Chapter IV: Preface (3)

Among the cold-blooded animals which resist the effects of a low temperature, we may reckon the common leech, which is otherwise interesting to the meteorologist, on account of its peculiar habits and movements under different states of the atmosphere. A group of these animals left accidentally in a closet without a fire, during the frost of 1816, not only survived, but appeared to suffer no injury from being locked up in a mass of ice for many days.[25]

SWEEPING RHETORIC.

Certain rewards allowed by act of parliament to firemen, turncocks, and others, who first appear with their engines and implements at premises sworn to be on fire, were claimed at the public office, Marlborough-street, in this month, 1826, and resisted on the ground that the chimney, which belonged to a brewery, and was more than eighty feet high, was not, and could not be on fire. A witness to that end, gave a lively specimen of familiar statement and illustration. He began by telling the magistrate, that he was a sweep-chimney by profession--a piece of information very unnecessary, for he was as black and sooty a sweep as ever mounted a chimney-top,--and then went on in this fashion--“This here man, (pointing to the patrol,) your wortship, has told a false affidavit. I knows that ere chimley from a hinfant, and she knows my foot as well as my own mother. The way as I goes up her is this--I goes in all round the boiler, then I twistes in the chimley like the smoke, and then up I goes with the wind, for, your wortship, there’s a wind in her that would blow you out like a feather, if you didn’t know her as well as I do, and that makes me always go to the top myself, because there isn’t a brick in her that doesn’t know my foot. So that you see, your wortship, no soot or blacks is ever in her: the wind won’t let ’em stop: and besides they knows that I go up her regular. So that she always keeps herself as clean as a new pin. I’ll be bound the sides of her is as clean this minute as I am (not saying much for the chimney); therefore, your wortship, that ere man as saw two yards of fire coming out of her, did not see no such thing, I say; and he has told your wortship, and these here gentlemen present, a false affidavit, I say. I was brought up in that chimley, your wortship, and I can’t abear to hear such things said--lies of her; and that’s all as I knows at present, please your wortship.”[26]

AMUSEMENTS.

The London Christmas evenings of 1826, appear to have been kept out of doors, for every place of entertainment was overflowing every night.

At this season, from six o’clock in the evening, a full tide of passengers sets in along every leading street to each of the theatres. Hackney coaches drawl, and cabriolets make their way, and jostle each other, and private carriages swiftly roll, and draw up to the box door with a vigorous sweep, which the horses of hired vehicles are too aged, or too low in condition to achieve. Within a hundred yards of either playhouse, hands are continually thrust into each coach window, with “a bill of the play,” and repeated cries of “only a penny!” The coachdoor being opened, down fall the steps with a sharp clackity-clack-click, and the companies alight, if they can, without the supernumerary aid of attendant pliers, who offer their over-ready arms to lean upon, and kindly entreat--“Take care, sir!--mind how you step ma’am--this way if you please--this way,” all against your will, and ending with “I hope you’ll please to remember a poor fellow!” the “poor fellow” having done nothing but interrupt you. When past the “pay place,” great coats, umbrellas, shawls or other useful accompaniments to and from “the house,” though real encumbrances within it, may be safely deposited with persons stationed for their reception, who attach tickets to them, and deliver corresponding numbers, which ensure the return of your property on your coming out; sixpence or a shilling being a gratuity for the accommodation. Then, when the whole is over, there is the strict blockade of coaches further than the eye can reach; servants looking out for the parties they came with, and getting up their masters’ carriages; and a full cry of hackney coachmen and their representatives, vociferating “Want a coach, sir? Here’s your coach, sir! Which is it, sir? Coach to the city, sir! West end, sir! Here! Coach to the city! Coach to Whitechapel! Coach to Portman-square! Coach to Pentonville! Coach to the Regent’s Park! This way! this way! Stand clear there! Chariot, or a coach, sir? No chariots, sir, and all the coaches are hired! There’s a coach here, sir--just below! Coachman, draw up!” and drawing up is impossible, and there is an incessant confusion of calls and complaints, and running against each other, arising out of the immediate wants of every body, which can only be successively gratified. Pedestrians make their way home, or to the inns, as fast as possible, or turn in to sup at the fish-shops, which, in five minutes, are more lively than their oysters were at any time. “Waiter! Waiter! Yes, sir! Attend to you directly, sir! Yours is gone for, sir! Why, I’ve ordered nothing! It’s coming directly, sir! Ginger-beer--why this is poison! Spruce--why this is ginger-beer! Porter, sir! I told you brandy and water! Stewed oysters! I ordered scolloped! When am I to have _my_ supper? You’ve had it, sir--I beg your pardon, sir, the gentleman that sat here is gone, sir! Waiter! waiter!” and so on; and he who has patience, is sure to be indulged with an opportunity of retaining it, amidst loud talking and laughter; varied views of the new pantomime; conflicting testimony as to the merits of the clown and the harlequin; the “new scenery, dresses, and machinery;” likings and dislikings of certain actresses; “the lovely” Miss So-and-so, or “that detestable” woman, Mrs. Such-an-one, that clever fellow, “Thing-a-merry,” or that stupid dog, “What-d’ye-call-um.” These topics failing, and the oysters discussed, then are stated and considered the advantages of taking something “to keep’em down;” the comparative merits of Burton, Windsor, or Edinburgh ale; the qualities of porter; the wholesomeness of smoking; the difference between a pipe and a segar, and the preference of one to the other; whether brandy or rum, or the clear spirit of juniper, is the best preservative of health; which of the company or their friends can drink most; whether the last fight was “a cross,” and who of all the men in the fancy is most “game;” whether the magistrates dare to interfere with “the ring;” whether if fighting should be “put an end to” Englishmen will have half the courage they had three hundred years ago, before prize fighting existed; whether Thurtell was not “a good one” to the last, and whether there’s a better “trump” in the room. On these points, or to points like these, the conversation of an oyster room is turned by sitters after the play, till they adjourn to “spend the evening” at the “flash-and-foolish” houses which “keep it up” all night in the peculiar neighbourhood of the public office, Bow-street. This is more than mere animal gratification, as the police reports exemplify.

Capital oysters, I declare!
Excellent spruce, and ginger beer!
Don’t you take vinegar? there’s the bread--
We’ll just have a pipe--and then to bed.

*

Why should not this be deemed a real scene, and as respectable as that just described. It is quite as lively and as intellectual. The monkey eats, and according to many accounts can catch fish as well as man. It is told of this animal, that from love of the crab and experience of his claws, he gently shakes his tail before the hole of the crab, who, as soon as he begins to “pull him by his long tail,” is drawn out by that dependancy and falls a prey to his decoyer. It is related that a party of officers belonging to the 25th regiment of infantry, on service at Gibraltar, amused themselves with whiting fishing at the back of the rock till they were obliged to shift their ground from being pelted from above, they did not know by whom. At their new station they caught plenty of fish, but the drum having unexpectedly beat to arms, they rowed hastily ashore, and drew their boat high and dry upon the beach. On their return they were greatly surprised to find it in a different position ashore, and some hooks baited which they had left bare. In the end it was ascertained that their pelters while they were fishing were a party of young monkeys. They were driven off by two or three old ones who remained secretly observing the whiting fishing of the officers till they had retired. The old monkeys then launched the boat, put to sea, baited their hooks, and proceeded to work. The few fish they caught, they hauled up with infinite gratification, and when tired they landed, placed the boat as nearly as they could in its old position, and went up the rock with their prey. General Elliot, while commander at Gibraltar, never suffered the monkeys with which the rock abounds to be molested or taken.

The faculty of imitation in monkeys is limited, but not so in man; a remarkable instance of this is lately adduced in a pleasant little story of perhaps the greatest performer on our stage.

_Garrick._

At a splendid dinner-party at lord ----’s they suddenly missed Garrick, and could not imagine what was become of him, till they were drawn to the window by the convulsive screams and peals of laughter of a young negro boy, who was rolling on the ground in an ecstasy of delight to see Garrick mimicking a turkey-cock in the court yard, with his coat-tail stuck out behind, and in a seeming flutter of feathered rage and pride. Of our party only two persons present had seen the British Roscius; and they seemed as willing as the rest to renew their acquaintance with their old favourite. This anecdote is new: it is related by the able writer of a paper concerning “Persons one would wish to have seen,”[27] as an instance of Garrick’s singleness of purpose when he was fully possessed by an idea.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 34·45.

[25] Howard on Climate.

[26] The Times, 5th January, 1826.

[27] In the New Monthly Magazine, Jan. 1826.

~January 13.~

1826. Hilary Cambridge Term begins.

St. VERONICA.

Some curious circumstances are connected with the name of this saint, who appears to have been a poor ignorant girl, born near Milan, where she worked in the fields for her living. Conceiving a desire to become a nun, she sat up at night to learn to read and write, which, her biographer says, for want of an instructor, was a great fatigue to her. He proceeds to tell us, that she was relieved from labour of that kind in the following manner:--“One day, being in great anxiety about her learning, the mother of God, in a comfortable vision, bade her banish that anxiety, for it was enough if she knew three letters.” So Veronica became a nun, seeking “the greatest drudgery,” desiring “to live always on bread and water,” and dying “at the hour which she had foretold, in the year 1497, and the fifty-second of her age. Her sanctity was confirmed by miracles.” We gather this from Alban Butler, who subjoins, by way of note, thus:--

“_The print of the holy face of our Saviour on a linen cloth_ is kept
in St. Peter’s church at Rome, with singular veneration.--Some private
writers and churches have given the name of St. Veronica to the devout
woman who is said to have presented this linen to our divine Redeemer,
but without sufficient warrant.”

* * * * *

Before saying any thing concerning the earlier St. Veronica, or “this linen” whereon Romish writers allege Christ impressed his own portrait by wiping his face with it, mention may be made of _another_ portrait of him which Romish writers affirm he miraculously executed in the same manner, and sent to Abgarus, king of Edessa, in the way hereafter related. They have further been so careful as to publish a print of this pretended portrait, with representations around illustrating the history they tell of it. An engraving from it immediately follows. The Latin inscription beneath their print is placed beneath the present engraving.

_Ex ipsomet Divino Exemplari_ AD ABGARUM _missa Genuæ in Ecclesia_ S^{ti}. Bartolomæi _Clericorum Reg._ S^{ti}. Pauli _Summa Veneratione asservato_

~Accuratissime Expressa.~]

No circumstance is more remarkable than the existence of this pretended resemblance, as an object of veneration in the Romish church. Being one of the greatest curiosities in its numerous cabinets of relics, it has a place in this work, which, while it records manners and customs, endeavours to point out their origin, and the means by which they have been continued. Nor let it be imagined that these representations have not influenced our own country; there is evidence to the contrary already, and more can be adduced if need require, which will incontestably prove that many of our present popular customs are derived from such sources.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·27.

~January 14.~

1826. Oxford Hilary Term begins.

SAILORS.

Mariners form a distinct community, with peculiar manners, little known to their inland fellow countrymen, except through books. In this way Smollett has done much, and from Mr. Leigh Hunt’s “Indicator,” which may not be in every one’s hands, though it ought to be, is extracted the following excellent description:

SEAMEN ON SHORE.

And first of the common sailor.--The moment the common sailor lands, he goes to see the watchmaker, or the old boy at the Ship. His first object is to spend his money: but his first sensation is the strange firmness of the earth, which he goes treading in a sort of heavy light way, half waggoner and half dancing master, his shoulders rolling, and his feet touching and going; the same way, in short, in which he keeps himself prepared for all the rolling chances of the vessel, when on deck. There is always, to us, this appearance of lightness of foot and heavy strength of upper works, in a sailor. And he feels it himself. He lets his jacket fly open, and his shoulders slouch, and his hair grow long to be gathered into a heavy pigtail; but when full dressed, he prides himself on a certain gentility of toe; on a white stocking and a natty shoe, issuing lightly out of the flowing blue trowser. His arms are neutral, hanging and swinging in a curve aloof; his hands, half open, look as if they had just been handling ropes, and had no object in life but to handle them again. He is proud of appearing in a new hat and slops, with a belcher handkerchief flowing loosely round his neck, and the corner of another out of his pocket. Thus equipped, with pinchbeck buckles in his shoes (which he bought for gold) he puts some tobacco in his mouth, not as if he were going to use it directly, but as if he stuffed it in a pouch on one side, as a pelican does fish, to employ it hereafter: and so, with Bet Monson at his side, and perhaps a cane or whanghee twisted under his other arm, sallies forth to take possession of all Lubberland. He buys every thing that he comes athwart,--nuts, gingerbread, apples, shoe-strings, beer, brandy, gin, buckles, knives, a watch, (two, if he has money enough,) gowns and handkerchiefs for Bet, and his mother and sisters, dozens of “superfine best men’s cotton stockings,” dozens of “superfine best women’s cotton ditto,” best good check for shirts (though he has too much already), infinite needles and thread (to sew his trowsers with some day), a footman’s laced hat, bear’s grease to make his hair grow (by way of joke), several sticks, all sorts of jew articles, a flute (which he can’t play and never intends), a leg of mutton which he carries somewhere to roast, and for a piece of which the landlord of the Ship makes him pay twice what he gave for the whole;--in short, all that money can be spent upon, which is every thing but medicine gratis; and this he would insist on paying for. He would buy all the painted parrots on an Italian’s head, on purpose to break them, rather than not spend his money. He has fiddles and a dance at the Ship, with oceans of flip and grog; and gives the blind fiddler tobacco for sweetmeats, and half a crown for treading on his toe. He asks the landlady with a sigh, after her daughter Nance who first fired his heart with her silk stockings; and finding that she is married and in trouble, leaves five crowns for her; which the old lady appropriates as part payment for a shilling in advance. He goes to the port playhouse with Bet Monson, and a great red handkerchief full of apples, gingerbread nuts, and fresh beef; calls out for the fiddlers and Rule Britannia; pelts Tom Sikes in the pit; and compares Othello to the black ship’s cook in his white night-cap. When he comes to London, he and some messmates take a hackney-coach, full of Bet Monsons and tobacco pipes, and go through the streets smoking and lolling out of window. He has ever been cautious of venturing on horseback; and among his other sights in foreign parts, relates with unfeigned astonishment how he has seen the Turks ride,--“Only,” says he, guarding against the hearer’s incredulity, “they have saddle-boxes to hold ’em in, fore and aft; and shovels like for stirrups.” He will tell you how the Chinese drink, and the NEGURS dance, and the monkies pelt you with cocoa-nuts; and how king Domy would have built him a mud hut and made him a peer of the realm, if he would have stopped with him and taught him to make trowsers. He has a sister at a “school for young ladies,” who blushes with a mixture of pleasure and shame at his appearance; and whose confusion he completes, by slipping fourpence into her hand, and saying out loud that he has “no more copper” about him. His mother and elder sisters at home doat on all he says and does, telling him however that he is a great sea-fellow, and was always wild ever since he was a hop-o’-my-thumb no higher than the window-locker. He tells his mother she would be a duchess in Paranaboo; at which the good old portly dame laughs and looks proud. When his sisters complain of his romping, he says that they are only sorry it is not the baker. He frightens them with a mask made after the New Zealand fashion, and is forgiven for his learning. Their mantle-piece is filled by him with shells and shark’s teeth; and when he goes to sea again, there is no end of tears, and God-bless you, and home-made gingerbread.

His _officer_ on shore does much of all this, only, generally speaking, in a higher taste. The moment he lands he buys quantities of jewellery and other valuables, for all the females of his acquaintance; and is taken in for every article. He sends in a cart load of fresh meat to the ship, though he is going to town next day; and calling in at a chandler’s for some candles, is persuaded to buy a dozen of green wax, with which he lights up the ship at evening; regretting that the fine moonlight hinders the effect of the colour. A man, with a bundle beneath his arm, accosts him in an undertone; and, with a look in which respect for his knowledge is mixed with an avowed zeal for his own interest, asks if his honour will just step under the gangway here, and inspect some real India shawls. The gallant lieutenant says to himself, “this fellow knows what’s what by his face;” and so he proves it by being taken in on the spot. When he brings the shawls home, he says to his sister with an air of triumph, “there Poll, there’s something for you; only cost me twelve, and is worth twenty, if it’s worth a dollar.” She turns pale--“Twenty what, my dear George? Why, you haven’t given twelve dollars for it, I hope?” “Not I, by the Lord.”--“That’s lucky; because you see, my dear George, that all together is not worth more than fourteen or fifteen shillings.” “Fourteen or fifteen what! Why, it’s real India, en’t it? Why the fellow told me so; or I’m sure I’d as soon”--(here he tries to hide his blushes with a bluster) “I’d as soon have given him twelve douses on the chaps as twelve guineas.” “Twelve GUINEAS,” exclaims the sister; and then drawling forth “Why--my--DEAR--George,” is proceeding to show him what the articles would have cost him at Condell’s, when he interrupts her by requesting her to go and choose for herself a tea-table service. He then makes his escape to some messmates at a coffee-house, and drowns his recollection of the shawls in the best wine, and a discussion on the comparative merits of the English and West Indian beauties and tables. At the theatre afterwards, where he has never been before, he takes a lady at the back of one of the boxes for a woman of quality: and when after returning his long respectful gaze with a smile, she turns aside and puts her handkerchief to her mouth, he thinks it is in derision, till his friend undeceives him. He is introduced to the lady; and ever afterwards, at first sight of a woman of quality (without any disparagement either to those charming personages), expects her to give him a smile. He thinks the other ladies much better creatures than they are taken for; and for their parts, they tell him, that if all men were like himself, they would trust the sex again:--which, for aught we know, is the truth. He has, indeed, what he thinks a very liberal opinion of ladies in general; judging them all, in a manner, with the eye of a seaman’s experience. Yet he will believe nevertheless in the “true-love” of any given damsel whom he seeks in the way of marriage, let him roam as much, or remain as long at a distance as he pleases. It is not that he wants feeling; but that he has read of it, time out of mind, in songs; and he looks upon constancy as a sort of exploit, answering to those which he performs at sea. He is nice in his watches and linen. He makes you presents of cornelians, antique seals, cocoa-nuts set in silver, and other valuables. When he shakes hands with you, it is like being caught in a windlass. He would not swagger about the streets in his uniform, for the world. He is generally modest in company, though liable to be irritated by what he thinks ungentlemanly behaviour. He is also liable to be rendered irritable by sickness; partly because he has been used to command others, and to be served with all possible deference and alacrity; and partly, because the idea of suffering pain, without any honour or profit to get by it, is unprofessional, and he is not accustomed to it. He treats talents unlike his own with great respect. He often perceives his own so little felt that it teaches him this feeling for that of others. Besides, he admires the quantity of information which people can get, without travelling like himself; especially when he sees how interesting his own becomes, to them as well as to every body else. When he tells a story, particularly if full of wonders, he takes care to maintain his character for truth and simplicity, by qualifying it with all possible reservations, concessions, and anticipations of objection; such as “in case, at such times as, so to speak, as it were, at least, at any rate.” He seldom uses sea-terms but when jocosely provoked by something contrary to his habits of life; as for instance, if he is always meeting you on horseback, he asks if you never mean to walk the deck again; or if he finds you studying day after day, he says you are always overhauling your log-book. He makes more new acquaintances, and forgets his old ones less, than any other man in the busy world; for he is so compelled to make his home every where, remembers his native one as such a place of enjoyment, has all his friendly recollections so fixed upon his mind at sea, and has so much to tell and to hear when he returns, that change and separation lose with him the most heartless part of their nature. He also sees such a variety of customs and manners, that he becomes charitable in his opinions altogether; and charity, while it diffuses the affections, cannot let the old ones go. Half the secret of human intercourse is to make allowance for each other.

When the officer is superannuated or retires, he becomes, if intelligent and inquiring, one of the most agreeable old men in the world, equally welcome to the silent for his card-playing, and to the conversational for his recollections. He is fond of astronomy and books of voyages; and is immortal with all who know him, for having been round the world, or seen the Transit of Venus, or had one of his fingers carried off by a New Zealand hatchet, or a present of feathers from an Otaheitean beauty. If not elevated by his acquirements above some of his humbler tastes, he delights in a corner-cupboard holding his cocoa-nuts and punch-bowl; has his summer-house castellated and planted with wooden cannon; and sets up the figure of his old ship, the Britannia or the Lovely Nancy, for a statue in the garden; where it stares eternally with red cheeks and round black eyes, as if in astonishment at its situation.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·20.

~January 15.~

_Changes of Climate._

An opinion has been long entertained, that there are vicissitudes in the climate and temperature of the air unknown to former times, and that such variations exist in America as well as in Europe. It is said that the transatlantic changes have been more frequent, and the heat of the sun not so early or so strongly experienced as formerly. In America, these alterations are attributed to a more obvious cause than uncertain hypothesis, and at not many degrees distance. For instance, the ice in the great river St. Lawrence, at Quebec, did not break up till the first week in May, 1817, when it floated down the stream in huge masses, and in vast quantities; these, with other masses from the coast of Labrador, &c. spread a general coldness many degrees to the southward. But a few weeks before the snow fell in some parts of New England, and New York, to a considerable depth, and there were severe frosts. The vessels from England and Ireland, which arrived at Quebec, all concurred in their accounts of the dangers which they encountered, and the cold which they suffered. In fine, it would appear that the ice in those regions had accumulated to so alarming a degree, as to threaten a material change in all the adjacent countries, and to verify the theory of some who imagined that the extreme cold of the north was gradually making encroachments upon the extreme heat of the south. They have remarked, in confirmation of their opinions, that the accounts of travellers and navigators, furnish strong reasons for supposing that the islands of ice in the higher northern latitudes, as well as the glaciers on the Alps, continue perpetually to increase in bulk. At certain times, in the ice mountains of Switzerland, there occur fissures, which show the immense thickness of the frozen matter; some of these cracks have measured three or four hundred ells deep. The great islands of ice, in the northern seas bordering upon Hudson’s Bay, have been observed to be immersed one hundred fathoms beneath the surface of the sea, and to have risen a fifth or sixth part above the surface, measuring, at the same time, about a mile and a half in diameter. It has been shown by Dr. Lyster, that the marine ice contains some salt, and less air, than common ice, and that it therefore is more difficult of solution. From these premises, he endeavours to account for the perpetual augmentation of those floating islands. By a celebrated experiment of Mr. Boyle, it has been demonstrated that ice evaporates very fast, in severe frosty weather, when the wind blows upon it; and as ice, in a thawing state, is known to contain six times more cold than water, at the same degree of sensible coldness, it is easy to conceive that winds sweeping over islands and continents of ice, perhaps much below _northing_ on Fahrenheit’s scale, and rushing thence into our latitudes, must bring most intense degrees of cold along with them. If to this be added the quantity of cold produced by the evaporation of the water, as well as by the solution of ice, it can scarcely be doubted but that the arctic seas are the principal source of the cold of our winters, and that it is brought hither by the regions of the air blowing from the north, and which take an apparently easterly direction, by their coming to a part of the surface of the earth, which moves faster than the latitude from which they originate. Hence, the increase of the ice in the polar regions, by increasing the cold of our climate, adds, at the same time, to the bulk of the glaciers of Italy and Switzerland.

Reasonings of this kind are supported by the greatest names, and countenanced by the authentic reports of the best informed travellers. Mr. Bradley attributes the cold winds and wet weather, which sometimes happen in May and June, to the solution of ice islands accidentally detached and floating from the north. Mr. Barham, about the year 1718, in his voyage from Jamaica to England, in the beginning of June, met with some of those islands, which were involved in such a fog that the ship was in danger of striking against them. One of them measured sixty miles in length.

On the 22d of December, 1789, there was an instance of ice islands having been wafted from the southern polar regions. It was on these islands that the Guardian struck, at the commencement of her passage from the Cape of Good Hope towards Botany Bay. These islands were wrapt in darkness, about one hundred and fifty fathoms long, and above fifty fathoms above the surface of the waves. In the process of solution, a fragment from the summit of one of them broke off, and plunging into the sea, caused a tremendous commotion in the water, and dense smoke all around it.

These facts were strongly urged upon public attention in the autumn of 1817,[28] as grounds of not only curious and interesting, but likewise of highly important speculation. A supposed change in the temper, and the very character of our seasons, was deemed to have fallen within the observation of even young men, or at least middle-aged men; and upon this supposition, it was not deemed extravagant to anticipate the combined force of the naval world employed in navigating the immense masses of ice into the more southern oceans; while to render the notion more agreeable, and to enliven the minds of such as might think such matters of speculation dull or uninteresting, the project was laid before them in a versified garb, characterising the arctic regions.

There in her azure coif, and starry stole,
Grey Twilight sits, and rules the slumbering pole;
Bends the pale moon-beams round the sparkling coast,
And strews, with livid hands, eternal frost!
There, Nymphs! alight, array your dazzling powers,
With sudden march alarm the torpid hours;
On ice-built isles expand a thousand sails,
Hinge the strong helm, and catch the frozen gales;
The winged rocks to feverish climates guide,
Where fainting zephyrs pant upon the tide;
Pass where to Ceuta Calpe’s thunder roars,
And answering echoes shake the kindred shores;
Pass where with palmy plumes Canary smiles,
And in her silver girdle binds her isles;
Onward, where Niger’s dusky Naiad laves
A thousand kingdoms with prolific waves,
Or leads o’er golden sands her threefold train
In steamy channels to the fervid main,
While swarthy nations crowd the sultry coast,
Drink the fresh breeze, and hail the floating frost;
Nymphs! veil’d in mist, the melting treasures steer,
And cool with arctic snows the tropic year.
So from the burning line, by monsoons driv’n,
Clouds sail in squadrons o’er the darken’d heav’n,
Wide wastes of sand the gelid gales pervade,
And ocean cools beneath the moving shade.

_Darwin._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·05.

[28] See M. Chronicle, 4 Oct. 1817.

~January 16.~

HOGMANY.

Mr. Reddock’s paper on this subject, at page 13. has elicited the following letter from a literary gentleman, concerning a dramatic representation in England similar to that which Mr. Reddock instances at Falkirk, and other parts of North Britain. Such communications are particularly acceptable; because they show to what extent usages prevail, and wherein they differ in different parts of the country. It will be gratifying to every one who peruses this work, and highly so to the editor, if he is obliged by letters from readers acquainted with customs in their own vicinity, similar to those that they are informed of in other counties, and particularly if they will take the trouble to describe them in every particular. By this means, the _Every-Day Book_ will become what it is designed to be made,--_a storehouse of past and present manners and customs_. Any customs of any place or season that have not already appeared in the work, are earnestly solicited from those who have the means of furnishing the information. The only condition stipulated for, as absolutely indispensable to the insertion of a letter respecting _facts_ of this nature, is, that the name and address of the writer be communicated to the editor, who will subjoin such signature as the writer may choose his letter should bear to the eye of the public. The various valuable articles of this kind which have hitherto appeared in the work, however signed by initials or otherwise, have been so authenticated to the editor’s private satisfaction, and he is thus enabled to vouch for the genuineness of such contributions.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,

In your last number appeared a very amusing article touching some usages and customs in Scotland, and communicated from Falkirk. In the description of the boys’ play, ingeniously suggested as typical of the Roman invasion under Agricola, we, however, read but a varied edition of what is enacted in other parts besides Scotland, and more particularly in the western counties, by those troops of old Father Christmas boys, which are indeed brief chronicles of the times. I mean, those paper-decorated, brick-dust-daubed urchins, ’yclept Mummers.

To be sure they do not begin,

“Here comes in the king of Macedon;”

but we have instead,

“Here comes old Father Christmas,
Christmas or Christmas not,
I hope old Father Christmas never will be forgot.”

And then for the Scottish leader Galgacus, we find,

“_Here comes in_ St. George, St. George
That man of mighty name,
With _sword and buckler by my side
I hope to win the game_.”

These “western kernes” have it, you see, Mr. Editor, “down along,” to use their own dialect, with those of the thistle. Then, too, we have a fight. Oh! how beautiful to my boyish eyes were their wooden swords and their bullying gait!--then we have a fight, for lo

“Here’s come I, the Turkish knight,
Come from the Soldan’s land to fight,
And be the foe’s blood _hot_ and bold
With my sword I’ll make it _cold_.”

A vile _Saracenic_ pun in the very minute of deadly strife. But they fight--the cross is victorious, the crescent o’erthrown, and, as a matter of course, even in our pieces of mock valour, _duels_ we have therein--the doctor is sent for; and he is addressed, paralleling again our players of “Scotia’s wild domain,” with

“Doctor, doctor, can you tell
What will make a sick man well?”

and thereupon he enumerates cures which would have puzzled Galen, and put Hippocrates to a “non-plus;” and he finally agrees, as in the _more classical_ drama of your correspondent, to cure our unbeliever for a certain sum.

The “last scene of all that ends this strange eventful history” consists in the entrance of the most diminutive of these Thespians, bearing, as did Æneas of old, his parent upon his shoulders, and reciting this bit of good truth and joculation (permitting the word) by way of epilogue:

“Here comes I, little Johnny Jack,
With my wife and family at my back,
Yet, though my _body is but small_,
I’m the _greatest rogue amongst ye all_;
This is my scrip--so for Christmas cheer
If _you’ve any thing to give throw it in here_.”

This may be but an uninteresting tail-piece to your correspondent’s clever communication, but still it is one, and makes the picture he so well began of certain usages more full of point.

I doat upon old customs, and I love hearty commemorations, and hence those mimics of whom I have written--I mean the mummers--are my delight, and in the laughter and merriment they create I forget to be a critic, and cannot choose but laugh in the fashion of a Democritus, rather than weep worlds away in the style of a Diogenes.

I am, &c. &c.

J. S. jun.

_Little Chelsea,_

_Jan. 4, 1826._

* * * * *

In the preface to Mr. Davies Gilbert’s work on “Ancient Christmas Carols,” there is an account of Cornish sports, with a description of a “metrical play,” which seems to be the same with which is the subject of the preceding letter.

* * * * *

Being on the _popular_ drama, and as the topic arose in Mr. Reddock’s communication from Scotland, a whimsical dramatic anecdote, with another of like kin from that part of the kingdom, is here subjoined from a Scottish journal of this month in the year 1823.

_New Readings of Burns._

We were lately favoured with the perusal of a Perth play-bill, in which _Tam O’Shanter_, dramatized, is announced for performance as the afterpiece. A ludicrous mistake has occurred, however, in the classification of the _Dramatis Personæ_. The sapient playwright, it would appear, in reading the lines

“Tam had got planted unco richt,
Fast by an ingle bleezin’ finely,
Wi’ _reaman’ swats_ that drank divinely,”

very naturally conceiving ream an’ swats, from the delectable style of their carousing, to be a brace of Tam’s pot companions, actually introduced them as such, as we find in the bill that the characters of “Ream” and “Swats” are to be personated by two of the performers!

This reminds us of an anecdote, connected with the same subject, which had its origin nearer home. Some time ago we chanced to be in the shop of an elderly bookseller, when the conversation turned upon the identity of the characters introduced by Burns in his _Tam O’Shanter_. The bibliopole, who had spent the early part of his life in this neighbourhood, assured us that, “exceptin’ Kerr, he kent every body to leuk at that was mentioned, frae _Tam_ himsel’ doun to his mare _Maggie_.” This being the first time we had ever heard Mr. Kerr’s cognomen alluded to, in connection with _Tam O’Shanter_, we expressed considerable surprise, and stated that he undoubtedly must have made a mistake in the name. “It may be sae, but its a point easily sattled,” said he, _raxing_ down a copy of Burns from the shelf. With “spectacles on nose,” he turned up the poem in question. “Ay, ay,” said he, in an exulting tone, “I thocht I was na that far wrang--

“_Care_ mad to see a man sae happy,
E’n drowned himself amang the happy.”

Now, I kent twa or three o’ the Kerr’s that leev’t in the town-head, but I never could fin’ out whilk o’ them Burns had in his e’e when he wrote the poem.”[29]

* * * * *

To Thespian ingenuity we are under an obligation for an invention of great simplicity, which may be useful on many occasions, particularly to literary persons who are too far removed from the press to avail themselves of its advantages in printing short articles for limited distribution.

_A Dramatic Printing Apparatus._

Itinerant companies of comedians frequently print their play-bills by the following contrivance: The form of letter is placed on a flat support, having ledges at each side, that rise within about a thirteenth of an inch of the inked surface of the letter. The damped paper is laid upon the letter so disposed, and previously inked, and a roller, covered with woollen cloth, is passed along the ledges over its surface; the use of the ledges is to prevent the roller from rising in too obtuse an angle against the first letters, or going off too abruptly from the last, which would cause the paper to be cut, and the impression to be injured at the beginning and end of the sheet. The roller must be passed across the page, for if it moves in the order of the lines, the paper will bag a little between each, and the impression will be less neat.[30]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·65.

[29] Ayr Courier.

[30] Dr. Aikin’s Athenæum.

~January 17.~

_Snow, &c._

On the 16th and 17th of January, 1809, Mr. Howard observed, that the snow exhibited the beautiful blue and pink shades at sunset which are sometimes observable, and that there was a strong evaporation from its surface. A circular area, of five inches diameter, lost 150 grains troy, from sunset on the 15th to sunrise next morning, and about 50 grains more by the following sunset; the gauge being exposed to a smart breeze on the house top. The curious reader may hence compute for himself, the enormous quantity raised in those 24 hours, without any visible liquefaction, from an acre of snow: the effects of the load thus given to the air were soon perceptible. On the 17th, a small brilliant meteor descended on the S. E. horizon about 6 p. m. On the 18th, though the moon was still conspicuous, the horns of the crescent were obtuse. On the 19th appeared the _Cirrus_ cloud, followed by the _Cirrostratus_. In the afternoon a freezing shower from the eastward glazed the windows, encrusted the walls, and encased the trees, the garments of passengers, and the very plumage of the birds with ice. Birds thus disabled were seen lying on the ground in great numbers in different parts of the country. Nineteen rooks were taken up alive by one person at Castle Eaton Meadow, Wilts. The composition of this frozen shower, examined on a sheet of paper, was no less curious than these effects. It consisted of hollow spherules of ice, filled with water; of transparent globules of hail; and of drops of water at the point of freezing, which became solid on touching the bodies they fell on. The thermometer exposed from the window indicated 30,5°. This was at Plaistow. The shower was followed by a moderate fall of snow. From this time to the 24th, there were variable winds and frequent falls of snow, which came down on the 22d in flakes as large as dollars, with sleet at intervals. On the 24th a steady rain from W. decided for a thaw. This and the following night proved stormy: the melted snow and rain, making about two inches depth of water on the level, descended suddenly by the rivers, and the country was inundated to a greater extent than in the year 1795. The River Lea continued rising the whole of the 26th, remained stationary during the 27th, and returned into its bed in the course of the two following days. The various channels by which it intersects this part of the country were united in one current, above a mile in width, which flowed with great impetuosity, and did much damage. From breaches in the banks and mounds, the different _levels_, as they are termed, of embanked pasture land, were filled to the depth of eight or nine feet. The cattle, by great exertions, were preserved, being mostly in the stall; and the inhabitants, driven to their upper rooms, were relieved by boats plying under the windows. The Thames was so full during this time, that no tide was perceptible; happily, however, its bank suffered no injury; and the recession of the water from the levels proceeded with little interruption till the 23d of February, when it nearly all subsided. No lives were lost in these parts; but several circumstances concurred to render this inundation less mischievous than it might have been, from the great depth of snow on the country. It was the time of _neap_ tide; the wind blew strongly from the _westward_, urging the water _down_ the Thames; while moonlight nights, and a temperate atmosphere, were favourable to the poor, whose habitations were filled with water. On the 28th appeared a lunar halo of the largest diameter. On the 29th, after a fine morning, the wind began to blow hard from the south, and during the whole night of the 30th it raged with excessive violence from the west, doing considerable damage. The barometer rose, during this hurricane, one-tenth of an inch per hour. The remainder of the noon was stormy and wet, and it closed with squally weather; which, with the frequent appearance of the rainbow, indicated the approach of a drier atmosphere, a change on few occasions within Mr. Howard’s recollection more desirable.

Numerous inundations, consequent on the thaw of the 24th, appear to have prevailed in low and level districts all along the east side of the island: but in no part with more serious destruction of property, public works, and the hopes of the husbandman, than in the fens of Cambridgeshire: where, by some accounts, 60,000, by others above 150,000 acres of land, were laid under deep water, through an extent of 15 miles. It is a fact worth preserving, that about 500 sacks filled with earth, and laid on the banks of the Old Bedford river, at various places, where the waters were then flowing over, proved effectual in saving that part of the country from a general deluge.

It’s a custom at Highgate, that all who go through,
Must be sworn on the horns, sir!--and so, sir, must you!
Bring the horns! shut the door!--now, sir, take off your hat!--
When you come here again, don’t forget to mind _that_!

*

“Have you been sworn at Highgate?” is a question frequently asked in every part of the kingdom; for, that such a custom exists in this village is known far and near, though many who inquire, and are asked, remain ignorant of the ceremony. As the practice is declining, diligence has been exercised to procure information on the spot, and from every probable source, concerning this remarkable usage.

The village of Highgate takes its name from the gate across the public road into London, opposite the chapel, which is sometimes erroneously called the church, for it is, in fact, only a chapel of ease to Hornsey church. This road runs through land belonging to the bishopric of London, and was made, by permission of the bishop in former times, probably when the whole of this spot, and the circumjacent country, was covered with wood, and part of the great forest of Middlesex, which, according to Matthew Paris, was infested by wolves, stags, boars, and other wild beasts, besides robbers. This gate, from being on the great northern eminence towards London, was called the _high_-gate; as the land became cleared of wood, houses arose near the spot, and hence the village now called _Highgate_. It seems probable, that the first dwelling erected here was the gate-house. The occupier of the inn of that name holds it under a lease from the bishop, under which lease he also farms the bishop’s toll. In the year 1769 the old gate-house, which extended over the road, was taken down, and the present common turnpike-gate put up. So much, then, concerning Highgate, as introductory to the custom about to be related.

“Swearing on the _horns_,” which now is “a custom more honour’d in the breach than in the observance,” prevailed at Highgate as a continual popular amusement and private annoyance. An old and respectable inhabitant of the village says, that sixty years ago upwards of eighty stages stopped every day at the Red Lion, and that out of every five passengers three were sworn. It is a jocular usage of the place, from beyond the memory of man, especially encouraged by certain of the villagers, to the private advantage of public landlords. On the drawing up of coaches at the inn-doors, particular invitations were given to the company to alight, and after as many as could be collected were got into a room for purposes of refreshment, the subject of being “sworn at Highgate” was introduced, and while a little artifice easily detected who had not taken the oath, some perhaps expressed a wish to submit to the ceremony. It often happened however, that before these facts could be ascertained “the horns” were brought in by the landlord, and as soon as they appeared, enough were usually present to enforce compliance. “The horns,” fixed on a pole of about five feet in height, were erected, by placing the pole upright on the ground, near the person to be sworn, who was required to take off his hat, and all present having done the same, the landlord then, in a loud voice, swore in the “party proponent.” What is called the oath is traditional, and varies verbally in a small degree. It has been taken down in writing from the lips of different persons who administer it, and after a careful collation of the different versions the following may be depended on as correct.--The landlord, or the person appointed by him to “swear in,” proclaims aloud--

“Upstanding and uncovered! Silence!” Then he addresses himself to the person he swears in, thus:--

“TAKE NOTICE what I now say unto you, for _that_ is the first word of your oath--mind _that_! You must acknowledge me to be your adopted Father, I must acknowledge you to be my adopted son (or daughter.) If you do not call me father you forfeit a bottle of wine, if I do not call you son, I forfeit the same. And now, my good son, if you are travelling through this village of Highgate, and you have no money in your pocket, go call for a bottle of wine at any house you think proper to go into, and book it to your father’s score. If you have any friends with you, you may treat them as well, but if you have money of your own, you must pay for it yourself. For you must not say you have no money when you have, neither must you convey the money out of your own pocket into your friends’ pockets, for I shall search you as well as them, and if it is found that you or they have money, you forfeit a bottle of wine for trying to cozen and cheat your poor old ancient father. You must not eat brown bread while you can get white, except you like the brown the best; you must not drink small beer while you can get strong, except you like the small the best. You must not kiss the maid while you can kiss the mistress, except you like the maid the best, but sooner than lose a good chance you may kiss them both. And now, my good son, for a word or two of advice. Keep from all houses of ill repute, and every place of public resort for bad company. Beware of false friends, for they will turn to be your foes, and inveigle you into houses where you may lose your money and get no redress. Keep from thieves of every denomination. And now, my good son, I wish you a safe journey through Highgate and this life. I charge you, my good son, that if you know any in this company who have not taken this oath, you must cause them to take it, or make each of them forfeit a bottle of wine, for if you fail to do so you will forfeit a bottle of wine yourself. So now, my son, God bless you! Kiss the horns or a pretty girl if you see one here, which you like best, and so be free of Highgate!”