Chapter M: M. M. a traveller in Russia, communicates, through the Gentleman’s (2)

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

_Receipt for a stoppage in the throat_:

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

CELEBRATION OF

~Bishop Blase’s Festival,~

AT BRADFORD, 3d FEBRUARY, 1825.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

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

~February 4.~

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

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

_Tusser_

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

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

~February 5.~

Holiday at the Exchequer.

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

_St. Agatha._

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

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

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

~February 6.~

Sexagesima Sunday.

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

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

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

~February 7.~

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

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

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

~February 8.~

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

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

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

~February 9.~

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

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

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

~February 10.~

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

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

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

~February 11.~

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

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

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

~February 12.~

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

HILARY TERM _ends_.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

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

~February 13.~

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

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

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

~February 14.~

VALENTINE’S DAY.

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

_St. Valentine._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Feb. 13, 182--.

_A Friend._

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

_St. Valentine’s Morning._

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

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

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

_Dodsley’s Miscell._

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

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

Brush’d with the hiss of rustling wings;

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

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

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

Lovers all,
A madrigal,

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

_St. Valentine’s Day._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hurdis calls this

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Invocation of St. Valentine._

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

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

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

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

MY VALENTINE.

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

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

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

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

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

_High Wycombe._

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

THE COURIER DOVE.

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

Outstrip the winds my courier dove!
On pinions fleet and free,
And bear this letter to my love
Who’s far away from me.

It bids him mark thy plume whereon
The changing colours range;
But warns him that my peace is gone
If he should also change.

It tells him thou return’st again
To her who sets thee free;
And O! it asks the truant, when
He’ll thus resemble thee!

Lastly, from “Sixty-five Poems and Sonnets,” &c. recently published, he ventures to extract one not less deserving the honour of perusal, than either that he has presented:--

A VALENTINE.

No tales of love to you I send,
No hidden flame discover,
I glory in the name of friend,
Disclaiming that of lover.
And now, while each fond sighing youth
Repeats his vows of love and truth,
Attend to this advice of mine--
With caution choose a VALENTINE.

Heed not the fop, who loves himself,
Nor let the rake your love obtain;
Choose not the miser for his pelf,
The drunkard heed with cold disdain;
The profligate with caution shun,
His race of ruin soon is run:
To none of these your heart incline,
Nor choose from them a VALENTINE.

But should some generous youth appear,
Whose honest mind is void of art,
Who shall his Maker’s laws revere,
And serve him with a willing heart;
Who owns fair Virtue for his guide,
Nor from her precepts turns aside;
To him at once your heart resign,
And bless your faithful VALENTINE.

Though in this wilderness below
You still imperfect bliss shall find,
Yet such a friend will share each woe,
And bid you be to Heaven resign’d:
While Faith unfolds the radiant prize,
And Hope still points beyond the skies,
At life’s dark storms you’ll not repine,
But bless the day of VALENTINE.

_Wit_ at a _pinch_.

A gentleman who left his snuffbox at a friend’s on St. Valentine’s Eve, 1825, received it soon after his return home in an envelope, sealed, and superscribed--

To J---- E----, Esq.

Dear Sir,

I’ve just found proof enough,
You are _not_ worth a pinch of snuff;
_Receive_ the proof, seal’d up with care,
And _extract_ from it, that you _are_.

_Valentine_, 1825

*

CHRONOLOGY.

SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE died on the 14th of February, 1780. He was born at the house of his father, a silkman, in Cheapside, London, on the 10th of July, 1723; sent to the Charter-house in 1730; entered Pembroke-college, Cambridge, in 1738; of the Middle Temple, 1741; called to the bar in 1746; elected recorder of Wallingford in 1749; made doctor of civil law in 1750; elected Vinerian professor of common law in 1758; returned a representative to Parliament in 1761; married in 1761; became a justice of the court of Common Pleas in 1770. In the course of his life he filled other offices. He was just and benevolent in all his relations, and, on the judicial seat, able and impartial. In English literature and jurisprudence he holds a distinguished rank for his “Commentaries on the Laws of England.” This work originated in the legal lectures he commenced in 1753: the first volume was published in 1759, and the remaining three in the four succeeding years. Through these his name is popular, and so will remain while law exists. The work is not for the lawyer alone, it is for every body. It is not so praiseworthy to be learned, as it is disgraceful to be ignorant of the laws which regulate liberty and property. The absence of all information in some men when serving upon juries and coroners’ inquests, or as constables, and in parochial offices, is scandalous to themselves and injurious to their fellow men. The “Commentaries” of Blackstone require only common capacity to understand. Wynne’s “Eunomus” is an excellent introduction to Blackstone, if any be wanting. With these two works no man can be ignorant of his rights or obligations; and, indeed, the “Commentaries” are so essential, that he who has not read them has no claim to be considered qualified for the exercise of his public duties as an Englishman. He is at liberty, it is true, for the law leaves him at liberty, to assume the character he may be called on to bear in common with his fellow-citizens; but, with this liberty, he is only more or less than a savage, as he is more than a savage by his birth in a civilized country, and less than a savage in the animal instinct, which teaches that self-preservation is the first law of nature; and still further is he less, because, beside the safety of others, it may fall to him, in this state of ignorance, to watch and ward the safety of the commonwealth itself.

Blackstone, on making choice of his profession, wrote an elegant little poem, entitled “_The Lawyer’s Farewell to his Nurse_.” It is not more to be admired for ease and grace, than for the strong feeling it evinces in relinquishing the pleasures of poesy and art, and parting for ever from scenes wherein he had happily spent his youthful days. Its conclusion describes his anticipations--

Lost to the field and torn from you--
Farewell! a long--a last adieu!
Me wrangling courts and stubborn _law_
To smoke and crowds, and cities draw;
There selfish faction rules the day,
And pride and av’rice throng the way;
Diseases taint the murky air,
And midnight conflagrations glare:
Loose revelry and riot bold
In frighted streets their orgies hold;
Or when in silence all is drowned,
Fell murder walks her lonely round
No room for peace--no room for you
Adieu, celestial nymph, adieu!

A SUIT AT LAW.

Its origin and progress may be traced in the _Tree_ engraved on the opposite page.

1. The _root_ of the engraved _Tree_ exhibits a diversity of suits and
actions for the remedy of different wrongs.

2. The _trunk_ shows the growth of a suit, stage by stage, until its
conclusion.

3. The _branches_ from each stage show the proceedings of the
plaintiff on one side, and the proceedings of the defendant on the
other.

4. The _leaves_ of each branch show certain collateral proceedings
whereby the suit is either advanced or suspended.

5. Supposing the _form_ of action suitable to the case, and no stay of
proceedings, the suit grows, on the “sure and firm set earth” of the
law, into a “goodly tree,” and, attaining to execution against either
the plaintiff or the defendant, terminates in consuming fire.

* * * * *

A few whimsical miscellanies are subjoined, not derogatory from the importance or necessity of _legislation_, but amusingly illustrative of _legal practice_ in the sinuosities it has acquired during successive stages of desuetude and change. Those only who know the law are acquainted with the modes by which numerous deformities in its application have originated, or the means by which they may be remedied; while all who experience that application are astonished at its expensiveness, and complain of it with reason.

A legal practitioner is said to have delivered a bill containing several charges of unmerciful appearance, to a client, who was a tailor; and the tailor, who had made a suit of clothes for his professional adviser, is said to have sent him the following bill by way of set-off.

GEORGE GRIP, ESQ.

_Dr. to_ SAMUEL SMART.