiU soon retain agraiii. 
 
 833 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 'Ti3 thus, old friend, with you and me 
 Life's Spring and Summer both are flown. 
 
 The marks of wintry age we see, 
 Our locks to frosty white are grown. 
 
 O let us then our voices raise. 
 
 For favours past due homage bring ; 
 
 Thus spend the winter of our days, 
 Till God proclaims a glorious Spring. 
 
 George Bloomiield. 
 
 January 23, 1823 
 
 The MSS. from whence the present 
 selections have been hastily made, were ac- 
 companied by a letter from George Bloom- 
 field, written nearly a month ago. They 
 were delayed by the person who transmitu d 
 the parcel till the opportunity of noticing 
 them in this work had almost passed. All 
 that could be done in an hour or two is before 
 the reader ; and no more has been aimed 
 at than what appears requisite to awaken 
 sympathy and crave assistance towards an 
 aged and indigent brother of the author of 
 the Farmer's Boy. George's present feelings 
 will be better represented by his own letter 
 than by extracting from it. 
 
 2, High Baxter Street, Bury St 
 Edmond's, Dec. 5th, 1827. 
 
 To Mr. Hone, 
 
 Sir, — A gentleman desires me to write 
 to you, as editor of the Table Book, it being 
 his wish that a view which he sent of the 
 little cottage at Honington should appear 
 in that very curious work. The birth-place 
 of Robert Bloomfield I think may excite the 
 interest of some of your readers; but, sir, 
 if they find out that you correspond with a 
 superannuated cold water poet, your work 
 will smell of poverty. 
 
 Lord Byron took pains to flog two of my 
 brothers, as poachers on the preserves of 
 ihe qualilied proprietors of literature It is 
 bought, if he had not been wroth with the 
 Edinburgh Reviewers, these poor poachers 
 might have escaped; they, like me, had 
 neither birth nor education to entitle them 
 to a qualification. 
 
 If, sir, you ever saw an old wall blown 
 down, or, as we have it here in the country, 
 if the wall ^^ fall of its oivn accord,^' you 
 may have observed that the first thing the 
 workmen do, is to pick out the whole bricks 
 into one heap, the bats into another, and 
 the rubbish into a third. Thus, sir, if in 
 what falls from me to you, you can find any 
 whole bricks, or even bats, that may be 
 placed in your work, pick them out ; but I 
 much fear all will be but rubbish unfit for 
 vour purpose. 
 
 So much has been said, in the book 
 published by my brothers, of " the little tai 
 lor's four little sons," who once resided in 
 the old cottage, that I cannot add much 
 that is new, and perhaps the little I have to 
 relate will be uninteresting. But 1 think 
 the great and truly good man, the late 
 duke of Grafton, ought to have been more 
 particularly mentioned. Surely, after near 
 thirty years, the good sense and benevo- 
 lence of that real jioifeman may be men- 
 tioned. When in my boyhood, he held 
 the highest office in the state that a subject 
 can fill, and like atl that attain such pre- 
 eminence, had his enemies ; yet the more 
 Junius and others railed at him, the more I 
 revered him. He was our " Lord of the 
 Manor," and as I knew well his private 
 character, I had no doubt but he was " all 
 of a piece." I have on foot joined the fox- 
 chase, and followed the duke many an 
 hour, and witnessed his endearing conde- 
 scension to all who could run and shout. 
 When Robert became known as the Farm- 
 ers Boy, the duke earnestly cautioned 
 him on no account to change his habits of 
 living, but at the same time encouraged 
 him in his habits of reading, and kindly 
 gave him a gratuity of a shilling a day, to 
 enable hira to employ more time in reading 
 than heretofore. This gratuity was always 
 paid while the duke lived, and was con- 
 tinued by the present duke till Robert's 
 death. 
 
 Could poor Robert have kept his children 
 in their old habits of living, he might have 
 preserved some of the profits arising from 
 his works, but he loved his children too 
 tenderly to be a niggard; and, besides, he 
 received his profits at a time when bread 
 was six or seven shillings per stone : no 
 wonder that with a sickly family to »u^^- 
 port, he was embarrassed. 
 
 The duke likewise strongly advised him 
 not to write too much, but keep the ground 
 he had gained, &:c. As hereditary sealer 
 of the writs in the Court of King's Bencn, 
 the duke gave Robert the situation of under 
 sealer, but his health grew so bad he was 
 obliged to give it up; he held it several 
 months, however, and doubtless many a 
 poor fellow went to coop under Robert's 
 seal. It was peculiarly unfortunate he 
 could not keep his place, for I think Mr 
 Allen, the master-sealer, did not live above 
 tw o years, and it is more than probable the 
 duke would have made Robert master^ 
 sealer, and then he would have had suffi- 
 cient income. The duke's condescension 
 and kindness to my mother was very great, 
 he learned her real character, and called on 
 
 834 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 her at her own cottage, and freely talked of 
 gone-by times, (her father was an old tenant 
 »o the duke.) He delicately left a half 
 guinea at Mr. Roper's, a gentleman farmer, 
 to be given to her after his departure, and 
 when he heard of her death he ordered a 
 handsome gravestone to be placed over her, 
 at his expense, and requested the Rev. Mr. 
 Fellowes to write an inscription. It is thus 
 engraven : — 
 
 Beneath this Stone 
 
 Are deposited the mortal remiiins of 
 
 Elizabeth Glover, who died Dee. 27th, 1803. 
 
 Her maiden name was Manbt, and she was twice 
 married. By her first husband, who lies buiied near 
 this spot, she was mother of six children ; the youngest 
 of who<Ti was Robert Bloomfield, the pastoral Poet. 
 In her household affairs she was a pattern of cleanli- 
 ness, industry, and good management. By her kind, 
 her meek, her inoffensive behaviour, she had concili- 
 ated the sincere good will of all her neighbours and 
 icquaintance ; nor amid the busy cares of time was 
 she ever forgetful of Eternity. But her religion was no 
 hypocritical service, no vain form of words ; it consisted 
 in loving God and keeping his commandments, as they 
 have been made known to us by Jesus Christ. 
 Reader, go thou ai)d do likewise. 
 
 If ever I was proud of any thing it was 
 of my mother, nor do I think, strong as is 
 the praise in the above, it is overdone. 
 For solid strength of intellect she surpassed 
 all her sons, and had more real practical 
 virtues than all of them put together. Kind 
 Providence spared her to bless me till I 
 was far on the wrong side of fifty. 
 
 I must say a word or two on her sons, 
 because Capel Loftt, Esq., in his preface to 
 my brother Nat's poems, has said too much 
 about them, viz. " Beyond question, the bro- 
 thers of this family are all extraordinary 
 men." Now, sir, as I am the oldest of 
 these brothers, I will tell first of myself. I 
 wrote a little poem, when near seventy, on 
 the "Thetford Spa;" but dreading those 
 snarling curs, the critics, forebore to affix 
 my name to it. Mr. Smith, of Cambridge, 
 printed it gratuitously ; but as soon as it 
 was discovered I was the author, my ac- 
 quaintance styled me the cold tvater poet. 
 I think my title will do very well. Brother 
 Nathaniel wrote some poems; unluckily 
 they were printed and published here at 
 Bury, and the pack of critics hunted down 
 the book. Nat has had thirteen children, 
 and most of them are living, and so is he. 
 Brother Isaac was a machinist. John Boys, 
 Esq. gave him in all twenty pounds, but he 
 died a younsj man, and left his self-working 
 pumps unfinished. Eight of his children 
 are living. 
 
 The old cottao-e sold to Robert had 
 been in the family near fourscore years. 
 It proved a hard bargain to Robert; my 
 mother and Isaac occupied the cottage, 
 and could not pay rent ; and after the death 
 of my mother, poor Robert was in distress 
 and sold it : — the lawyers would not settle 
 the business, and Robert died broken- 
 hearted, and never received sixpence ! 
 
 The lawyers constantly endeavour to 
 make work for the trade. I believe it 
 to be true, as some say, that we are now as 
 much laiv-ndden as we were priest-ndden 
 some ages ago. 1 like Charlotte Smith's 
 definition of the Law Trade. Orlando, in 
 the " Old Manor House," says to Carr, the 
 lawyer, " I am afraid you are all rogues 
 together;" Carr replies, "More or less, 
 my good friend ; — some have more sense 
 than others, and some a little more con- 
 science — but for the rest, I am afraid wa 
 are all of us a little too much professional 
 rogues : though some of us, as individuals, 
 would not starve the orphan, or break the 
 heart of the widow, yet, in our vocation, 
 we give all remorse of that sort to the 
 winds." My last account from Robert's 
 family says, the lawyers have not yet set' 
 tied the poor old cottage ! 
 
 Nat and I only survive of the little 
 tailor's "extraordinary" children — quite 
 past our labour, and destitute of many 
 comforts we used to enjoy in youth. We 
 have but one step farther to fall, (i. e.) into 
 the workhouse ! Yet in the nature of 
 things it cannot be long ere death will 
 close the scene. We have had our day, 
 and night must come. I hope we shall 
 welcome it as heartily as Sancho in Don 
 Quixote did sleep, " Blessed be he who 
 first invented sleep, it covers a man all over 
 like a cloak." 
 
 I shall indeed be agreeably disappointed 
 if any one should bestow any thing upon 
 Nat, or 
 
 Sir, your humble obedient servant, 
 
 Geo. Bloomfield. 
 
 George Bloomfield is in his seventy- 
 third year, and surely this fact, with the 
 contents of the preceding columns, will be 
 sufficient to excite commiseration in feel- 
 ing and liberal minds. Mr. Faux, a re- 
 spectable resident at Thetford, in Norfolk, 
 is represented to me as being his friend, 
 George Bloomfield's own address at Bury 
 St. Edmund's is prefixed to his letter 
 above. Either to Mr. Faux for him, or to 
 himself direct, the remittance of a little 
 money immediately would be highly ser- 
 viceable. Sometiiing, however, beyond that 
 
 ^3^ 
 
THE TABLE :BOOK. 
 
 »s clearly requisite, and his statement of 
 his brother Nathaniel's equal necessities 
 siiould be c6riside;ed at the sa.uf time. 
 There are names dignified by ranic and 
 talents in the list of individuals who ad- 
 mire the works of Robert Bloom tield, and 
 should this sheet fall into their hands it is 
 natural to presume that some of them may 
 seek out and assist his surviving brolheis 
 m sorrowing old age. This, however, may 
 not happen, and is not therefore to be 
 elied upon. 
 
 The case of the family of the Bloomfields, 
 Altogether, is distressing. As this is a 
 season for present-making and social-meet- 
 ing, 1 venture to suggest that no gift can be 
 setter bestowed than on those who are in 
 the utmost need ; nor will the pleasures of 
 a convivial party be lessened, if, while 
 " the glasses sparkle on the board," a sub- 
 scription be volunteered towa.ds keeping 
 the last two brothers of Robert Bloomtield 
 from the workhouse during their few re- 
 maining years of life. I Uave done my 
 best to make their distress p .blicly known, 
 and it remains with individuals to do their 
 best to relieve it. Anything left at Messrs. 
 Hunt and Clarke's, 4, York-street, Covent 
 Garden, shall be appropriated as the donors 
 may direct. A meeting, and a few active 
 Individuals, would effect much. 
 
 1st January, 1828. * 
 
 Crabdierd 
 
 EAST AND WEST, 
 To tke Editor. 
 
 Sir, — I send you a short and plain de- 
 monstration, that by travelling eastward or 
 westward round the globe at a given rate, 
 (if it were practicable to do so,) a man 
 might experience a greater or lesser num- 
 ber of days and nights, than if he were to 
 remain still in the same spot. This, I may 
 venture to say, is a fact that very few 
 people are aware of, and few would believe, 
 until it were proved. 
 
 As " this goodly frame, the earth," turns 
 round upon its own axis once in twenty- 
 four hours, and as the circumference of the 
 globe is divided into 360 degrees, conse- 
 quently every part of the globe's surface 
 must travel round its axis at the rate of 
 fifteen degrees in one hour; or, which is 
 the same thing, one degree in four minutes. 
 Having premised this, we will suppose that 
 a man sets off at seven o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, just as the sun rises above the horizon, 
 and travels westward in the sun's ecliptic 
 
 one degree before it sets, he wili have light 
 four minutes longer than if he were to re- 
 main at the place from whence he set out 
 and his day, instead of being twelve houig 
 long, (dividing the twenty-four hours into 
 twelve day and twelve night,) and closing 
 at seven o'clock, will be twelve hours and 
 four minutes, and close at four minutes past 
 seven. He continues to travel in the same 
 direction, and with the same velocity, dur- 
 ing the night, (for he must never rest,) and 
 that also will be four minutes longer than 
 it would have been had he remained at the 
 place where the sun set till it again rose; 
 because, as he is travelling afier the sun 
 when it gots down, and from it as the 
 morning approaches, of course it will be 
 longer in overtaking him : he will be then 
 two degrees from the starting place or goal, 
 which you please, for we intend to send 
 him completely round the world, and the 
 sun will not rise the second morning till 
 eight minutes past seven. His travel 
 continues at the same rate, and he again 
 has the sun four minutes longer, which 
 does not set on the second day till twelve 
 minutes past seven : this closes the third 
 day. The next morning the sun rises not 
 till sixteen minutes past seven ; then he 
 has travelled four degrees, and his day and 
 night have each been four minutes longer 
 than if he had been stationary. Now we 
 will suppose another man to have gone 
 from the same place at the same moment, 
 {viz. seven o'clock,) taking the opposite 
 direction. He travels east to meet the sun, 
 and at the same rate of travel as our west- 
 ward bound wight. The sun will go down 
 upon him four minutes sooner than if he 
 had remained at the place from which he 
 started, and eight minutes sooner than 
 upon the other man : his day will close at 
 fifty-six minutes past six. He goes on 
 from the sun as it sinks, and towards it as 
 it rises, and he will have light four minutes 
 earlier than if he had stopped when the 
 sun went down till it again rose, eight 
 minutes sooner than he would have seen it 
 at the starting post, and sixteen minutes 
 sooner than the opposite traveller; this is 
 at the end of the second day. He travels 
 on ; light again deserts him four minutes 
 earlier, viz. at forty-eight minutes past six 
 at the end of three degrees, and the second 
 morning the sun will rise at forty-four 
 minutes past six, sixteen minutes earlier 
 than at the place he started from, and 
 thirty-two minutes earlier than with the 
 other man, with whom on the same morn- 
 ing it does not rise till sixteen minutes pas» 
 seven. It is plain therefore, that while tb* 
 
 S36 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 western traveller has only seen two nights 
 and two days, the eastern has enjoyed the 
 same number of each, and more than half 
 an hour of another day ; and it is equally 
 plain that if they continue to travel round 
 the globe at the same rate of motion, the 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
 7 
 
 8 
 
 9 
 
 10 
 
 11 
 
 12 
 
 13 
 
 14 
 
 15 
 
 16 
 
 17 
 
 18 
 
 19 
 
 20 
 
 21 
 
 22 
 
 23 
 
 24 
 
 25 
 
 'i6 
 
 27 
 
 28 
 
 29 
 
 30 
 
 31 
 
 Western Travellirs 
 Ibt day begins at 7 o'clock, morning. 
 
 8 minutes past 7. 
 
 16 7. 
 
 eastern traveller will have more days and 
 nights than the western ; those of the 
 former being proporlionably shorter than 
 those of the latter. The following shows 
 the commencement and length of each day 
 to both travellers : — 
 
 Eastern Tiiaveller's 
 1st day begins at 7 o'clock, morning. 
 
 — 24 
 
 32 
 
 40 
 
 48 
 
 57 
 
 4 . 
 
 — 12 
 
 — 20 
 
 — 28. 
 
 — 36 
 
 — 44 
 
 — 52 
 
 — 7. 
 
 — 7. 
 
 — 7; 
 
 — 7. 
 
 — 7. 
 
 — 8. 
 
 — 16 
 
 — 24 
 
 — 32 
 
 — 40 
 
 — 48 
 
 — 56 
 
 — 4 
 
 — 12 
 
 — 20 
 -28- 
 -36 
 
 — 44- 
 
 — 52 ■ 
 
 — 8. 
 
 — 8. 
 
 — 9. 
 
 — 9. 
 
 — 9. 
 
 — 9. 
 
 — 9. 
 
 — 9. 
 
 — 9. 
 
 — 9. 
 10. 
 
 ■ 10. 
 10, 
 10. 
 
 ■ 10. 
 10. 
 10. 
 
 11. 
 
 30 degrees. 
 
 60 degrees. 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
 7 
 
 8 
 
 9 
 
 10 
 
 11 
 
 12 
 
 13 
 
 14 
 
 15 
 
 16 
 
 17 
 
 18 
 
 19 
 
 20 
 
 21 
 
 22 
 
 23 
 
 24 
 
 25 
 
 '/6 
 
 27 
 
 28 
 
 29 
 
 30 
 
 31 
 
 52 minutes past 6. 
 
 44 
 36 
 28 
 20 
 12 
 4 
 
 56 
 48 
 40 
 32 
 24 
 16 
 
 52 
 44 
 36' 
 
 28 
 
 20 
 
 12 
 
 4 - 
 56- 
 48 
 40 
 32 
 24 ■ 
 16 
 
 6. 
 
 6.' 
 
 6. 
 
 6. 
 
 6. 
 
 6. 
 
 5. 
 
 5. 
 
 5. 
 
 5. 
 
 5. 
 
 5. 
 
 5. 
 
 5. 
 
 4. 
 
 4. 
 
 4. 
 
 4. 
 
 4. 
 
 4. 
 
 4. 
 
 3. 
 
 3. 
 -3. 
 •3. 
 
 3. 
 
 3. 
 
 3. 
 
 3. 
 
 At the end of this degree, the sixtieth, the 
 sun rises upon the eastern traveller at three 
 in the morning, he having had thirty days 
 and thirty nights. At the same degree it 
 does not rise upon the western traveller till 
 eleven in the morning, he having had the 
 same number of days and nights. When, 
 therefore, the morning of his thirty-first 
 
 Western Traveller's 
 32nd day will break at 8 min. past 11, morn. 
 
 33 -16 
 
 24 
 
 day is just breaking, the eastern travelle' 
 has had the sun eight hours. They have 
 both then had an equal number of days 
 and nights complete, but the eastern will 
 have had eight hours of another day more 
 than the western. Let us try it a little 
 further. The 
 
 34 
 35 
 36 
 37 
 38 
 39 
 40 
 41 
 2 
 
 ^ 
 44 
 45 
 
 4& 
 
 — 32 
 
 — 40 
 
 — 48 
 
 — 56 
 
 — 4 
 
 — 12 
 
 — 20 
 
 — 28 
 -36 
 
 — 44- 
 -52 
 
 11. 
 
 — 11. 
 
 — 11. 
 
 — 11. 
 
 — 11. 
 
 — 11. 
 
 — 12. 
 
 — 12. 
 
 — 12. 
 
 — 12. 
 12. 
 
 Eastern Traveller's 
 32nd day will break -at 52 min. past 
 33 
 
 12. 
 
 ~^ 12. 
 
 1 at noon, 90 
 
 degreei. 
 
 34 
 35 
 36 
 37 
 38 
 39 
 40 
 41 
 42 
 43 
 44 
 45 
 
 ,44. 
 
 -36 
 
 ■28. 
 
 20 
 
 12 
 
 4 
 
 56 
 
 48 
 
 ■40 
 
 ■ 32 . 
 
 24. 
 
 16- 
 
 . s. 
 
 2, mora 
 
 2. 
 
 2. 
 
 2. 
 
 2. 
 
 2. 
 
 2. 
 
 I4 
 
 1. 
 
 \i 
 
 \. 
 
 1 
 
 1. 
 
 1 
 
 I. 
 
 837 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 There appears to be two hours' difference every fifteenth day. 
 
 Eastern Traveller's 
 61st day will break at 11 at night. 
 
 Western Traveller's 
 
 61st day will break at 3, r m 
 
 76 5 
 
 91 " 
 
 76 
 
 9. 
 
 7. 
 
 The men would now be together at the had travelled eastward would have seen a 
 other side of the globe, and would see the day and a night more than the other. 
 un rise at the same moment, but he who 
 
 Western Traveller's 
 106th i^ay wlU break at 9 at night. 
 
 121 
 136 
 151 
 166 
 181 
 
 n. 
 
 1, morning. 
 
 3. 
 
 5. 
 
 7. 360 degrees. 
 
 Eastern Traveller's 
 106th day will break at 5, p. m. 
 3. 
 1, noon. 
 
 121 
 136 
 151 
 166 
 181 
 
 11, 
 9. 
 7, 
 
 They will now be at the spot where they 
 started from, the western traveller having 
 seen two days and two nights less than the 
 eastern.* 
 
 N. G. S. 
 
 (Bin Cu£Stom£(» 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 HAGMENA 
 
 The hagmena is an old custom observed 
 in Yorkshire on new year's eve. The 
 keeper of the pinfold goes round the town, 
 attended by a rabble at his heels, and 
 knocking at certain doors, sings a barbarous 
 song, according to the manner " of old 
 king Henry's days;" and at the end of 
 every verse they shout " Hagman Heigh." 
 
 When wood was chiefly used by our 
 forefathers as fuel, this was the most pro- 
 per season for the hagman, or wood-cutter, 
 to remind his customers of his services, 
 and solicit alms from them. The word 
 " hag " is still used among us for a wood, 
 and the " hagman " may be a compound 
 name from his employment. Some give it 
 a more sacred interpretation, as derived 
 from the Greek ayia fcwn, the " holy month," 
 when the festivals of the church for our 
 Saviour's birth were celebrated. Formerly 
 on the last day of December, the monks 
 and friars used to make a plentiful harvest 
 by begging from door to door, and reciting 
 a kind of carol, at the end of every stave 
 of which they introduced the words " agia 
 mene," alluding to the birth of Christ. A 
 very different interpretation has, however, 
 been given to it by one John Dixon, a 
 
 * In this way, by hurryinp the Jews round the globe 
 »t a given rate, their Sabbath nii<(ht be made to fall 
 Bpon-*li« lame daj as the Cbristiwiis' 
 
 Scotch presLyterian parson, when holding 
 forth against this custom, in one of his 
 sermons at Kelso — " Sirs, do you know 
 what hagman signifies ? — It is the devil to 
 be in the house : that is the meaning of its 
 Hebrew original." It is most probably a 
 corruption of some Saxon words, which 
 length of time has rendered obsolete. 
 
 Old St. Luke's Day. 
 
 On this day a fair is held in York for all 
 sorts of small wares, though it is commonly 
 called " Dish Fair," from the quantity of 
 wooden dishes, ladles, &c. brought to it. 
 There was an old custom at this fair, of 
 bearing a wooden ladle in a sling on two 
 stangs, carried by four sturdy labourers, 
 and each labourer supported by another. 
 This, without doubt, was a ridicule on the 
 meanness of the wares brought to this fair, 
 small benefit accruing to the labourers at it. 
 It is held by charter, granted 25th Jan., 17th 
 Hen. VII. 
 
 St. Luke's day is also known in York by 
 the name of " IVhip-Dog Day," from a 
 strange custom that schoolboys use there, 
 of whipping all the dogs that are seen in 
 the streets on that day. Whence this un- 
 common persecution took its rise is uncer- 
 tain The tradition of its origin seems very 
 probable; that, in times of popery, a priest, 
 celebrating mass at this festival in some 
 church in York, unfortunately dropped the 
 pix after consecration, which was forthwith 
 snatched up suddenly and swallowed by a 
 dog that laid under the altar. The profan- 
 ation of this high mystery occasioned the 
 death of the dog ; the persecution, so begun, 
 has since continued to this day, though 
 now greatly abridged by the interference of 
 some of the minor members of the honour- 
 able corporation, against the whole species 
 in that city. 
 
 D.A.M. 
 
 838 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 Ci ^PMAN'S "ALL FOOLS." 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 In Chapman"s "AH Fools," 1605, (as 
 quoted, by Charles Lamb, in Table Book, 
 vol. i. 192,) is the following passage, under 
 .he title of "Love's Panegyric." — 
 
 " 'tis nature's second Sun, 
 
 Causing a spring of Virtues where he shine 
 
 \nd as without the Sun, the world's Great Eye, 
 
 A.n colours, beauties, both of art and nature, 
 
 Are given in vain to man ; so without Love 
 
 All beautias bred in women are in vain, 
 
 A.11 virtues born in men lie buried ; 
 
 For Love informs them as the Sun doth colours," 
 
 &c. 
 
 Chapman might be acquainted with 
 [talian poets, but at all events the coin- 
 cidence between the above and the follow, 
 ing canzon, by Andrew Navagero, is re- 
 markable. Navagero was the friend of 
 Boscan, the Spanish poet ; they became 
 acquainted at Grenada, while Navagero 
 
 It takes Its name from the annual mayors 
 feast at Norwich, being called the City 
 Guild. The corporation at Costessy i's 
 composed of the poor inhabitants under the 
 patronage of the marquis of Stafford, who 
 has a beautiful seat in this village. Op 
 this day a inock mayor is annually elected ; 
 he has a proper and appropriate costume, 
 and is attended by a sword--bearer, with a 
 sword of state of* wood painted and gilt 
 two mace-bearers with gilt maces, with a 
 long array of officers, down to the snap- 
 dragon of Norwich, of which they have a 
 passable imitation. Their first procession 
 is to the hall, where they are recognised by 
 the noble family who " generally support 
 the expenses of the day, and the mock 
 mayor and corporation are liberally re- 
 galed from the strong-beer cellar. They 
 then march, preceded'by a band of music. 
 to the steward's house, where the mock 
 solemnities take place, and speeches are 
 made, which, if not remarkable for their 
 eloquence, afford great delight by their 
 
 was there ambassador from X'enice. Bos 
 
 can died before 1544; and, as he himself absurd attempts at "being thought so. The 
 
 confesses, he learnt the sonnet and other new mayor being invested with th 
 
 Italian forms of poetry from Navagero. 
 
 Love the Mind's Sun. 
 
 Sweet ladies, to whose lovely faces 
 
 Nature gives charms, indeed. 
 
 If those ye would exceed 
 And are desirous, too, of inward graces ; 
 
 Ye first must ope your hearts' enclosure. 
 
 And give Love entrance there. 
 
 Or ye must all despair 
 Of what ye wish, and bear it with composure. 
 
 For as the night than day is duller. 
 
 And what is hid by night 
 
 Glitters with morning lignt 
 In all the rich variety of colour; 
 
 So they, whose dark insensate bosoms 
 
 Love lights not, ne'er can know 
 
 The virtues thence that grow. 
 Wanting his beams to open virtue's blossomg. 
 
 Our version is made from the original in 
 Dolce's Collection of Rime Diverse, i. 98. 
 It ought to be mentioned, that Boscan's 
 admission of his obligations to Navagero 
 is to be found in the Introduction to the 
 second book of his works. 
 
 December, 1827. J. P. C. 
 
 NORWICH MOCK ELECTIONS. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — At Costessy, a small village, three 
 miles on the west side of Norwich, there is 
 *n annual mock guild on Whit Tuesday. 
 
 signia of his office, a bright brass jack-chain 
 about his neck, the procession is again re- 
 newed to a large barn at some distance, 
 where the place being decorated with 
 boughs, flowers, and other rural devices, 
 a substantial dinner of roast-beef, plum- 
 pudding, and other good things, with 
 plenty of that strong liquor called at Nor- 
 wich nogg — the word I have been told is 
 a provincial contraction for " knock me 
 down." 
 
 The village is usually thronged with 
 company from Norwich, and all the rural 
 festivities attendant on country feasts take 
 place. The noble family before mentioned 
 promote the hilarity by their presence 
 and munificence. The elder members of 
 the body corporate continue at the festal 
 board, in imitation of their prototypes in 
 larger corporations, to a late hour; and 
 some of them have been noticed for doing 
 as much credit to the good cheer provided 
 on the occasion, as any alderman at a turtle 
 feast. There is no record of the origin g: 
 this institution, as none of the members c' 
 the corporation have the gift of reading o. 
 writing, but there are traces of it beyond 
 the memory of any person now living, and 
 it has been observed to have increased in 
 splendour of late years. 
 
 The fishermen's guild at Norwich h?.s 
 for some years been kept on the real guile- 
 day. The procession consists of a gTez\ 
 number, all fishermen or fishmongers, tw« 
 of whom are very remarkable. The fii:i 
 
 839 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 is the mayor : the last I saw was a well- 
 looking young man, with his face painted 
 and his hair powdered, profusely adorned 
 with a brass chain, a fishing-rod in his 
 hand, and a very large gold-laced hat; he 
 was supported on the shoulders of several 
 of his brethren in a fishing-boat, in which 
 he stood up and delivered his speech to 
 the surrounding multitude, in a manner 
 that did not disgrace him. The other 
 personage was the king of the ocean. 
 What their conceptions of Neptune were, 
 it is as difficult to conceive as his appear- 
 ance might be to describe. He was repre- 
 sente I by a tall man, habited in a seaman- 
 like manner, his outward robe composed of 
 fishing-nets, a long flowing beard ill ac- 
 corded with a full-dress court wig, which 
 had formerly been the property of some 
 eminent barrister, but had now changed its 
 element, and from dealing out law on the 
 land, its mystic powers were transferred to 
 the water. In his right hand he carried 
 his trident, the spears of which were 
 formed of three pickled herrings. liis 
 Tritons sounded his praise on all kinds of 
 discordant wind instruments, and iEolus 
 blew startling blasts on a cracked French 
 horn. The olfactory nerves of the auditors 
 who were hardy enough to come in close 
 contact with the procession, were assailed 
 by "a very ancient and fish-like smell." 
 The merriment was rude and very hearty. 
 
 P. B. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 Paul's Walkers — Hired Witnesses. 
 
 In the reigns of James I. and Charles I. 
 a singular custom prevailed of the idle and 
 dissolute part of the community assembling 
 in the naves or other unemployed parts of 
 .arge churches. Tlw nave of St. Paul's cathe- 
 dral bore the name of Paul's Walk ; and so 
 little was the sanctity of the place regarded, 
 that if the description by an old author* is 
 not exaggerated, the Royal Exchange at four 
 o'clock does not present a greater scene of 
 confusion. I carry t>e comparison no far- 
 ther ; the characters assembled in the church 
 appear to have been very different to those 
 composing the respectable assembly alluded 
 to. The author referred to thus describes the 
 place : " The noyse in it is like that of bees. 
 
 • Microrosmographis 1623, cited in Pennant's Lon 
 
 It is the generall mini of all famous lies, 
 which are here like the legends popery first 
 coyn'd and stampt in the church. All in- 
 ventions are empty 'd here and not a few 
 pockets." " The visitants are all men 
 without exceptions; but the principal inha- 
 bitants and possessors are stale knights, and 
 captaines out of service; men of long ra- 
 piers and breeches." 
 
 From the following passage in Hudibras** 
 I should judge that the circular church in 
 the Temple was the resort of characters of 
 an equally bad description : 
 
 " Retain all sorts of witnesses. 
 
 That ply i' th' Temples, under trees. 
 
 Or walk the round, with knights o' th* posts 
 
 About the cross-legg'd knights, their hosts; 
 
 Or wait for customers between 
 
 The pillar-rows in Lincoln's Inn." 
 
 The cross-legged knights, it is almost 
 needless to add, are the effigies of the 
 mailed warriors, which still remain in fine 
 preservation. The "pillar-rows in Lincoln's 
 Inn," I apprehendf refer to the crypt, or 
 open vault, beneath Inigo Jones's chapel 
 in Lincoln's Inn, originally designed for an 
 ambulatory.l It is singular to reflect on 
 the entire change in the public manners 
 within two centuries. If coeval authorities 
 did not exist to prove the fact, who would 
 believe in these days, that, in a civilized 
 country, men were to be found within the 
 very- seats of law ready to perjure them- 
 selves for hire? or that juries and judges 
 did not treat the practice and the encou- 
 raging of it with a prorrypt and just severity ^ 
 
 St. Thomas's Day Electioks. 
 
 Previous to a court of common council, 
 the members were formerly in the habit of 
 assembling in the great hall of the Guild- 
 hall. When the hour of business arrived, 
 one of the officers of the lord mayor's 
 household summoned them to their own 
 chamber by the noise produced by moving 
 an iron ring swiftly up and down a twisted 
 or crankled bar of the same metal, which 
 was affixed behind the door of the princi- 
 pal entrance to the passage leading to thai 
 part of the Guildhall styled, in civic lan- 
 guage, the inner chambers. The custon. 
 was disused about forty years ago. The 
 iron, I understand, remained until the de- 
 molition of the old doorway in the last 
 general repair of the hall, when the giants 
 descended from their stations without hear 
 
 • Part ni.. Canto III., p. 213, ed. 1684. 
 t Vide a paper by E. J, C. in Gent.'s Mag. voL x* 
 p. 1, 5S9. 
 
 840 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ing the clock strike, and the new doorway 
 was formed in a more convenient place. 
 With the old-fashioned gallery, the inva- 
 riable appendage to an ancient hall, which, 
 until that period, occupied its proper place 
 over the entrance, was destroyed that terror 
 of idle apprentices, the prison of Little 
 Ease. This gallery must be still remem- 
 bered, as well as its shrill clock in a curious 
 carved case. Its absence is not compen- 
 sated by the perilous-looking balcony substi- 
 tuted for it on the opposite side, an object 
 too trifling and frivolous for so fine a room 
 as the civic common hall. 
 
 E. I. C. 
 
 A DEFENCE OF SLANG. 
 
 For the Table Book, 
 
 " To think like wise men, and to talk 
 like common people," is a maxim that has 
 long- stood its ground. What is the lan- 
 guage of " common people ?" slang 
 
 ergo, every body ought to talk it. What 
 is slang P Many will answer that it con- 
 sists of words used only by the lowest and 
 most ignorant classes of society, and that 
 to employ them would be most ungenteel. 
 First, then, we must inquire a little what 
 it is to be genteel, and this involves the 
 question, what is a gentleman P Etymo- 
 logically, every body knows what is the 
 meaning of the term ; and Dekker, the old 
 English play-poet, uses it in this sense, 
 when in one of his best dramas he justly 
 calls our Saviour 
 
 " The first true gentleman that ever breathed." 
 
 Dekker's greatest contemporary, in refer- 
 ence to certain qualities he attributes to 
 " man's deadliest enemy," tells us, though 
 we are not bound to take his word for it, 
 unless we like it, 
 
 " The Prince of Darl;nes3 is a. gentleman ;" 
 
 in which he follows the opinion long before 
 expressed by the Italian poet Pulci, in his 
 Morgante Maggiore, (canto xxv. st. 161.) 
 
 Che geotilezza e bene anche in inferno. 
 
 Puici seems so pleased with this disco- 
 very, (if it be one,) that he repeats it in 
 nearly the same words (in the following 
 canto, St. 83.) 
 
 Non credcr ne lo inferno anche fra noi 
 Gentilezza non sta. 
 
 The old bone-shoveller in Hamlet main- 
 tains that your only real and thorough 
 
 gentlemen are your " gardeners, ditchers^ 
 and grave-makers;" so that, after all, the 
 authorities on this point are various and 
 contradictory. If it be objected that slang 
 (otherwise sometimes called JlushJ is em- 
 ployed very much by boxers and prize- 
 fighters, teachers and practisers of " the 
 noble science of self-defence," one answer 
 may be supplied by a quotation from Aris- 
 totle, whiuh shows that he himself was well 
 skilled in the art, and he gives instructions 
 how important it is to hit straight instead 
 of round, following up the blow by the 
 weight of the body. His words upon this 
 subject are quoted (with a very different 
 purpose certainly) in the last number of 
 the Edinburgh Review, (p. QT^.) So that 
 we need only refer to them. Another " old 
 Grecian" might be instanced in favour of 
 the use of slang, and even of incorrect 
 grammar; for every scholar knows (and 
 we know it who are no scholars) that Aris- 
 tophanes in the first scene of his comedy, 
 named in Encrfish The Clouds, makes his 
 hero talk bad Greek, and employ language 
 peculiar to the stable : the schofiasts assert 
 that Phidippides ought to have said, even in 
 his sleep, u ^,x.i ciSiKug instead of tiXav x^ikh;, 
 which he uses. However, we are perhaps 
 growing too learned, although it will be 
 found in the end, (if not already in the 
 beginning,) that this is a learned article, 
 and ought perhaps to have been sent for 
 publication in the Classical Journal. 
 
 What we seek to establish is this : — that 
 the language of the ignorant is the language 
 of the learned; or in less apparently pair- 
 doxical terras, that what is considered siang 
 and unfit for " ears polite," is in fact a 
 language derived from the purest and most 
 recondite sources. What is the chief re- 
 commendation of lady Morgan's new 
 novel ? — for what do ladies of fashion and 
 education chiefly admire it? Because the 
 authoress takes such pains to show that she 
 is acquainted with French, Italian, and 
 even Latin, and introdiices so many apt 
 and inapt quotations. What is the prin- 
 cipal advantage of modern conversation ? 
 That our " home-keepmg youths " have no 
 longer " homely wits," and that they inter- 
 lard their talk with scraps and words from 
 continental tongues. Now if we can show 
 that slang is compounded, in a a^reat deijree, 
 of words derived from German, French, 
 Italian, and Latin, shall we not establish 
 that what is at present the language of the 
 ignorant is in fact the language of the 
 learned, and ought to be the language em- 
 ployed by all gentlemen pretending to 
 education, and of all ladies pretending to 
 
 841 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 t>Iue-stocking attainments? We proceed to 
 do so by a selection of a few of the prin- 
 cipal words which are considered 5/«/iif or 
 fash, of which we shall show the etymology. 
 
 Blowin — " an unfortunate girl," in the 
 language of the police-offices. This is a 
 very old word in English, and it is derived 
 from bluhen,Gerxm.n, to bloom or blossom. 
 Some may think that it comes from the 
 German adjective blau. The Germans 
 speak of a blue-eye, as we talk of a black- 
 eye, and every body is aware that blow'ms 
 are frequently thus ornamented. 
 
 To fib — a torm in boxing. It means, to 
 clasp an antagonist round the neck with 
 one arm, and to punish him with the other 
 hand. It is from the Italian ^66/a, a clasp 
 or buckle. The Italian verb aj/ibiare is 
 used by Casti precisely in this sense: — 
 Gli affibia un gran ceffon. (Nov. xliii. st. 
 65.) 
 
 Fogle — a handkerchief — properly and 
 strictly a handkerchief with a bird's eye 
 pattern upon it. From the German vogel, 
 a bird. 
 
 (lum — the leg. Listen has introduced 
 this word upon the stage, when in Lubin 
 Log he tells old Brown that he is " stiffish 
 about the gams." We have it either from 
 the French jumbe, or the Italian ganiba. 
 
 Leary — cunning or wary. Correctly it 
 ought to be written lehry. The derivation 
 of it is the German lehre, learning or 
 warning. The authorities for this word are 
 not older than the time of James I. 
 
 Max — gin. Evidently from the Latin 
 maxhnus, in reference to the strength and 
 goodness of the liquor. 
 
 To nim — to take, snatch, or seize. It is 
 used by Chaucer — " well of English un- 
 defiled." It is deiived from the Saxon 
 niman, whence also the German nehmen, to 
 take. We have it in the every-day adjec- 
 tive, nimble. The name of the corporal in 
 Shakspeare's Henry V. ought to be spelled 
 'Nim, and not Nym, (as the commentators 
 ignorantly give it,) from his furtive propen- 
 sity. 
 
 Pal — a companion. It is perhaps going 
 too far to fetch this word from the Persian 
 palaker, a comrade. It rather originates in 
 the famous story told by Boccacio, Chaucer, 
 Dryden, &c. &c. of the friendship of Pala- 
 mon and Arcyte ; joa/ being only a familiar 
 abbreviation of Palamon, to denote an in- 
 timate friend. 
 
 To prig — to rob or steal. It is doubtful 
 whether this word be originally Spanish or 
 Italian. Preguntar in Spanish is to demand, 
 and robbing on the highway is demanding 
 money or life. Priega in Italian is a pe- 
 
 tition — a mode of committing theft without 
 personal violence. In English tl e word 
 to prig is now applied chiefly to picking 
 pockets, owing to the degeneracy of modern 
 rogues : a prig is a pick-pocket. 
 
 Sappy — foolish, weak. Clearly from the 
 Latin sapio — lucus a nan lucendo. 
 
 Seedy — shabby — worn out : a term used 
 to indicate the decayed condition of one 
 who has seen better days : it refers princi- 
 pally to the state of his apparel: thus a 
 coat which has once been handsome, when 
 it is old is called seedy, and the wearer is 
 said to look seedy. It is only a corruption 
 of the French ci-devant — formerly ; with 
 an ellipsis of the last syllable. It has no 
 reference to running to seed, as is com- 
 monly supposed. 
 
 Spoony — silly or stupid — is used botn as 
 a substantive and as an adjective. Some 
 have conjectured that it owes its origin to 
 the wooden spoon at Cambridge, the lowest 
 honour conferred by that university, the 
 individual gaining- it being entitled to no 
 other, rather from his dulness than his ig- 
 norance. Its etymology is in fact to be 
 found in the Italian word sapon^, soap ; 
 and it is a well-known phrase that "a stu- 
 pid fellow wants his brains washing with 
 soap-suds." 
 
 Spree — fun, joke — is from the French 
 esprit, as every body must be aware in an 
 instant. 
 
 Togs — dress — from the Latin toga, the 
 robe worn by Roman citizens. Toggeri 
 means properly a great coat, but it is alsc 
 used generally for the apparel. 
 
 We might go through the whole vocabu- 
 lary in the same way, and prove that some 
 terms are even derived from the Hebrew, 
 through the medium of the Jews ; but the 
 preceding " elegant extracts " will be suffi- 
 cient. It is to be regretted that the Rev. 
 J. H.Todd has been so hasty in publishing 
 his second edition of Johnson' s Dictionary, 
 or he might, and no doubt would, after 
 what we have said, include many words 
 not now to be found there, and which we 
 contend are the chief ornaments of our 
 vernacular. Perhaps it would be worth 
 his while to add a supplement, and we 
 shall be happy to render him any assist 
 ance. 
 
 December, 1827. Phii.glogus. 
 
 DIVINATION BY FLOWERS. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — There is a love custom still observed 
 in the village of Sutton Bangor, Wilts — 
 
 842 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Two flowers tnat have not blossomed are 
 paired, and put by themselves— as many 
 pairs as there are sweethearts in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and tall and short as the respec- 
 tive sweethearts are. The initials of their 
 names are attached to the stamens, and they 
 are ranged in order in a hayloft or stable, 
 in perfect secrecy, except to those who 
 manage and watch their ominous growth. 
 If, after ten days, any flower twines the 
 other, it is settled as a match ; if any flower 
 turns a contrary way, it indicates a want of 
 affection; if any flower blossoms, it denotes 
 early offspring ; if any flower dies suddenly, 
 it is a token of the party's death ; if any 
 flower wears a downcast appearance, sick- 
 ness is indicated. True it is that flowers, 
 from their very nature, assume all these 
 peeitions ; and in the situation described, 
 their influence upon villagers is consider- 
 able. I was once a party interested, now 
 
 I am 
 
 A Flowerbud. 
 
 WALTHAM, ESSEX. 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 Sir, — The following epitaph is upon a 
 plain gravestone in the church-yard of 
 Waltham Abbey. Having some point, it 
 may perhaps be acceptable for the Table 
 Book. I was told that the memory of the 
 worthy curate is still held in great esteem 
 by the inhabitants of that place. 
 
 Rev. Isaac Colnhtt, 
 Fifteen years curate of this Parish, 
 Died March 1, 1801— Aged 43 years. 
 
 Shall pride a heap of sculptured marble raise, 
 Some worthless, unmoiirn'd, titled fool to praise. 
 And shall we not by one poor gravestone show- 
 Where pious, worthy Colnett sleeps below ? 
 
 Surely common decency, if they are de- 
 ficient in antiquarian feeling, should induce 
 the inhabitants of Walthana Cross to take 
 some measures, if not to restore, at least to 
 preserve from further decay and dilapida- 
 tion the remains of that beautiful monument 
 of conjugal aflection, the cross erected by 
 Edward I. It is now in a sad disgraceful 
 state. 
 
 I ana, &c. 
 
 Z. 
 
 rULBOURN, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 All Saints' and St. Vigor's Bells 
 
 To the Editor. 
 
 On a visit to a friend at Fulbourn we 
 strolled to the site whereon All Saints' 
 church formerly stood, and his portfolio 
 furnished me with the subjoined memo- 
 randa, which by your fostering care may 
 be preserved. 
 
 I am, sir, &c. 
 
 Cambridge, May, 1826. T N. 
 
 Trinity Sunday, 1766. 
 
 This morning at five o'clock the steeple 
 of All Saints' church fell down. An act of 
 parliament passed the 22d May, 1775, to 
 unite the service in St. Vigor's church, and 
 to enable the vicar and churchwardens to 
 sell the materials and the bells, towards re- 
 pairing the church of St. Vigor's — the 
 amount was 150/. 0*. 6c?. The two broken 
 bells were sold towards the expenses ; the 
 other three, with the two of St. Vigur's, 
 and the saints' bell, were new cast by E. 
 Arnold at St. Neot's Hunt's, and six new 
 bells were put up on the 9th of May, 1776. 
 The subscription amounted to 141/.; the 
 bells cost 2G2/. 2s. 3d. ; the frames 4^/. , 
 the six new ropes 11. 15s.; making together 
 the sum of 308/. 17*. 3d. 
 
 The poor inhabitants were so attached 
 to the old bells, that they frequently watched 
 them in the evening, lest they should be 
 carried away and sold ; for the broken bells 
 lay among the ruins of All Saints' church. 
 At last their fears subsiding, they neglected 
 their watching, and the churchwardens set 
 a waggon in Monk's barn, (hard by,) and 
 carried away two of them in the night, de- 
 livering them to the Cambridg-e waggon foi 
 St. Neot's, and returning before morning, 
 which occasioned the following- 
 
 Ballad. 
 
 There are some farmers in Fulbourn town. 
 They have lately sold what was not their own ; 
 They have sold the bells, likewise the church, 
 And cheat the poor of twice as much. 
 
 And O 1 you Fulbourn farmers O I 
 
 Some estate there was left, all for the poor. 
 They have robb'd them of half, and something more. 
 Such dirty tricks wiU go hard on their sides. 
 For the d — 1 will have them, and singe their hides. 
 And O ! you Fulbourn farmers O ! 
 
 Before the bells they could be sold. 
 They were foro'd to swear, as we've been told. 
 They forswore themselves — then they cried. 
 For this, my boys, we shall be tried. 
 
 And O I you Fulbourn farmers 1 
 
 b43 
 
£\(.ye> :s old Twi^, and young Twig— the whining 
 
 dissenter. 
 Savs one to tkf otlier, this night we will venture ; 
 And says little Gibble-Gabble, I long tor to go, 
 But first I will call my neigTibour Swing-toe; 
 And O I you Fulbourn farmerii I 
 
 THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 A PAGE FROM MY NOTE BOOK. 
 For the Table Book. 
 Election Bribery. 
 
 In the dead of the night this thievish crew 
 Broke into the church, as other thieves do. 
 For to steal tlie bells and sell them all. 
 May the d — 1 take such churchwardeDS all; 
 And O I you Fulbourn farrasrs 1 
 
 This ba"lad is said to have been the pro- 
 duction of one William Rolfe, a labourer. 
 It was probably written soon after the act 
 passed. The new peal was brought home on 
 the 9ih of May, 1776, so that it was not a 
 year from the passing of the act to the cast- 
 ing of the bells. 
 
 After the bill had been perused by coun- 
 sel, Mr. Edward Hancock, the rector's 
 (ihurchwaiden, conducted it through both 
 liouses of parliament without the expense 
 of a solicitor; sir John Cotton, one of the 
 members for the county, forwarding it in 
 ihe different stages through the House of 
 Commons. So earnest were the populace 
 tbout the bells, (when they were satisfied 
 they were to have a new peal of six,) that 
 ,ifter ihey were loaded they drew them a 
 turlonij- or more before the horses were put 
 to the waggon. The tenor was cast in G 
 sharp, or old A. Mr. Edmund Andrews 
 Salisbury rode on the great bell, when it 
 was drawn up within the steeple, and his 
 was the tirst death tliis bell was rung for; 
 he was buried 8th July, 1776. The motto 
 on this bell is — 
 
 •' I to the church the living call — 
 And to the grave I sun-.mon all." 
 
 Mr. Charles Dawson was the author of 
 the complete peal of Plain Bob, called 
 " The fulbourn Surprise," with 154 bobs, 
 and two singles, and 720 changes. The 
 peal was opened December 7, 1789. 
 
 ST. THOMAS'S DAY. 
 Mr. Day's Short Day. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Day, of D 1, Wilts, 
 
 used, when living, to give his workmen on 
 St. Thomas's Day a holiday, a short pint 
 of his ale, an ounce of short-cut tobacco, 
 and a short pipe, in remembrance of his 
 name. " For," said he, — in a couplet de- 
 cidedly his own, — 
 
 ' Look round the village where ye may ; 
 OiV IS the shortest day, to-day." 
 
 PUCERON. 
 
 The first instance that occurs of this 
 
 Practice was so early as 13 Eliz., when one 
 'homas Longe (being a simple man of 
 small capacity to serve in parliament) ac- 
 knowledged that he had given the returning 
 officer and others of the borough for which 
 he was chosen four PoaNOS, to be returned 
 member, and was for that premium elected. 
 But for this offence the borough was 
 amerced, the member was removed, and 
 the officer was fined and imprisoned. — 4 
 Inst. 23. Hale of Pari. 112. Com.Joiirn. 
 10 and 11 May, 1371. 
 
 Wonder-working Precedents. 
 
 " Unless," said vice chancellor Leach, 
 (nth March, 18-26, in Mendizabal v. Ma- 
 chado,) " Unless I amboxmdliand and foot 
 by precedents, / will not follow such a 
 piactice." 
 
 Mem. 
 
 Blackstone, speaking of apprenticeships, 
 savs, " Tliey are useful to the common- 
 wealth, by employing of youth, and learn- 
 ing them to be early industrious." 
 
 The same author says, " These payments 
 (alluding to first fruits) were only due if 
 the heir was of full age, but if he was 
 under the age of twenty-one being a male, 
 or fourteen being -d female, the lord was en- 
 titled to the wardship of tlie heir, and was 
 called the guardian in chivalry." — Comtn. 
 book ii. c. 5. p. 67. 
 
 DoWER. 
 
 The seisin of the husband, for a transi- 
 tory/ instant only, when the same act which 
 gives him the estate conveys it also out of 
 him again, (as where, by a fine, land is 
 granted to a man, and he immediately ren- 
 ders it back by the same fine,) such a seisin 
 will not entitle the wife to dower: for the 
 land was merely in transitu, and never 
 rested in the husband, the grant and render 
 being one continued act. But if the land 
 abides in him for the interval of but a *2;i^/e 
 moment, it seems that the wife shall be en- 
 dowed thereof. — Black. Cornm. book ii 
 c. 8. p. 132. 
 
 The author adds in a note : " This doc- 
 trine was extended very far by a jury ir, 
 Wales, where the father and son were both 
 
 844 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 ftanged in cme cart, but the son was sirp- 
 nosed ft) have survived the father, bij ap- 
 pearing to struggle longest; whereby he 
 aecaine seised of an estate in fee by su'^vi- 
 orship, in consequence of which seisin nis 
 fidow had a veidict for her dower "—Cm 
 Eliz. 503* 
 
 An unintentional Imitation extem- 
 pore of the 196th and 7th stanzas of the 
 2d canto of Don Juan. 
 
 A mother bending o'er her child in prayer. 
 
 An arm outstretch'd to save a conquer'd foe. 
 
 The daughter's bosom to the father's lips laid bare. 
 
 The Horatii when they v/oo'd the blow 
 
 That sav'd a sation's blood, a young girl fair 
 
 Tending a dying husband's bed of woe. 
 
 Are beautiful ; but, oh, nor dead nor living. 
 
 Is aiight so beautiful as woman wrong'd forgiving. 
 
 For there she is, the being who hath leant 
 
 In lone confiding love and weakness all 
 
 Qn us — whose unreproaching heart is rent 
 
 By our deed ; yet on our cheek but fall 
 
 A tear, or be a sigh but spent, 
 
 fihe sinks upon the breast whence sprang the gall 
 
 That bitter'd her heart's blood, and there caressing, 
 
 For pain and misery accords a blessing. 
 
 Note for the Editor. — " An unintentional 
 imitation" may sound something like a 
 solecism, although a very little reflection 
 will prove it to be far otherwise. I had 
 been reading Don Juan till I had it by 
 heart, and nightly spouted to the moon 
 Julia's letter and the invocation to the 
 isles of Greece. I had a love fracas ; a 
 reconciliation, as one of the two alternative 
 natural consequences, took place, and the 
 foregoing were part of some propitiatory 
 measures that effected it. At the time of 
 writing them I had no more idea of imi- 
 tating Byron, than has my Lord Chief Justice 
 Best, in his charge to the jury in a news- 
 paper cause, or crim. con. I wrote them 
 rapidly, scarcely lifting my pen till they 
 were finished, and certainly without bestow- 
 ing a word or thought on any thing, except 
 the image I pursued ; but my mind had 
 received a deep impression from my late 
 reading, and my thoughts assumed the form 
 they did from it, unknown to me. Some 
 months aftei-ward?,I was reciting the passage 
 from Byron alluded to ; I had heard some- 
 thing like it; 1 repeated it; I was more 
 struck; I rack'd my brain and my lady's 
 letter-box, and made this discovery. 
 
 J. J. K. 
 
 • On a similar taking by the contingency of drown- 
 jnsf, Fearne, the elegant writer on " Contingent 
 Remainders," has an admirable argument— a aoa.ster- 
 {tiece of eloquent reasoning. — ^Edit. 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 CHRISTiVlAS. 
 
 Old Christmas comes again, and with him brings, 
 Although his visits are in times austere. 
 
 Not only recollections of good things. 
 
 But beareth in his hands substantial cheer : 
 
 Though short and dark the day, and long the night. 
 
 His joyous coming makes all faces bright. 
 
 And when you make your doors and windows fast. 
 
 And to your happy cheerful hearrh retire, 
 A paradise is yours, safe irom the blast. 
 
 In the fair circle gathering rouna the fire ; 
 Whilst these, with social converse, books, and wine, 
 Make Winter's rugged front almost 'divi^ne I 
 
 W. M. W 
 
 SONNET. 
 An Atttumnal Midntght. 
 
 I walk in silence and the starry night ; 
 And travellers with me are leaves alone. 
 Still onward fluttering, by light breezes Wowji. 
 
 The moon is yet in heaven, but soon her light. 
 
 Shed through the silvery clouds and on the dark 
 Must disappear. No sound I hear save trees 
 Swayed darkly, like the rush of ftir-off seas 
 
 That climb with murmurs loud the rocky steep. 
 
 There wakes no crowing cock, nor watch-dog's baik 
 I look around, as iii a placid dream 
 Kxisting amidst beauty, and I seem 
 
 Relieved from human weakness, and from sleep, 
 A happy spirit 'neath the boundless heaven. 
 To whom not Day alone but Night is gives ! 
 
 W. M. W. 
 
 SEASONABLE STANZAS. 
 
 Winter, with hoary locks ana frozen face, 
 
 Hath thrown his naked sceptre from his hand ; 
 And he ha-th mended now his sluggish pace. 
 
 Beside the blazing yule-block fire to stand. 
 
 His ice-bound visage 'ginneth to expand ; 
 And, for the naked pme-hranch which he swayed. 
 
 He, smiling, hath a leaf-ureen sceptre planned ; 
 The ivy and the holly he doth braid. 
 Beneath whose berries red is many a frolick played. 
 
 Now not in vain hath been the blooming spring. 
 
 The fruitful summer and the autumn sere ; 
 For jolly Christmas to his board dofh bring 
 
 The happy fulness of the passed year ; 
 
 Man's creeping blood and moody looks to cheer. 
 With mirthful revel rings each happy dome; 
 
 Unfelt within the snows and winds severe • 
 ITie tables groan with beef, the tankards foam. 
 And Winte» blandly smiles to cheer tne British home 
 
 W. M. W. 
 
 Ub 
 
THE TABLE BOOK. 
 
 Original ^ioetrp* 
 
 For the Table Book. 
 
 The accompanying lines were written in 
 allusion to that beautiful Gem of Dagley's 
 wliich Mr. Croly (page :21 of ihe vol.) sup- 
 poses a Diana, and which Tassie's Cata- 
 logue describes as such. I have, however, 
 made bold to address her iu her no less 
 popular character of 
 
 EURYDICE, 
 
 " rila quidem dum te fiigeretper flumina prseceps 
 Immanem ante pedes hydrum rnoritura puella 
 •iervantem ripas alta non yidit in herba." 
 
 Virg. Georg. IV, 
 
 Art can ne'er thine angfiiish lull. 
 Maiden passing beautiful 1 
 Strive thou may'st, — 'tis all in vain ; 
 Art shall never heal thy pain : 
 IJever may that serpent-stinf 
 Cease thy snow-white foot to wriny. 
 Mourner thou art doom'd to be 
 Unto all eternity. 
 
 Joy shall never soothe thy grief; 
 Thou must fall as doth the leaf 
 In thine own deep forest-bower, 
 Where thy lover, hour by hour. 
 Hath, with songs of woodland glee. 
 Like the never-wearied bee. 
 Fed him on the fond caress 
 Of thy youth's fresh lovelinesa. 
 
 Youth 1 — 'tis but a shadow now; — 
 Never more, lost maid, must thoo 
 Trip it with coy foot across 
 Leafy brooks and beds of moss ; 
 Never more, with stealtliy tread. 
 Track the wild deer to his bed. 
 Stealing soft and silently. 
 Like the lone moon o'er the sea. 
 
 Vain thy lover's whisper'd charm ; 
 Love can never death disarm ; 
 Hush'd the song he oft hath sung, — 
 Weak his voice, his lyre nnstruuj. 
 Think, then, if so hard to heal 
 Is the anguish thou dost feel. 
 Think— how bitter is tlie saiart 
 When that wound is in the lieart I 
 
 HamnsieavL 
 
 ^otire* 
 
 The Index, &c. to the present volume 
 o/</je Table Book will conclude the work. 
 I respectfully bid my readers Farewell ! 
 
 * 
 
 SPORTS AND PASTIMES 
 
 THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Perhaps I may be excused for noticing 
 the forthcoming octavo edition of " The 
 Sports and Pastimes of England," — 
 a work of very curious research and re- 
 markable information, written and pub- 
 lished in quarto by the late Mr. Joseph 
 Strutt. 
 
 The Octavo Edition will be printed 
 in a superior manner, on fine paper, with 
 at least 140 Engravings. It will be pub- 
 lished in Monthly Parts, price One Shilling 
 each, and each part, on an average, will 
 contain fourteen engravings. Above half 
 of the drawings and engravings are al- 
 ready executed, and other means are taken 
 to secure the punctual appearance of the 
 work. The printer is already engaged or. 
 d, and the first part will certainly appear 
 be-^ore the first of February. 
 
 ,):** This Book can be had of the Pub- 
 lisher, price 4s. 6d. 
 
 A COPIOUS Index will be prepared 
 and the work be edited by 
 
 January 1, 1829. 
 
 W. HoiJE. 
 
 846 
 
^Sr 
 
 GENERAL INDEX. 
 
 Abdttotiok, curious respite from execu 
 
 tion for, 621 
 Abershaw, Jerry, 488, 489 
 Abingdon, old parish accompts of, 241 
 Aborigines, 638 
 
 Abraham, heights of, in Derbyshire, 482 
 Abridgment of a library by Pilpay, 124 
 Accidents to one man, 478 
 Accompaniment to roasting, 516 
 Accommodation extraordinary, 281 
 Acquaintance table, 189 
 Actors — acting of old men by children, 
 
 677. See Plays 
 Admiral, lord high ; ofEce and seal of, 287 
 Adoption of children in France, 110 
 " Adrasta," old play, 161 
 Advertisement; at Ghent, 30; letter in 
 consequence of one, 30 ; singular one, 
 525, 670, 722, 775 
 Advice, danger of giving, 165. See 
 
 Counsels 
 Affectation, less prevalent among women 
 
 than formerly, 179 
 African young woman's compliment to 
 
 her lover, 94 
 Age, reason for not reckoning, 590 
 Agriculture, British, derived from the 
 
 Homans, 197 
 " Ahab," by S. R. Jackson, 249 
 Air, and exercise for ladies, 105; philo- 
 sophy of, 666 
 Airay, Thomas, Grassington manager, 
 
 notice of, 35, 538 
 Albany and York, duke of, 47 ; the 
 
 dukedom of Albany, 205 
 Albemarle, duke of, creditable patronage 
 
 by, 382 
 Alcock, Rev. Mr., the waggish clergy- 
 man, 317 
 Alderson, Hut., of Durham, 183 
 Ale, Prynne "put into the road of 
 writing" b)-', 363; old English, 690; 
 antiquity of beer, 787 
 Alfred, tomb of, 781 
 Alia Bhye, East Indian princess, 674 
 " All Fools," old play, 96 
 AUan-a-Maut, engraving, 58 
 Allen, Rev. Mr., fatal duel fought by, 361 
 Alleyn, the actor, " master of the bears 
 and dogs," 249; the Roscius of his 
 day, 738, (note) 
 Alliteration, clever specimen of, 78 
 
 Ally, a good one, 316 
 
 Almanacs; Liege, 137; curious notices 
 
 in French almanacs, 270 
 Alms-houses, [workhouses ;] none before 
 
 the Reformation, 196 
 Amadeus, duke of Savoy, 711 
 Ambassadors, former custom of, 332 
 " Ambitious Statesman, (The) " old play, 
 
 690 
 Amilcas the fisherman, 734 
 Amsterdam, notices of, 493, 644 
 Amurath, sultan, effect of music on, 115 
 Anaximander, and other ancients, 824. 
 
 See Ancients. 
 Ancients and moderns, discoveries of, 
 443, 456, 474, 505, 515, 521, 537, 585, 
 602, 617, 633, 650, 666, 730, 776, 785, 
 808, 824 
 
 ; mode of writing of the 
 
 ancients, 612; superiority of their 
 music, 615; casualties among, 701 
 Ancient Britons, See Wales. 
 Andalusia, deadly irritation of winds in, 
 
 137 
 " Andronicus," old play, 642 
 Angel help, 376 
 
 Angling, notices concerning, 330 
 Angouleme, duchess of; anecdote of, 5 
 Animals, theories on generation of, 810 
 
 ; a common effect of attempting 
 
 to domesticate wild ones, 309; con- 
 nection between muscular power and 
 speed, 309; experiment of music upon, 
 346 
 Animated nature, 522 
 Anne, queen, 536 
 Antipathies, instances of, 509 
 " Antipodes, (The)" old play, 352, 595 
 Antiquarian Hall, engraving and memoir 
 
 of, 70 
 Antique bronze found in the Thames, 134 
 Anty Brignal and the Begging Quaker, 
 
 795 
 Aphorisms; by Lavater, 140; by other 
 persons, 414, 494, 505. See Counsels. 
 "Apostle Spoons." 823 
 Apothecary or Dramatist, 620 
 Apparitions, curious narrative of, 355 
 Apprentices, former maxims for, 281, 
 282; to be found in sufficient wigs, 631 
 Archimedes, and other ancients, 825. 
 See Ancients. 
 
 Vol. IlL 
 
 847 
 
 31 
 

 
 
 
 GENERAL INDEX. 
 
 
 
 Architecture, brought in by the Nor- 
 
 Bachelors; bachelor's desk, 512; budge 
 
 
 
 mans, 197 
 
 bachelors, 633 ; miserable home of ba- 
 
 
 
 " Arden of Feversham," old play, 112 
 
 chelors, 649; pocket-book of one, 617 
 
 
 
 Aremburg, duke of, his love of the arts, 
 
 Bacon, gammon of, at Easter, 195 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 , lord ; his judgment on books, 
 
 
 
 Argyll, customs of, 464 
 
 109; his method of condensing thought, 
 
 
 
 Aristarchus, and other ancients, 824 
 
 341 
 
 
 
 See Ancients. 
 
 (Friar) and his servant, 317 
 
 
 
 Aristotle, former bonr^age to, 444 
 
 Badajos, (the dean of) 162 
 
 
 
 Arithmetical notices, 380 
 
 Bag, duel witii, 10 
 
 
 
 Armorial bearings ; of ambassadors, 332; 
 
 Bagdad, effect of music after capture of, 
 
 
 
 having emblems of the devil, 330 
 
 115 
 
 
 
 Armories, formerly possessed by private 
 
 Baker, Miss Polly, fiction of, 45 
 
 
 
 lords and gentlemen, 196 
 
 Bakewell, in Derb. ; monuments, &c., in 
 
 
 
 Arms [of the human body,] one stated to 
 
 church of, 313 
 
 
 
 be broken by the throbbings of rheu- 
 
 Baldwin, Samuel, singular burial of, 206 
 
 
 
 matism, 71 
 
 Ballads, licenses for printing, 393 
 
 
 
 Armstrong, Dr., notice of, 469 
 
 " Ballad Singer," 747 
 
 
 
 " Arraignment of Paris," old play, 256 
 
 Bank, (country) capital for, 30 
 
 
 
 Arran, earl of, his letter on duke of 
 
 side -bear garden, 245 
 
 
 
 Buckingham's death, 263 
 
 Banquet given by Whitelock to queen of 
 
 
 
 Arrens, near Marseilles, interring the 
 
 Sweden, 276 
 
 
 
 carnival at, 136 
 
 " ^ of the dead," 672 
 
 
 
 Artist's (Young), letter from Switzer- 
 
 Bans, happy, 472 
 
 
 
 land, 214; letter of one to his son, 479 
 
 Baptizing, customs touching, 426 
 
 
 
 Arts, benevolent application of profits 
 
 Barbers; description of a barber, 121; 
 
 
 
 from, 255 
 
 Dudley, barber, at Portsmouth, 203 
 
 
 
 Arts and Science*', skill of the ancients 
 
 Bargest, the spectre hound, 742 
 
 
 
 in. See Ancients. 
 
 Barley-break, an old pastime, 19 
 
 
 
 Aruni, herb called, 593 
 
 Barnard, lady Ann, poetess, 100 
 
 
 
 Ash, (mountain) an antidote to v?itch- 
 
 Barnes, Joshua, epitaph for, 430 
 
 
 
 craft, 337 
 
 Barre, (Du) madame, and the Liege 
 
 
 
 Ashburton Pop, 592 
 
 almanac, 137 
 
 
 
 *' Asparagus Gardens, (The) " 596 
 
 Barrington, George, notice of, 490 
 
 
 
 Assignats, (French) engraving, 519 
 
 " Bastard, (The)" old play, 500 
 
 
 
 Astronomy, curious tract on, 640 ; an- 
 
 Bate, Rev. Mr., three duels fought by, 
 
 
 
 cients' knowledge of, 811. See 
 
 361 
 
 
 
 Ancients. 
 
 Bath chairman, mock funeral of, 21 
 
 
 
 Astrologers, account of Hart, 68 
 
 Bathing, utility of, 410; (earth), 695 
 
 
 
 Atheism, scandals to, 801 
 
 Battalia, Francis, a stone-eater, 178 
 
 
 
 Attraction, 585 
 
 Battle; prize-fighting formerly sometimes 
 
 
 
 Aubrey, John, curious collection by, 195 
 
 with swords, 248; "Battle of the 
 
 
 
 Audley, Hugh, usurer, life of^ 450 
 
 Poets," 204 ; " Battle of Alcazar," old 
 
 
 
 Augustus, anecdote of, 530 
 
 play, 243 ; field of battle, 331 
 
 
 
 Auld Robiu Gray, ballad of; history of, 
 
 Battle-bridge, remains of an elephant 
 
 
 
 100, 101 
 
 found near, 40 
 
 
 
 Aurora Borealis, opinions on, 731 
 
 B .yswater,priijected improvement at, lOS 
 
 
 
 Authors; Mrs. Charke reading her manu- 
 
 Bazaar, (Soho) 77 
 
 
 
 script to a bookseller, engraving of, 63 ; 
 
 Bear garden, (old) Southwark, 245; of 
 
 
 
 suggestions to authors, 124; their two 
 
 elector of Saxony, 245 
 
 
 
 wishes, 140; peculiarities of in com- 
 
 Bear and Tenter, boys' play, 596 
 
 
 
 posing, 341; prolific authors, 363 
 
 Bears, habits of, 699 
 
 
 
 Authors, difficulties of, 476, 301; vanity 
 
 Beards on women, superstition about, 426 
 
 
 
 of, 646, 820 
 
 Beauty, compliment to, 172; ingenuous 
 
 
 
 Antoa^raph of Charles Lord Howard of 
 
 disclaimer of, 621 ; beauties at church, 
 
 
 
 Effingiiam, 287 
 
 801 
 
 
 
 Avarice, sorts of, 453. See Misers. 
 
 Beaux not always mere coxcombs, 333; 
 
 
 
 Avenues of trees near Scheveiing, 645 
 
 English and French, 801 
 
 ' 
 
 
 Avon Mill, Wilts, 687 
 
 Becketiham, Kent, 383; bridge in road 
 to, 351 
 
 
 
 Babylon, 825 
 
 Bed, (celestial) 695 
 
 
 
 Bacchus, bronze head of, found in the 
 
 Bede (venerable) a hot spicer, 657 
 
 
 
 Thames, 134 
 
 Beer, antiquity of, 787 
 
 
 
 848 
 
 
GEN^ERAL INDEX 
 Bees ; « Parliament of Bees," old play, 
 67 ; a boy bee-eater, curious account 
 of, 373 
 
 Beeston, clerk of, 210 
 
 Beethoven, musician, memoir of, 516 
 
 Begging Quaker, &c., 795 
 
 "Begin again," 211 
 
 Behnes, Mr., his bust of duke of York, 47 
 
 Belfast, Easter custom at, 253 
 
 Belgrade, siege of, 78 
 
 BdU, (diving) origin and notices of, 382 
 
 ) (Tommy) engraving of, 326 
 
 Bellows end bellows-makers, 716 
 
 Bells. See Ringing. 
 
 " Belphegor," old play, 690 
 
 Berne, description of, 214 
 
 Berners, dame Julia, treatise on field 
 
 sports by, 196 
 Best of a bad matter, 381 
 Beverley, a strong porter, 689 
 Beverley, St. John of, 687 
 Bhye, Alia,, amiable character of, 674 
 Bibliomaniac ridiculed, 109 
 Bibo's (Gteneral) tale, 258 
 Bibury, rector of, 251 
 Bielfield,, baron, his account of the dance 
 
 of torches, 54 
 Bigotry punished, 279 
 Bilbocquet, a royal amusement, 688 
 Bill of fare, 436 
 
 "Billet(Crooked)' on Penge Common, 335 
 Billingsgate, old satire on, 84 
 Billy Botts, notice and engraving of, 151 
 Biisington Priory, tenure of, 308 
 Birds ; waterfowl at Niagara, 681; Dr. 
 Fuller's, account of one, 558; Sandv's 
 method of hatching their eggs, 755. 
 See Storks, &c. 
 Bird-catcher, engraving of, 295, 
 
 seller, engraving of, 255 
 
 ; a play in which all the characters 
 
 are birds 67; particulars respecting- 
 birds, 294, 296. Sue Parrots, S ab- 
 lings. 
 Birmingham old conjurors, 117 
 
 clubs of, 489 ; manufactures, 
 
 Blood, circulation of, notices about, 77S' 
 Bloody hand, (the) 129 
 Bloomfield, George, poet's brother, en- 
 graving of, 815 
 
 •, Robert, poet, notice of, 815.. 
 
 &c. of, 712 
 
 Bishops; one misled by a saint, 208; 
 "bishop of Butterby," 183; resigna- 
 tion of one, 466 
 Black jacks and warming pans,. 8 
 
 — ■ letter books, curious criticism on, 
 
 213 
 Blacking, notices about, 632 
 Blacksmiths; their endurance of fire, 
 . 158; Gretna-green blacksmith, 216 
 Blackthorn, old custom of, 534 
 Blake, W, hostler, eugraving of, 438 
 Bleeding; for one's countr}-, 45 ; practised 
 by a woman, 71 ; former frequency of, 
 240: in silence and psalmodv, ib. 
 B ind Hannah, engraving of, 111 
 Willie, of Newcastle, 231 
 
 " Blurt, Master Constable," old play, 784 
 " Blythe Cockpen," and the merry mon- 
 arch, 206 
 Boar's head, custom concerning, 43, 195 
 Bodmin, royal joke on, 174 
 Bodies, elements of, 321 
 Bogs, remarks on timber in, 93 
 Bjlton, John, of Durham, 619 
 Bonaparte; his grand procession to Notre 
 Dame, 252; hi.s system of over-govern- 
 ing,, 367 ; at Torbay, 594 
 Bones, curious account of breaking of 
 one, 71; enib.ilming of, 288; advice for 
 breaking, 670 
 .Bon-fire, singular one, 381 
 Booker, Rev. L., notice of, 496 
 Books; pleasures and consolation of, 8, 
 109; old,, with new titles, 34; one 
 dedicited to the author, 63; proper 
 standard of, 124; (black letter) naif 
 criticism on, 213; when first made of 
 paper, 254; lending of, 557, 558; my 
 pocket-book, 616; device taken from a 
 book of prayers, 722, (note). S^e 
 Doomsday book. 
 Booksellers, an author reading a manu- 
 script to one; engraving, 6'3 
 Boots, Billy, engraving of, 151 
 Bdo's, imporiance of shape of, 670 
 Boswellianrt, 542 
 
 Bowel complaints, receipt for, 542 
 Buwring, Mr., his " Popular Servian 
 
 Poetry," 265 
 Boys; at school, 75; on errands, 75; 
 
 account of a boy bee-eater, 373 
 Biaco, Lord, and a farthing, 535 
 Bradenstoke Priory, 116 
 Brandon, Gre^'ory, hangman, 764 
 Brass- works, 715 
 
 " Brazen Age, (The)" old play, 224 
 Bread seals, used by ladies, 45 
 Breach of proiiii-e, curious case of, 90 
 Breakfast, singular dishes at, 309 
 Breaking of an arm bone by rheumatism, 
 
 71 
 Brecon, minstrelsy society at, 169 
 Breeds, (mixed) curious complaint of, 313. 
 Brentford Hannah, [Blind Hannah,] eu- 
 graving of. 111 
 Brewer's drayman, character of, 187 
 Brewing, private, 386 
 Bribery, in Eng and, by foreigners, 422 
 " Biidal, of Caolchairn," 392; public, 601 
 Bride, description of one, 148 
 " Bride, (The)" old play, 481 
 Bridesman, 147, 148 
 
 Bridlington, irregular stream near, 115' 
 custom at, 705 
 
 s-ty 
 
GENERAL INDEX. 
 
 Bristol, Lent custom at, 313; opulence 
 and inns at, 536; prince Georg'e of 
 Denmark at, 536 ; high cross at, 772 
 
 Britannia's sup-porter, 206 
 
 British Museum, pleasures and facilities 
 of, 56 
 
 poetesses, by Mr. Dyce, 98 
 
 portraits, sale catalogue of, 118 
 
 Britons, (ancient). See Wales. 
 
 Bromholm, former pilgrimage to, 196 
 
 Bromley, bishop's well at, 447 ; engraving 
 of the church-door, 463 ; extraordinary 
 ringing at, 678 
 
 Bronze, antique, found in the Thames, 
 134 
 
 Brookes, Mr. J., dissection of king's 
 ostrich by, 309 
 
 " Brose and Butter," a favourite royal 
 air, 206 
 
 Brothers, younger not allowed formerly 
 to pursue trades, 197 
 
 Brough in Westmoreland ; twelfth-night 
 customs at, 13; March fair at, 159; 
 church, 409 
 
 Brougham, Mr., his speech on the found- 
 ing of the London university, 298 
 
 Brouwer, a painter, notice of, 5 
 
 Bruce, lord Edward, notices about, 527 
 
 Brummelliana, 333 
 
 " Brutus of Alba," old play, 770 
 
 Bryan, Daniel, a brave old seaman, 316 
 
 Brydges, sir E., epitaph on his daughter, 
 654 
 
 Buckles,, notices of, 713 
 
 Budeus, (the learned), blunder of, 621 
 
 Budge, [Fur] notices about, 532; budge- 
 bachelors, 633 ; Budge-row, 533 
 
 Building estimates should be doubled, 590 
 
 Bunyan's Holy War dramatized, 426 
 
 Burial in gardens, 644. See Funerals 
 
 Burkitt, Dan., an old jigger, 553 
 
 Bust tavern, Bristol, 436 
 
 Butler, (Hudibras), hint adopted by, 619 
 
 Buttons, notices about, 712 
 
 Buying and selling, 520 
 
 Cabalistic learning, 424 
 
 Cabbage and tailors, 236 
 
 Cabbage -trees, vast height of, 650 
 
 Cairo, characteristic salutation at, 99 
 
 Calvin and Servetus, 779 
 
 Camberwell Grove, 405 
 
 Campbell, Mr. T., speech of at Glasgow, 
 
 379 
 Campbells, the, 389 
 Cann, Abraham, wrestler, 664 
 Canons, near Edgeware, former celebrity 
 
 of, 311 
 CAPITAL extempore, 654 
 Capital for banking, 30 
 
 punishments, 228, 230 
 
 Capon, William, scene painter, notice of, 
 
 769 
 
 Caps and hats, fashionable days for new 
 ones, 239 
 
 Captain and lieutenant, mortal doel be- 
 tween, 362 
 
 Cards, fortune-telling, 37 
 
 Carew, lady Elizabeth, 98 
 
 Carlisle, customs at, 601 
 
 Carnival, ceremony of interring, 136, 137 
 
 Carthago, Nova, its present to Scipio, 133 
 
 Carts, dignity of, 83 
 
 Castle-building, 232 
 
 baynard, tale of, 535 
 
 Coombe, tickling trout at, 331 
 
 Casualties of the ancients, 701 
 Cataracts of Niagara, 680 
 Catherine de Medicis, vow of, 238 
 Catherinot, a French pamphleteer, 364 
 Catholic German universities, 62 
 Caverns, tremendous one, 623 
 Cawston church, poor's box in, 374 
 Centenaries ; medal for the centenary of 
 the diet of Augsburgh,, 575; centenary 
 of the revolution, 672 
 Ceremonies, a true jiaper currency, 116 
 Cesar and Amilcas, 733 
 " Chabot, Adm. of France," old play, 417 
 Chafin, Rev. Mr., his anecdotes about 
 
 Cranbourne Chase, 16 
 Chains, hanging in, 489 
 Chairman (Bath) mock funeral of, 21 
 Chairs (arm,) 393; curious ones. 632, 725 
 Challenges, a poetical solicitor's answer 
 
 to one, 362. See Duels. 
 " Challenge to Beauty," old play, 663, 725 
 Chambers, James, the poor poet, 218 
 Chancellor, (lord) office of, 365 
 Chancery, 270; despatch in, 365 
 Cliandler, Mary, a poetess, 100 
 " Changes, (The)" old play, 209 
 Characters; of servants at hirings, 89;. 
 national, in compliment, 93, &c. ; tend- 
 ency of former lessons to meanness of 
 character, 282; character of the old 
 gentleman, 59; of Kimberley, a Bir- 
 mingham conjuror, 118; of the barber, 
 121; of Mrs. Aurelia Sparr, 170; of 
 Agrestilla, 179; of the drayman, 186; 
 a literary character, 205 ; of " the 
 good clerk," 281 ; of the Durham pit- 
 men, 326 
 Charke, Mrs., ber autobiography, 63; 
 
 farther notices, 129 
 Charlemagne, privilege granted by, 277 j 
 
 misfortunes iu family of, 613 
 Charles I., curious anecdote concerning, 
 350; and treaty of Uxbridge, 675 
 
 II., character of, 274; anecdotes 
 
 of, 351, 366, 430; procession on his 
 restoration, 667; his court, 830 
 
 v., bribery of English parliament 
 
 by, 422 
 
 Chariestown, ugly club at, 234 ; duelling 
 society at. 360 
 
 850 
 
aJfiJSEKAli INDEX 
 
 Charost, M. de, a royal favourite, €70 
 Chartres, duke of, notice of, 519 
 Cliarybdis and Scylla, couflicling de- 
 scriptions of, 321, 353 
 " Chaste Maid ia Cheapside," oW play, 
 
 IJiO 
 
 Chastity of Scipio, 133 
 
 Chateaubriand, viscount de, anecdote of. 
 622 ^ 
 
 Chatham, earl of, 406 
 
 Chatsworth, 482 
 
 Chaworth, Mr., duel with lord Byron, 361 
 
 Cheapside Turk, inquiry for, 97 
 
 Cheese and stones, comparative digesti- 
 bility of, 178 
 
 Chemistry of the ancients, 786, 787, 808 
 
 Chequers at public-houses, 433 
 
 " Cherry woman " of long since, engmv- 
 ing of, 343 
 
 Chest, a woii<ierfulIy capacious one, 353 
 
 Chester, mysteries of, treated by Mr. 
 Sharp, 7-; custom at, 721 
 
 Chesterfield, lord, bleeding for his coun- 
 try, 45 
 
 Chiari and rival dramatists, 420 
 
 Children, lost, proper means for recover- 
 ing, 9; adoption of, in France, 110; 
 former austere treatment of, 197; 
 customs relating to, 425 ; children and 
 mother, 635 ; children and split trees, 
 superstition concerning, 647 : affection 
 for, 660 
 
 Chiltern Hundreds, account of, 325 
 
 Chimneys, rare before the Reformation, 
 195; smoky, how cured, 286 
 
 Chinese ceremonies of salutation, 94 ^ 
 idol, 314 
 
 Christening, customs at, 426 
 
 Christian Malford, plague at, 691 
 
 Christina queen of Sweden, curious colla- 
 tion given to, 276 
 
 Christmas customs, 195, 196^ pie, 677 
 
 Christ's sepulchre and resurrection, 242 
 
 Chrysanthemum Indicum, 783 
 
 Churclies; church processions, 196; 
 church-houses before the Reformation 
 described, 196; few built in the cor- 
 rect line, 197; throughout Europe, 
 pope's grant to Italian architects for 
 building, 197; organs first used in, 237 ; 
 (see Organs;) visiting the churches, 
 239; curious old church accompts, 241 ; 
 remarks on beautifying, 427 ; custom 
 of strewing with rushes, 653. See 
 Fonts. 
 Church-yards, beautiful one at Grass- 
 mere, 553 
 Cibber, (Colley) life of his daughter, 63 
 Cigar divan of Mr. Gliddon, 761 
 Cinderella, origin of, 774 
 Circle, squaring the, 813 
 Circulation of the blood, 776 
 Cities, ancient, 826 
 
 " City nightcap," old play, 280 
 
 Civilization promoted by trade, 620 
 
 Clare, Elizabeth, her intense attachment, 
 229 
 
 Clarence, duke of, lord high admiral, 289 
 dukedom of Clarence, 205 
 
 Classes of mankind, how many, 228 
 
 Clemency, policy of, 201 
 
 Cleopatra's pearl, 809 
 
 Clergy, luxurious dress of, 532; weekly 
 expenses of a clergyman, 556; devoted 
 attachment of one to his flock, 656 
 
 Clergyman, a waggish one, 317; duels 
 fought by, 361 ; ofl5ce of lord chaa- 
 cellor formerly held by, 365 
 
 "Clerk, (the good)" 281 
 
 Clerk's desk, 512 
 
 Clerkenwell, ancient river Fleet at, 38 
 
 Clerks and parsons, anecdotes about, 331 
 
 Clocks, difference between, accounted 
 for, 619 
 
 Closing the eyes, 428 
 
 Clothes, economical allowance for, 334 
 
 Clubs, the ugly, 132, 234; parliament, 
 140; the silent, 234; the duellists' in 
 Charlestown, 361 ; at Birmingham, 459 
 
 Coaches, in 1684, 83 ; coach and steam 
 travelling compared, 131 
 
 Coachman, considerate, 487 
 
 Coats, how speedily made, 457 
 
 "€ock and Pynot" public-house, 671 
 
 Coin, (old silver) how to read inscrip- 
 tions of, 226 
 
 Coke, sir Edward, immense fan used by, 
 197 
 
 Colas, a celebrated diver, 324 
 
 Cole, Mr. J., his "Antiquarian Trio," 
 263, 265 
 
 Colliers of Durham, account of, 326 
 
 Colossus of Rhodes, 826 
 
 Colours, the Isabella colour, 279; philo- 
 sophy of, 617 
 
 Columns, engraving of a curious British 
 one, 175 
 
 Comets, philosophy of, 650 
 
 Commerce, tendency of, 520 
 
 Companies, certain uses of, 115 
 
 Compliments, 98; a natural compliment, 
 172; compliment to a young laird, 542 
 
 Condemnation, criminal, stupefaction at- 
 tending, 229 
 
 Confession of Augsburgh, medal about, 
 575 
 
 Conjurors, (Birmingham) 117 
 
 Conscience, force of, 69, 201 
 
 Con.stable's " Miscellany," 67 
 
 Controversy, 494 
 
 Convents, ambition of the nuns in, 239 
 
 Cooke, Rev. T., inquiry about, 68 ; notice 
 of, 203 
 
 Cookery aided by music, 516 
 J Cookesley, Mr., patron of Mr. W. Gifford, 
 26 
 
 a^i 
 
1 
 
 
 GENERAL INDEX. 
 
 
 
 Cooks for the royal table, 189 
 
 Crusades, effects of, 196 
 
 
 
 CopernicaQ system, 633 
 
 Crystal summer-house, 541 
 
 
 
 Copper mines, valuable, in Cornwall, 329 
 
 Cuckoo-pint, a plant, 699 
 
 
 
 Cordeliers, their lists of - candidates how 
 
 Cumberland, weddings, 397; customs of, 
 
 
 
 arranged,' 349 
 
 601, 694 
 
 
 
 Cordon, sanitary, 661, 662 
 
 Cups, gold and maple, exchange of at 
 
 
 
 Corineus,' a Trojan giant, 722,' 723 
 
 coronations, 308 
 
 
 
 Cornwall, valuable mines in, 329; suf- 
 
 Cup and ball, a royal amusement, 588 
 
 
 
 fered little in recent pressure, 330; 
 
 Cushion dance described, 81 
 
 
 
 parsons and clerks in, i331 ; wrestling 
 
 Customers, how to be considered, 283; a 
 
 
 
 in, 664 
 
 spruce mercer and a lady customer, 
 
 
 
 ■ Corporations, antitomy of, 262; fools kept 
 
 284; invitation of customers, 314 
 
 
 
 by, 591 
 
 Cyrus, his love of gardening, 644 
 
 
 
 Corpuscular philosophy, 537 
 
 
 
 
 Corral — a poor cottager, 806 
 
 Dabshelim, king of India, library of, 124 
 
 
 
 Cortusius Ludovick, a lawyer, funeral of, 
 
 Dairj'-poetiy, 533 
 
 
 
 350 
 
 Damages for breach of promise by a 
 
 
 
 Cottiigeis, singular difficulties of one. 
 
 negro, "90 
 
 
 
 607, &c. 
 
 Danby, earl of, and the revolution; €71 
 
 
 
 Coulour, in Golconda, celebrated for dia- 
 
 Dancing, goose-dancing described, 41 ; 
 
 
 
 monds, 414 
 
 the dance of torches, 64; cushion 
 
 
 
 Counsels and cautions, 494, 605, 590, 653, 
 
 dance, 81; May -day dance of milk- 
 
 
 
 686, 823 
 
 maids, 279; particular wedding dances, 
 
 
 
 ■ Counter, tradesman's duty behind,'283 
 
 397; country dances, 430; profound 
 
 
 
 Country, bleeding for, 6; parties and 
 
 study of minuets, 446; dancing round 
 
 
 
 p' fas ires, 179; little known, 354; for- 
 
 the barrow, 513 
 
 
 
 mtr manners of country gentlemen, 
 
 Darwin, Dr., his " Botanic garden," 644, 
 
 
 
 196; country (nJitive), 819; dances, 430 
 
 (note.) 
 
 
 
 ■ Court banquet, innocent gaiety at, 276 
 
 Davenant, sir W., his description of 
 
 
 
 Courtier, shrewd, 203; humiliation of 
 
 Loudon, 84 
 
 
 
 one, 501 
 
 " David and'Bethsabe," old play, 305 
 
 
 
 Courts of justice, contrast of feelings in, 
 
 " David's Sow, (As drunk as)" explained, 
 
 
 
 229 
 
 190. 
 
 
 
 Courtship, patient, 823 
 
 Davy, (old) the broom-maker, 640 
 
 
 
 Covent Garden, gambling-houses formerly 
 
 D'Arcy, Mr.'J., and the revolution, 672 
 
 
 
 in, 43 
 
 Death; " Death's' Doings," 120; horror 
 
 
 
 Coventry, pageant vehicle arid play at, 6 
 
 at mention of, 212; description of a 
 
 
 
 Coward, Nathan, glover and poet, 544 
 
 deathbed, '213; banquet of the dead, 
 
 
 
 Cowper, the poet, two letters of, 376 
 
 238; custom of laying salt on the 
 
 
 
 Crabbe, poet, criticism on, 3'42 
 
 dead, 262; singular disposal of a royal 
 
 
 
 Crabbing tbr husbands, 647 
 
 corpse, 288; singular phantasms or 
 
 
 
 Cranbourne Chase, notice and engraving 
 
 fiyures of the dead, 355 
 
 
 
 of emigration of deer from, 15; town 
 
 Death and virtue, dialogue between. 
 
 
 
 and parish of Cranbourne, ib. ; bloody 
 
 424; supei stitions touching death, 464 
 
 
 
 cffray in the chase, 16; origin and 
 
 Decimals, 382 
 
 
 
 history of the chase, 18 
 
 Decker, the diamatist, excellence af, 179 
 
 
 
 Craven, (Skipton in) theatrical company 
 
 Dedication, curious, 63 
 
 
 
 in, 35; legend of, 258 
 
 Deer, emigration of from Cranbourne 
 
 
 
 Craven, notices of, 536, 775; stories of 
 
 Chase, notice and engraving of, 15 ; 
 
 
 
 the Craven dales, 741, 802 
 
 driven from the Highlands, 377; their 
 
 
 
 Creditors, uubluahing impudence of one, 
 
 abhorrence of sheep, i6., 378 
 
 
 
 334 
 
 " Defeat of Time, (The)" 582 
 
 , 
 
 
 Cresses, green-grocers' devices with, 304 
 
 Defoeana, 282, 313 
 
 
 
 Cries, London ; engraving of the " young 
 
 Delaval (Sir) and the monk, "300 
 
 
 
 lambs" seller, 198; of the bird-seller, 
 
 Democritus, notice of, 810 
 
 
 
 255; of the cherry- woman, 343; of the 
 
 Denton castle, seat of Fairfax, 344 
 
 
 
 old water-carrier, 367; old London; 6"30 
 
 Deposits, a well-kept one, 622 
 
 
 
 f Oj-iminals, capital, feeliijigs of before and 
 
 Derbyshire, notices respecting, 420, 482, 
 
 
 
 after hanging, 228 
 
 655,661,672 
 
 
 
 Criticism, killing, 740 
 
 Descent, canons of, 446 
 
 
 
 Cromwell, Oliver, anecdote oJ^ 10 
 
 " Desolation of Eyam, (The)" 655 
 
 
 
 Crown lands, under Elizabeth; 290, 291 
 
 Despotism, virtuous, 674 
 
 
 
 <■ Cruelty relenting at music, 115 
 
 " Devil's Law Case, (The)'* old play, 480 
 
 i. 
 
 852 
 
 
GENERAL, INDEX. 
 
 Devil's punch-bowl in Surrey, 487 
 
 " Devil," often assumed as a surname, 
 
 with corresponding arms, 349 
 Devonshire, butterfly hunting in, 339; 
 
 wrestling, 622, 664 
 
 -, duchess of, compliment to, 
 
 172 
 
 -, earl of, and the revolution, 
 
 671 
 
 Dial, ancient, 424 
 Diamond cut diamond, 325 
 Diamonds, where and how found, 414 
 Diarrhgea, receipt for, 542 
 Diligence and delight, 365 
 Diligence (French) described, 506 
 Dining on Coke, 446 ; royal dinner time, 
 
 790 
 Dinner, mysterious privacy of, 212 
 Diopliantes and other ancients, 824. See 
 
 Ancients. 
 Directions; pious direction posts, 270; 
 
 a particular direction, 338 
 Discoveries of the ancients and moderns, 
 
 456, 474, 505, 521, 537, 585, 602, 617, 
 
 633, 650, 666, 730, 776, 785, 808, 824 
 Discount for cash, 142 
 Disease, philosophical observation under, 
 
 S56 
 Diseases, passing patients through trees 
 
 for, 647 
 Dishes for the royal table marked, 189 
 Disputation to be avoided, 494 
 Distillation, ancients' knowledge of, 808 
 Ditton, (Thames) great resort of anglers, 
 
 330 
 Diver of Charybdis, account of, 353 
 Diving-bell, origin and notices of, 382 
 Diversions, political origin of some, 596 
 Doctor degraded, 734 
 Doctors, dilemma against, 41 
 " Dodypol, Doctor," old play, 449 
 Doge of Venice, marriage of, 226 
 Dolcoath, valuable mine in Cornwall, 329 
 Domitian, (the emperor) inscription for, 
 
 791 
 " Don Quixotte," old play, 643 
 Doomsday-book, dissertations on, 305 
 Dorking, Leith hill, near, 473 
 Dormer, judge, 203 
 
 Dover Cliifs, humane warning against,225 
 Dover pig, 780 
 
 " Downfall of May-games," 273 
 of Robert, earl of Hunting- 
 don, old play, 400 
 Draining the fens, effect of, 72 
 Dramatists; rival Italian damatists, 420 ; 
 
 dramatist or apothecary, 620; Drama, 
 
 See plays. 
 Drayman, brewer's, description of, 187 
 Drayton, his sarcasm on trade, 282 
 Dreams, a black dream, 477 
 Dresden, elector's bear-garden at, 245 
 " Drunk as David's Sow," 190 
 
 Drunkards, the place they go to, 270; 
 warning to, 412 
 
 "Duchess of Suffolk," old play, 292 
 
 Duddlestoue, John, of Bristol, 536 
 
 Dudley [a barber] of Portsmouth, 203 
 
 Duels; singular mode of duelling with a 
 bag, 10; interesting account of duels, 
 360 ; poetical answer to a challenge, 
 362 ; of Sir E. Sackville and Lord E. 
 Bruce, 527, &c. 
 
 Dulwich college, and the founder, 248, 
 249. 335 
 
 Dumplings, Norfolk, by whom to be eaten, 
 178 
 
 Dunchurch cow and calf, 776 
 
 Dungeons for prisonersformerlyin castles 
 and monasteries, 196 
 
 Durfey, Tom, notice of, 739 
 
 Durham, engraving of Tommy Sly of, 
 166; Hut. Alderson bellman of, en- 
 graving, 183; Elvet bridge in, engrav- 
 ing, 207 ; ecclesiastical survey of see 
 of, 208; account of the pitmen in 
 county of Durham, 326; visit of James 
 I. to the city, 340; Durhamiana, 619 
 
 Dustman, happy compliment by, 172 
 
 Dutch compliments of salutation, 99 j 
 Dutch royal gardens, 644 ; Dutch trees, 
 fisheries, &c., 644, &c. ; Dutch customs, 
 696; Dutch gallantry, 801 
 
 Dyce, Alexander, his specimens of 
 British poetesses, 99 
 
 Early rising, 398 
 
 Earning the best getting, 494 
 
 Earth-bathing, 695 
 
 Earthquakes, opinions on, 731 
 
 East Indies, amiable native monarch in, 
 674 
 
 East Grinstead old play bill, 69 
 
 Easter, antipathy to the Jews at, 195; 
 Easter ceremonies, 239, &c., 251, 277 
 
 Eating, advice against excess of, 41; 
 fire-eaters, 157; stone-eaters, 177 
 
 Ecbatane, city of, 825 
 
 Echo, (moral) 619 
 
 Eclipse, [race- horse] engraving and ac- 
 count of, 309, &c. 
 
 Economy, equally necessary with indus- 
 try, 1 73 ; curious instance of, 453. See 
 Misers. 
 
 Edmonton, inhospitable styles of, 455 
 
 Education, how conducted before the 
 Reformation, 195; lamented by a mu- 
 latto, ib. 
 
 " Edward the Third," old play, 440 
 
 Eels, (Bush) 526 
 
 Effingham, Lord Howard of, his auto- 
 graph, 287 
 
 Eggs, peculiar mode of hatching, 755 ; 
 "artificial hatching by the ancients, 787 
 
 Egyptians in France, description of, 239 
 
 Eidon, lord anecdote of, 446 
 
 853 
 
UENBRAL INDEX. 
 
 El Dorado of literature, 371 
 Electricity, 733 
 
 Elephant, remains of, found near Battle- 
 bridge, 40 
 Elizabeth, queen, simile used by, HOj 
 
 washing poor's feet by, 240 
 Elm-tree, celebrated one, 625 
 Elvet bridge, Durham, 207 
 Emblems and mottos, 45; emblems used 
 
 by servants at hirings, 87, 102 
 Emigration, Highland, 575 
 Emperors and kings, ill-fated ones, 612, 
 
 613 
 " English Monsieur,** 579 
 Epilepsy, disorder of great minds, 818 
 Epitaphs ; by Dr. Lowth on his daughter, 
 6.9 ; extempore one on a French general, 
 317; others. 422, 424, 430, 466, 488, 
 491, 505. 513, 539, 542, 544, 551, 554, 
 555, 562, 563, 564, 597, 619, 669, 677, 
 693, 791 
 Erasmus, notices of, 514, 584 
 Errors, clerical, 317 
 Esop in Russia, 643 
 Eternity, 818 
 Ether, doctrine of, 666 
 Ethiopians, mode of salutation by, 98 
 Etiquette, cut down by civilization, 110 j 
 nearly fatal excess of, 369; Spanish, 
 541 
 Etymology; of various English words, 
 237; of words of necessity from the 
 German, and of those of luxury from 
 the French, ib. 
 Evelyn, extracts from, 829, &c. 
 *« Every Man in his Humour," original 
 
 scene of, changed, 151 
 Ewart's old port, 172 
 Excuse, a good one, 398 
 Executioner, 763 
 
 Execution, case of revival after apparent 
 execution, 228; former frequency of, 
 490 
 Excursions of tradesmen, limits of, 284 
 Exercise and air recommended to ladies, 
 
 105 
 Ex-Thespianism, 691 
 Eyam in Derb., notices of, 655, &c.,729 
 Eyes ; closing the eyes, 428 ; guard 
 
 against an evil eye, 706 
 Eyre, chief justice, notice of, 490 
 
 Facetiae, 800 
 
 Fairs, former importance of, 103 
 
 " Fairies, tale of the," 582 
 
 "Fnithful Shepherd, (The)" old play, 
 677 
 
 " Faithful Shepherdess, (The)" old play, 
 724 
 
 Falcon tavern, site of, 249 
 
 Falls of Niagara, 680 
 
 Families, former discipline in, 197; sin- 
 gular abandonment of family, 212; 
 
 picture of desolation in, 328 ; ill-fated 
 royal ones, 613; "Wilkie's picture of 
 one, 669 
 
 Fanatic, (fasting) 67 
 
 Fans, former size and application of, 197 
 
 Fare, bill of, 436 
 
 Fares of ticket porters, 10 
 
 Farmers in 1782, and in 1822, 232 
 
 Faro Straits, 322, 323 
 
 Farthings, 189 ; one found by a lord, 535; 
 the broad farthing, 668 
 
 Fashion, a gentleman's, 585 
 
 Fasting, extraordinary, 67; fast-pudding 
 and Friar Bacon, 317 
 
 " Fatal Jealousy," old filay, 704 
 
 "Fatal Union, (The)" 771 
 
 Fate, plea and answer respecting, 414 
 
 " Father's Home, (A)" 85 
 
 Father and son, 430 
 
 Favourites, a singular one, 670 
 
 " Fawn, (The)" old play, 626 
 
 Feast, a fearful one, 260 
 
 Feathers, 71 
 
 February, advice for, 126 
 
 Fees, the best of, 270 
 
 Feet, washing of, at Vienna, 239 ; and at 
 Greenwich by queen Elizabeth, 240 
 
 Felons, sensations of, before and after 
 hanging, 228 
 
 Female friendship, 182 
 
 Fens, goose-herds in, 70; effect of drain- 
 ing in, 72 
 
 Ferguson, Sir A., letter from Sir "Walter 
 Scott to, 668 
 
 Figures and numbers, 380 
 
 of the dead, singular narrative of, 
 
 355 
 
 Filching, cnre of, 557 
 
 Filey, in Yorkshire, 733 
 
 Filial custom, 313 
 
 Fill-up, (a), 782 _ 
 
 Fingers, numbering by, 381 
 
 Fire, water mistaken for, 681 
 
 Fires in London, 699; "burning the 
 witch," 705 
 
 Fire-damp, explosions of, 328 
 
 Fire-eaters, 157 
 
 Fish-street, (Old) 84 
 
 Fish, royal reason for not eating, 558 
 
 Fishermen, sarcasms upon, 285 ; Lucan's 
 description of one, 733 
 
 Fishing-towns, Dutch and English, 646 
 
 Fitzgerald, Col., and Col. King, duel be- 
 tween, 362 
 
 " Five days Peregrination," &c., 560 
 
 Fleet river at Clerkenwell, 38 
 
 Fletcher, Dickey, 792 
 
 " Floating Island, (The)" 690 
 
 Flogging, formerly, at Oxford, 197 
 
 Flora, games of, 271; indictment and 
 trial of Flora, 273 
 
 Flowers, singular attention to, by the 
 pitmen, 327 ; Time's source of pleasure 
 
 854 
 
GENERAL INDEX. 
 
 from, 583; mode of preserving, 716; 
 winter flowers, 783 
 
 Fly. berry plant, 72 
 
 Fly-boat, (the Maiden) 694 
 
 Font, of Harrow Church, 79 ; of Becken- 
 ham church, 383; of West Wickham 
 church, 407 ; of Grassmere, 550 
 
 Foot-ball, formerly played in London 
 streets, 85 
 
 Fop and wit, union of, 333 
 
 Forces, doctrine of, 585 
 
 Forests,ancient and decayed, in Scotland, 
 576,577. See Trees. 
 
 Forrest, , author of "Five Davs' 
 
 Peregrination," 560 
 
 Fortune; cards for telling fortunes, 37; 
 how to be commanded, 174; fortune 
 favours the brave, or butterfly hunt- 
 ing, 339 
 
 " Fortune by Land and Sea," old play, 
 150 
 
 Fownes, Thomas and his fox-hounds, 17 
 
 Fox, the quaker, 381 
 
 Fractures, singular advice about, 670 
 
 Franklin, Dr., anecdote of, 43 
 
 Fraock Elan, isle of, 389 
 
 Fraser, Simon, brother of lord Lovat, 317 
 
 French; nobility, 66; valentines, 103; 
 adoption of children by, 110; transmi- 
 gration of French noblesse, 121 ; cere- 
 monies in France, 136, 251; present 
 jumble of ranks among, 181; former 
 hospitality to travellers, 198; nation- 
 ality of, 252, 253; decorum of in 
 crowds, ib.,' almanacs, statements of, 
 270; diligence, description of, 756 
 
 Friar Bacon and his servant, 317 
 
 Friendship; destroyed by advice, 165; 
 on the nail, supposed meaning of, 382 
 
 Fritters in France and England, 136 
 
 Fruit, market for at London and Paris, 
 479 
 
 Funerals ; mock, of a Bath chairman, 21 ; 
 of a French general by a British sailor, 
 316; a cheerful one, 350; customs 
 touching, 467, 550, 601, 743; consola- 
 tion from funeral processions, 654 
 
 Furniture of old times, 706 
 
 Furs; tippets and scarfs, 532 
 
 Futurity, peep into, 37 
 
 Gage, viscount, his fSte of the quintain, 
 502 
 
 Gallantry, Dutch, 801 
 
 " Game at Chess,'' old play, 161 
 
 Gaming, curious notice about gambling 
 houses, 43; gaming for funeral ex- 
 penses, 382 
 
 Gammon of bacon, Easter custom of, 195 
 
 Gaols. See Prisona. 
 
 Gardens; summer garden of Peter the 
 Great, 643; love of gardens, 644; 
 Dutch royal garden, 644 
 
 Garlands, May-day, 271, 272, 275; fune- 
 ral, 467, 550 
 
 Garrick plays, selectionsfrora,contributed 
 by Mr, C. Lamb, 56, 67, 80, 96, 1 1 2, 128, 
 150, 162, 178, 192, 209, 224, 243, 256, 
 280, 291, 304, 320, 338, 352, 368, 394, 
 400, 417, 440, 449, 467, 480, 500, 514, 
 530, 547, 578, 595, 610, 642, 663, 676, 
 690, 704, 724, 737, 770, 784, 800, 817 
 
 Geese in the fens, management of, 71; 
 goose-dancing in Scilly islands, 41 
 
 Geikie, Mr., a meritorious artist, 58 
 
 Gems of the twelve months, 161 
 
 Genders, 556 
 
 Genius; unrewarded, 158; chance a great 
 patron of, 211; distresses of men of, 
 476; genius and good temper, 621 
 
 Gentleman, (The Old) character of, 59 
 
 " Gentleman Usher," old play, 500 
 
 " Gentleman of Venice,'' old play, 467 
 
 Gentry; heralds formerly kept by, 195; 
 former manners and oppressions of, 
 196; austere treatment of their child- 
 ren, 197 
 
 George, prince of Denmark, notice of, 536 
 
 George I., anecdote of, 203 
 
 XL, and his cooks, 189 
 
 Germain, lord George, anecdote of, 205 
 
 Germany, universities in, 62 
 
 Giants in lord mayor's show, 719 
 
 Gibbs, alias Huck'n, Dr., 277 
 
 Gibbeting, 490 
 
 Gibbou's " Decline and Fall," 558 
 
 GifFord, "William, death, and memoir of, 
 22 
 
 Gifts; new-year, 7; wedding, 39/ 
 
 Gilding without gold, 713 
 
 Gilpin, (Mrs.,) riding to Edmonton, 454 
 
 Gimmal ring, engraving, 415 
 
 Gin act, eff'ect of passing, 539 
 
 Ginger beer, receipt for, 236 
 
 Gipsies, health and happiness of, 105; in 
 Epping Forest, 428 
 
 Gipsy [a stream] in Yorkshire, 115 
 
 Gladiators in England, 248 
 
 Glass windows, rare before the Reforma- 
 tion, 196; discovery of, 781; skill of 
 the ancients in, 809, 812, 826 
 
 Gleaning or leasing cake, 587 
 
 Glenstrae, laird of, 233 
 
 Gliddon, Mr., cigar divan of, 551 
 
 Glisseg, in "Wales, the happy valley, 176 
 
 Glorious memory, (the) 6 4 
 
 Gluttony, instances of, 689; glutton and 
 echo, 619 
 
 " God keep you." old salutation, 195 
 
 " God save the King," author of, 113 
 
 Goethe, his philosophy of life, 199 
 
 Gog and Magog of Guildhall, 719 
 
 Gold found in Scotland and Cornwall, 
 329; skill of the ancients in arts re- 
 lating to, 786 
 
 " Golden A,'e, (The)" old play, 339 
 
 855 
 

 
 
 GENERAL INDEX. 
 
 
 Golden tooth, learned disputes about, 227 
 
 Gwennap, in Cornwall, productive mine 
 
 
 
 Goldoni and rival dramatists, 420 
 
 in, 329 
 
 
 
 Gone or going, 387 
 
 
 
 
 Good-eating pernicious, 139; domestic 
 
 Hackerston's cow, 539 
 
 
 
 dialogue on jrood living, 411 
 
 11 igue, fine woods near, 644 
 
 
 
 Good Friday, 239, 241 
 
 Hagman Heigh, new year's eve custom, 4 
 
 
 
 Good nature and good temper, 621 
 
 Hairdresser. See Barber. 
 
 
 
 Goodrick, St., a bishop misled by, 208 
 
 Halfpennies, 189 
 
 
 
 Goodrick, sir 11., and the Revolution, 672 
 
 Hall, (Antiquarian) of Lynn, engraving 
 
 
 
 Goose-fair at Nottingham 504, (note.) 
 
 and notice of, 70 
 
 
 
 Gossip and Stare, the, 445; comment on 
 
 , Thomas, his "Funebria Florae," 273 
 
 
 
 literary gossip, 668 
 
 Ham and Stilton, 90 
 
 
 
 G.)stling'8 Mr., account of Hogarth's tour. 
 
 Hammond, the poet, notice of, 470 
 
 
 
 566 
 
 Hampstead, Shepherd's Well at, 191 ; 
 
 
 
 Gout, notices on, 740 
 
 the place of groves, 405 
 
 
 
 Government, simplicity and wisdom of, 
 
 Hands; pecuharity of the barber's hand, 
 
 
 
 623, &c. 
 
 123; the bloody hand, 129; reason for 
 
 
 
 Gozzi, Italian dramatist, 420 
 
 preferring the right hand, 140 
 
 
 
 Graham, Dr., lecturer, ' S5 
 
 Handkerchief, white cambric, 561 
 
 
 
 Grammar explaiued, 478 
 
 Hanged and unhanged, mankind divided 
 
 
 
 Granger, Rev. Mr., the Linnseus of British 
 
 into, 228 
 
 
 
 portraits, 255 
 
 Hanging in chains, 489; inducement to 
 
 
 
 Grapes in Covent Garden, &c., 484. See 
 
 hanging, 542; hanging the shuttle, 525 
 
 
 
 albo 430, 728 
 
 Hangman and his wages, 763 
 
 
 
 Grasshopper on Change, explanation of, 
 
 Hannah, (Blind) notice and engraving of, 
 
 
 
 683, 584 
 
 111 
 
 
 
 Grassington theatricals, 538, 717 
 
 Hard fare, 177 
 
 
 
 Grassington manager, [T. Airay] 35 
 
 labour, varied by different tread- 
 
 
 
 Grassm-ere, beauty of, 553 
 
 mUis, 378 
 
 
 
 Gratitude in birds, 296 
 
 Hare's foot, an antidote to witchcraft, 
 
 
 
 Gravity mistaken for wisdom, 197 
 
 337 
 
 
 
 Gravity, doctrine of, 583 
 
 Harp, notices of, 168 
 
 
 
 Great Unknown discovered, 153, &c. 
 
 Harpham, St. John's well at, 687 
 
 
 
 Greatness, tax on, 819 
 
 Harris, James, 556 
 
 
 
 Green, W., artist and author, 555 
 
 Harris, Renatus, organist, 130 
 
 
 
 Green-grocer's devices, 304 
 
 Harrow church, engraving of its old font, 
 
 
 
 Greenland, English sailors in, 315 
 
 79 
 
 
 
 Greenock Adam and Eve, antiquity of. 
 
 Harrow, dancing round the, 513 
 
 
 
 269 
 
 Hart, the astrologer, 68 
 
 
 
 Gregory, old name for the hangman, 765 
 
 Harvest-catch, in Norfolk, 581 
 
 
 
 Gregory, (Old) selfishness of defeated, 120 
 
 Hatred, to be insured by advice, 165 
 
 
 
 Giesham, sir Thomas, a deserted child, 
 
 Hats; substitute for the shovel hat, 605 
 
 
 
 583 
 
 Hawking, ladies formerly devoted to, 196 
 
 
 
 Gresham committee, notice by, about lost 
 
 Hay-band, origin of, 771 
 
 
 
 children, 9 
 
 Health, importance and means of, 105, 
 
 
 
 Gretna green, blacksmith and marriages. 
 
 139 
 
 
 
 216, 218; parsons, 477 
 
 Heart, perpetual motion of, 686; case 
 
 
 
 Grey, lady Jane, table book of, 2 
 
 containiug Lord Bruce's heart, 527; 
 
 
 
 Grief, expressive silence of, 230 
 
 instance of heart-burial, 529; disposal 
 
 
 
 Grinstead, (East) old play bill, 69 
 
 of sir W. Temple's heart, 644 
 
 
 
 Grosvenor, earl, and Mr. GifFord, 29 
 
 Heat, how counteracted at S am, 541 
 
 
 
 Groves; onapictnresqueone,404; groves 
 
 Heaving, in wrestling, expl;i no I, 665 
 
 
 
 and high places, 404 
 
 "Hectors, (The)" old play, bio 
 
 
 
 "Guardian, (The)" old play, 209 
 
 Hedgehog, celestial, 314 
 
 
 
 Guards, Swiss, monument of, engraving, 
 
 Hell-bridge, in the Highlands, 458 
 
 
 
 127 
 
 Henley, (Orator) advertisement of, 722 
 
 
 
 Guildford races, 767 
 
 Henley, in Arden, custom in, 88 
 
 
 
 Guildhall, curious explanation of, 798 
 
 Henry II., character of, 491 
 
 
 
 Guilty, stupefaction on verdict of, 229 
 
 III. of France, amusements of, 
 
 
 
 Guinea sovereigns, 790 
 
 688 
 
 
 
 Gunpowder, antiquity of, 810 
 
 IV., anecdotes of, 201 
 
 
 
 Guns; air-guns, 666; notices concerning, 
 
 VIII. and his peers, 700 
 
 
 
 guns, 713 
 
 IX., notice of, 370 
 
 
 
 856 
 
 
GENERAL INDEX. 
 
 Pleralds formerly in the train of nobility 
 
 and gentry, 195 
 Herefordshire, n&w-moon custom in, 197 
 Heriot, curious register concerning, 4U9 
 Hermits, 711 
 
 Hero, singular one of an old play, 193 
 Heroism and humanity, 316 
 Herrings, curing and virtues of, 285 
 Herve, Peter, artist, letter respecting, 424 
 Hervey, Rev. J., notices of, 597 
 •' Hey for Honesty," old play, 611 
 Heywood, Thomas, his excellence as a 
 
 dramatist, 151, 179 
 Hide park, or a tannei's villa, 382 
 " Hierarchie of Angels," old play, 193 
 High admiral, (lord) office and seal of, 287 
 Highlands; legend of, 145; weddings, 
 146; tartans nearly obsolete in, 147; 
 customs in, 233, 272; deer and sheep 
 in, 377; contempt for table luxuries 
 in, 378.; higliland sceuery,388. High- 
 lands ; See Scotland. 
 Highwaymen nearly extinct, 489 
 Hill, sir. John, physician, notice of, 740 
 Hill, Rev. Mr., killed in a duel, 361 
 Hindoo husbandmen, 348 
 Hipparchus, and other ancients, 824. 
 
 See Ancients. 
 Hippocrates, curious advice of, 670 
 Hiring of servants at statutes, 86, 102 
 History of Rome, doubt on, 621 ; pleasing 
 
 passage of history, 635 
 Hohby horses, obsolete toys, engraving 
 
 of, 343 
 Hobday, Mr., artist, exhibition of, 344 
 Hobson, (old) pleasant conceits of, 210 
 Hoby, sir Edward, 289 
 "Hoffman's Tragedy, or Revenge for a 
 
 Father," old play, 784 
 Hogarth, and engraving from his picture 
 ot lord Lovat, 119; curious notices of, 
 559, &c. 
 Holidays; how sp^mt in Ireland, 346; 
 their utility, 347 ; the benevolent 
 Greek philosopher, 348 
 Holland, customs of, 606. See Dutch. 
 Holt, John, a great ringer, 679 
 Holwood, seat of Mr. Pitt, engraving and 
 
 notices of, 726, 735 
 Holly tree, carrying of, at Brough, 13 
 Home, a father's, 85; spells of home, 108; 
 
 praises of, 548 
 Hood, T., sonnet to, 534; Plea of the 
 Fairies, bv, 584; "Whims and Oddi- 
 ties" of, 744 
 Hoppins, David, a singular parodist, 585 
 Horace, pious parody of, 584 
 Horae Cravense, 775 
 Horns, emblems of kingly power, 624 
 Hornechurch, 42 
 
 Horses ; engraving and account of the 
 race-horse Eclipse, 309, &c.; their 
 swiftness connected with great mus- 
 
 cular power, i6. ; difference between 
 theoretic standards and occasional ex- 
 cellence, 3i0; insurance of, 311 ; grent 
 weight of the heart of Eclipse, ^6.; 
 singular examination of horses, 330; 
 marks of age of, 593 
 
 Horsedealing, latitude of deceit in, 520 
 
 Horsham gaol, 461 
 
 Plorticulture recommended, 644 
 
 Hostler,' derivation of, 437 
 
 Hot meals, 157 
 
 Hotels. See Tavernp. 
 
 Hounds, first fox-hounds in the west, 
 18 
 
 Hour-glasses for pulpits,,243, 251 
 
 Houses and accommodations of old times, 
 706; country-houses lead to poor- 
 housea, 590 
 
 Howard of Effingham, lord, [lord high 
 admiral] autograph of, 287, &c. 
 
 Howitt, William and Mary, their Poems, 
 623, 655 
 
 Human life, 199 
 
 Humanity and heroism, 316; humanity 
 sometimes nearly lost in forms, 3o9 
 
 Humour, definition of, 559 
 
 Hunter, John, the anatomist, 309 
 
 Hunting ; description of buck-hunting in 
 Cranbourne Chase, 17 
 
 "Huntingdon Divertisement," old play, 
 705 
 
 Huntsman, Mr. Woodford's, 510 
 
 Husbandman, (The retired) engraving, 
 423 
 
 Husbandmen in India, 348 
 
 Husbands, a happy one, 635 ; crabbing 
 for husbands, 646; evidence of affec- 
 tion for one, 686. See Wives. 
 
 Hut, Alderson, of Durham, 183 
 
 Hydropliobia, 748 
 
 Hvatt, Sophia, her poetical enthusiasm, 
 359 
 
 HyTJinks, a Scotch amusement, 234 
 
 Hygrometer, new, 13 
 
 Hypochondria, 460 
 
 I, the pronoun, danger of wearing it out, 
 171 
 
 Ideas, (innate) 47'4 
 
 Idols, (Chinese) 314 
 
 Illusion, pleasures of, 793 
 
 Imagination ; its transforming power, 5, 8 
 
 Immersion instead of interment, 206 
 
 Imperial drink, receipt for, 236 
 
 Imperial fate, 612 
 
 Improvisatore, extraordinary, 211 
 
 Inch, derivation of, 189 
 
 India, library of the king of, 124; hus- 
 bandmen of, 348 
 
 Indians — and William Penn, 623, &c. ; 
 adventure of some, 681 ; Indians at 
 Court in 1734, 761 
 
 " Indictment of Flora," a dialogue, 273 
 
 857 
 
GENERAL INDEX. 
 
 Indulgences (popish) not always ill 
 
 applied, 207 
 Industry vain without thrift, 173 
 " Infant genius," 744 
 Infants, offerings to, 425; picture of a 
 
 deserted one, 583 
 Inishail, isle of, 388 
 Innate ideas, 474 
 Innocent (Pope) III., 374 
 Inns, rare before the Reformation, 196; 
 
 poor's boxes formerly at, 196, 374 
 of the Romans, &c., 433, 434, 439; 
 
 seeking lost sign of one, 619; good 
 
 ones the result only of great travelling, 
 
 686 ; inn yards, 755 
 Inscriptions on old silver coin, how to 
 
 read, 226 
 Intellect, march of, 30, 341 
 Intemperance, corrected by echo, 619 
 Interlaken, beauties of, 214 
 Interment, superseded by immersion, 206 
 Invasion and volunteers, 442 
 Ireland, bogs in, 93 ; customs in, 233, 262, 
 
 426; custom of lord -lieutenants of, 
 
 332; Irishmen on a holiday, 346; 
 
 Irish tobacco pipes, 799 
 Islington, rights of parish of, 610, 808 
 Italian architects, pope's grant to, for 
 
 building churches, 197 
 Italian dramatists, 420 
 
 Jack the Viper, 796 
 
 Jack Ketch a gentleman, 763 
 
 " Jack Drum's entertainment," old play, 
 208 
 
 Jack-o'-Lent, 135 
 
 Jamaica, speculation for warming-pans 
 in, 8 
 
 James I., rudeness of his court to wo- 
 men, 195 ; at Durham, 340 
 
 II„ notices of the Stuart papers, 369 
 
 January, general prescriptions for, 41 
 
 Japanese mode of salutation, 94 
 
 Jeffries, Judge, a judge of music, 131 
 
 Jeggon, Dr., anecdote of, 414 
 
 Jemmal ring, 415 
 
 Jennens, Charles, notice of, 740 
 
 Jerningham, Mr., notice of, 101 
 
 Jests ; great merit of suppressing offen- 
 sive ones, 140; effect of wealth on 
 their success, 174 
 
 Jews, Easter custom against, 277 
 
 Jew's harp, 430 
 
 John, (St.) a custom on St. John's eve, 
 464 ; St. John of Beverley's Well at 
 Harpham, 687 
 
 "John (King) and Matilda," old play, 
 56, 402 
 
 John Bull, specimen of, 188; indecorum 
 and rudeness of in crowds, 253 
 
 Johannites, notice of, 775 
 
 Johnson, Dr., "an odd kind of a chiel," 
 542 
 
 .lones, Rev. M., Berkshire miser, 604 
 
 Joy, madness from excess of, 256 
 
 Jubilee, (Revolution) 672 
 
 Judges, hunting their own venison on 
 circuit, 34; immense fans formerly 
 carried by, on circuit, 197 ; a singular 
 decree of one, 446; curious description 
 of one, 542; a candid judge, 690; 
 juries the better judges, 590 
 
 Juries, the better judges, 590; decisions 
 of juries, 781 
 
 Justice, (impartial) 203 
 
 Justices of peace, former furniture of 
 their halls, 196; arithmetical estimate 
 of, 366; female, 700 
 
 Juxton, bishop, notice of, 510 
 
 Kalm, Swedish traveller, description of 
 Niagara, 680 
 
 Keats, the poet, 405 ; epitaph on him- 
 self, 539; notices of, 600, 629 
 
 Kelly, Miss, notices respecting, 442, 448 
 
 Keston Cross, 431 
 
 Ketch, Jack, 763 
 
 Kicking, in wrestling, barbarous, 664, 665 
 
 Kimberley, Francis, Birmingham con- 
 juror, 118 
 
 King, (The) and the private gentleman, 
 366 
 
 King, Col., and Col. Fitzgerald, duel be- 
 tween, 362 
 
 ~- — Dr., his pun, 126 
 
 Kings and emperors, ill-fated ones, 612; 
 613; kir<g8 in Africa, 790 
 
 " King's Arras," 430 
 
 Kirkby, 633 
 
 Kirbv Malhamdale church-yard legend, 
 258 
 
 Moorside, death of duke of Buck- 
 
 ingham at, 263 
 
 Kircher, his account of a marvellous 
 diver, 353 
 
 Kissing, in Ireland, on Easter Monday, 
 253 
 
 Knowledge, defends from the juggle of 
 forms, 110; even a little of it useful, 
 379; importance of a knowledge of the 
 world, 412 
 
 Labour, hard, greatly varied by different 
 treadmills, 378 
 
 Labour and luck, 494 
 
 Lacteals in a mole, 510 
 
 Ladies, in winter like tea-kettles, 76; air 
 and exercise for, 105; lady of the hill, 
 146; character of Mrs. Aurelia Sparr, 
 a maiden lady, 170; the lady and trou- 
 badour, 227; the white lady, 359. See 
 Women. 
 
 Lang, David, the Gretna-green black- 
 smith, 216 
 
 Lairds, compliment to a young one, 542 
 
 Lamb, Mr. C, lively letter to, 97 
 
 858 
 
GENERAL INDEX. 
 
 Lambert, (parliamentary) monument to, 
 261 
 
 •' Lamba (Young) to sell," a London cry, 
 198 
 
 Lamond of Cowel, tradition of, 233 
 
 Lancaster, dukes of, 50; and York, 
 houses of, ib. 
 
 Landlady, agreeable, 562 
 
 Language, without words, 234; English, 
 distinct derivations of, 237; genders 
 in, 556 
 
 Lansberg, Matthew, Liege almanac by, 
 137 
 
 Lanterns, court order for, in the streets, 
 207 
 
 Laplander's mode of salutation, 93 
 
 Lapstone, beating the, 43 
 
 Lark, the evening, 311 
 
 Last tree, 44; last deer of Beann Doran, 
 377 
 
 " Late Lancashire "Witches, (The)" old 
 play, 97 
 
 Lauron, Marcellus, artist, 255 
 
 Lavater, aphorisms by, 137 
 
 Laurence Kirk snuiF-boxes, 754 
 
 Law of kindness, 662 
 
 Lawsuit, effect of, 67 
 
 Law and poetry, 446; remark on law- 
 books, 781 
 
 Lawyers, two, 652 
 
 Leaping, curious instance of, 554 
 
 Learning, and large libraries, 109; for- 
 merly united with pedantry, 197; a 
 mulatto deploring his education, 313; 
 a little learning not dangerous, 379 
 
 Leathart, Mr., "Welsh Penillion of," 16S 
 
 Leaves scurched by summer-sliowers, 541 
 
 Lee Penny, The, engraving, 486 
 
 " Legends, Scottish," 388 
 
 Leceistershire, custom of, 262 
 
 Leeds, duke of, (earl of Dauby), vindica- 
 tion of, 672 
 
 Lendi, M. B„ new hygrometer by, 13 
 
 Lent, customs in, 313 
 
 Jack o', puppet formerly thrown at, 
 
 135 
 
 Leith Hill, near Dorking, 473 
 
 Lettered stones, curious ancient one, 176 
 
 Letters, address on one, 338 
 
 Lettsom, Dr., notice of, 557 
 
 Lewis, St., disposal of his body, 288 
 
 Leybourne, W. de, first Englishman 
 styled admiral, 288 
 
 Liars, incredible, 734 
 
 Libels, actions for, formerly rare, 195 ; 
 dramatic libel, 201 
 
 Libraries, cautions about forming, 109; 
 that of the king of India, 124 
 
 Licenses, for enacting plays, 34; for 
 printing play-bills, 292, 293 
 
 Liege almanac, 137 
 
 Lieutenant and captain, dreadful duel 
 between, 362 
 
 Life, 199; recovered after hanging, 228; 
 
 description of, 819 
 Light, philosophy of, 618, 811 
 Lilly, his account of the astrologer Hart, 
 
 68 
 Limbs, advice in case of one broken, 670 
 Linnet fancy, 294 
 Liston, William, crier of, "young lambs," 
 
 198 
 Liston, Mr., 739 
 
 Literature, a great bargain of, 370 ; a 
 literary character, 205; foolish labour 
 in, 428, 797 
 Living well, 430 
 Lloyd, T. Esq., curious pillar restored 
 
 by, 176 
 Loadstoue, opinions on, 732 
 Loaf-stealing,an old Christmas game, 196 
 Loddou church, poor's box in, 375 
 London, described in 1634, 84; modern 
 improvements in, 107; musicians in- 
 corporated in, 114; cries, see Cries; 
 university, founding of, 297-; notice of 
 London watermen, 314; London mer- 
 ciiants a hundred years since, 325 ; 
 London holydays, 347 ; fruit markets 
 of London and Paris, 483; old London 
 cries, 630; a London watchman, 676; 
 fires in London, 699; Londiniana, 708; 
 giants in Guildhall, 719. See Bank- 
 side, Battle-bridge, Clerkenwell, Co- 
 vent Garden, Islington, &c. 
 "London Clianticleers," old play, 128 
 Long, sir Walter, of Draycot, his st}le 
 
 of travelling, 197 
 Longevity, clerical, striking case of, 12; 
 
 longevity of a Highlander, 521 
 "Looking Glass for England and Lon- 
 don," old play, 321 
 Lord chancellor, oflice of, 365 
 
 high admiral, powers and seal of, 287 
 
 Lord Mayor's show, giants in, &c., 719 
 Lords and ladies, vegetable, 599 
 Lost children, notice about, 9 
 Lottery, madness from success in, 256 
 Lovat, lord, engraving of, 119; claimant 
 
 to the title, 317 
 Love; loves of the negroes, 90; music 
 requested for a love dialogue, 257; 
 refinements of Spanish love, 369 
 "Love for Love's sake," old play, 368, 
 
 394 
 "Ljvc Tricks," old play, 500 
 Luve, David, walking stationer, 503 
 Lovers, hostility of time to, 583 
 "Love's Dominion," old play, 642 
 " Love's Metamorphosis,'' old play, 547 
 Lowth, bishop, his epitaph on his daugh- 
 ter, 69 
 Loyola, Ignatius, and his boot, 670 
 Luck and labour, 494 
 Lucerne, monument of the Swiss Guards 
 at, 127 
 
 85y 
 

 
 
 
 GENERAL INDEX, 
 
 
 
 Lying; why Thames Ditton called lying 
 
 customs at, 534, 588,601; ungallant 
 
 
 
 Dittoa, 330; how to be reformed, 366 
 
 toll on brides, 636; marriage under 
 
 
 
 Lynn, Antiquarian Hall of, 70; Billy 
 
 the protectorate, 667 
 
 
 
 Boots of, 151; May-day at, 271 
 
 "Married Beau, (The)" old play, 72o' 
 
 
 
 Lyttleton, sir George, notice of, 709 
 
 Marseilles, custom at, 130; interesting 
 history of, 270 
 
 
 
 Mac Colda, Alaister, 389 
 
 Martin, St., and the Devil, 499 
 
 
 
 Macdonald, John, aH)ghlanderj521 
 
 Mary, Peter, and, 546 
 
 
 
 Donalds and Campbells, 389 
 
 ''Master of the bears and dogs," 249 
 
 
 
 Gregor of Glenstrae, 233 
 
 Master of the revels, license by, 30, 34 
 
 
 
 Phadian, captain, 391 
 
 Masters, an amiable one, 205 
 
 
 
 Macham, discoverer of Madeira, 138 
 
 Matlock, 482 
 
 
 
 Macrae, captain, and sir George Ramsay, 
 
 Matiimony. See Marriage'^!. 
 
 
 
 fatal duel between, 362 
 
 Maturin, conversations of, 341 
 
 
 
 Madeira, discoverer of, 138 
 
 Maundy Thursday, 239 &c. 
 
 
 
 " Mad Dog," 747 
 
 Maxims of meanness, 281, 282 
 
 
 
 ]\Lidness, raving, from a lottery prize, 256 
 
 May-day, customs on, 271, &c., 279, 314, 
 
 
 
 Madrid, carnival in, 137 
 
 629 
 
 
 
 Magpies, superstition relating to, 191; 
 
 Mayor's feast, temp. Elizabeth, 723 
 
 
 
 anecdote of one, 718 
 
 Mazarine, cardinal, easy patronage bv, 
 
 
 
 Maid of Honour, curious patent to one. 
 
 203 
 
 
 
 621 
 
 Meals ; hot meals, 157; taken with mys- 
 
 
 
 "Maid Marian," letter respecting, 419 
 
 terious privacy, 212 
 
 
 
 Malacca, salutation in, 98 
 
 Meanness formerly taught for morals, 
 
 
 
 Mallet, David, notice of, 469 
 
 281, &c. 
 
 
 
 Malnibbury abbey school, tradition about. 
 
 Mechanical power, 457; ancients' know- 
 
 
 
 116 
 
 ledge of, 811, 825, 826 
 
 
 
 "Mamamouchi," old play, 530 
 
 Medals; a commemoration medal of diet 
 
 
 
 Man, description of, 819 
 
 of Augsburgh, 575 
 
 
 
 "Man in the Moon," tract called, 540 
 
 Medicine, skill of the ancients in, 786, 
 
 
 
 Mankind, only two classes of, 228 
 
 7«7 
 
 
 
 Manners in Oliver Cromwell's time, 10; 
 
 Melancthon and Calvin, 782 
 
 
 
 before the Reformation, 195; of old 
 
 Melons, varieties and weights of, 485 
 
 
 
 times, 706, 829 
 
 Memory with stupidity, instance of, 700 
 
 
 
 Manufactures, celerity of processes of, 
 
 Memorandum books, 1 
 
 
 
 457; of Birmingiiani, 712 
 
 Menage, advice of, touching poetry, 670 
 
 
 
 Manuscripts, an author reading one to a 
 
 Mendip mines and Miners, 762 
 
 
 
 bookseller, engraving, 63; curious ac- 
 
 Mercer of London, old picture of, 285 
 
 
 
 count of Stuart manusciipts, 369; cu- 
 
 Merchandise, unfavourable tendencies of, 
 
 
 
 rious restoration of one, 622 
 
 282 
 
 
 
 Maps, a curious old one, 253 
 
 Meichants, (London) a hundred yeara 
 
 
 
 March, first of, 283; fair, at Brough, 159 
 
 since, 325 
 
 
 
 of intellect, 60 
 
 Merrow, in Surrey, 767 
 
 
 
 Marden, (Milton and) hundred of, 289 
 
 Metastasio, memoir ot, 211 
 
 
 
 Mariner, (an ultra) 508 
 
 Meum et Tuum, 539 
 
 
 
 Mark, St., customs on St. Mark's eve, 
 
 Mice, field, tor preventing injuries from. 
 
 
 
 4G4, 494, 540 
 
 648 
 
 
 
 Markets, (fruit) of London and Paris, 
 
 Mchaelmas day, customs on, 646 
 
 
 
 483 
 
 Microscopes, whether known to the 
 
 
 
 Marlow, poet, merit of, 663 (note.) 
 
 ancients, 826 
 
 
 
 Marot, Clement, French poet, notice of, 
 
 Milk, in America, 654 
 
 
 
 797 
 
 Milky Way, the, 602 
 
 
 
 Marriages, a new plan for, 11; account 
 
 Mill, the haunted, 652 
 
 
 
 of late duke of York's, 53; breach of 
 
 Millhouse, Robert, his Poems, 495 
 
 
 
 promise of marriage, 90; in Highlands, 
 
 Milton, hundred of, 288, 290 
 
 
 
 146; at Gretna Green, 216; of the 
 
 Mines; workers in coal-mines described. 
 
 
 
 doges of Venice, 226; perplexing ones 
 
 327; fatal explosion in, 328; in Great 
 
 
 
 in relationship, 238; vulgarity of a 
 
 Britain, 329; descent into, 483; Men- 
 
 
 
 court lady's consenting to marriage, 
 
 dip mines and miners, 762 
 
 
 
 369; Welsh, 371; Cumberland, 397; 
 
 Ministers, cheap patronage by, 203 
 
 
 
 curious case of re-marriage, 409; tlie 
 
 Minstrels, «uriouc regulations for, 168 
 
 
 
 Gimmal Ring, 415; a hapjjy marriage, 
 
 Mint, test of old silver coin at, 226 
 
 
 
 472; Gretna Green parsons, 477 ; old 
 
 Minuets, laborious study of, 446 
 
 
 
 860 
 
 
GENERAL INDEX 
 
 Miron, Francis, boldness and impunity 
 of, 201 
 
 Misers, notices of, 450, 453, 473, 491, 535, 
 604 
 
 Misery,— a bond of afFection, 817; trial 
 through, 818 
 
 Miseries of travelling, 131 
 
 Miss, designation of, 830 
 
 Mitcheson, Tommy, of Durham, 538 
 
 Moderns aud ancients, discoveiies of, 
 443, 456, 474, 505, 515, 521, 537, 583, 
 602, 617. 433, 650, 666, 730, 776, 786, 
 808, 824 
 
 Moeris, (Lake) in Egypt, 826 
 
 Moles, lacteals in, 510 
 
 Mompesson, Rev. W., and wife, 655, &c. 
 
 Monaichs, most ancient of, 582; ill-fated 
 ones, 612, 613; a pure and exemplary 
 one, 674 
 
 Monasteries, frequent andpiousbleediugs 
 in, "240 
 
 Money, rareness of due care of, 453 
 
 Monkey, gallant comparison with, 701 
 
 Monks. See Monasteries. 
 
 Monmouth, duke of, 765 
 
 Monson, William, alias Billy Boots, 151 
 
 Montmorenci,Ann, anecdotes ot, 501, 518 
 
 Month's mind, a mass for the dead, 242 
 
 Month's, twelve gems of the, 160 
 
 Moon, new, customs on, 197 
 
 Moon, philosophy of, 651; tincture of 
 moon, 741 ; moonlight view of Niagara, 
 686 
 
 Moore, T.,the Poet, remarks on, 341, 342 
 
 Mooi fields and Laundresses, 85 
 
 Mops or Statutes for hiring servants, 86, 
 102 
 
 Morals, former system of, for tradesmen, 
 282, &c. 
 
 More, sir T., notice of, 365, 766 
 
 Mortality through duels, stated, 360 
 
 Mosaics of the Ancients. 827 
 
 Mother-wit better than learning, 286 
 
 "Mothering Sunday," 313 
 
 Mother and her children, 635 
 
 Mottos and emblems, 45 
 
 Mount Vernon, why so called, 309 
 
 Mountain ash, an antidote to witchcraft, 
 337 
 
 Mug-houses, described by a foreigner, 189 
 
 Mulattos, curious lamentation of one, 313 
 
 Mulgrave family, founder of, 382 
 
 Mullally, Jack, an Irish landlord, 347 
 
 Mummies, 786 
 
 Music; anecdotes of, 113; comparison of 
 some much-admired, 114; musicians 
 incorporated, ib. ; some effects of mu- 
 sic, 113; in churches, 131; notice of 
 the harp, 168; mischievous musical 
 crash, 174; effects of, on rudeness and 
 ignorancp, 23); changes in church 
 music, 243; requested for a beautiful 
 love-dialogue, 2:7; of birds particu- 
 
 larized, 295; experiment of, on ani- 
 mals, 346; superiority of the ancient, 
 515, 827; musical anecdotes, 516; 
 memoir of Beethoven, 517 ; the music 
 which old Time delights in, 582 
 
 Muskerry, lord, his receipt to cure lying, 
 366 
 
 Mustard and cress seeds, devices with, 
 304 
 
 My Pocket Book, 610 
 
 Mysteries, dramatic, performed at Coven- 
 try, engraving of, 6; dramatized, 471 
 
 Nails and nail-makers, 715 
 
 Nail, to be a friend upon the, 382 
 
 Names, of places, explained, 78; curtail- 
 ment of baptismal names, 193; substi- 
 tution of classical for baptismal ones, 
 3 4 9 ; t he name of "devi 1," often assumed, 
 ib.; scriptural, &c., 798 
 
 Nash, T., on herrings, in 1599, 285 
 
 Nationality, 580 
 
 Nature, animated, 522 
 
 Navarino, descripiiou of, 686 
 
 Necromancy, 162 
 
 Negroes, loves of, 90 ; salutation of two 
 negro kings, 99 
 
 Nelson, lord, punctuality of, 398 
 
 Nettleton, custom at, 43 
 
 New-moon, customs on, 197 
 
 New-year, ode to, set to music, 3 ; cus- 
 toms on, 4 
 
 Newcastle, Blind Willie of, 231 
 
 , duchess of, notices of, 99, 139 
 
 Newsman, description and engraving ot, 
 
 31 
 Newspapers, varieties and interest of, 31, 
 
 33 ; reading the newspaper, engraving, 
 
 399; newspaper orthography, 525; 
 
 classification of readers of newspapers, 
 
 699. See Advertisements. 
 Newstead abbey, female enthusiast at, 
 
 359 
 Newtonian philosophy and the ancients. 
 
 See Ancients. 
 Niagara, cataracts of, 680 
 Nit olai, M., bookseller, morbid phantasms 
 
 of, 355 
 Nightingale, poet's mistake about, 294 
 Nimeguen, two ravens at, 44 
 Nixon's prophecies, notice of, 526 
 Nobility, French, remarks on, 66 
 Nominative case, 141 
 Norfolk dumplings, digested by a stoue- 
 
 eatcr, 178 
 Norfolk, custom in, 581 
 Normans, what derived from, 197 
 Northumberland, custom in, 329, 425 
 Norwich Guild, 723 
 Notre Dame, grand Easter ceremony in, 
 
 261 
 Nottingham, custom at, 504 (note); Not- 
 tingham and the revolution, 671 
 
 861 
 

 
 
 
 GENISBAL INDEX. 
 
 
 
 Nottingham, earl of, 288 
 
 Parliament, clubs, 140 ; anecdote of royal 
 
 
 
 Numbers and figures, 380 
 
 aversion to, 350 : bribery of; by Charles 
 
 
 
 Nunneries, girls formerly educated in, 
 
 v., 422 
 
 
 
 195 
 
 " Parliament of Bees," old play, 304 
 Parodies, pious, of Horace, 584 
 
 
 
 Oaks, fine ones in Holland, 644 
 
 Parr, Dr., early model of, for style, 699 
 
 
 
 Oddities of Genius, 212 
 
 Parrots, Col. O'Kelly's most remarkable 
 
 
 
 "Oddities, Whims and," by T. Hood, 744 
 
 one, 311 
 
 
 
 Offerings to infants, 425 
 
 Parsimony. See Misers. 
 
 
 
 Offices, estimates of value of, 452 
 
 Parsons and clerks, anecdotes about, 331. 
 
 
 
 Offices and trades specified in Dooms- 
 
 See Clergymen. ' 
 
 
 
 day-book, 308 
 
 Parsons, Joe, the samphire-gatherer, 226 
 
 
 
 Oglethorpe, general, notice of, 761 
 
 Parties of pleasure, a successful one, 276 
 
 
 
 O'Kelly, Col., his celebrated race-horse 
 
 Party of pleasure, interesting, 559 
 
 
 
 and parrot, 311 
 
 Passion-week, 239, &c. 
 
 
 
 Old age, a fair price for burning it out at 
 
 Pastoral and tragi-comedy, definitions of, 
 
 
 
 the stake, 343 
 
 725 
 
 
 
 gentleman, (the) character of, 59 
 
 Patients, philosophical observation of 
 
 
 
 women, ridicule of, De Foe's cen- 
 
 their diseases by, 356 
 
 
 
 sure of, 10 
 
 Patriotism, fervour and judgment of, 201 
 
 
 
 "Old England for ever," pamphlet called, 
 
 Patronage, (cheap) 203 
 
 
 
 591 
 
 Paulian, (Father) his account of a stone- 
 
 
 
 Opinions, former authority of, 444 
 
 eater, 177 
 
 
 
 Opium-eater, the, notices of, 553 
 
 Pavy Labathiel, 677 
 
 
 
 "Oranges, The Three," play called, 420 
 
 Pawning, valuable resource of, 453 
 
 
 
 Oran-outang, extraordinary one, 378 
 
 Peak's hole, 421 
 
 
 
 Orde, Mr., an amateur artist, 255 
 
 Peal (dumb) of Grandsire Triples, 678 
 
 
 
 Organs, celebrated ones, 130; address to 
 
 Pearce, Dr. Zachary, H. "Walpole's ridi- 
 
 
 
 a barrel organ, 403 ; notices of, 237 
 
 cule of, 5 ; anecdote of, 466 
 
 
 
 Orleans, duchess of, ingenuous disclaimer 
 
 Pearl, Cleopatra's, 809 
 
 
 
 by, 621 
 
 Pedantrv formerly the associate of learn- 
 
 
 
 Osnaburgh, bishopric of, 49 
 
 ing, 197 
 
 
 
 Ostend, siege of, 279 
 
 " Peep into futurity," 37 
 
 
 
 Ostler, derivation of, 439 
 
 Pegge, Rev. S., revolution centenary ser- 
 
 
 
 Ostrich, (the king's) dissection of, 309 
 
 mon of, 672, 673, 763 
 
 
 
 ho, earl of York, 49 
 
 Pemberton, sir J., lord mayor, 424 
 
 
 
 "Ough," (the syllable) many ways of 
 
 Penge Common, " Crooked Billet " on, 
 
 
 
 pronouncing, 344 
 
 335 
 
 
 
 Ounce, derivation of, 189 
 
 Penn, William, and the Indians, en- 
 
 
 
 " Outlandish knight," 65 
 
 graving, 623 
 
 
 
 Oxford, mayor of, 309 
 
 Penny, (The Lee) an antique, description 
 
 
 
 Oyster cellars, entertainment of, 434 
 
 of, 486 
 Pens, how carried anciently, 254; their 
 
 
 
 Padua, cheerful funeral at, 350 
 
 introduction, ib. 
 
 
 
 Page's lock, near Hoddesdon, curious 
 
 Penthaney, Anthony, a miser, n&tice of. 
 
 
 
 chair at, 632 
 
 473 
 
 
 
 Pageant vehicle and plav, representation 
 
 Pepys, extracts from, 829, &c. 
 
 
 
 of, 6 
 
 " Perhaps," its importance in the sciences. 
 
 
 
 Painters, scene for, 328 
 
 124 
 
 
 
 Painting on cloth and glass, by the an- 
 
 Perfection, the steps of, 525 
 
 
 
 cients, 787, 809, 827 
 
 Pesce, Nicolo, the diver, and the royal 
 
 
 
 Palindrome explanation and instance of, 
 
 gold cups, 353 
 
 
 
 499 
 
 Peter the Great, summer garden of, 643 
 
 
 
 Pamphleteers, a singular one, 3b'4 
 
 Peter-house college, anecdote touching;. 
 
 
 
 Paper books not before the tenth cen- 
 
 546 
 
 
 
 tury, 234 
 
 Phantasms, singular case of, 355 
 
 
 
 Papers, (Stuart) curious account of, 369 
 
 Philadelphia, origin of^ 624 
 
 
 
 Parents' affection,635, 660. Sec Children. 
 
 Philippos, 767 
 
 
 
 Parenthesis, explanation of, 286 
 
 Philippine Islands, salutations in, 98 
 
 
 
 Paris garden, South wark. 245 
 
 " Phillis of Segros," old play, 400 
 
 
 
 Paris and London, fruit markets of, 483 
 
 Philosophy; of ancients and moderns. 
 
 
 
 Parish accompts, 241 
 
 See Ancients. Philosophy of a fairy. 
 
 
 
 Parishes, abuses in, 427 
 
 584 
 
 
 862 
 
 
 "^ 
 
GENERAL INDEX. 
 
 Phipps, "William, founder of the Mul- 
 grave family, 382 
 
 Phlebotomy. See Bleeding. 
 
 Phrenology, 165 
 
 Phy-icians, curious jealousy of some, 
 137; a benevolent one, 557; two phy- 
 sicians,- 652 . 
 
 Pickpockets, 530 
 
 Pickworth, Mr. C, letter to, 717 
 
 Picture dealer, trade catalogue of, 118 
 
 Pie, Christmas, 667 
 
 Pikeman, or turnpike-man, 756 
 
 Pilgrimages,intenseinterest of "Pilgrim's 
 Progress," 109; pilgrimages formerly 
 in England, 196; a curious one, 238 
 
 Pilpay's abridgment of a library, 124 
 
 Pine apples, 483 
 
 Pipe sludge, or prejudice against new 
 water-conveyance, 367 
 
 Pipes, Irish tobacco, 799 
 
 Piscatoria, 733 
 
 Pitt, Mr. W., notices of, and of Iiis seat 
 at Holwood, 728 
 
 Places,, names of some explained, 78; 
 high places and groves, 404 
 
 Pl.'gue at Eyam, 655, &c., 729 
 
 Planets, illustration of, 373; material of 
 one,r 540 
 
 Planting in Scotland, 577 ; planting re- 
 commended, 644, 649 
 
 Plalina, the historian, anecdote of, 349 
 
 Plato, mode of studying, 501; Plato and 
 other ancients, 824. See Ancients. 
 
 Plays; representationof a pageant vehicle 
 and play at Coventry, 6 ; licence for 
 enacting plays, 34; curious play-bills, 
 69, 129, 292, 318; origin and progress 
 of theatrical representation, 153; not 
 a third of old dramatic treasure ex- 
 hausted, 179; supposed libels in, 201, 
 202; an author's correct estimate of 
 one, 286 ; one of nine days' represen- 
 tation, 369; a straightforward critic 
 upon, 402; at Linton and Grassington, 
 538: play-wrigliting, 620; acting of 
 extraordinary children in plays, 677; 
 performance of plays at Christian Mal- 
 ford, 691; definition of pastoral and 
 traj^i- comedy, 725; expedients and 
 difficulties of players, 691; selections 
 contributed by Mr. C. Lamb from the 
 Garrick plays, 417, 440, 448, 467, 480, 
 500, 514, 530, 547, 578, 695, 610, 642, 
 663, 676, 690, 704, 724, 770, 784, SCO, 
 817; Garrick's collection of. See 
 Garrick plays. 
 Plea of the Fairies," 584 
 
 Pleasures of Illusion, 793 
 
 " Potting Parlour, (The)" 671 
 
 Plough Monday, 41 
 
 Plurality of Worlds, doctrine of, 602 
 
 Poaching, vindication of, 472 
 
 « Poetesses, (British)" by Mr. Dyce, 98 
 
 Pockets, pickpockets, and pocket-hand- 
 kerchiefs, 530 
 
 Poetry, Bowring's popular Servian poetry, 
 265; poetry and fact, 323; thou and 
 you in, 530; rule for criticism, 670; 
 diction of, 820 
 
 Poets; advice to one from one younger, 
 124; estimate of various poets, 341; 
 minor poets not useless, 342: distresses 
 of, 476; an athletic poet, 554; reward 
 of an ingenious one, 530; encourage- 
 ment to poets, 760 
 
 Poland, custom in, 160 
 
 Politeness, 621 
 
 Polkinghorne, a famous wrestler, 664 
 
 Polypi, 811 
 
 Poor's boxes, notices and engravings of, 
 374 
 
 rates, none before the Reformation, 
 
 196 
 
 Pope, Alexander, notice of, 469 
 
 Port wine, Ewart's excellent, 172 
 
 Portaferry. Easter custom at, 253 
 
 P.irter recommended, 206 
 
 Porters, (ticket) regiilations and fhres- 
 of, 10 
 
 Portraits, British, Rodd's sale catalogue 
 of, 118; picture of taking, 640 
 
 Portuguese mysteries, 571 
 
 Posts, (road) scriptnre texts on, 270 
 
 Potatoes, proper treatment of in frost, 9 
 
 Potter, Dr., university flogger, 197 
 
 Pound, derivation of, 189 
 
 Powell, the fire-eater, 137 
 
 , Mr., a notorious duellist, 361 
 
 Preacher (Puritan) 818 
 
 Prescription of money, instead of physic, 
 557 
 
 Presents, new-year's, 4; wedding, 397, 
 601; to infants, custom of, 425 
 
 Pretender, curious paternal notices of^, 
 372 
 
 Pride, remarks on, 714; instances of, 790 
 
 Priests in France, former hospitality of, 
 195 
 
 Princesses, mode of carrying, 50i 
 
 Printing, licenses for, 292, 293 
 
 Prison walls, 364 
 
 Prisons, ancient and modern, 460 
 
 Private and public, 366 
 
 Prize-fighting, with swords formerly, 248 
 
 Processions at funerals, 654; at the re- 
 storation, 667; on centenary of the 
 revolution, 673 
 
 Professors in German universities, 62 
 
 Prognostications, effect of a few success- 
 ful ones, 138 
 
 Promise, breach of, curious ease of, 90 
 
 Pronoun, first personal, not to be worn 
 out, 171 
 
 Pronunciation, at the old Grassington 
 theatre, 36; extreme irregularity of 
 the English, 344 
 
 Vol. 111. 
 
 863 
 
 K 
 

 
 
 
 GENERAL INDEX. j 
 
 
 
 Property, fixed and moveable, remarks 
 
 Realities resembling dreams, 229 
 
 
 
 ' on, 173 
 
 " Rebellion, (The)" old play, 677 
 
 
 
 Protestant German Universities, 62 
 
 Red-jierring on horseback, an old dish, 
 
 
 
 Prvnne, William, notice of, 363 
 
 193; eulogium of red-herrings, 285 
 
 
 
 Public-houses, 433, 434, &c., 440 
 
 Reformation, manners and customs be- 
 
 
 
 Public and private, 366 
 
 fore, 195 ; progress of, 242 
 
 
 
 Publishers, how dispensed with, 364 
 
 Regent's -street and park, 107, 108 
 
 
 
 Puddle-dock, duke of, 560 
 
 Relationship, involvement of by marriage. 
 
 
 
 Pudsey, bishop, notice of, 208 
 
 238 
 
 
 
 Pulpits furnished with hour-glasses and 
 
 Religion, 414 
 
 
 
 clocks, 243, 251; pulpit desk, 612; 
 
 Request, modest, 734 
 
 
 
 pulpit in the rock, 662 
 
 Restitution, better late than never, 6Q; 
 
 
 
 Punch bowl. Devil's, 487 
 
 for ease of conscience, 201 
 
 
 
 Punctilio, Spanish, 541 
 
 Retrospect, 92 
 
 
 
 Punctuality recommended, 398 
 
 Return made to a parish circular, 189 
 
 
 
 Punishments, capital, solemnity and ter- 
 
 " Return, the Soldier's," 702 
 
 
 
 ror of, 228, &c. 
 
 Revels, master of, licence by for enacting 
 
 
 
 Puns, not unnatural in grief as well as 
 
 plays, 34 
 
 
 
 joy, 56 
 
 Revenant (Le) 228 
 
 
 
 Purple of the ancients, 732, (note.) 
 
 Revenge, wishes of, 98 
 
 
 
 Purvis, William, or " B.ind Willie," the 
 
 Reverie, 232 
 
 
 
 minstrel, 231 
 
 Revival, after hanging at the gallows, 228 
 
 
 
 Pye, Mr., curious anecdote from, of 
 
 " Rewards of Virtue,'' old play, 80 
 
 
 
 Charles I., 350 
 
 Rlieumatism, asserted effect of, 71 
 
 
 
 Pye-stealer detected, 210 
 
 Rhodian Colossus, 826 
 
 
 
 Pyramids of Egypt, 826 
 
 Rhodope and Cinderella, 774 
 
 
 
 Pythagoras, power of his music, 516; 
 
 Rhone, river, Scipio's shield found in, 132 
 
 
 
 Pythagoras and other ancients, 824. 
 
 Rhubarb, and the Turk in Cheapside, 97 
 
 
 
 See Ancients. 
 
 Rich man defined, 173 
 
 
 
 P^theas and other ancients, 824. See 
 
 Richardson, the first public fire-eater, 158 
 
 
 
 Ancients. 
 
 Riches, good and bad effect of, 174 
 Riddle and explanation, 205 
 
 
 
 Quakers; The Three Quakers, 439; 
 
 Ridicule, 501 
 
 
 
 quakers under William Penn, 623, 
 
 Right hand, reason for preferring, 140 
 
 
 
 &c.; origin of the termquaker, 629 
 
 Rigi, in Switzerland, inscription on book 
 
 
 
 " Quarter of an hour before," 398 
 
 at, 69 
 
 
 
 Qualities, sensible doctrine of, 305 
 
 Ringing, memorial of, at Bromley, 678; 
 
 
 
 Queen's college, Oxford, custom at, 43, 
 
 anecdotes of ringers, 679 
 
 
 
 195 
 
 Rings; the Gimmai riug, engraving and 
 
 
 
 Queenborough, curious account of, 563 
 
 notice of, 415 
 
 
 
 Questions, danger of asking, 171 
 
 Rising, (early) 398 
 
 
 
 Quid pro quo, 430 
 
 Rivers, opinions on, 763 
 
 
 
 Quin, his apology for a dancer's absence, 
 
 Road-posts inscribed with texts, 270 
 
 
 
 8; his unfeeling jokes, ib., 9; notices 
 
 Roasting, musical, 516 
 
 
 
 of, 470, 709 
 
 Robertson, J., a friend of Thomson, 604 
 
 
 
 Quintain, the, 502, 534 
 
 "Robin Gray, (Auld)" curious account 
 
 
 
 Quipoes explained, 470 
 
 of, 100 
 Robin Hood's bower, 243 
 
 
 
 Race horses. See Horses. 
 
 Rodd, Mr. H., picture-dealer, 118 
 
 
 
 Radnor, lord, anecdote of, 45 
 
 Rollan, Madame, a celebrated dancer, 8 
 
 
 
 Rail), effect of, 541 
 
 Roman antiquities, 40 
 
 
 
 Rainbow at Niagara, 683, 685 
 
 Romans, customs of, 433; fatality of 
 
 
 
 " Ram Alley," old play, 663 
 
 Roman emperors, 612; doubts on Ro- 
 
 
 
 Ramsay, sir George, killed in a duel, 362 
 
 man history, 621; Roman remains. 
 
 
 
 Randwick near Stroud, custom at, 277 
 
 727, 729, 733 
 
 
 
 Ratting, 281 
 
 Romuald, St., 711 
 
 
 
 Ravens, at Nimeguen, 44 ; tradition re- 
 
 Rooms, former lowness of, 84 
 
 
 
 specting two at home. ib. ; auecdote of 
 
 Rope-riding at Venice, 540 
 
 
 
 one at Hungerford, 413 
 
 Rosamond, (Fair) 158 
 
 
 
 Ravensbourne, sources of the, engraving, 
 
 Rouen, Easter custom at, 242 
 
 
 
 735 
 
 Round robin, ancient custom of, 349 
 
 
 
 Raynal, Abbe, anecdote of, 45 
 
 Royal Society, 276 
 
 
 
 Reading aloud, remarks on, 139 
 
 Royal families, ill-tated ones, 613 
 
 
 
 864 
 
 
" Royal Kingr and Loyal Subject, (The)" 
 
 old play, 663 
 Rubens, liberality and kindness of, 5 
 Kunaway mops or statutes, 88 
 Ruptures, curious application for, 647 
 Rural delights, 354 
 Rushes, houses and churches strewed 
 
 with, 553, &c. 
 Russia, Esop in, 643 
 Rutty, Dr., a Quaker, confession of, 669 
 Rydal Mount, seat of Wordsworth, 552 
 
 Sackville, sir E., and lord Bruce, duel 
 between, 627 
 
 Saddles, rules touching, 593 
 
 Sailors, 563 
 
 , custom of when in Oreenland, 
 
 315 ; generous feeling of one for a dead 
 enemy, 316; their remonstrance by a 
 round robin, 345; anecdote of an Irish 
 one, 350 
 
 St.Bride's chnrcli,admirableorgan in,131 
 
 St. David's day, 167 
 
 St. Giles Hill, near Winchester, fair at, 
 102 
 
 Saint Giles's bowl, 765 
 
 St. Goodrick misleading a bishop, 208 
 
 St. Jerome's description of an organ, 237; 
 conjecture about his dragon, 269 
 
 Saint John's Well, at Harphani, euffrav- 
 ing, 687 ^ 
 
 St. Lawrence church, capital organ in, 131 
 
 St. Margaret's at Cliff, 225 
 
 St. Mary church, admired organ in, 131 
 
 Saint Romuald, 711 
 
 St. Sepulchre's bell, at executions, 82 
 
 Saints, a poor female one, 376 
 
 " Sally Holt," a story, 749 
 
 Salt, the terror of spectres, 261, 262; 
 custom of putting salt on the dead, 262 
 
 Salutation, different modes and forms of, 
 93, 195; curious one by lord Lovat, 
 120; lively lecture on the English 
 mode, 278 
 
 Samphire, gathering, 225, 226 
 
 Sandy, James, an extraordinary artist, 754 
 
 Sanitary cordon, 661, 662 
 
 " Sappho and Phaon," old play, 547 
 
 Satellites, 603 
 
 *' Satiromastix," old play, 352 
 
 Saville, sir G., letter to, 660 
 
 bawston Cross, 455 
 
 Saxons, customs of, 433 
 
 Scaffold, the criminal's view from, 230 
 
 Scandal, a grand receptacle of, 123; pic- 
 ture of, 445 
 
 Scarborough, custom at, 202 
 
 Scarfs and tippets, 532 
 
 Scheveling scenery, 644 
 
 Schmidt, celebrated organ-builder, 130 
 
 " School of Adults," 745 
 
 Schoolboys, 75 ; at Malmsbury, tradition 
 about, 116 
 
 Schools, rare before the Reformation* 
 195; chastisement in, 501 ; schoolboys' 
 anticipations of home, 548 
 
 Sciences and arts, skill of the ancients in. 
 See Ancients. 
 
 Scilly Islands, custom in, 41 
 
 Scipio, anecdote and shield of, 132 
 
 Scot, John, a fasting fanatic, 67 
 
 Scotland, story of the Scotch soldier, 143 
 utility of the Scottish hospital, 143 
 customs on the new moon in, 197 
 amusements called hy-jinks in, 234 
 an old and corrected map of, 253 
 Scotch Adam and Eve, 269; some 
 gold found in, 329; Scottish legends, 
 3SS; customs in, 426, 434, 486; Scotch 
 lairds and judges, 542; Highland enu- 
 gration, 575; foi'est of Scotland, 576. 
 See Highlands. 
 
 Scott, sir Walter, letter of, to sir A. P'er- 
 guson, 668 
 
 , Thomas, shepherd, anecdote of, 669 
 
 Scripture texts, how hung up formerly 
 in houses, 195 ; inscribed on road- 
 posts, 270 
 
 Sculpture of the ancients, 827 
 
 Scylla and Charybdis, ancient and mo 
 dern descriptions otj 321 
 
 Sea bull, 350 
 
 weed, address to, 226 
 
 Seals ; bread seals, 45 ; seal of lord high 
 admiral, 287 
 
 Second-sight, 391 
 
 Secrets worth keeping, 371 
 
 Sects, exclusiveness of, 818 
 
 Seigneurs, the benevolent one, 66 
 
 Seignories in England, dreadful abuses 
 and oppressions formerly in, 196 
 
 Selden, notice of, 700 
 
 Self-devotion, clerical, 682 
 
 Self-esteem, 790 
 
 Selling and buying, 520 
 
 Sensualist and his conscience, 619 
 
 Sepulchral remains, 41, 42 
 
 Servants, appropriate addresses of differ- 
 ent- ones, 89; description of statutes or 
 mops for hiring, 86, 102; servant- 
 maid's pocket-book, 616; old and faith- 
 ful servants, 823 
 
 Servetus and his works, 777 
 
 Servian popular poetry, 265 
 
 " Seven Champions of Christendom," old 
 play, 244 
 
 Session court of, satire on judges of, 542 
 
 " Shakerley, my aunt," 746 
 
 Shakspeare, a fault in, 151 ; contempo- 
 rary dramatists of, 179; a giant amono 
 giants, 179; time's rival, 584 
 
 Sham-fights and invasion, 442 
 
 Sharp, Mr., his dissertation on Coventry 
 pageants, 6 
 
 Sheep, aversion of deer to, 377, 378; 
 their injury to young woods, 576; 
 
 b6^ 
 
GENERAL INDEX. 
 
 Ruperstition touching sheep arid mice, 
 648; sheep-sheariijg in Cumberland, 
 694 
 Sheepshanks, Whittle, 548 
 Shej)herd's well, Hampstead, 191 
 Shepherds, how paid tormeily, 197 
 Sherbet, receipt for making, 236 
 SlieritF's trumpets explained, 197 
 Sheriffs, female, 700 
 
 Shield of Scipio found in the Rhone, 132 
 "Ship, (The)" order of, 29 
 Ships, descent of one over Niagara falls, 
 
 680 
 Shirley Common, broom-maker's at, 639 
 Shirts, wearing two in travelling, 59L) 
 Shoeblacks, notices respecting, 632 
 Shoemakers, an ambitious one, 585 
 Shoes, old, curious application of, 588 
 Shorland, Lord, old legend and monu- 
 ment of, 564, 573 
 Showers, summei-, 541 
 Shrove Tuesday, 136 
 Shute, bishop of Durham, pun on, 142 
 Shuttle, hanging the, 626 
 Siam, summer-house in, 541 
 Sight, (second) 391 
 
 Signs, explanation of a modern one, 336; 
 one near Skipton, 318; odd signs, 206 ; 
 sign-seeking, 620; curious signs, 638, 
 666, 792 
 Silchester, Hants, Roman station, 692 
 Silent club, (the) 234 
 Silver, how silver coin tested, 226 ; found 
 
 in Cornwall, 329 
 "Silver Age, (The)" old play, 338 
 Simcoe, general, notice of, 625 
 Singing, test of excellence of, 519 
 Singing birds. See Birds. 
 " Single hair," for angling, an enthusiast 
 
 on, 330 
 " Sir Giles Goosecap," old play, 579 
 Skating, 75 
 
 Skimmington, procession called, 594 
 Skipton in Craven, theatrical company 
 
 at, 35; custom in, 314. See Craven. 
 Sleeves, pockets formerly in, 530 
 Smith, sir Sydney, and old Dan Bryan, 
 
 316 
 Smith, Thomas, a quack, 775 
 Smoking, much used in 1634, 83 
 Smoking and snuffing, oriental temple 
 for, 751, 754; antiquity of smoking, 
 800 
 Smoky chimnies, how cured, 286 
 Smyth, Capt. W. H., his account of 
 
 Scylla and Charybdis, 323 
 Snitzler, an honest organ-builder, 427 
 SnufF and tobacco, proposed history of, 
 
 194 
 Snuffing andsmoking, 751, &c.; Laurence- 
 kirk snuff-boxes, 754 
 SnufF box, (my) engraving and descrip- 
 tion of, 95 
 
 Snufifers, (curious old) account and en- 
 graving of, 320 
 
 Snuffing candles, curious process of, 174 
 
 Soanies, Dr. master of Peterhouse, 546 
 
 Society simplified by civilization, 110 
 
 Soho bazaar, 77 
 
 Soldier, (Scotch) story of, engraving, 143 
 
 Soldiers; a soldier's age, 590; a soldier's 
 return, 702 
 
 Somerset, proud duke of, 790 
 
 Son, father and, 430 
 
 Sophia Charlotte, sister of George I., 654 
 
 Southam, custom in, 88 
 
 Southey, poet, residence of, 555 
 
 Spa-fields, sketch in, 796 
 
 Spaniards, spare diet of, 800 
 
 Spanish mysteries, 471; punctilio, 541 
 
 Sparr, Mrs. A., a maiden lady, 170 
 
 Sparrow, address to, 182 
 
 Spectrology, 355 
 
 Speculation, folly of, 590 
 
 Spells of home, 108 
 
 Spinning, tenuity of, 457 
 
 Spit, movement of to music, 516 
 
 " Spoons Apostle,'' 823 
 
 Sporting, 142 
 
 Spring, the voice of, 312 
 
 Spring Gardens, a former Vauxhall, 360 
 
 Stag-hunting, near Bean Doran, 377 
 
 Stage-coach adventures, 132 
 
 Standing mannerly before parents, 197 
 
 Stanley, Rev. T., rector of Eyam, 729 
 
 Stanmore toll-house, engraving of^ 86 
 
 Starch-wort, an herb, account of, 599 
 
 " Stare and Gossip, the," 445 
 
 Starlings, battle of, 331 
 
 Stars, fixed, the, 602, 812 
 
 Statesmen, model of, 629 
 
 , small farming proprietois 
 
 called, 603 
 
 Statistics, curious, 270 
 
 Statutes tor hiring servants, account of, 
 86, 102 ; stupendous ones, 826 
 
 Stealing to restore, 117 
 
 Steam-engines, 457 
 
 Steel manufacturers, 714 
 
 Stephens, his mode of writing, 341 
 
 " Steps retraced," 238 
 
 Stilton, (ham and) 90 
 
 Stocking, throwing of, 149' 
 
 Stoke Lyne, lord of manor of, 278 
 
 Stones,sepulchral accumulations of stones, 
 42; account of a stone-eater, 177; auto- 
 biography of one, 177 
 
 Stones, (precious) ancients' imitation of, 
 787 
 
 Stoiies, (long) 619 
 
 Storks, habits and treatment of, 646, 696 
 
 Storm in 1790, 384 
 
 Stourbridge fair, 103 
 
 Stratford-upon-Avon Church, enffravinc 
 of, 223 'Kb 
 
 Streams, irregularity o£ some^ 115 
 
 866 
 
GENERAL INDEX. 
 
 Street circulars, 238 
 
 Strutt, Mr., new edition of his " Sports 
 and Pastimes,'' &c., by editor of the 
 Table Book, 503 
 Stuart papers, interesting account of, 369; 
 
 the unfortunate line of Stuarts, 613 
 Students in German universities, 62 
 Studley statute for hiring servants, 87 
 Style, error respecting, 30 
 Styles, for writing on table-books, 1 
 Suicide never occurringamonggipsies, 105 
 Sumatra, oran-outang of, 378 
 Summer drinks, receipts for, 236 
 Summer ; summer-house at Siam, 541 ; 
 summer showers, an effect of^ (41; 
 summer garden of Peter the Great, 643 
 Sunday, diversions on, 245, 247 
 Suppers, a light and early one, 334 
 Sup porter, a sign motto, 206 
 Surgery, skill of the ancients in, 785, 787 
 Surnames, various cases of that of the 
 " devil," in families, and arms corre- 
 spondent, 349 
 Surveys, of see of Durham, 208; in 
 
 Doomsday-book, 305 
 Sweetheart-seeing, 494 
 Swimming, Kircher's account of a man 
 
 web-handed and web-footed, 353 
 Swiss guards, monument of, 127 
 Switzerland, an artist's letter from, 214 
 Sword-dancing in Northumberland, 329 
 "Sybil's Leaves," 37 
 Sympathy, supposed effect of, 581 
 System for shopkeepers, 281, 282 
 Table Book, explanation of, 1; design of 
 the present, 2; editor's disclaimer of 
 various publications in his name, 382; 
 editor of about to publish a cheap 
 edition of "Strutt's Sports and Pas- 
 times," 503 ; editor's severe domestic 
 afflictions, 783 
 Table rock at Niagara, 685 
 Tadloo's tread like pavier's rammers, 188 
 Tailors and cabbage, 236 
 Tailor, origin of the word, 773 
 Talbot inn, Borough, 437 
 "Tales, (Early Metrical)" notice of, 57 
 Talker, the selfish, 171 ; talking, at times, 
 
 how difScult, 181 
 Talkington, George, casualties, that be- 
 fell, 478 
 "Tancred and Gismund," old play, 161 
 Tanner, appropriate name for his villa, 382 
 Tanner, Dame, gleaning cake of, 687 
 Tartans, now little used in the liigh- 
 
 lands, 147 
 Taste, its power and value, 43 
 Tasting days, 638 
 Taverns and inns, notices of, 435, &c., 
 
 439, &c. 
 Taylor, J., of Birmingham, notice of, 712 
 Tempers of birds, how ascertained, 296 
 Temple church, organ in, 130 
 
 [Temple of Health, Dr. Graham's, 695; 
 
 for smoking, Mr. Giiddon's, 751 
 Temple, Sir W., disposal of his heart, 644 
 Tenter, (Bear and) boys' play, 596 
 "Tethy's' Festival," old play, 321 
 Test of talent, 286 
 Texts of scripture; formerly written in 
 
 apartments, 195; on road-posts, 270 
 Thales and other ancients, 824, 
 Thames, river, shut out state of, 84; 
 
 bronze antique found in, 134 
 Thames Dittou, the resort of anglers, 330 
 Theatres, one projected at Edinburgh, 
 157; advice respecting formation of, 
 ib; curious circumstances of a fire at 
 one, 369. See Plays. 
 "The thing to a T," explanation of, 8 
 Thomas, Elizabeth, poetess, 99 
 Thomson, poet, notices of, 468, 603, 708 
 Tliorwalsden, motmment by, 127 
 Thoulouse, cruel custom at, 277 
 Thou and you, in poetry, 5S0 
 Thread and thread-makers, 716 
 Throwing the stocking, 149 
 Thucydides, testimonial to, 324 
 Thunder, opinions on, 730 
 "Thyestes," old play, 737 
 Ticket porters, regulations and fares of, 10 
 Tickling trout, 331 
 Tides, opinions on, 731 
 Tie and bob wigs, 631 
 Tighe, Mrs., poetess, 100 
 Timber in bogs, remarks on, 93 
 "Time, the defeat of,'' 582 
 Tin mines, in Cornwall, 329 
 Tippets and scarfs, 532 
 Titles, new, to old books, 34 
 Titles, 790 
 
 Tobacco, much used in 1634, 85; and 
 snuff, proposed history of, 194; anec- 
 dotes of dealers in, ib.; or a substitute, 
 ancient use of, 800. See Ancients. 
 Toll, ungallant, 636 
 
 Tollard, (royal) formerly a royal seat, 18 
 Toilet, Elizabeth, poetess, 99 
 Tomarton, former dungeon in, 195 
 Tomkins, an unrelenting creditor, 334 
 Tommy Bell, engraving of, 326 
 Sly, engraving of, 166 
 
 Tonga Islands, custom in, 413 
 
 Tooth, (the golden) learned dispute on, 227 
 
 Torches, dauce ot, 54 
 
 "Tottenham Court," old play, 291 
 
 To !i pees, how formerly stiffened, 197 
 
 Toiirs, a curious one, 560 
 
 Townsend, (Bow street) evidence by, 489 
 
 Trade, good and ill of, .520 
 
 Trades, younger brothers formerly not 
 
 bred to, 197; and offlces specified in 
 
 Doomsday-book, 308 
 Tradesmen, deviation from ancient rule 
 
 of, 120; competition between, 194; 
 
 "The Tradesman," by Defoe, 282 
 
 867 
 
IP 
 
 
 
 
 GENERAL INDEX. 
 
 
 
 Tradition, picture of, 597 
 
 Vauxhall, a dramatic sketch, 219 
 
 
 
 Tragi-comedy and pastoral comedy, 725 
 
 Vega, Francis de la, adventures of, 508- . 
 
 
 , 
 
 "Traitor, (The)" old play, 704 
 
 , Lopez de, mysteries of, 471 
 
 
 
 Transmigration, explanatory of antipa- 
 
 Vehicle, (pageant) and play, notice and 
 
 
 
 •thies, 510 
 
 engraving of, 6 
 
 
 
 Trashing, 588 
 
 Venice, 540; the doge's marriage, 226 
 
 
 
 Travellers, former hospitality to, in 
 
 Venison, hunted bettee tliau shot, 17; 
 
 
 
 France, 195; before the Reformation 
 
 potted, curious notion about, 581 
 
 
 
 ■were entertained at religious houses, 196 
 
 Vines, notices about, 430, 728. See 
 
 
 
 Travelling by coach and steam compared, 
 
 Grapes. 
 
 
 
 131 
 
 Viper's poison, 796 
 
 
 
 Travelling, precautions for, 590, 581 
 
 Vernon, admiral, patron, of General 
 
 
 
 Tread-mills, different standards of labour 
 
 Washington, 309 - 
 
 
 
 in, 378 
 Treasure-digging, patent for, 621 
 Treaties; one between W. Penn and the 
 
 mount why so call'^d 3^9 
 
 
 
 a musician anecdote or 9 
 
 
 
 Vienna, customs in, 9 
 
 
 
 Indians, 623, treaty of Uxbridge, 675 
 
 Views of a felon on the scaffold, 230 
 
 
 
 Trees, tasteful disposal of, 404; skeletons 
 
 Village new-year described, 46 
 
 
 
 of, 677; a memorable elm, 625; noble 
 
 "Virgin Widow," old play, 161 
 
 
 
 trees near Amsterdam, 645; super- 
 
 Virginia, deliberate duel in, -361 
 
 
 
 stition about passing patients through 
 
 Virtue and Death, dialogue between, 424 
 
 
 
 a split ash, 647; trees poetically and 
 
 "Visiting the churches," 239 
 
 
 
 nationally considered, 649; height' of 
 
 Voice, restoration of, by anciiovy, 685 
 
 
 
 the cabba<re tree, 650 
 
 Volunteer reminiscences, 442 
 
 
 
 Trials, of Flora, 273; of a negro for 
 
 Vortices,, doctrine of, 603 
 
 
 
 breach of promise, 90; for life, im- 
 
 W, (the letter) 205 
 
 
 
 pressions under, 229 
 
 Waggery, ancient, 210 
 
 
 
 Tricks of the Fairies, 584 
 
 Wagstaff, Mr. E., 507 
 
 
 
 "Triumphant Widow, (The)"oldplay,530 
 
 Wake-Robin, a plant, 599 '-• 
 
 
 
 Troller's Gill, (The) 741 
 
 Wakefield, custom neai-, 425 
 
 
 
 Tromp, Van, gallanti-y of, 800 
 
 Wales, character of the ancient Britons, 
 
 
 
 Trout, tickling, 331 
 
 168; notices of the Welsh Harp, ib.; 
 
 
 
 "True Trojans, (The)" old play, 578 
 
 minstrelsy society in, 169; ancient 
 
 
 
 Trumpets formerly sounded before lords 
 
 British pillar, engraving of, 175 
 
 
 
 and gentlemen, 197 
 
 Walker, (Willy) and John Bolton, 619 
 
 
 
 Tuileries,massacreof Swiss Guards at, 127 
 
 Waller, sir E., his tomb at Beaconstield, 
 
 
 
 Tumuli, 41, 42 
 
 649 
 
 
 
 Turk in Cheapside, inquiry for, 97; the 
 
 Wallis, lady, her correct estimate of her 
 
 
 
 Great Turk, 791 
 
 comedy, 286 
 
 
 
 Tui ks, consolation under persecution hv. 
 
 Walpole, Horace, letter of, about extor- 
 
 
 
 227; a terror to Christendom, 243, 28S 
 
 tion in Westminster abbey, 5 
 
 
 
 Turnpikeman, (The) 736 
 
 Walpole, sir H , and Hogarth, 559, 560 
 
 
 
 Tutor for tradesmen, 281, 282 
 
 , sir R., notice of, 510 
 
 
 
 Tuum et Menm, 539 
 
 Walls of plaster advised for fruit, 485 
 
 
 
 Twelfth-night custom at Brough, 13 
 
 Wals'i, Mr.H., his satire on corporations. 
 
 
 
 "Twins, (The)" old play, 579 
 
 262 
 
 
 
 "Two angry women of Abingdon," old 
 
 Wamphray, in Scotland, great hiring fair 
 
 
 
 play, 178 
 
 at, 102 
 
 
 
 "Two Tragedies in one," old play, 244 
 
 Wards, court of, abuses of, 452 
 
 
 
 Ugliness, jiaiV" admission of, 621 
 
 Warming-pans for Jamaica, 8 
 
 
 
 Ugly club, 132, 234 
 
 "Wars of Cyrus," old play, 725 
 
 
 
 Umbrella, clergyman's, 465 
 
 Warwickshire, statutes or mops in, 86, &c. ; 
 
 
 
 Unhanged and hanged, two classes, 228 
 
 custom in, 647 
 
 
 
 Universities, in Germany, 62; flogging in, 
 
 "Washing of the feet" at Vienna, 239: 
 
 
 
 197; founding the London, 297 
 
 at Greenwich by queen Elizabeth, 240 
 
 
 
 Unknown, (thegreat) discovered, 153, &c. 
 
 Washington, general, notice of, 304 
 
 
 
 Usurers; lifeof one, 450; a liberal one, 818 
 
 Watchmen, (London) 676 
 
 
 
 Utopia, (sir T. More's) blunder about, 621 
 
 Water, prejudiceagaiust pipe-conveyance 
 
 
 
 Uxbridge, town and treaty of, 675 
 
 of, 367 ; having the effect of fire, 682 
 
 
 
 Valediction, 200 
 
 Water-carrier, (old) engraving of, 367 
 
 
 
 Valentines, 103 
 
 Waterloo-bridge, intendedopeningto, 107 
 
 
 
 Valle Crucis abbey, pillar near, 175 
 
 Watermen, ancient misconduct of, 84; 
 
 
 
 Vanithee (wife) Jack Mullally's, 347 watermen hundred years ago, 314 
 
 
 868 
 
 
GENERAL INDEX, 
 Watson, bistop, letters of to duke of 
 . York, 55 
 
 Watson, Tom/an eminent dramatist, 193 
 Waverley, more than ten years unpub- 
 lished, 214; Waverley novels acknow- 
 ledged by sir Walter Scott, 153 
 Wax- work and extortion in Westminster 
 
 abbey, 5 
 Way to grow rich, 174 
 Way- posts with texts on. them, 270 
 Wealth, good and bad etFeots of, 174 
 Weather, a new hygrometer, 13 
 Webster, thedramatist, excellence of, 179 
 ~, Dr., of St. Alban's, 120 
 
 Weddings, Highland, 146; Welsh, 396; 
 
 Cumberland, 397. See Marriages. 
 Wesley, John, his return of plate, 20 
 West, Gilbert, notice of, 406 
 Westminster abbey, curious letter of H. 
 Walpole about, 6; burial fees of, 167 
 Westmoreland, belief of witchcraft in, 
 
 337 
 Weston, the royal cook, 189 
 "Weston Favel History, &c.," remarks 
 
 on, 597 
 "Whims and Oddities," by T. Hood, 694 
 Whitelock, collation by to queen of 
 
 Sweden, 276 
 Whittington, revolution house at, 671 
 Whyte, Mr. S., his account of Mrs. 
 
 Charke, 63 
 Wickham (West) church, 406 
 Wiggen [ash] tree ; its virtues against 
 
 witchcraft, 337 ' 
 Wight, isle of, custom in, 771 
 Wigs, 122 ; formerly general, 631 
 Wild man of the woods, an extraordinary 
 one, 378 
 
 , Jonathan, first victim to a law, 118 
 
 Wildman, Mr., first purchaser of Eclipse, 
 311 
 
 , Colonel, benevolent conduct 
 
 of, 359 
 Will, Will-be-so, memoir of, 70 
 Willie, (Blind) of Newcastle, 231 
 Willy-Howe, in Yorkshire, legends 
 
 about, 41 
 Wilson, comedian, anecdote of, 286 
 Wilson, Bev. Mr., curious tract by, 540 
 
 , professor of moral philosophy, 
 
 notices of, 554 
 Wiltshire abroad and at home, 116 
 Wiltshire, custom in, 513 
 Windows, rarely of glass before the Re- 
 formation, 196 
 Winds, irritating eiFect of some, 137 
 Wine, effect of, 412 
 Winter's day, description of, 74; winter 
 
 flowers, 783 
 "Wit in a Constable," old play, 97 
 Witchcraft, how to recognise a witch, 337 ; 
 preventives of, ib.; decree against, 
 486; "burning the witch," 705; guard 
 
 against witchcraft, 706; the wise wo- 
 man of Littondale, 802 
 Wives, last resource of one, 226; use of 
 a wife and children, 283; Mr. E. Wag- 
 staff's, 607; lively letter from one, 
 635;, consolation for loss of one, 654; 
 evidence of affection in wives, 686; 
 a wife taking liberties, 790 
 
 Wizard's Cave, 788, 789 
 
 Wolfe, general, how his death wound 
 received, 126 
 
 Wolves; forests burnt in Scotland to ex- 
 terminate tljem, 576 
 
 Wolverhampton church, valuable organ 
 in, 131 
 
 Women; uugallant ridicule of the "old 
 woman,'' 10; poniards worn by, in 
 Spain, 137; improvement of, 179; for- 
 mer education of, 195; former court 
 rudeness to, 195; former amusements 
 of, 196; prodigious fans used by, 
 197; a lady customer and a spruce 
 mercer, 284; situation of a woman 
 in India, 349 ; former refinement 
 of court ladies in Spain, 369 ; customs 
 at lying-in, 426; former freedom of 
 society with men, 434, 435 ; Egyptian 
 compliment to, 617; ingenuoiis ad- 
 mission of ugliness by one, 621; a 
 young one's pocket-book, 616; women 
 sheriffs and justices, 700 ; antiquarians' 
 supposed dislike to, i6.; dower of wo- 
 u'en,701 ; an amiable woman described, 
 755; "The Wise Woman of Litton- 
 dale," 803. See Wives. 
 
 Wood, Ant. a, his dislike of women, 700 
 
 Wood, Nicolas, a glutton, 589 
 
 Wordsworth, (poet) notices_o_£LjL§Jl,, _..,,,^; 
 
 Wwfteldj longevity of vicars of, 12 
 
 Worlds, plurality of, 602 
 
 Wragg, Mary, 384 
 
 Wrestling, 622, 664 
 
 Wright, (Mrs.) her description of Niagara 
 falls, 683 
 
 Writers, correct estimate by one of her 
 own work, 286. See Authors. 
 
 Writing-tables, 1; Peruvian substitute 
 for, 470; writing-desks, 511, 512 
 
 Yard, derivation of the term, 189 
 
 Yarmouth, long famed for herrings, 285 
 
 Years, reason for not counting, 590 
 
 York, cardinal de, notice of, 369 
 
 , duke of, engraving and notices of, 
 
 47; list of dukes of York, 50 
 
 York, and the revolution, 671 
 
 Yorkshire, new year's eve custom in, 4; 
 fairies in, 41 ; Yorkshire Gipsy, (stream) 
 115; customs in, 464, 486, 588, 667 
 
 Young; (Mr. S.) of Keston Cross, 432 
 
 "Young lambs to sell," a Loudon cry, 198 
 
 "Your humble servant," when first used 
 in salutation, 195 
 
 Youth, illiberal teachers of, 281 
 
 669 
 
INDEX TO THE ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 Alderson, Hut., of Durham, 183 , 
 
 Antiquarian Hall, 70 
 
 Antique bronzefound in the Thames, 134 
 
 another view, 135 
 
 Armorial bearing-, 278 
 
 Auo;sburgh, (Diet of) commemoration 
 
 medal of, 575 
 Barleycorn, sir John, 58 
 Ba'h chaiiman, mock funeral of, 21 
 Bear garden, in South wark, in 1574, 246 
 
 ,in 1648, 247 
 
 Beckenham church-yard, porch of, 383 
 
 church, font of, 386 
 
 road, bridge over, 351 
 
 Berne, arcades in, 214 
 
 Billy Boots, 131 
 
 Bird-catcher, (London) in 1827, 295 
 
 Blake, William, ostler, 438 
 
 Blind Hannah, 111 
 
 Willie, of Newcastle, 231 
 
 Bloomfield, George, 815 
 Bromley, Bishop's well at, 447 
 
 church door of, 463 
 
 key, 465 
 
 memorial of a peal rung at, 678 
 
 Broom-maker's at Shirley common, 639 
 
 Bruce, lord Edw., case containing his 
 heart, 527 
 
 appearance of the 
 
 heart, 629 
 
 Buckingham, duke of, house in which he 
 died, 263 
 
 Bninsal Lich-gate, 650 
 
 CI)arke,Mrs., Colly Gibber's daughter; 63 
 
 Chatham-hill, Star inn on, 313 
 
 Cigar Divan of Mr. Gliddon, 751 
 
 Cooke, John, saddler, of Exeter, 591 
 
 Coward, Nathan, 543 
 
 Cran bourne Chase, emigration of deer 
 from, 15 
 
 "Crooked Billet," on Penge Common, 335 
 
 De-k, (my) 511 
 
 Eclipse, the race-horse, 310 
 
 Elvet Bridge, Durham, 207 
 
 Fleet river, (ancient) at Clerkenwell, 38 
 
 French assignat, 519 
 
 Gilpin, Mrs., riding to Edmonton, 454 
 
 Gimmal ring, 415 
 
 Grassmere font, 550 
 
 Hagbush-lane, Islington, view in, 607 
 
 • a last look at, 807 
 
 llarpham, St. John's well at, 687 
 
 Harrow church, font of, 79 
 
 Hervey, (author of meditations) birth- 
 place of, 598 
 
 Hobby-horses for children, crier of, 343 
 
 Hogarth, embarking at Isle of Grain, 559 
 
 Holly-tree, carrying of at Brough, 14 
 Holwood, seat of Mr. Pitt, 726 
 Howard, of Efiingham, lord, autograph 
 
 of, 287 
 Husbandman, the retired, 423 
 Interlaken, houses in, 214 
 Keston Cros.«, 431 
 Lee Penny, (the) 486 
 London cries, 255 
 
 cherry woman, 34.5 
 
 "London Cries, (old)" 630 
 
 another figure, 630 
 
 Lovat, lord, 119 
 May-day, at Lynn, 271 
 dance, 279 
 
 Millhouse, Robert, 495 
 Mompesson, Catherine, her tomb at 
 Eyam, 655 
 
 's pulpit in the rock, 662 
 
 Monument at Lucerne, 127 
 
 Newsman, 31 
 
 Newspaper, reading the, 399 
 
 North, Robert, of Scarborough, 758 
 
 Pageant vehicle and play, 6 
 
 Pedestrian costume, 214 
 
 Penn, W,, and the Indians, 423 
 
 Pillar, ancient British, 175 
 
 Poor's-box in Cawston church, 374 
 
 — -— in Loddou church, 375 
 
 Quintain, (the) 502 
 Ravensbourne, source of the, 735 
 Revolution-house, at Whittington, 671 
 ''Running horse, (the)" at Merrow, 767 
 Seal of the lord high admiral, 287 
 Servants, hiring o-f, at a statute fair, 102 
 Shepherd's well, Hampstead, 191 
 Shorland, lord, monument of, 673 
 Sketch, (A) 479 
 Snuff-box, (my) 95 
 Snuffers, pair of old, 319 
 Soldier, (Scotch) story of, 143 
 Stan more toll- house, 86 
 Stratford-upon-Avon church, 223 
 Swiss costume, 214 
 215 
 
 'J'obacco-pipes, Irish, 799 
 Tommy Bell, 326 
 
 Sly, of Durham, 166 
 
 1'ree, fash) used as a chanu, 647 
 
 Velocitas, (the) fly-boat, 694 
 
 Water-carriers, (old) 367 
 
 Watson, George, Sussex calculator, 703 
 
 West Wickham church, 406 
 
 York, duke of, 47 
 
 ■■' Young lambs to sell,'' 198 
 
 870 
 
1