Chapter XXXV: Preface (34)

“Sir,--Since we have been repeatedly asked why St. James’s ringers lost the privilege of ringing in St. Mary’s steeple, as far as it lies in our power we will answer it. Ever since the year 1714, up to the period of 1813, the ringing in this town was conducted by one company only, who had the liberty of ringing at both steeples; and in St. Mary’s steeple there are recorded two peals rung by the Bury company, one of which was rung in 1779, and the other in 1799. In 1813, the bells of St. Mary’s wanting some repairs, the ringers applied to the churchwardens, and they having declined doing any thing to them, the ringers ceased from ringing altogether until the bells were repaired. At length an offer was made to the churchwardens to raise a _young_ company, which offer was accepted by them, and the bells were partially repaired. In consequence of which a company was raised, and a part of it consisted of old men who were incapable of learning to ring; youth being the only time when such an art can be acquired. It was agreed that when this company could ring one course of eight (or 112 changes), that each one should receive one pound, which they have never asked for, well knowing they were never entitled to it; at the same time, it appears evident that the parish consented they should learn to ring. In 1817, only two years and a half after the company was raised, three bells were obliged to be rehung, at nearly twenty pounds’ expense. Taking an account of the annual repairs of the bells, and the repairs in 1814, the three years of sixteen-change ringers cost the parish nearly thirty pounds, which would have rehung the whole peal, being a deal more than what the old ringers would have caused them to be repaired for in 1814. We, the present company of St. James’s ringers, are well aware that St. Mary’s company had the offer to learn to ring in September, 1814, which we made no opposition to; and if St. Mary’s had learnt, we would have gladly taken them by the hand as brother ringers; but after twelve years’ arduous struggle in endeavouring to learn to ring, they are no forwarder than the first week they began. They could only then ring (no more than they can now) sixteen changes, and that very imperfectly, being but a very small part of the whole revolution of changes on eight bells, which consist of 40,320. We, St. James’s ringers, or ‘old ringers,’ as we have been commonly called, often get blamed for the _most hideous noise_ made in St. Mary’s steeple; and after the jangling of the bells, miscalled ringing, which they afforded the other evening, we indulge in the hope that our future use of the steeple will be generally allowed.

“We are, Sir, most gratefully,

“Your humble servants,

“ST. JAMES’S RINGERS.”

Ah! much respected “St. James’s company,” do “indulge the hope” of making St. Mary’s bells speak eloquently again. If my pen can avail, you shall soon pull “Old Tom’s” tail in that steeple; and all his sons, daughters, and kindred around him, shall lift up their voices in well-tuned chorus, and sing “hallelujahs” of returning joy. “Those evening bells, those evening bells,” which used to frighten all the dogs and old women in the parish, and which used to make me wish were suspended round the ringers’ necks, shall utter sweet music and respond delightedly to lovers’ vows and tales whispered in shady lanes and groves, in the vicinity of your beautiful town. You, worthy old bellmen, who have discoursed so rapidly on the marriages of my father, and uncle, and cousin, and friend, and acquaintance, who would have (for a guinea!) paid the same compliment to myself, (although I was wedded in a distant land, and like a hero of romance and true knight-errant, claimed my fair bride, without consulting “father or mother, sister or brother,”) and made yourselves as merry _at my expense_, as my pleasantest friends or bitterest enemies could have wished, had I hinted such a thing!

Oh! respectable churchwardens--discharge the “_young_ company,” who chant unfeelingly and unprofitably. Remember the “old ringers!”

“Pity the sorrows of the poor old men.”

Respect talent--consider their virtues--patronise that art which “can only be attained when young”--and which the “_young_ company” _cannot_ attain--(does this mean they are stupid?)--and console the “old ringers,” and let them pull on until they are pulled into their graves! Think how they have _moved_ the venerable tower of old St. James’s with their music[244]--nay, until the very bricks and stones above, wished to become more intimately acquainted with them! Do not let a stigma be cast upon them--for, should the good town’s-people imagine the “most hideous noise” was caused by the “old ringers,” their characters are gone for ever--they dare not even look at you through a sheet of paper! How “many a time and oft” have they fired their _feux de joie_ on the king’s birthday--how many thousand changes pealed for the alderman’s annual feast--how many “tiddle-lol-tols” played on the celebration of your election--parish dinners, &c. &c. Then think of their fine--half-minute--scientific--eloquent “tolls” for the death of the “young--the brave--and the fair!” Oh!--respectable gentlemen in office--“think of these things.”

I can aver, the ringers of St. Mary’s are only to be equalled in the _variety_ of their tunes, and unaccountable changes, by “the most hideous noise” of our Waterloo-road bellmen. I suppose they _are_ a “_young_ company.” I can only say, then, I wish they were _old_, if there were any chance of their playing in tune and time.

And now, farewell, my good “old ringers” of St. James’s. I have done all I can for you, and will say there is as much difference between your ringing and the “_young_ company” at St. Mary’s, as there is between the fiddling of the late Billy Waters and Signor Spagnoletti, the leader of the large theatre in the Haymarket!

Farewell! May you have possession of St. Mary’s steeple by the time you see this in the _Every-Day Book_; and may the first merry peal be given in honour of your considerate and faithful townsman--

S. R.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 60·67

[243] Daily papers.

[244] A few years ago it was unsafe to ring the ten bells in St.
James’s steeple. It has been repaired--I cannot say its fine Saxon
architecture either beautified or improved.

~July 5.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the fifth of July, 1685, the duke of Monmouth’s enterprise against James II. was ended by the battle of Sedgemoor, near Bridgwater, in Somersetshire. The duke’s army consisting of native followers attacked the king’s veteran troops, routed them, and would finally have conquered, if error in Monmouth as a leader, and the cowardice of lord Gray, one of his commanders, had not devoted them to defeat.

LETTER OF

~Oliver Cromwell~

_Now first published_.

To several letters of distinguished individuals, first brought to light in these sheets, the editor is enabled to add another. If the character of the writer, and the remarkable event he communicates, be considered in connection with the authority to whom the letter was addressed, it will be regarded as a document of real importance.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_July 1, 1826._

Sir,--I had intended to have sent you this communication in time for insertion under the date of the twenty-sixth of June, which, according to the New Style, corresponds with the fourteenth, on which the letter was written, a copy of which I send:--it is from Oliver Cromwell to the Speaker Lenthall, giving an account of the battle of Naseby.--It was presented to me a great many years ago by a friend in Northamptonshire, and is, I think, an historical curiosity.--I make no comment on its style; it speaks for itself.

I am, &c.

E. S. F.

[COPY.]

“_To the Honourable_ W. LENTHALL,

“_Speaker to the Commons House of Parliament_.

“Sir,

“Being Commanded by you to this Service, I think myself bound to
acquaint you with the good hand of God towards you and us: We marched
yesterday after the King, who went before us from Daventry to
Haversbrowe, and quartered about Six Miles from him--he drew out to
meet us--Both armies engag’d.--We, after three hours fight--very
doubtful,--at last routed his army--kill’d and took about 5000--very
many officers--but of what quality, we yet know not.--We took also
about 200 Carag. all he had--and all his Guns being 12 in
number--whereof two were Demi Culverins and I think the rest
Fasces--we pursued the Enemy from three miles short of Haversbrowe to
nine beyond--Ever to sight of Leicester, whither the King
fled.--Sir--this is none other but the hand of God:--and to him alone
belongs the Glory--wherein none are to share with him.--The General
served you with all faithfulness and honor--and the best
recommendation I can give of him is, that I dare say, he attributes
all to God and would rather perish than to assume to himself, which is
an honest and thriving way--Yet as much for Bravery must be given him
in this Action as to a man.--Honest men served you faithfully in this
Action.--Sir, they are trusty--I beseech you, in the Name of God, not
to discourage them.--I wish this Action may beget thankfulness and
Humility in all that are concern’d in it--He that ventures his Life
for the good of his Country--I wish he trusts God for the liberty of
his Conscience and you for the Liberty he fights for.--In this, he
rests who is your most humble Servant

“O. Cromwell.”

“_Haversbrowe, June 14, 1645._”

* * * * *

The gentleman who possesses Cromwell’s original letter is known to the editor, who thus publicly expresses his thanks to him, as he has done privately, for having communicated so valuable an historical document to the public, through the _Every-Day Book_.

HERIOT’S HOSPITAL,

_Edinburgh_.

With the particulars respecting this foundation in the present volume, it was intended to give the two engravings subjoined. They were ready, and the printer waited for them, and delayed the publication an entire day, while the engraver’s messenger carried them about with him, without the accompaniment of a recollection that they were in his pocket, until after the sheet had appeared without them. This is a disclosure of _one_ of the many “secret sorrows” lately endured by the editor, who begs the reader to bear in mind that the cuts belong to col. 766.

This armorial bearing is carved on many parts of the edifice.

The present fac-simile of his signature, is from one engraved from his subscription to an “acompt,” in his “Memoirs” before quoted.

SWAN-HOPPING SEASON.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_June 24, 1826._

Sir,--It was about this season of the year, though I am not aware of any precise day being fixed for the excursion, that the chief magistrate of the city, in the stately barge, attended by all the “pride, pomp, and circumstance” of flags, gilding, and music, used, when I was a boy, which is a good thirty years ago, to proceed up the river Thames as far as Staines, and, I believe, pour a glass of wine, or perform some such ceremony, upon a stone, which, standing in a meadow a short distance above Staines-bridge, marks the city’s watery jurisdiction. The custom may, for aught I know to the contrary, be still continued, though I suspect it has become obsolete, and my conjecture is strengthened by not observing in your _Every-Day Book_ any mention of this civic excursion, or “_Swan-hopping_,” as I believe it was called. My reason for reviving the memory of it now, is to introduce an authentic anecdote. Your invitations to correspondents have been frequent; and should I be fortunate enough to assist you to a column in a way that will be gratifying to you and your numerous readers, I shall rejoice in the opportunity.

I am, Sir, &c.

N. G.

_City Swan-hopping._

The following curious circumstance occurred, several years ago, at a tavern in the vicinity of Putney-bridge. Several members of one of the city companies having accompanied the chief magistrate on an excursion up the river, quitted his lordship, and landed at the house in question. A boat containing a party of six ladies, elegantly dressed, and rowed by two watermen, in scarlet jackets, put in at the same time.

The happy citizens relieved from the controul of their dames, could not resist this opportunity of showing their gallantry and politeness. They stepped forward and offered their aid to assist the ladies in landing; the offer was accepted; and this act of civility was followed by others. They walked, talked, and laughed together, till dinner was announced. The gentlemen went to the larger room; the ladies sat down to a repast laid out for them by their order in a smaller one.

After some time the ladies again returned to the lawn, where the gentlemen occasionally joined them and continued their civilities till the watermen informed them the tide served for their return to town. The gentlemen then assisted the ladies on board, and wished them a safe voyage. Soon after they called for their bill, which was handed to the chairman in due form; but it is impossible to express the surprise which marked his countenance on reading the following items:--“Dinner, desert, wine, tea, &c. for the ladies, 7_l._ 10_s._;” together with a charge of twelve shillings for servants’ refreshments. The landlord was sent for and questioned as to this charge, who said the ladies had desired the bill should be delivered to their _spouses_, who would settle it. An explanation now took place, when it appeared the parties were strangers to each other; for these sprightly dames, taking advantage of the occasional civilities of the gallant and unsuspecting _swan-hoppers_, had imposed themselves on honest _Boniface_, nothing loth perhaps to be imposed on, as the wives of the city company, and, as such, had been served with an elegant dinner, desert, wine, &c. which they had left their _husbands_ to pay for. The discovery at first disconcerted the gentlemen, but the wine they had drank having opened their hearts and inspired them with liberality, they took the trick put upon them in good part, and paid the bill; and the recollection of the _wives_ of the city company, long afterwards afforded them an ample subject for conversation and laughter.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--The following beautiful lines were written in the summer of the year 1808, at Sheffield, and have not been published; as they are no mean effusion, perhaps they will not disgrace your interesting little work.

Believe me, Sir, &c.

_July 9, 1826._

C. T.

THE OAK AND THE WILLOW.

When the sun’s dazzling brightness oppresses the day,
How delightful to ramble the forests among!
And thro’ the arched boughs hung with woodbine so gay,
To view the rich landscape, to hear the sweet song!

And lo! where the charms of the wild woodland vale,
Expanding in beauty, enrapture the sight;
Here the woods in dark majesty wave in the gale,
There the lawns and the hills are all blazing in light.

From yonder high rocks, down the foaming stream rushes,
Then gleams thro’ the valley o’ershadowed with trees,
While the songsters of spring, warbling wild from the bushes,
With exquisite melody charm the faint breeze.

The peasant boy now with his cattle descends,
Winding slow to the brook down the mountain’s steep tide;
Where the larch o’er the precipice mournfully bends,
And the mountain-ash waves in luxuriance beside.

And mark yonder oak--’tis the cliff’s nodding crest,
That spreads its wide branches and towers sublime;
The morning’s first glances alight on its breast,
And evening there spends the last glimpse of her time.

But hark! the storm bursts, and the raging winds sweep--
See the lightning’s swift flash strikes its branches all bare!
E’en the leaves, where the sunbeams delighted to sleep,
Are scorched in the blaze, and are whirled thro’ the air.

Yet the shrubs in the vale closely sheltered from harm,
Untouched by the tempest, scarce whisper a sound;
While the mountains reecho the thunder’s alarm,
The winds are restrained by the rock’s massy bound.

Thus the rich and the great who engross fortune’s smiles,
Feel the rankling of care often torture their rest,
While peace all the toils of the peasant beguiles,
Or hope’s higher raptures awake in his breast.

Then mine be the lot of the willow that weeps,
Unseen in the glen o’er the smooth flowing rill,
’Mongst whose pensile branches the flow’ret creeps,
And the strains of the night-bird the ear sweetly thrill.

Some nook in the valley of life shall be mine,
Where time imperceptibly swiftly glides by,
True friendship and love round my heart shall entwine,
And sympathy start the warm tear in my eye.

Then haply my wild harp will make such sweet notes,
That the traveller climbing the rock’s craggy brow,
May stop and may list, as the music still floats,
And think of the bard in the valley below.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 61·32.

~July 6.~

OLD MIDSUMMER DAY.

This day is still marked in our almanacs, on account of its being adhered to, in a few places, as a “good old day,” of the “good old times.”

LAYING OUT OF LANDS

_In the Parish of Puxton, Somerset_.

The subjoined letter was duly received according to its date, and is now in due time inserted. The editor has very few omissions of this kind to apologize for: if he has prematurely, and therefore unduly, introduced some communications which arrived too late for their proper days, he may be excused, perhaps, in consideration of the desire expressed by some correspondents, that their papers should appear in a “reasonable” time or not at all. Unhappily he has experienced the mishap of a “reasonable” difference, with one or two of his contributors. From the plan of this work, certain matters-of-fact could only range, with propriety, under certain days; while it has been conceived of, by some, as a magazine wherein any thing could come, at any time. In this dilemma he has done the best in his power, and introduced, in a few instances, papers of that nature out of place. On two or three occasions, indeed, it seemed a courtesy almost demanded by the value of such articles, that they should not await the rotation of the year. The following curiously descriptive account of a remarkable local custom is from a Somersetshire gentleman, who could be relied on for a patient endurance of nine months, till this, its due season arrived.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Bristol, October 19, 1825._

Sir,--Having observed in your _Every-Day Book_, p. 837, vol i. mention of an ancient custom of dividing lands, which formerly took place on the Saturday before old midsummer-day, in the parish of Puxton, in Somersetshire, (taken from Mr. Collinson’s history of that county,) I now send you a more explicit and enlarged account, with the marks as they were cut in each person’s allotment.

The two large pieces of common land called Dolemoors, which lie in the parishes of Congresbury, Week St. Lawrence and Puxton, were allotted in the following manner. On the Saturday preceding midsummer-day O. S. the several proprietors (of the estates having any right in those moors) or their tenants, were summoned at a certain hour in the morning, by the ringing of one of the bells at Puxton, to repair to the church, in order to see the chain (kept for the purpose of laying out Dolemoors) measured. The proper length of such chain was ascertained by placing one end thereof at the foot of the arch, dividing the chancel from the body of the church, and extending it through the middle aisle, to the foot of the arch of the west door under the tower, at each of which places marks were cut in the stones for that purpose. The chain used for this purpose was only eighteen yards in length, consequently four yards shorter than the regular land-measuring chain. After the chain had been properly measured, the parties repaired to the commons. Twenty-four apples were previously prepared, bearing the following marks, viz. Five marks called “Pole-axes,” four ditto “Crosses,” two ditto “Dung-forks, or Dung-pikes,” one mark called “Four Oxen and a Mare,” one ditto “Two Pits,” one ditto “Three Pits,” one ditto “Four Pits,” one ditto “Five Pits,” one ditto “Seven Pits,” one “Horn,” one “Hare’s-tail,” one “Duck’s-nest,” one “Oven,” one “Shell,” one “_Evil_,” and one “Hand-reel.”

It is necessary to observe that each of these moors was divided into several portions called furlongs, which were marked out by strong oak posts, placed at regular distances from each other; which posts were constantly kept up. After the apples were properly prepared, they were put into a hat or bag, and certain persons fixed on for the purpose, began to measure with the chain before-mentioned, and proceeded till they had measured off one acre of ground; at the end of which, the boy who carried the hat or bag containing the marks took out one of the apples, and the mark which such apple bore, was immediately cut in the turf with a large knife kept for that purpose: this knife was somewhat in the shape of a scimetar with its edge reversed. In this manner they proceeded till the whole of the commons were laid out, and each proprietor knowing the mark and furlong which belonged to his estate, he took possession of his allotment or allotments accordingly, for the ensuing year. An adjournment then took place to the house of one of the overseers, where a certain number of acres reserved for the purpose of paying expenses, and called the “out-let or out-drift,” were let by inch of candle.

During the time of letting, the whole party were to keep silence, (except the person who bid,) under the penalty of one shilling. When any one wished to bid, he named the price he would give, and immediately deposited a shilling on the table where the candle stood; the next who bid, also named his price and deposited his shilling in like manner, and the person who first bid was then to take up his shilling. The business of letting thus proceeded till the candle was burnt out, and the last bidder, prior to that event, was declared the tenant of the out-let, or out-drift, for the ensuing year.

Two overseers were annually elected from the proprietors or their tenants. A quantity of strong ale or brown-stout was allowed for the feast, or “revel,” as it was called; also bread, butter and cheese, together with pipes and tobacco, of which any reputable person, whose curiosity or casual business led him to Puxton on that day, was at liberty to partake, but he was expected to deposit at his departure one shilling with the overseer, by way of forfeit for his intrusion. The day was generally spent in sociality and mirth, frequently of a boisterous nature, from the exhilarating effects of the brown-stout before alluded to; for it rarely happened but that some of the junior part of the company were desirous of making a trial of their skill in the _sublime_ art of pugilism, when hard knocks, thumps, bangs, and kicks, and consequently black eyes, bloody noses, and sore bones, were distributed with the greatest liberality amongst the combatants.

“And now the field of _Death_, the lists
Are enter’d by antagonists.”

In this stage of the business, some venerable yeoman usually stepped forward and harangued the contending parties, in some such speech as the following, which I am sorry to say was most commonly thrown away upon these pot-valiant champions:--

“What rage, O friends! what fury
Doth you to these dire actions hurry?
What towns, what garrisons might you,
With hazard of this blood subdue,
Which now y’are bent to throw away
In vain untriumphable fray?”

Yet after these _civil_ broils, the parties seldom bore each other any grudge or ill-will, and generally at the conclusion of the contest,

“Tho’ sorely bruis’d, their limbs all o’er
With ruthless bangs still stiff and sore,”

they shook hands, became good friends again, and departed with the greatest sang-froid to apply

“Fit med’cines to each glorious bruise
They got in fight, reds, blacks, and blues;
To mollify th’ uneasy pang
Of ev’ry honourable bang.”

In the year 1779, an attempt was made to procure an act of parliament for allotting these moors in perpetuity; but an opposition having been made by a majority of the proprietors, the plan was relinquished. I have now by me a printed copy of the bill drawn up on that occasion. The land, however, was actually enclosed and allotted in the year 1811, and the ancient mode of dividing it, and consequently the drunken festival, or _revel_, from that time discontinued.

The following marks are correct delineations of those used, being taken from the originals in the book appropriated for the purpose of keeping the accounts of this very singular and ancient usage.

++===============================================++
|| ~The Marks for Allotting Dolmoors.~ ||
++-----------------------+------+----------------++
|| |No. of| ||
|| | each.| ||
|| | | ||
|| Pole-axe | 5 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Cross | 4 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Dung-fork, or pike | 2 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Four Oxen & a Mare | 1 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Two Pits | 1 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Three Pits | 1 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Four Pits | 1 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Five Pits | 1 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Seven Pits | 1 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Horn | 1 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Hare’s-tail | 1 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Duck’s-nest | 1 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Oven | 1 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Shell | 1 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Evil | 1 | ||
|| | | ||
|| Hand-reel | 1 | ||
|| | | ||
|| A--d B----tt Delt. ||
++===============================================++

I have from my youth lived within a few miles of the place mentioned, and have often heard of the “humours of Dolmoor revel,” and on one occasion attended personally the whole day for the purpose of observing them, and ascertaining the customs of this rude, rural festival. As the customs before-mentioned are now become obsolete, it would be pleasing to many of your readers, to see them recorded in your very interesting and popular work. These customs originated in all probability with our Saxon ancestors, and it would be unpardonable to consign them to total oblivion.

I am, Sir,

Yours respectfully,

G. B.

After this description of the method of “laying out of lands,” at a period of the year when steam boats are conveying visiters to the “watering places on the Thames,” it seems prudent and seasonable to notice another custom--

LAYING OUT OF WIVES

_In the Fens of Essex and Kent_.

And, first, as to this “grave” custom on the London side of the
Thames, we have the epistolary testimony of a writer in the year 1773,
viz.--

Sir,--Nothing but that unaccountable variety of life, which my stars have imposed upon me, could have apologised for my taking a journey to the fens of Essex. Few strangers go into those scenes of desolation, and fewer still (I find) return from thence--as you shall hear.

When I was walking one morning between two of the banks which restrain the waters in their proper bounds, I met one of the inhabitants, a tall and emaciated figure, with whom I entered into conversation. We talked concerning the manners and peculiarities of the place, and I condoled with him very pathetically on his forlorn and meagre appearance. He gave me to understand, however, that his case was far from being so desperate as I seemed to apprehend it, for that he had never looked better since he buried the first of his last nine wives.

“Nine wives!” rejoined I, eager and astonished, “have you buried nine wives?”

“Yes,” replied the fen-man, “and I hope to bury nine more.”

“Bravissimo!”--This was so far from allaying my astonishment, that it increased it. I then begged him to explain the miraculous matter, which he did in the following words:--

“Lord! master,” said he, “we people in the fens here be such strange creatures, that there be no creatures like us; we be like fish, or water-fowl, or others, for we be able to live where other folks would die sure enough.”

He then informed me, that to reside in the fens was a certain and quick death to people who had not been bred among them; that therefore when any of the fen-men wanted a wife, they went into the upland country for one, and that, after they carried her down among the fens, she never survived long: that after her death they went to the uplands for another, who also died; then “another, and another, and another,” for they all followed each other as regular as the change of the moon; that by these means some “poor fellows” had picked up a good living, and collected together from the whole a little snug fortune; that he himself had made more money this way than he ever could do by his labour, for that he was now at his tenth wife, and she could not possibly stand it out above three weeks longer; that these proceedings were very equitable, for such girls as were born among themselves they sent into the uplands to get husbands, and that, in exchange, they took their young women as wives; that he never knew a better custom in his life, and that the only comfort he ever found against the ill-nature and caprice of women was the fens. This woman-killer then concluded with desiring me, if I had a wife with whom I was not over head and ears in love, to bring her to his house, and it would kill her as effectually as any doctor in Christendom could do. This offer I waved; for you know, sir, that (thank God) I am not married.

This strange conversation of my friend, the fen-man, I could not pass over without many reflections; and I thought it my duty to give notice to my countrymen concerning a place which may be converted in so peculiar a manner to their advantage.[245]

* * * * *

So far is from the narrative of a traveller into _Essex_, who, be it observed, “speaks for himself,” and whose account is given “without note or comment;” it being certain that every rightly affected reader will form a correct opinion of such a narrator, and of the “fearful estate” of “upland women” who marry “lowland men.”

* * * * *

As regards the “custom of Kent,” in this matter, we have the account of a “Steam-boat Companion,” who, turning “to the Kentish shore,” says thus:--

YENLET CREEK

Divides the isle of Grean from All-hallows, on the main land, and from the cliff marshes.

Who would believe while beholding these scenes of pleasure before us, that for six months in the year the shores of this hundred (Hoo) were only to be explored by the amphibious; that the sun is seldom seen for the fog, and that every creature in love with life, flies the swamps of Hoo, preferring any station to its ague dealing vapours, its fenny filth, and muddy flats; a station, that during the winter season is destitute of every comfort, but fine eels, luscious flounders, smuggled brandy, Holland’s gin, and sea-coal fire. We will here relate a whimsical circumstance that once took place in this neighbourhood while we were of the party.

It was at that time of the year when nature seems to sicken at her own infirmities, we think it was in the month of November, we were bound to Sheerness, but the fog coming on so gloomily that no man could discover his hand a yard before him, our waterman, whether by design or accident we cannot pretend to say, mistook the Thames, and rowed up the Yenlet creek. After a long, cold, and stubborn pull, protesting at the time he had never (man or boy) seen any thing so dismal, he landed us near Saint Mary’s, that church yonder, with the very lofty and white spire, and then led us to an alehouse, the sign of which _he_ called the _Red Cock and Cucumber_, and the aleman he hailed by the merry name of

_John Piper_,

And a very pleasant fellow John turned out to be; if he was a little hyperbolical, his manner sufficiently atoned for the transgression. The gloom of the day was soon forgotten, and the stench arising from filthy swamps less regarded. At our entrance we complained heavily of the insupportable cloud with which we had been enveloped.

“Ha! ha! ha!” sang out the landlord, “to be sure it is too thick to be eaten with a spoon, and too thin to be cut with a knife, but it is not so intolerable as a scolding wife, or a hungry lawyer.”

“Curse the fog,” cried our waterman,

“Bless the fog,” answered our landlord, “for it has made a man of me for life.”

“How do you make that appear?” we requested to know.

“Set you down, sir, by a good sea-coal fire, for we pay no pool duties here, take your grog merrily, and I’ll tell you all about it presently,” rejoined the tapster, when drawing a wooden stool towards us, while his wife was preparing the bowl, John Piper thus began:--

“You must know, sir, I was born in this fog, and so was my mother and her relatives for many past generations; therefore you will see, sir, a fog is as natural to me as a duck-pool to a dab-chick. When poor dame Piper died, I found myself exceedingly melancholy to live alone on these marshes, so determined to change my condition by taking a wife. It was very fortunate for me, sir, I knew a rich old farmer in the _uplands_, and he had three blooming daughters, and that which made the thing more desirable, he had determined to give each a portion of his honourably acquired property. The farmer had for many years been acquainted with my good father, gone to rest, and this gave me courage to lay my case before him. The elder girl was the bird for me, the farmer gave his consent, and we were married. Directly after, I quitted the uplands for the fog, with a pretty wife and five hundred golden guineas in my pocket, as good as ever bribed a lawyer to sell his client, or a parliament-man to betray his country. This was a good beginning, sir, but alas! there is no comfort without a cross; my wife had been used from her infancy to a fine keen open air, and our _low_land vapours so deranged her constitution, that within nine months, Margaret left me and went to heaven.

“Being so suddenly deprived of the society of one good woman, where could I apply for another, better than to the sack from whence I drew the first sample? The death of my dear wife reflected no disgrace on me, and the old man’s second daughter having no objection to a good husband, we presently entered into the bonds of holy matrimony, and after a few days of merriment, I came home with Susan, from the sweet hills to the fogs of the _low_lands, and with four hundred as good guineas in my purse as ever gave new springs to the life of poverty. Similar causes, sir, they say produce similar effects; and this is certainly true, for in somewhere about nine months more, Susan slept with her sister.

“I ran to the _up_lands again, to condole with my poor old Nestor, and some how or other so managed the matter, that his youngest daughter, Rosetta, conceived a tender affection for Piper. I shall never forget it, sir, while I have existence; I had been there but a few days, when the good farmer, with tears in his eyes, thus addressed me: ‘Piper, you have received about nine hundred pounds of my money, and I have about the same sum left; now, son, as you know how to make a good use of it, I think it is a pity it should go out of the family; therefore, if you have a fancy for Rosetta, I will give you three hundred pounds more, and the remnant at my departure.’

“Sir, I had always an aversion to stand _shilly shally_, ‘make haste and leave nothing to waste,’ says the old proverb. The kind girl was consenting, and we finished the contract over a mug of her father’s best October. From the hills we ran to the _fog_land, and in less than two years more, poor Rosetta was carried up the churchway path, where the three sisters, as they used to do in their infancy, lie by the side of each other; and the old man dying of grief for the loss of his favourite, I placed him at their head, and became master of a pretty property.

“A short time after, a wealthy widow from Barham, (of the same family,) came in the summer time to our place. I saw her at church, and she set her cap at Piper; I soon married her for her _Eldorado metal_, but alas! she turned out a shrew. ‘Nil desperandum’ said I, Piper, to myself, the _winter_ is coming in good time; the winter came, and stood my friend; for the _fog_ and the ague took her by the hand and led her to Abraham’s bosom.

“An innkeeper’s relict was the next I ventured on, she had possessions at Sittingbourne, and they were hardly mine before my good friend, the fog, laid Arabella ‘at _all-fours_’ under the turf, in St. Mary’s churchyard; and now, sir, her sister, the cast-off of a rich Jew, fell into my trap, and I led her smiling, like a vestal, to the temple of Hymen; but although the most lively and patient creature on earth, she could not resist the powers of the _fog_, and I for the sixth time became a widower, with an income of three hundred a year, and half the cottages in this blessed hundred. To be brief, sir, I was now in want of nothing but a contented mind; thus, sir, through the _fog_ you treated with such malignity, I became qualified for a country member. But alas! sir, there is always something unpleasant to mingle with the best of human affairs, envy is ever skulking behind us, to squeeze her gall-bag into the cup of our comforts, and when we think ourselves in safety, and may sing the song of ‘O! be joyful,’ our merriment ends with a ‘miseracordia.’”

After a short pause, “Look, sir,” said Piper, in a loud whisper, “at that woman in the bar, now making the grog, she is my seventh wife; with her I had a fortune also, but of a different nature from all the rest. I married her without proper consideration--the wisest are sometimes overtaken; Solomon had his disappointments; would you think it, sir? she was _fogborn_ like myself, and withal, is so tough in her constitution, that I fear she will hold me a tight tug to the end of my existence, and become my survivor.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” interjected Mrs. Piper, (who had heard all the long tale of the tapster,) “there is no fear about that, John, and bury as many _up_land _husbands_, when you lie under the turf, as you, with the fog, have smothered _wives_.”

Our Yorick now became chop-fallen, and a brisk wind springing up from the north-west, the fog abated, and we took to our boat.[246]

* * * * *

If there be truth in these narratives, the “_low_land lasses” of the creeks, have good reason for their peculiar liking to “_high_land laddies;” and “_up_land” girls had better “wither on the virgin thorn,” than marry “_low_land” suitors and--

“Fall as the leaves do
And die in October.”

Far be it from the editor, to bring the worthy “neither fish nor flesh” swains, of the Kent and Essex fens and fogs, into contempt; he knows nothing about them. What he has set down he found in “the books,” and, having given his authorities, he wishes them every good they desire--save wives from the _up_lands.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 61·75.

[245] Universal Magazine.

[246] The Steam-boat Companion, by Thomas Nichols, 1823, p. 150.

~July 7.~

THOMAS A BECKET.

Strange to say, the name of this saint, so obnoxious to the early reformers, is still retained in the church of England calendar; the fact is no less strange that the day of his festival is the anniversary of the translation of his relics from the undercroft of the cathedral of Canterbury, in the year 1220, to a sumptuous shrine at the east end of the church, whither they attracted crowds of pilgrims, and, according to the legends of the Romish church, worked abundant miracles.

This engraving is from a drawing by Mr. Harding, who states that he made it from a very rare engraving. The drawing belongs to Mr. J. J. A. F., who favoured the editor by lending it for the present purpose.

* * * * *

St. Thomas of Canterbury, bishop and martyr, attained the primacy during the reign of Henry II. He advanced the interests of the church against the interests of the kingdom, till a parliament declared his possessions forfeited, and Becket having left the kingdom, Henry seized the revenues of the see.

It appears from an old tract that this churchman was a swordsman. He accompanied Henry in one of his campaigns with a retinue of seven hundred knights and gentlemen, kept twelve hundred horse in his own pay, and bore his dignity with the carriage of the proudest baron. “His bridle was of silver, his saddle of velvet, his stirrups, spurs, and bosses, double gilt. His expenses far surpassing the expenses of an earl. He fed with the fattest, was clad with the softest, and kept company with the pleasantest. And the king made him his chancellor, in which office he passed the pomp and pride of Thomas [Wolsey] Cardinal, as far as the one’s shrine passeth the other’s tomb in glory and riches. And, after that, he was a man of war, and captain of five or six thousand men in full harness, as bright as St. George, and his spear in his hand; and encountered whosoever came against him, and overthrew the jollyest rutter that was in all the host of France. And out of the field, hot from blood-shedding, was he made bishop of Canterbury, and did put off his helm, and put on his mitre; put off his harness, and on with his robes; and laid down his spear, and took his cross, ere his hands were cold; and so came, with a lusty courage of a man of war, to fight another while against his prince for the pope; when his prince’s cause were with the law of God and the pope’s clean contrary.”

After his disgrace by the king he wore a hair shirt, ate meats of the driest, excommunicated his brother bishops, and “was favoured with a revelation of his martyrdom,” at Pontigni. Alban Butler says, “whilst he lay prostrate before the altar in prayers and tears, he heard a voice, saying distinctly, ‘Thomas, Thomas, my church shall be glorified in thy blood.’ The saint asked, ‘Who art thou, Lord?’ and the same voice answered, ‘I am Jesus Christ, the son of the living God, thy brother.’” He then returned to England, excited rebellious commotions, and on Christmas-day, 1170, preached his last sermon to his flock, on the text, “And peace to men of good-will on earth.” These are the words wherein Alban Butler expresses the “text,” which, it may be as well to observe, is a garbled passage from the New Testament, and was altered perhaps to suit the saint’s views and application. Room cannot be afforded in this place for particulars of his preceding conduct, or an exact description of his death, which is well-known to have been accomplished by “four knights,” who, from attachment to the king, according to the brutal manners of those days, revenged his quarrel by killing St. Thomas, while at prayers in Canterbury cathedral.

* * * * *

The following interesting paper relates to one of the knights who slew Becket--

SIR WILLIAM DE TRACY.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_June, 1826._

Sir,--I beg leave to transmit to you an account of the burial place of sir William de Tracy, one of the murderers of Thomas à Becket, archbishop of Canterbury, in the reign of Henry the Second. I regret, at the same time, that distance from the spot precludes the possibility of my taking a drawing of the tomb, but I have by me its measurement, and the inscription, which I copied with as great care as possible when there.

The parish church of Morthoe, probably built by Tracy himself, is situated on the bold and rocky coast of the north of Devon. It stands on an eminence, near the sea-shore, is sheltered by hills on the north and south, but open towards the west, on which side is the fine bay of Woolacombe. The interior of the church presents the humblest appearance; its length is near 80 feet, its breadth 18, excepting the middle, which, with an aisle, measures 30. On the west side is a recess, 15 feet by 14, in the centre of which is the vault, containing the remains of de Tracy. The rustic inhabitants of the parish can give no other account of the tomb than the traditionary one, that it contains the remains of a giant, to whom, in the olden time, all that part of the country belonged.

The vault itself is 2 feet 4 in. high; 7 feet 6 in. long at the base; three feet and a half broad at one end of ditto, and two feet and a half, at the other. The large black slab covering the top of the vault is half a foot in thickness. Engraved on this slab is the figure of a person in robes, holding a chalice in one hand; and round the border is an inscription, which is now almost illegible. I had a drawing of the whole, which I have lost, but with the account I wrote at the time of visiting the place, I have preserved the inscription, as far as I was able to make it out.[247]

On the east side of the vault are three armorial bearings, and the carved figures of two nuns; on the north is the crucifixion; on the west side, there is nothing but Gothic carving; and the south end is plain.

An old and respectable farmer, residing at Morthoe, informed me that about fifty or sixty years ago “a gentleman from London” came down to take an account of the tomb, and carried away with him the skull and one of the thigh bones of de Tracy. He opened and examined the vault with the connivance of a negligent and eccentric minister, then resident in the parish, who has left behind him a fame by no means to be envied.

The gentleman alluded to by the worthy yeoman was no doubt the celebrated antiquary Gough, who, in his “Sepulchral Monuments in Great Britain,” has given a long account of the life and burialplace of Tracy. In his introduction to that laborious and very valuable work, page ciii. he says:--“The instances of figures cut in the slab, and not inlaid with metal, nor always blacked, are not uncommon.” Among the instances which he cites to illustrate this remark, he mentions the slab on the vault of “William de Tracy, Rector of Morthoe, Devon, 1322.”--Here we find the gigantic knight dwindled to a parson; and the man whose name should be for ever remembered with gratitude by his countrymen, the hero who happily achieved a far more arduous enterprise, a work of greater glory than did the renowned but fabled saint, over the devouring dragon--forgotten beneath the robe of an obscure village rector! The parish of Morthoe is, however, not a rectory, but what is called a “perpetual curacy,” and the living is at present not worth much more than seventy pounds per annum.

Since I have, by the merest accident, got hold of Gough, I will extract what he records of the forgotten Tracy, as it may not be unentertaining to the lover of history to peruse a detail of the ultimate fate of one of the glorious four, who delivered their country from perhaps the greatest pest that was ever sent to scourge it.

“William de Tracy, one of the murderers of Becket, has been generally supposed, on the authority of Mr. Risdon, (p. 116.) to have built an aisle in the church of Morthoe, Devon; and to have therein an altar-tomb about 2 feet high, with his figure engraven on a grey slab of Purbeck marble, 7 feet by 3, and 7 inches thick, and this inscription, [in Saxon capitals,]

“SYRE [Guillau] ME DE TRACY [gist icy, Diu de son al] ME EYT MERCY.

“On the upper end of this tomb is carved in relief the crucifixion, with the virgin and St. John, and on the north side some Gothic arches, and these three coats; I. Az. 3 lions passant guardant, Arg. 2. Arg. 3. two bars, G. Az. a saltire, Or.----The first of these is the coat of _William Camville_, formerly patron of this church: the second, that of the _Martins_, formerly lords of Barnstaple, who had lands in this neighbourhood: the third, that of the _Saint Albins_, who had also estates in the adjoining parish of Georgeham.

“The figure on the slab is plainly that of a priest in his sacerdotal habit, holding a chalice between his hands, as if in the act of consecration.----Bishop Stapledon’s register, though it does not contain the year of his institution, fixes the date of his death in the following terms, ‘_Anno, 1322, 16 Decr. Thomas Robertus præsentat. ad eccles. de Morthoe vacantem per mortem Wilhelmi de Traci, die dominic. primo post nativ. Virginis per mortem Will. de Campvill_.’

“The era of the priest is therefore 140 years later than that of the knight. It does not appear by the episcopal registers that the Tracies were ever patrons of Morthoe, except in the following instances:--

“Anno, 1257, Cal. Junii, John Allworthy, presented by Henry de Traci, guardian of the lands and heirs of Ralph de Brag. Anno, 1275. Thomas Capellanus was presented to this rectory by Philip de Weston. In 1330, Feb. 5, Henry de la Mace was presented to this rectory by William de Camville. In 1381, Richard Hopkins was presented by the dean and chapter of Exeter, who are still patrons.

“It is probable that the stone with the inscription to William de Tracy did not originally belong to the altar-tomb on which it now lies; but by the arms seems rather to have been erected for the patron _William de Camville_, it being unusual in those days to raise so handsome a monument for a priest, especially as the altar-tomb and slab are of very different materials, and the benefice itself is of very inconsiderable value. It is also probable the monument of Traci lay on the ground, and that when this monument was broken open, according to Risdon, in the last century, this purbeck slab was placed upon the altar-tomb though it did not at first belong to it.

“The Devonshire antiquaries assert that sir William de Tracy retired to this place after he had murdered Becket. But this tradition seems to rest on no better authority than the misrepresentation of the inscription here given, and because the family of Traci possessed the fourth part of a fee in Woolacombe within this parish, which is still called after their name. But the Tracies had many possessions in this country, as Bovey Traci, Nymett Traci, Bedford Traci, &c. William de Traci held the honor of Barnstaple, in the beginning of Henry the Second’s reign. King John granted the Barony of Barnstaple to Henry de Traci, in the 15th of his reign; and the family seem to have been possessed of it in the reign of Henry III. I am indebted to the friendship of the present Dean of Exeter for the above observations, which ascertain the monument in question.

“I shall digress no farther on this subject than to observe of sir William de Traci, that four years after the murder of Becket he had the title of Steward, i. e. Justice of Normandy, which he held but two years. He was in arms against King John in the last year of his reign, and his estate was confiscated; but on his return to his allegiance, 2 Henry III. it was restored. He was living, 7 Henry III. (Dugd. Bar. i. 622.) consequently died about or after 1223, having survived Becket upwards of 57 years.”[248]