Chapter L: Part I: 5th May to 13th 8 (12)

A company of mountebanks, however, appeared on a green, north of White Conduit-house, several evenings last week. On Saturday the performance commenced at five o’clock in the afternoon. The performers consisted of the master, a short, middle aged person, with a florid complexion, dressed in decent half mourning. He possessed a sound pair of lungs, fair eloquence, and a good portion of colloquial ability. By the assistance of a little whip he kept in order a large ring, formed of boys, girls, and grown persons of both sexes. His eye, gray as a falcon’s, watched the reception he received, and seemed to communicate with his “_mind’s_ eye,” as to his subscribers. The rosy-faced maid servants, glad of the opportunity of gazing at the exhibitors, were rejoiced by the pretence of holding the “nursery treasures” to see all that could be seen. Here the calculator looked for patronage and encouragement. “Mr. Merriman,” a young man with his face and clothes duly coloured, _à la Grimaldi_, raised laughter by his quaint retorts, by attempts at tumbling to prove he could tumble well, and by drilling with a bugle-horn a dozen volunteer boys in many whimsical exercises, truly marvellous to simpering misses and their companions. The next performer was a short man with sharp features, sunburnt face, and shrill goat-like voice:--he tumbled in a clever, but, I think, dangerous manner. Then Mr. Merriman’s “imitations” followed; not to say any thing of those inimitable imitators, Mathews, Reeve, and Yates, he suited his audience to the very echo of the surrounding skeletons in brick and mortar. The tumbler then reposed by putting a loose coat over his party-coloured habit, and playing a pandean-pipe while “Mr. Merriman” sat on a piece of carpet spread on the ground, and tossed four gilt balls in the air at the same time, to the variations of the music. A drum was beat by a woman about forty, with a tiara on her head, who afterwards left the beating art and mounting the slack-wire, which was supported by three sticks, coned at each end to a triangle; she danced and vaulted _à la Gouffe_. A table was put on the wire, which she balanced, and bore a glass full of liquor on the rim as she twirled it on her finger. This was the acmè of the display. Tickets at one shilling each were now handed round with earnestness and much promise, for a lottery of prizes, consisting of teapots, waiters, printed calico, and two sovereigns thrown on the grass instead of a sheep. These temptations held out to many a Saturday night labourer the hope of increasing his week’s wages. The “conductor” of his company no doubt profited by the experience of which he was possessed. Many tickets were sold; expectation breathed--fancy pictured a teapot--or some token of fortune’s performance. The decision made, the die cast, now the laughing winner walked hurriedly away, hugging his prize, while the losers hid their chagrin, and were quietly dispersed by the “blank” influence, with secret wishes that their money was in their pockets again.

When I reflect upon this kind of amusement for the labouring classes, I see nothing to prevent its occasional appearance. The wit scattered about, though in a blundering way, is often smart.

In spite of decorum, of my better instruction in gentility, and Chesterfield’s axioms, I love to stand and shake my human system, if it be only to remind me of past observation, and to see the children so happy, who ring out music, in every responsive applause of the tricks so plausibly represented to their view. While “Mr. Merriman” does not invade the peace of society, I hope he will be allowed his precarious reign, as he promised “that he would forfeit fifty guineas if he came into the parish again at least for a twelvemonth.”

It is within my remembrance when former mountebanks distributed packets instead of blanks, containing nostrums against toothache, corns, bunions, warts, witchcraft and the ague. Doctor Bolus strutted and fretted his hour upon the stage, and gave as much wit for sixpence as kept the village alehouse in a roar for many weeks. But, I suppose, the mountebank profession, like every other, feels the changes of the times, and retrenchment cries,--

“Ubi vos requiram, cum dies advenerit?”

*, *, P.

_September 29, 1826._

Please to make the following correction, page 1270; for “_he_ shaking,” read “_the_ shaking.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 52·85.

[361] Fuller.

[362] Cowel. Blount.

[363] From Dr. Aikin’s Athenæum.

[364] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~October 2.~

EXTRAORDINARY WALKING.

October 2, 1751, a man, for a wager of twenty guineas, walked from Shoreditch church, to the twenty mile stone near Ware, and back again, in seven hours![365]

EXTRAORDINARY RIDING.

In October, 1754, lord Powerscourt having laid a wager with the duke of Orleans, that he would ride on his own horses from Fountainbleau to Paris, which is forty-two English miles, in two hours, for one thousand louis d’ors, the king’s guards cleared the way, which was lined with crowds of Parisians. He was to mount only three horses, but he performed the task on two, in one hour, thirty-seven minutes, and twenty-two seconds. The horses through whom the wager was won, were both killed by the severity of the feat.[366]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 53·75.

[365] Gentleman’s Magazine.

[366] Ibid.

~October 3.~

EXTRAORDINARY HORSE.

On the 3d of October, 1737, a cart-gelding belonging to Mr. Richard Fendall, of the Grange, Southwark, died by an accidental cut in his knee with a garden-mellon bell-glass; which is taken notice of, because this gelding was forty-four years in his possession. It was bought Michaelmas, 1693, at Uxbridge, was never sick nor lame all the time, and within the fifteen years preceding, drew his owner and another in a chaise, fifty miles in one day.[367]

BIRDS AND MISTS.

It is observed that--“Among the miscellaneous events of October, one of the most striking and curious is the interchange which seems to take place between our country, and the more northern as well as the more southern ones, in regard to the birds. The swallow tribe now all quit us: the swift disappeared wholly, more than a month ago; and now the house swallow, house martin, and bank or sand martin, after congregating for awhile in vast flocks about the banks of rivers and other waters, are seen no more as general frequenters of the air. If one or two are seen during the warm days that sometimes occur for the next two or three weeks, they are to be looked upon as strangers and wanderers; and the sight of them, which has hitherto been so pleasant, becomes altogether different in its effect: it gives one a feeling of desolateness, such as we experience on meeting a poor shivering lascar in our winter streets.--In exchange for this tribe of truly summer visiters, we have now great flocks of the fieldfares and redwings come back to us; and also wood pigeons, snipes, woodcocks, and several of the numerous tribe of water-fowl.

“Now, occasionally, we may observe the singular effects of a mist, coming gradually on, and wrapping in its dusky cloak a whole landscape that was, the moment before, clear and bright as in a spring morning. The vapour rises visibly (from the face of a distant river perhaps) like steam from a boiling caldron; and climbing up into the blue air as it advances, rolls wreath over wreath till it reaches the spot on which you are standing; and then, seeming to hurry past you, its edges, which have hitherto been distinctly defined, become no longer visible, and the whole scene of beauty, which a few moments before surrounded you, is as it were wrapt from your sight like an unreal vision of the air, and you seem (and in fact are) transferred into the bosom of a cloud.”[368]

SWALLOWS.

A provincial paper[369] says, “It is a fact, which has not been satisfactorily accounted for by ornithologists, that the number of swallows which visit this island are not near so numerous as they formerly were; and this is the case, not only in this neighbourhood, but throughout the country. The little that is satisfactorily known concerning the parts to which they emigrate, and the many statements respecting their annual migration, not only serves to show that something remains to be discovered respecting these interesting visiters, but perhaps prevents us from ascertaining the causes of the decrease in their numbers. In the month of September, 1815, great numbers of these birds congregated near Rotherham, previous to their departure for a more genial climate. Their appearance was very extraordinary, and attracted much attention. We extract some account of this vast assemblage of the feathered race, from an elegantly written little work, published on the occasion, by the rev. Thomas Blackley, vicar of Rotherham, containing ‘Observations and Reflections’ on this circumstance:--

“‘Early in the month of September, 1815, that beautiful and social tribe of the feathered race began to assemble in the neighbourhood of Rotherham, at the Willow-ground, near the Glass-house, preparatory to their migration to a a warmer climate; and their numbers were daily augmented, until they became a vast flock which no man could easily number--thousands upon thousands, tens of thousands, and myriads--so great, indeed, that the spectator would almost have concluded that the whole of the swallow race were there collected in one huge host. It was their manner, while there, to rise from the willows in the morning, a little before six o’clock, when their thick columns literally darkened the sky. Their divisions were formed into four, five, and sometimes six grand wings, each of these filing off and taking a different route--one east, another west, another south, and so on; as if not only to be equally dispersed throughout the country, to provide food for their numerous troops; but also to collect with them whatever of their fellows, or straggling parties, might be still left behind. Just before the respective columns arose, a few birds might be observed first in motion at different points, darting through their massy ranks--these appeared like officers giving the word of command. In the evening, about five o’clock, they began to return to their station, and continued coming in, from all quarters, until nearly dark. It was here that you might see them go through their various aerial evolutions, in many a sportive ring and airy gambol--strengthening their pinions in these playful feats for their long etherial journey; while contentment and cheerfulness reigned in every breast, and was expressed in their evening song by a thousand pleasing twitters from their little throats, as they cut the air and frolicked in the last beams of the setting sun, or lightly skimmed the surface of the glassy pool. The notes of those that had already gained the willows sounded like the murmur of a distant waterfall, or the dying roar of the retreating billow on the sea beach.

“‘The verdant enamel of summer had already given place to the warm and mellow tints of autumn, and the leaves were now fast falling from their branches, while the naked tops of many of the trees appeared--the golden sheaves were safely lodged in the barns, and the reapers had, for this year, shouted their harvest home--frosty and misty mornings now succeeded, the certain presages of the approach of winter. These omens were understood by the swallows as the route for their march; accordingly, on the morning of the 7th of October, their mighty army broke up their encampment debouched from their retreat, and, rising, covered the heavens with their legions; thence, directed by an unerring guide, they took their trackless way. On the morning of their going, when they ascended from their temporary abode, they did not, as they had been wont to do, divide into different columns, and take each a different route, but went off in one vast body, bearing to the south. It is said that they would have gone sooner, but for a contrary wind which had some time prevailed; that on the day before they took their departure, the wind got round, and the favourable breeze was immediately embraced by them. On the day of their flight, they left behind them about a hundred of their companions; whether they were slumberers in the camp, and so had missed the going of their troops, or whether they were left as the rear-guard, it is not easy to ascertain; they remained, however, till the next morning, when the greater part of them mounted on their pinions, to follow, as it should seem, the celestial route of their departed legions. After these a few stragglers only remained; these might be too sick or too young to attempt so great an expedition; whether this was the fact or not, they did not remain after the next day. If they did not follow their army, yet the dreary appearance of their depopulated camp and their affection for their kindred, might influence them to attempt it, or to explore a warmer and safer retreat.’”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 50·00.

[367] Gentleman’s Magazine.

[368] Mirror of the Months.

[369] Sheffield Mercury.

~October 4.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 4th of October, 1749,[370] died at Paris, John Baptist Du Halde, a jesuit, who was secretary to father Le Tellier, confessor to Louis XIV. Du Halde is celebrated for having compiled an elaborate history and geography of China from the accounts of the Romish missionaries in that empire; he was likewise editor of the “Lettres edifiantes et curieuses,” from the ninth to the twenty-sixth collection, and the author of several Latin poems and miscellaneous pieces. He was born in the city wherein he died, in 1674, remarkable for piety, mildness, and patient industry.[371]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·92.

[370] Gentleman’s Magazine.

[371] A General Biographical Dictionary, (Hunt and Clarke,) vol. ii.

~October 5.~

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 55·12.

~October 6.~

ST. FAITH.

Of this saint in the church of England calendar, there is an account in vol. i. col. 1362.

SOMNAMBULISM.

On Sunday evening, the 6th of October, 1823, a lad named George Davis, sixteen and a half years of age, in the service of Mr. Hewson, butcher, of Bridge-road, Lambeth, at about twenty minutes after nine o’clock, bent forward in his chair, and rested his forehead on his hands. In ten minutes he started up, fetched his whip, put on his one spur, and went thence to the stable; not finding his own saddle in the proper place, he returned to the house, and asked for it. Being asked what he wanted with it, he replied, to go his rounds. He returned to the stable, got on the horse without the saddle, and was proceeding to leave the stable; it was with much difficulty and force that Mr. Hewson junior, assisted by the other lad, could remove him from the horse; his strength was great, and it was with difficulty he was brought in doors. Mr. Hewson senior, coming home at this time, sent for Mr. Benjamin Ridge, an eminent practitioner, in Bridge-road, who stood by him for a quarter of an hour, during which time the lad considered himself stopped at the turnpike gate, and took sixpence out of his pocket to be changed; and holding out his hand for the change, the sixpence was returned to him. He immediately observed, “None of your nonsense--that is the sixpence again, give me my change.” When threepence halfpenny was given to him, he counted it over, and said, “None of your gammon; that is not right, I want a penny more;” making the fourpence halfpenny, which was his proper change. He then said, “give me my _castor_,” (meaning his hat,) which slang terms he had been in the habit of using, and then began to whip and spur to get his horse on; his pulse at this time was one hundred and thirty-six, full and hard; no change of countenance could be observed, nor any spasmodic affection of the muscles, the eyes remaining close the whole of the time. His coat was taken off his arm, his shirt sleeve stripped up, and Mr. Ridge bled him to thirty-two ounces; no alteration had taken place in him during the first part of the time the blood was flowing; at about twenty-four ounces, the pulse began to decrease; and when the full quantity named above had been taken, it was at eighty, with a slight perspiration on the forehead. During the time of bleeding Mr. Hewson related the circumstance of a Mr. Harris, optician in Holborn, whose son some years before walked out on the parapet of the house in his sleep. The boy joined the conversation, and observed he lived at the corner of Brownlow-street. After the arm was tied up, he unlaced one boot, and said he would go to bed. In three minutes from this time he awoke, got up, and asked what was the matter, (having then been one hour in the trance,) not having the slightest recollection of any thing that had passed, and wondered at his arm being tied up, and at the blood, &c. A strong aperient medicine was then administered, he went to bed, slept sound, and the next day appeared perfectly well, excepting debility from the bleeding and operation of the medicine, and had no recollection whatever of what had taken place. None of his family or himself were ever affected in this way before.[372]

REMARKABLE STORM.

The following remarkable letter in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” relates to the present day seventy years ago.

Mr. URBAN,

_Wigton, Oct. 23, 1756_.

On the 6th inst. at night, happened a most violent hurricane; such a one perhaps as has not happened in these parts, in the memory of man. It lasted full 4 hours from about 11 till 3. The damage it has done over the whole county is very deplorable. The corn has suffered prodigiously.--Houses were not only unroofed, but in several places overturned by its fury.--Stacks of hay and corn were entirely swept away.--Trees without number torn up by the roots. Others, snapt off in the middle, and scattered in fragments over the neighbouring fields. Some were twisted almost round; bent, or split to the roots, and left in so shattered a condition as cannot be described.

The change in the herbage was also very surprising; its leaves _withered shrivelled_ up, and _turned black_. The leaves upon the trees, especially on the weather side, fared in the same manner. The _Evergreens_ alone seem to have escaped, and the grass recovered in a day or two.

I agreed, at first, with the general opinion, that this mischief was the effect of _Lightning_; but, when I recollected that, in some places, very little had been taken notice of; in others none at all; and that the effect was _general_, I begun to think of accounting for it from some other cause. I immediately examined the dew or rain which had been left on the grass, windows, &c. in hopes of being enabled, by _its taste_, to form some better judgment of the particles with which the air had been impregnated, and I found it as salt as any sea water I had ever tasted. The several vegetables also were all saltish more or less, and continued so for 5 or 6 days, the saline particles not being then washed off; and when the moisture was exhaled from the windows, the saline chrystal _sparkled_ on the outside, when the sun shined, and appeared very _brilliant_.

This _salt water_, I conceive, has done the principal damage, for I find upon experiment, that common salt dissolved in fresh water affected some fresh vegetables, when sprinkled upon them, in the very _same manner_, except that it did not turn them quite so black,--but particles of a sulphurous, or other quality,[373] may have been mixed with it.

I should be glad to see the opinions of some of your ingenious correspondents on this wonderful phenomenon;--whether they think this salt water was brought from the sea,[374] and in _what manner_.

_Yours_,

A. B.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·55.

[372] The Times, October, 1823.

[373] In an adjoining bleach-yard, some cloth which had lain out all
night was turned almost yellow.--Other pieces also which were spread
out the next morning, contracted the same colour, which was not
without great difficulty washed out.

[374] The wind was westerly, and consequently in its passage swept the
Irish sea.

~October 7.~

CONJUGAL INDIFFERENCE.

On the 7 of of October, 1736, a man and his wife, at Rushal, in Norfolk, “having some words,” the man went out and hanged himself. The coroner’s inquest found it “self-murder,” and ordered him to be buried in the cross-ways; but his wife sent for a surgeon, and sold the body for half a guinea. The surgeon feeling about the body, the wife said, “He is fit for your purpose, he is as fat as butter.” The deceased was thereupon put into a sack with his legs hanging out, and being thrown upon a cart, conveyed to the surgeon’s.[375]

OLD TIMES AND NEW TIMES.

In a journal of 1826,[376] we have the following pleasant account of a similar publication ninety years ago.

A curious document, for we may well term it so, has come to our hands--a copy of a London newspaper, dated Thursday, March 24, 1736-7. Its title is, “The Old Whig, or the Consistent Protestant.” It seems to have been a weekly paper, and, at the above date, to have been in existence for about two years. How long it lived after, we have not, at present, any means of ascertaining. The paper is similar in size to the French journals of the present day, and consists of four pages and three columns in each. The show of advertisements is very fair. They fill the whole of the back page, and nearly a column of the third. They are all book advertisements. One of these is a comedy called “The Universal Passion,” by the author of “The Man of Taste,” no doubt, at that time, an amply sufficient description of the ingenious playwright. The “Old Whig” was published by “J. Roberts, at the Oxford Arms, in Warwick-lane,” as likewise by “H. Whitridge, bookseller, the corner of Castle-alley, near the Royal-exchange, in Cornhill, price two-pence!” It has a leading article in its way, in the shape of a discourse on the liberty of the press, which it lustily defends, from what, we believe, it was as little exposed to, in 1786-7, as it is in 1826--a censorship. The editor apologises for omitting _the news_ in his last, on account of “Mr. Foster’s reply to Dr. Stebbing!” What would be said of a similar excuse now-a-days?

The following epigram is somewhat hacknied, but there is a pleasure in extracting it from the print, where it probably first appeared:--

“As we were obliged to omit the News in last week’s paper, by
inserting Mr. Foster’s answer to the Rev. Dr. Stebbing, we shall in
this give the few articles that are any way material.”

“Cries Celia to a reverend dean,
What reason can be given,
Since marriage is a holy thing,
That there is none in Heaven?”

“There are no Women,” he replied;
She quick returns the jest;
“Women there are, but I’m afraid,
They cannot find a priest!”

The miscellaneous part is of nearly the same character as at present, but disposed in rather a less regular form. We have houses on fire, and people burnt in them, exactly as _we_ had last week; but what is wonderful, as it shows the great improvement in these worthy gentlemen in the course of a century, the “Old Whig” adds to its account--“The watch, it seems, though at a small distance, knew nothing of the matter!”

There is a considerable number of deaths, for people died even in those good old times, and one drowning; whether intentional or not we cannot inform our readers, as the “Old Whig” went to press before the inquest was holden before Mr. Coroner and a most respectable jury.

We still tipple a little after dinner, but our fathers were prudent men; they took time by the forelock, and began their convivialities with their _dejeune_. The following is a short notice of the exploits of a few of these true men. It is with a deep feeling of the transitory nature of all sublunary things, that we introduce this notice, by announcing to our readers at a distance, that the merry Boar’s Head is merry no more, and that he who goes thither in the hope of quaffing port, where plump Jack quaffed sack and sugar, will return disappointed. The sign remains, but the _hostel_ is gone.

“On Saturday last, the right hon. the Lord Mayor held a wardmote at
St. Mary Abchurch, for the election of a common councilman, in the
room of Mr. Deputy Davis. His lordship went sooner than was expected
by Mr. Clay’s friends, and arriving at the church, ordered
proclamation to be made, when Mr. Edward Yeates was put up by every
person present; then the question being asked, whether any other was
offered to the ward, and there being no person named, his lordship
declared Mr. Yeates duly elected, and ordered him to be sworn in,
which was accordingly done; and just at the words ‘So help you God,’
Mr. Clay’s friends (who were numerous, and had been at breakfast at
the Boar’s Head Tavern, in Eastcheap) came into the church, but it was
too late, for the election was over. This has created a great deal of
mirth in the ward, which is likely to continue for some time. The
Boar’s Head is said to be the tavern so often mentioned by Shakspeare,
in his play of _Henry the Fourth_, which occasioned a gentleman, who
heard the circumstances of the election, to repeat the following lines
from that play:--

“‘_Falst._ Now Hall, what a time of day is it, lad?’

“‘_P. Hen._----What a devil has thou to do with the time of the day?
unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons,’” &c.

The above account gives a specimen of the sobriety of our fathers; another of their virtues is exemplified in the following:--

“By a letter from Penzance, in Cornwall, we have the following
account, viz.:--‘That on the 12th instant at night, was lost near
Portlevan (and all the men drowned, _as is supposed_), the queen
Caroline, of Topsham, Thomas Wills, master, from Oporto, there being
some pieces of letters found on the sands, directed for Edward Mann,
of Exon, one for James La Roche, Esq. of Bristol, and another for
Robert Smyth, Esq. and Company, Bristol. Some casks of wine came on
shore, which were immediately secured by the country people; but on a
composition with the collector, to pay them eight guineas for each
pipe they brought on shore, they delivered to him twenty-five pipes;
and he paid so many times eight guineas, else they would have staved
them, or carried them off.’”

The order maintained in England at that time was nothing compared to the strictness of discipline observed on the continent.

“They write from Rome, that count Trevelii, a Neapolitan, had been
beheaded there, for being the author of some satirical writings
against the Pope: that Father Jacobini, who was sentenced to be
beheaded on the same account, had obtained the _favour_ of being sent
to the gallies, through the intercession of cardinal Guadagni, the
pope’s nephew, who was most maltreated by the priest and the count.”

These were times, as Dame Quickly would say, when honourable men were not to be insulted with impunity.

We sometimes hear of a terrible species of _mammalia_, called West India Planters, and there is an individual specimen named Hogan, or something like it, whose wonderful fierceness has been sounded in our ears for some ten or twelve years. But what will the abolitionists say to the extract of a letter from Antigua? Compared with these dreadful doings, Mr. Hogan’s delinquencies were mere fleabites.

“Extract of a letter from Antigua, January 15, 1736-7:--‘We are in a
great deal of trouble in this island, the burning of negroes, hanging
them on gibbets alive, racking them on the wheel, &c. takes up almost
all our time; that from the 20th of October to this day, there has
been destroyed sixty-five sensible negro men, most of them tradesmen,
as carpenters, masons, and coopers. I am almost dead with watching and
warding, as are many more. They were going to destroy all the white
inhabitants on the island. Court, the king of the negroes, who was to
head the insurrection; Tomboy, their general, and Hercules their
lieutenant-general, were all racked upon the wheel, and died with
amazing obstinacy. Mr. Archibald Hamilton’s Harry, after he was
condemned, stuck himself with a knife in eighteen places, four whereof
were mortal, which killed him. Colonel Martin’s Jemmy, who was hung up
alive from noon to eleven at night, was then taken down to give
information. Colonel Morgan’s Ned, who, after he had been hung up
seven days and seven nights, that his hands grew too small for his
hand-cuffs, he got them out and raised himself up, and fell down from
a gibbet fifteen feet high, without any harm; he was revived with
cordials and broth, in hopes to bring him to a confession, but he
would not confess, and was hung up again, and in a day and night after
expired. Mr. Yeoman’s Quashy Coomah jumped out of the fire half burnt,
but was thrown in again. And Mr. Lyon’s Tim jumped out of the fire,
and promised to declare all, but it took no effect. In short, our
island is in a poor, miserable condition, that I wish I could get any
sort of employ in England.’”

The following notice is of a more pleasing character:--

“In a few days, a fine monument to the memory of John Gay, Esq.,
author of the _Beggar’s Opera_, and several other admired pieces, will
be erected in Westminster-abbey, at the expense of his grace the duke
of Queensberry and Dover, with an elegant inscription thereon,
composed by the deceased’s intimate and affectionate friend, Mr.
Alexander Pope.”

There are two more observations which we have to make; 1st. “the Old Whig,” as was meet, was a strong Orangeman; and 2d. the parliament was sitting when the number before us was published, and yet it does not contain one line of debate!

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 53·77.

[375] Gentleman’s Magazine.

[376] New Times, September 7.

~October 8.~

ANCIENT MANNERS.

Elias Ashmole, the antiquary, enters thus in the diary of his life:--“1657, October 8. The cause between me and my wife was heard, when Mr. Serjeant Maynard observed to the court, that there were 800 sheets of depositions on my wife’s part, and not one word proved against me of using her ill, nor ever giving her a bad or provoking word.” The decision was against the lady; the court, refusing her alimony, delivered her to her husband; “whereupon,” says Ashmole, “I carried her to Mr. Lilly’s, and there took lodgings for us both.” He and Lilly dabbled in astrology; and he tells no more of his spouse till he enters “1668, April 1. 2 Hor. _ante merid._ the lady Mainwaring my wife _died_.” Subsequently he writes--“November 3. I married Mrs. Elizabeth Dugdale, daughter to William Dugdale, Esq. Norroy, king of arms at Lincoln’s-inn chapel. Dr. William Floyd married us, and her father gave her. The wedding was finished at 10 _hor. post merid_.”

Ashmole’s diary minutely records particulars of all sorts:--“September 5, I took pills; 6, I took a sweat; 7, I took leeches; all wrought very well.--December 19, Dr. Chamberlain proposed to me to bring Dr. Lister to my wife, that he might undertake her. 22. They both came to my house, and Dr. Lister _did_ undertake her.” Though Dr. Lister was her undertaker on that occasion, yet Ashmole records--“1687, April 16, my wife took Mr. Bigg’s vomit, which wrought very well.--19. She took _pulvis sanctis_; in the afternoon she took cold.” Death took Ashmole in 1695. He was superstitious and punctilious, and was perhaps a better antiquary than a friend; he seems to have possessed himself of Tradescant’s museum at South Lambeth in a manner which rather showed his love of antiquities than poor old Tradescant.

It is to be regretted that Ashmole’s life, “drawn up by himself by way of diary,” was not printed with the Life of Lilly in the “Autobiography.” Lilly’s Life is published in that pleasant work by itself. “Tom Davies” deemed them fit companions.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 53·80.

~October 9.~

ST. DENYS.

This name in the church of England calendar is properly noticed in vol. i. col. 1370.

* * * * *

On the celebration of this saint’s festival in catholic countries he is represented walking with his head in his hands, as we are assured he did, after his martyrdom. A late traveller in France relates, that on the 9th of October, the day of St. Denis, the patron saint of France, a procession was made to the village of St. Denis, about a league from Lyons. This was commonly a very disorderly and tumultuous assembly, and was the occasion some years ago of a scene of terrible confusion and slaughter. The porter who kept the gate of the city which leads to this village, in order to exact a contribution from the people as they returned, shut the gate at an earlier hour than usual. The people, incensed at the extortion, assembled in a crowd round the gate to force it, and in the conflict numbers were stifled, squeezed to death, or thrown into the Rhone, on the side of which the gate stood. Two hundred persons were computed to have lost their lives on this occasion. The porter paid his avarice with his life: he was condemned and executed as the author of the tumult, and of the consequences by which it was attended.[377]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 52·62.

[377] Miss Plumptre.

~October 10.~

1826. Oxford and Cambridge Terms begin.

CHRONOLOGY.

On Sunday, October 10, 1742, during the time of worship, the roof of the church of Fearn, in Ross-shire, Scotland, fell suddenly in, and sixty people were killed, besides the wounded. The gentry whose seats were in the niches, and the preacher by falling under the sounding-board were preserved.[378]

PACK MONDAY FAIR, AT SHERBORNE, DORSETSHIRE

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Sherborne, September, 1826._

Sir,--Having promised to furnish an account of our fair, I now take the liberty of handing it to you for insertion in your very entertaining work.

This fair is annually held on the first Monday after the 10th of October, and is a mart for the sale of horses, cows, fat and lean oxen, sheep, lambs, and pigs; cloth, earthenware, onions, wall and hazle nuts, apples, fruit trees, and the usual nick nacks for children, toys, gingerbread, sweetmeats, sugar plums, &c. &c. with drapery, hats, bonnets, caps, ribands, &c. for the country belles, of whom, when the weather is favourable, a great number is drawn together from the neighbouring villages.

Tradition relates that this fair originated at the termination of the building of the church, when the people who had been employed about it packed up their tools, and held a fair or wake, in the churchyard, blowing cows’ horns in their rejoicing, which at that time was perhaps the most common music in use.[379] The date at which the church was built is uncertain, but it may be conjectured in the sixth century, for in the year 704, king John fixed an episcopal see at, and Aldhelm was consecrated the first bishop of, Sherborne, in 705, and enjoyed the bishopric four years. Aldhelm died in 709, is said to be the first who introduced poetry into England, to have obtained a proficiency in music, and the first Englishman who ever wrote in Latin.

To the present time Pack Monday fair, is annually announced three or four weeks previous by all the little urchins who can procure and blow a cow’s horn, parading the streets in the evenings, and sending forth the different tones of their horny bugles, sometimes beating an old saucepan for a drum, to render the sweet sound more delicious, and not unfrequently a whistle-pipe or a fife is added to the band. The clock’s striking twelve on the Sunday night previous, is the summons for ushering in the fair, when the boys assemble with their horns, and parade the town with a noisy shout, and prepare to forage for fuel to light a bonfire, generally of straw, obtained from some of the neighbouring farmyards, which are sure to be plundered, without respect to the owners, if they have not been fortunate enough to secure the material in some safe part of their premises. In this way the youths enjoy themselves in boisterous triumph, to the annoyance of the sleeping part of the inhabitants, many of whom deplore, whilst others, who entertain respect for old customs, delight in the deafening mirth. At four o’clock the great bell is rang for a quarter of an hour. From this time, the bustle commences by the preparations for the coming scene: stalls erecting, windows cleaning and decorating, shepherds and drovers going forth for their flocks and herds, which are depastured for the night in the neighbouring fields, and every individual seems on the alert. The business in the sheep and cattle fairs (which are held in different fields, nearly in the centre of the town, and well attended by the gentlemen farmers, of Dorset, Somerset, and Devon) takes precedence, and is generally concluded by twelve o’clock, when what is called the in-fair begins to wear the appearance of business-like activity, and from this time till three or four o’clock more business is transacted in the shop, counting-house, parlour, hall, and kitchen, than at any other time of the day, it being a custom of the tradespeople to have their yearly accounts settled about this time, and scarcely a draper, grocer, hatter, ironmonger, bookseller, or other respectable tradesman, but is provided with an ample store of beef and home-brewed October, for the welcome of their numerous customers, few of whom depart without taking _quantum suff._ of the old English fare placed before them.

Now, (according to an old saying,) is the _town alive_. John takes Joan to see the shows,--there he finds the giant--here the learned pig--the giantess and dwarf--the menagerie of wild beasts--the conjuror--and Mr. Merry Andrew cracking his jokes with his _quondam_ master. Here it is--“Walk up, walk up, ladies and gentlemen, we are now going to begin, be in time, the price is only twopence.” Here is Mr. Warr’s merry round-about, with “a horse or a coach for a halfpenny.”--Here is Rebecca Swain[380] with her black and red cock, and lucky-bag, who bawls out, “Come, my little lucky rogues, and try your fortune for a halfpenny, all prizes and no blanks, a faint heart never wins a fair lady.”--Here is pricking in the garter.--Raffling for gingerbread, with the cry of “one in; who makes two, the more the merrier.”--Here is the Sheffield hardwareman, sporting a worn-out wig and huge pair of spectacles, offering, in lots, a box of razors, knives, scissors, &c., each lot of which he modestly says, “is worth seven shillings, but he’ll not be too hard on the gaping crowd, he’ll not take seven, nor six, nor five, nor four, nor three, nor two, but one shilling for the lot,--going at one shilling--sold again and the money paid.”--Here are two earthenware-men bawling their shilling’s worth one against the other, and quaffing beer to each other’s luck from that necessary and convenient chamber utensil that has modestly usurped the name of the great river _Po_. Here is _poor Will_, with a basket of gingerbread, crying “toss or buy.” There is a smirking little lad pinning two girls together by their gowns, whilst his companion cracks a Waterloo bang-up in their faces. Here stands John with his mouth wide open, and Joan with her sloe-black ogles stretched to their extremity at a fine painted shawl, which _Cheap John_ is offering for next to nothing; and here is a hundred other contrivances to draw the “_browns_” from the pockets of the unwary, and tickle the fancies of the curious; and sometimes the rogue of a pickpocket extracting farmer Anybody’s watch or money from his pockets.

This is Pack Monday fair, till evening throws on her dark veil, when the visiters in taking their farewell, stroll through the rows of gingerbread stalls, where the spruce Mrs. or Miss Sugarplum pops the cover of her nut-cannister forth, with “buy some nice nuts, do taste, sir, (or ma’me,) and treat your companion with a paper of nuts.” By this time the country folks are for jogging home, and vehicles and horses of every description on the move, and the bustle nearly over, with the exception of what is to be met with at the inns, where the lads and lasses so disposed, on the light fantastic toe, assisted by the merry scraping of the fiddler, finish the fun, frolic, and pastime of Pack Monday Fair.

I am, &c.

R. T.

* * * * *

SONNET.

_For the Every-Day Book._

Me, men’s gay haunts delight not, nor the glow
Of lights that glitter in the crowded room;
But nature’s paths where silver waters flow,
Making sweet music as along they go,
And shadowy groves where birds their light wings plume,
Or the brown heath where waves the yellow broom,
Or by the stream where bending willows grow,
And silence reigns, congenial with my gloom.

For there no hollow hearts, no envious eyes,
No flatt’ring tongues, no treacherous hands are found,
No jealous feuds, no gold-born enmities,
Nor cold deceits with which men’s walks abound,
But quietness and health, which are more meet,
Than glaring halls where riot holds her seat.

S. R. J.

--------- The stream is pure in solitude,
But passing on amid the haunts of men
It finds pollution there, and rolls from thence
A tainted tide.

_Southey._

My memory does not help me to a dozen passages from the whole range of authors, in verse and prose, put together; it only assists me to ideas of what I have read, and to recollect where they are expressed, but not to their words. As the “Minor Poems” are not at hand, I can only hope I have quoted the preceding lines accurately. Their import impressed me in my boyhood, and one fine summer’s afternoon, a year or two ago, I involuntarily repeated them while musing beside that part of the “New River” represented in the engraving. I had strolled to “the Compasses,” when “the garden,” as the landlord calls it, was free from the nuisance of “company;” and thither I afterwards deluded an artist, who continues to “use the house,” and supplies me with the drawing of this sequestered nook.

This “gentle river” meanders through countless spots of surprising beauty and variety within ten miles of town. When I was a boy I thought “Sadler’s Well’s arch,” opposite the “Sir Hugh Myddelton,” (a house immortalized by Hogarth,) the prime part of the river; for there, by the aid of a penny line, and a ha’porth of gentles and blood-worms, “mixed,” bought of old Turpin, who kept the little fishing-tackle shop, the last house by the river’s side, at the end next St. John’s-street-road, I essayed to gudgeon gudgeons. But the “prime” gudgeon-fishing, then, was at “the Coffin,” through which the stream flows after burying itself at the Thatched-house, under Islington road, to Colebrooke-row, within half a stone’s throw of a cottage, endeared to me, in later years, by its being the abode of “as much virtue as can _live_.” Past the Thatched-house, towards Canonbury, there was the “Horse-shoe,” now no more, and the enchanting rear--since despoiled--of the gardens to the retreats of Canonbury-place; and all along the river to the pleasant village of Hornsey, there were delightful retirements on its banks, so “far from the busy haunts of men,” that only a few solitary wanderers seemed to know them. Since then, I have gone “over the hills and far away,” to see it sweetly flowing at Enfield Chase, near many a “cottage of content,” as I have conceived the lowly dwellings to be, which there skirt it, with their little gardens, not too trim, whence the inmates cross the neat iron bridges of the “New River Company,” which, thinking of “auld lang syne,” I could almost wish were of wood. Further on, the river gracefully recedes into the pleasant grounds of the late Mr. Gough the antiquary, who, if he chiefly wrote on the manners and remains of old times, had an especial love and kind feeling for the amiable and picturesque of our own. Pursuing the river thence to Theobalds, it presents to the “contemplative man’s recreation,” temptations that old Walton himself might have coveted to fall in his way: and why may we not “suppose that the vicinity of the New River, to the place of his habitation, might sometimes tempt him out, whose loss he so pathetically mentions, to spend an afternoon there.” He tells “the honest angler,” that the writing of his book was the “recreation of a recreation,” and familiarly says, “the whole discourse is, or rather was, a picture of my own disposition, especially in such days and times as I have laid aside business, and gone a fishing with honest Nat. and R. Roe; but they are gone, and with them most of my pleasant hours,--even as a shadow that passeth away and returns not.”

* * * * *

I dare not say that I am, and yet I cannot say that I never was, an angler; for I well remember where, though I cannot tell when, within a year, I was enticed to “go a fishing,” as the saying is, which I have sometimes imagined was derived from Walton’s motto on the title of his book:--“Simon Peter said, I _go a fishing_: and they said, we also will go with thee.--_John_ xxi. 3.” This passage is not in all the editions of the “Complete Angler,” but it was engraven on the title-page of the first edition, printed in 1653. Allow me to refer to one of “captain Wharton’s almanacs,” as old Lilly calls them in his “Life and Times,” and point out what was, perhaps, the earliest _advertisement_ of Walton’s work: it is on the back of the dedication leaf to “HEMEROSCOPEION: Anni Æræ Christianæ 1654.” The almanac was published of course in the preceding year, which was the year wherein Walton’s work was printed.

~Advertisement of Walton’s Angler, 1653.~

“There is published a Booke of Eighteen-pence price, called _The
Compleat Angler_, Or, _The Contemplative man’s Recreation_: being a
Discourse of Fish and Fishing. Not unworthy the perusall. Sold by
_Richard Marriot_ in S. _Dunstan_’s Church-yard _Fleetstreet_.”

This advertisement I deem a bibliomaniacal curiosity. Only think of the first edition of Walton as a “booke of eighteen-pence price!” and imagine the good old man on the day of publication, walking from his house “on the north side of Fleet-street, two doors west of the end of Chancery-lane,” to his publisher and neighbour just by, “Richard Marriot, in S. Dunstan’s Churchyard,” for the purpose of inquiring “how” the book “went off.” There is, or lately was, a large fish in effigy, at a fishing-tackle-maker’s in Fleet-street, near Bell-yard, which, whenever I saw it, after I first read Walton’s work, many years ago, reminded me of him, and his pleasant book, and its delightful ditties, and brought him before me, sitting on “a primrose bank” turning his “present thoughts into verse”

THE ANGLER’S WISH.

I in these flowery meads would be:
These crystal streams should solace me;
To whose harmonious bubbling noise
I with my angle would rejoice:
Sit here, and see the turtle-dove
Court his chaste mate to acts of love:

Or, on that bank, feel the west wind
Breathe health and plenty: please my mind,
To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers,
And then washed off by April showers;
Here, hear my _Kenna_ sing a song;
There, see a blackbird feed her young,
Or a leverock build her nest:
Here, give my weary spirits rest,
And raise my low-pitch’d thoughts above
Earth, or what poor mortals love:
Thus, free from law-suits and the noise
Of princes’ courts, I would rejoice:

Or, with my Bryan, and a book,
Loiter long days near Shawford-brook;
There sit by him, and eat my meat,
There see the sun both rise and set;
There bid good morning to next day;
There meditate my time away;
And angle on; and beg to have
A quiet passage to a welcome grave.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 52·05.

[378] Gentleman’s Magazine.

[379] _Hutchins_, in his “_History of Dorset_,” says, this “Fair is
held in the churchyard,[381] on the first Monday after the feast of
St. Michael, (O. S.) and is a great holyday for the inhabitants of the
town and neighbourhood. It is ushered in by the ringing of the great
bell, at a very early hour in the morning, and by the boys and young
men perambulating the street with cows’ horns, to the no small
annoyance of their less wakeful neighbours. It has been an immemorial
custom in Sherborne, for the boys to blow horns in the evenings in the
streets, for some weeks before the fair.”

[380] A tall and portly dame, six feet full, with a particular screw
of the mouth, and whom the writer recollects when he was a mere child,
thirty years ago; none who have seen and heard her once, but will
recollect her as long as they live.

[381] The fair has been removed from the churchyard about six or seven
years, and is now held on a spacious parade, in a street not far from
the church.

~October 11.~

This is “Old Michaelmas Day.”

“DUNCAN’S VICTORY.”

On the 11th of October, 1797, admiral Duncan obtained a splendid victory over the Dutch fleet off Camperdown, near the isle of Texel, on the coast of Holland. For this memorable achievement he was created a viscount, with a pension of two thousand pounds per annum. His lordship died on the 4th of August, 1804; he was born at Dundee, in Scotland, on the 1st of July, 1731. After the battle of Camperdown was decided, he called his crew together in the presence of the captured Dutch admiral, who was greatly affected by the scene, and Duncan kneeling on the deck, with every man under his command, “solemnly and pathetically offered up praise and thanksgiving to the God of battles;--strongly proving the truth of the assertion, that piety and courage should be inseparably allied, and that the latter without the former loses its principal virtue.”[382]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 51·82.

[382] Butler’s Chronological Exercises.

~October 12.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 12th of October, 1748, was born at St. John’s near Worcester, Mr. William Butler, the author of “Chronological, Biographical, Historical, and Miscellaneous Exercises,” an excellent work, for young persons especially, a useful compendium in every library, and one to which the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ has been indebted as a ready guide to many interesting and important events.

In the seventh edition of Mr. Butler’s work just mentioned, we are informed by his son, Mr. John Olding Butler, that his father was educated in the city of Worcester. Having acquired considerable knowledge, and especially an excellent style of penmanship, he in 1765 repaired to the metropolis, and commenced his career as a teacher of writing and geography. In these branches of education he attained the highest repute on account of the improvements which were introduced by him in his mode of instruction. His copies were derived from the sources of geography, history, and biographical memoirs. A yet more extensive and permanent benefit was conferred upon young persons by the many useful and ingenious works which he published, a list of which is subjoined. They contain a mass of information, both instructive and entertaining, rarely collected in one form, and are admirably adapted to promote the great design of their author--the moral, intellectual, and religious improvement of the rising generation; to this he consecrated all his faculties, the stores of his memory, and the treasures of his knowledge.

As a practical teacher Mr. Butler had few superiors, and his success in life was commensurate with his merit: he was the most popular instructor in his line.