Chapter LII: Part I: 5th May to 13th 8 (14)

_October, 1758._

Cæsar’s camp was situate where Pancras church is--his prætorium is still very plain--over against the church, in the footpath on the west side of the brook; the vallum and the ditch visible; its breadth from east to west forty paces, its length from north to south sixty paces. When I came attentively to consider the situation of it, and the circumjacent ground, I easily discerned the traces of his whole camp. A great many ditches or divisions of the pastures retain footsteps of the plan of the camp, agreeable to their usual form, as in the plate engraved; and whenever I take a walk thither, I enjoy a visionary scene of the whole camp of Cæsar as described in the plate before us; a scene just as if beheld, and Cæsar present.

His army consisted of forty thousand men. Four legions with his horse. The camp is in length five hundred paces--the thirty paces beyond, for the way between the tents and vallum, (where a vallum is made,) amounts to five hundred and sixty; so that the proportion of length to breadth is as three to two.

This space of ground was sufficient for Cæsar’s army according to Roman discipline, for if he had forty thousand men, a third part of them were upon guard.

The front of the camp is bounded by a spring with a little current of water running from the west, across the Brill, into the Fleet brook. This Brill was the occasion of the road directly from the city, originally going alongside the brook by Bagnigge; the way to Highgate being at first by Copenhagen-house, which is straight road thither from Gray’s-inn-lane.

This camp has the brook running quite through the middle of it: it arises from seven springs on the south side of the hill between Hampstead and Highgate by Caen wood, where it forms several large ponds, passes by here by the name of Fleet, washes the west side of the city of London, and gives name to Fleet-street. This brook was formerly called the river of wells, from the many springs above, which our ancestors called wells; and it may be thought to have been more considerable in former times than at present, for now the major part of its water is carried off in pipes to furnish Kentish-town, Pancras, and Tottenham-court; but even now in great rains the valley is covered over with water. Go a quarter of a mile higher towards Kentish-town and you may have a just notion of its appearance at that place, only with this difference, that it is there broader and deeper from the current of so many years. It must further be considered that the channel of this brook through so many centuries, and by its being made the public north road from London to Highgate, is very much lowered and widened since Cæsar’s time. It was then no sort of embarrassment to the camp, but an admirable convenience for watering, being contained in narrow banks not deep. The breadth and length are made by long tract of time. The ancient road by Copenhagen wanting repair, induced passengers to make this gravelly valley become much larger than in Cæsar’s time. The old division runs along that road between Finsbury and Holborn division, going in a straight line from Gray’s-inn-lane to Highgate: its antiquity is shown in its name--Madan-lane.

The recovery of this noble antiquity will give pleasure to a British antiquary, especially an inhabitant of London, whereof it is a singular glory. It renders the walk over the beautiful fields to the Brill doubly agreeable, when at half a mile distance we can tread in the very steps of the Roman camp master, and of the greatest of the Roman generals.

We need not wonder that the traces of this camp so near the metropolis are so nearly worn out; we may rather wonder that so much is left, when a proper sagacity in these matters may discern them, and be assured that somewhat more than three or four sorry houses are commemorated under the name of the Brill, (_now called Brill-place-Terrace_;) nor is it unworthy of remark, as an evident confirmation of our system, that all the ditches and fences now upon the ground, have a manifest respect to the principal members of the original plan of the camp.

In this camp Cæsar made the two British kings friends--Casvelham and his nephew Mandubrace.

I judge I have performed my promise in giving an account of this greatest curiosity, so illustrious a monument of the greatest of the Roman generals, which has withstood the waste of time for more than eighteen centuries, and passed unnoticed but half a mile off the metropolis. I shall only add this observation, that when I came to survey this plot of ground to make a map of it by pacing, I found every where even and great numbers, and what I have often formerly observed in Roman works; whence we may safely affirm the Roman camp master laid out his works by pacing.[393]

* * * * *

With the hope that the preceding article may draw attention to the subject, the editor defers remark till he has been favoured with communications from other hands.

THE ANTIQUARY.

The following lines were written by an old and particular friend of the erudite individual who received them:--

TO RICHARD GOUGH, ESQ.

_O tu severi Religio loci!_

Hail, genius of this littered study!
Or tell what name you most delight in
For sure where all the ink is muddy,
And no clean margin left to write in,
No common deity resides.
We see, we feel thy power divine,
In every tattered folio’s dust,
Each mangled manuscript is thine,
And thine the antique helmet’s rust.
Nor less observed thy power presides
Where plundered brasses crowd the floor,
Or dog’s-eared drawings burst their binding
Hid by Confusion’s puzzling door
Beyond the reach of mortal finding.
Than if beneath a costly roof
Each moulding edged by golden fillet,
The Russian binding, insect proof,
Blushed at the foppery of ------
Give me, when tired by dust and sun,
If rightly I thy name invoke,
The bustle of the town to shun,
And breathe unvext by city smoke.
But, ah! if from these cobwebbed walls,
And from this moth-embroidered cushion,
Too fretful Fortune rudely calls,
Resolved the cares of life to push on--
Give me at least to pass my age
At ease in some book-tapestried cell,
Where I may turn the pictured page,
Nor start at visitants’ loud bell.[394]

[392] Sykes’s Local Records, p. 79.

[393] Dr. Stukeley’s Itinerary.

[394] Dr. Porster’s Perennial Calendar.

~October 23.~

ST. SURIN.

St. Surin, or St. Severin, which is his proper name, is a saint held in great veneration at Bordeaux; he is considered as one of the great patrons of the town. It was his native place, but he deserted it for a time to go and preach the gospel at Cologne. When he returned, St. Amand, then bishop of Bordeaux, went out with a solemn procession of the clergy to meet him, and, as he had been warned to do in a vision, resigned his bishopric to him, which St. Surin continued to enjoy as long as he lived. St. Amand continued at Bordeaux as a private person; but surviving St. Surin, he was at his death restored to the station from which he had descended with so much gentleness and resignation. It is among the traditions of the church of St. Surin at Bordeaux, that the cemetery belonging to it was “consecrated by Jesus Christ himself, accompanied by seven bishops, who were afterwards canonized, and were the founders of the principal churches in Aquitaine.”[395]

* * * * *

On an oval marble in Egham church, Surrey, are the following lines written by David Garrick, to the memory of the Reverend Mr. Thomas Beighton who was vicar of that church forty-five years, and died on the 23d of October, 1771, aged 73.

EPITAPH.

Near half an age, with every good man’s praise,
Among his flock the shepherd passed his days;
The friend, the comfort, of the sick and poor,
Want never knock’d unheeded at his door.
Oft when his duty call’d, disease and pain
Strove to confine him, but they strove in vain.
All mourn his death: his virtues long they try’d:
They knew not how they lov’d him till he died.
Peculiar blessings did his life attend:
He had no foe, and _Camden_ was his friend.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·00.

[395] Miss Plumptre.

~October 24.~

AN OCTOBER SUNDAY MORNING IN COCKNEYSHIRE.

_For the Every-Day Book._

“Vat’s the _time_, Villiam?”

“_Kevarter arter_ seven.”

The “Mirror of the Months” seems to reflect every object to the reader’s eye; but not having read more of that work than by extract, in the _Every-Day Book_, I think an addendum, _par hazard_, may not be without truth and interest.

Rise early,--be abroad,--and after you have inspired sufficient fog to keep you coughing all day, you will see Jewboys and girls with their fathers and mothers veering forth from the purlieus of Houndsditch with sweetmeats, “ten a penny!” which information is sung, or said, ten thousand times before sunset. Now Irishmen, (except there be a fight in Copenhagen fields,) and women, are hurrying to and from mass, and the poorest creatures sit near the chapels, with all their own infants, and those of others, to excite pity, and call down the morning smile of charity.--Now newsboys come along the Strand with damp sheets of intelligence folded under their arms in a greasy, dirty piece of thick (once) brown paper, or a suitable envelope of leather. Now water-cress women, or rather girls, with chubby babies hanging on one arm, and a flat basket suspended from the shoulder by a strap, stand at their station-post, near the pump, at a corner of the street.[396] Now mechanics in aprons, with unshorn, unwashed faces, take their birds, dogs, and pipes, towards the fields, which, with difficulty, they find. Now the foot and horse-guards are preparing for parade in the parks--coaches are being loaded by passengers, dressed for “a few miles out of town”--the doors of liquor-shops are in motion--prayers at St. Paul’s and Westminster are responded by choristers,--crowds of the lower orders create discord by the interference of the officious street-keeper--and the “Angel” and “Elephant and Castle” are surrounded by jaunty company, arriving and departing with horses reeking before the short- and long-stage coaches.--Now the pious missionary drops religious tracts in the local stands of hackney coachmen, and paths leading to the metropolis.--Now nuts and walnuts slip-shelled are heaped in a basket with some dozens of the finest cracked, placed at the top, as specimens of the whole:--bullace, bilberries, sliced cocoa-nuts, apples, pears, damsons, blackberries, and oranges are glossed and piled for sale so imposingly, that no eye can escape them.--Now fruiterers’ and druggists’ windows, like six days’ mourning, are half shuttered.--Now the basket and bell pass your house with muffins and crumpets.[397]--Placards are hung from newsvenders’, at whose taking appearances, gossips stand to learn the fate of empires, during the lapse of hebdomadal warfare.--Now beggars carry the broom, and the great thoroughfares are in motion, and geese and game are sent to the rich, and the poor cheapen at the daring butcher’s shop, for a scrag of mutton to keep company in the pot with the carrots and turnips.--Now the Israelites’ little sheds are clothed with apparel, near which “a Jew’s eye” is watching to catch the wants of the necessitous that purchase at second-hand.--Now eels are sold in sand at the bridges, and steam-boats loiter about wharfs and stairs to take up stray people for Richmond and the Eel-pie house.--The pedestrian advocate now unbags his sticks and spreads them in array against a quiet, but public wall.--Chesnuts are just coming in, and biscuits and cordials are handed amongst the coldstreams relieving guard at Old Palace Yard, where the bands play favourite pieces enclosed by ranks and files of military men, and crowds of all classes and orders.--Now the bells are chiming for church,--dissenters and methodists are hastening to worship--baker’s counters are being covered with laden dishes and platters--quakers are silently seated in their meetings,--and a few sailors are surveying the stupendous dome of St. Paul’s, under which the cathedral service is performing on the inside of closed iron gates.--Now the beadle searches public-houses with the blinds let down.--Now winter patterns, great coats, tippets, muffs, cloaks and pelisses are worn, and many a thinly-clad carmelite shivers along the streets. With many variations, the “_Sunday Morning_” passes away; and then artizans are returning from their rustication, and servants are waiting with cloths on their arms for the treasures of the oven--people are seeking home from divine worship with appetites and purple noses--‘beer’ is echoed in every circle,--and _post meridian_ assumes new features, as gravities and gaieties, in proportion to the weather, influence the cosmopolitan thermometer.

*, *, P.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·47.

[396] This is the only month in the year in which water-cresses are
without spawn.

[397] In Bath, before _Sally Lunns_ were so fashionable, (their
_origin_ I shall shortly acquaint you with) _muffins_ were cried with
a song, beginning--

“Don’t you know the muffin man?
Don’t you know his name?
And don’t you know the muffin-man
That lives in Bridewell-lane? &c.”

I reply, yes, I did know him, and a facetious little short fellow he
was, with a face as pocked as his crumpets; but his civility gained
him friends and competence,--virtue’s just reward.

~October 25.~

CRISPIN.

On this, the festival day of St. Crispin, enough has been already said[398] to show that it is the great holyday of the numerous brotherhood of cordwainers. The latter name they derive from their working in Spanish leather manufactured at Cordovan; their cordovan-ing has softened down into cordwaining.

SHOES AND BUCKLES.

The business of a shoemaker is of great antiquity. The instrument for cleaning hides, the shoemaker’s bristles added to the yarn, and his knife, were as early as the twelfth century. He was accustomed to hawk his goods, and it is conjectured that there was a separate trade for annexing the soles.[399] The Romans in classical times, wore cork soles in their shoes to secure the feet from water, especially in winter; and as high heels were not then introduced, the Roman ladies who wished to appear taller than they had been formed by nature, put plenty of cork under them.[400] The streets of Rome in the time of Domitian were blocked up by cobblers’ stalls, which he therefore caused to be removed. In the middle ages shoes were cleaned by washing with a sponge; and oil, soap, and grease, were the substitutes for blacking. Buckles were worn in shoes in the fourteenth century. In an Irish abbey a human skeleton was found with marks of buckles on the shoes. In England they became fashionable many years before the reign of queen Mary; the labouring people wore them of copper; other persons had them of silver, or copper-gilt; not long after shoe-roses came in.[401] Buckles revived before the revolution of 1689, remained fashionable till after the French revolution in 1789; and finally became extinct before the close of the eighteenth century.

* * * * *

In Robert Hegg’s “Legend of St. Cuthbert,” reprinted at the end of Mr. Dixon’s “Historical and Descriptive View of the city of Durham and its Environs,” we are told of St. Goodrick, that “in his younger age he was a pedlar, and carried his moveable shop from fair to fair upon his back,” and used to visit Lindisfarne, “much delighting to heare the monkes tell wonders of St. Cuthbert; which soe enflamed his devotion, that he undertooke a pilgrimage to the holy sepulchre; and by the advice of St. Cuthbert in a dreame, repayred againe to the holy land, and washing his feete in Jordan, there left his _shoes_, with a vow to goe barefoot all his life after.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·87.

[398] See vol. i. col. 1395.

[399] Fosbroke’s Ency. of Antiquities.

[400] Beckmann.

[401] Fosbroke.

~October 26.~

ROYAL DEBTS.

On this subject a curious notice is extracted from “the Postman, October 26-28, 1708”--viz.

_Advertisement._

The Creditors of King Charles, K. James, and K. William, having found out and discovered sufficient Funds for securing a perpetual Interest for 4 Millions, without burdening the people, clogging the Trade or impairing the Revenue; and all their debts not amounting to near that Sum; the more to strengthen their interest, and to find the greater favour with the Parliament, have agreed that the Army and Transports Debentures and other Parliament Debts may if they please, joyn with them, and it is not expected that any great Debts shall pay any Charge for carrying on this Act, until it be happily accomplished, and no more will be expected afterwards than what shall be readily agreed to before hand, neither shall any be hindered from taking any other measures, if there should be but a suspicion of miscarriage, which is impossible if they Unite their Interest. They continue to meet by the Parliament Stairs in Old Palace-yard, there is a Note on the Door, where daily attendance is given from 10 in the Morning till 7 at Night; if any are not apprehensive of the certainty of the Success, they may come and have full satisfaction, that they may have their Money if they will.

NELSON

The notice of the battle wherein this illustrious admiral received his death-wound, (on the 21st,) might have been properly accompanied by the following quotation from a work which should be put into the chest of every boy on his going to sea. It is so delightfully written, as to rivet the attention of every reader whether mariner or landsman.

“The death of Nelson was felt in England as something more than a public calamity: men started at the intelligence, and turned pale, as if they had heard of the loss of a dear friend. An object of our admiration and affection, of our pride and of our hopes, was suddenly taken from us; and it seemed as if we had never, till then, known how deeply we loved and reverenced him. What the country had lost in its great naval hero--the greatest of our own, and of all former times--was scarcely taken into the account of grief. So perfectly, indeed, had he performed his part, that the maritime war, after the battle of Trafalgar, was considered at an end: the fleets of the enemy were not merely defeated, but destroyed: new navies must be built, and a new race of seamen reared for them, before the possibility of their invading our shores could again be contemplated. It was not, therefore, from any selfish reflection upon the magnitude of our loss that we mourned for him: the general sorrow was of a higher character. The people of England grieved that funeral ceremonies, public monuments, and posthumous rewards, were all which they could now bestow upon him, whom the king, the legislature, and the nation, would alike have delighted to honour; whom every tongue would have blessed; whose presence in every village through which he might have passed would have awakened the church bells, have given schoolboys a holiday, have drawn children from their sports to gaze upon him, and ‘old men from the chimney corner’ to look upon Nelson, ere they died. The victory of Trafalgar was celebrated, indeed, with the usual forms of rejoicing, but they were without joy; for such already was the glory of the British navy, through Nelson’s surpassing genius, that it scarcely seemed to receive any addition from the most signal victory that ever was achieved upon the seas: and the destruction of this mighty fleet, by which all the maritime schemes of France were totally frustrated, hardly appeared to add to our security or strength; for while Nelson was living, to watch the combined squadrons of the enemy, we felt ourselves as secure as now, when they were no longer in existence.--There was reason to suppose, from the appearances upon opening the body, that, in the course of nature, he might have attained, like his father, to a good old age. Yet he cannot be said to have fallen prematurely whose work was done; nor ought he to be lamented, who died so full of honours, and at the height of human fame. The most triumphant death is that of the martyr; the most awful, that of the martyred patriot; the most splendid, that of the hero in the hour of victory: and if the chariot and the horses of fire had been vouchsafed for Nelson’s translation, he could scarcely have departed in a brighter blaze of glory.”[402]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·25.

[402] Southey’s Life of Nelson.

~October 27.~

FLEET MARKET.

On the 27th of October, 1736, Mr. Robinson a carpenter, and Mr. Medway a bricklayer, contracted to build Fleet-market, by the following midsummer, for 3970_l._[403]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·50.

[403] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~October 28.~

(St. Simon and St. Jude.)

“WARDENS!”

A correspondent says, that about, or before this time, it is the custom at Bedford, now abouts, for boys to cry baked pears in the town with the following stanza--

“Who knows what I have got?
In a pot hot?
Baked _Wardens_--all hot!
Who knows what I have got?”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 46·30.

~October 29.~

OCTOBER IN LONDON.

On looking into the “Mirror of the Months,” we find “a lively portraiture” of the season.--“October is to London what April is to the country; it is the spring of the London summer, when the hopes of the shopkeeper begin to bud forth, and he lays aside the insupportable labour of having nothing to do, for the delightful leisure of preparing to be in a perpetual bustle. During the last month or two he has been strenuously endeavouring to persuade himself that the Steyne at Brighton is as healthy as Bond-street; the _pavé_ of Pall Mall no more picturesque than the Pantiles of Tunbridge Wells; and winning a prize at one-card-loo at Margate, as piquant a process as serving a customer to the same amount of profit. But now that the time is returned when ‘business’ must again be attended to, he discards with contempt all such mischievous heresies, and reembraces the only orthodox faith of a London shopkeeper--that London and his shop are the true ‘beauteous and sublime’ of human life. In fact, ‘now is the winter of his discontent’ (that is to say, what other people call summer) ‘made glorious summer’ by the near approach of winter; and all the wit he is master of is put in requisition, to devise the means of proving that every thing he has offered to ‘his friends the public,’ up to this particular period, has become worse than obsolete. Accordingly, now are those poets of the shopkeepers, the inventors of patterns, ‘perplexed in the extreme; since, unless they can produce a something which shall necessarily supersede all their previous productions, their occupation’s gone.--It is the same with all other caterers for the public taste; even the literary ones. Mr. Elliston, [or his fortunate successor, if one there be,] ‘ever anxious to contribute to the amusement of his liberal patrons, the public,’ is already busied in sowing the seeds of a new tragedy, two operatic romances, three grand romantic melo-dramas, and half a dozen farces, in the fertile soil of those poets whom he employs in each of these departments respectively; while each of the London publishers is projecting a new ‘periodical,’ to appear on the first of January next; that which he started on the first of last January having, of course, died of old age ere this!”

BEGINNING OF “FIRES.”

In October, fires have fairly gained possession of their places, and even greet us on coming down to breakfast in the morning. Of all the discomforts of that most comfortless period of the London year which is neither winter nor summer, the most unequivocal is that of its being too cold to be without a fire, and not cold enough to have one. A set of polished fire-irons, standing sentry beside a pile of dead coals imprisoned behind a row of glittering bars, instead of mending the matter, makes it worse; inasmuch as it is better to look into an empty coffin, than to see the dead face of a friend in it. At the season in question, especially in the evening, one feels in a perpetual perplexity, whether to go out or stay at home; sit down or walk about; read, write, cast accounts, or call for the candle and go to bed. But let the fire be lighted, and all uncertainty is at an end, and we (or even one) may do any or all of these with equal satisfaction. In short, light but the fire, and you bring the winter in at once; and what are twenty summers, with all their sunshine (when they are gone,) to one winter, with its indoor sunshine of a sea-coal fire?[404]

* * * * *

Mr. Leigh Hunt, who on the affairs of “The Months” is our first authority, pleasantly inquires--“With our fire before us, and our books on each side, what shall we do? Shall we take out a life of somebody, or a Theocritus, or Dante, or Ariosto, or Montaigne, or Marcus Aurelius, or Horace, or Shakspeare who includes them all? Or shall we read an engraving from Poussin or Raphael? Or shall we sit with tilted chairs, planting our wrists upon our knees, and toasting the up-turned palms of our hands, while we discourse of manners and of man’s heart and hopes, with at least a sincerity, a good intention, and good nature, that shall warrant what we say with the sincere, the good-intentioned, and the good-natured?”--He then agreeably brings us to the _mantlepiece_. “Ah--take care. You see what that old looking saucer is, with a handle to it? It is a venerable piece of earthenware, which may have been worth, to an Athenian, about twopence; but to an author, is worth a great deal more than ever he could--deny for it. And yet he would deny it too. It will fetch his imagination more than ever it fetched potter or penny-maker. Its little shallow circle overflows for him with the milk and honey of a thousand pleasant associations. This is one of the uses of having mantlepieces. You may often see on no very rich mantlepiece a representative body of all the elements, physical and intellectual,--a shell for the sea, a stuffed bird or some feathers for the air, a curious piece of mineral for the earth, a glass of water with some flowers in it for the visible process of creation,--a cast from sculpture for the mind of man;--and underneath all, is the bright and ever-springing fire, running up through them heavenwards, like hope through materiality.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 46·02.

[404] Mirror of the Months.

~October 30.~

YEOMEN OF THE GUARD.

On this day in the year 1485, when king Henry VII. was crowned at Westminster, he instituted the body of royal attendants, called yeomen of the guard, who in later times acquired the appellation of “beef-eaters.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·17.

~October 31.~

HALLOW EVE.

The superstitious observances of this night, described in the former volume, are fast disappearing. In some places where young people were accustomed to meet for purposes of divination, and frequently frighten each other into fits, as of ancient custom, they have little regard to the old usages. The meetings on Hallow-eve are becoming pleasant merry-makings; the dance prevails till supper-time, when they take a cheerful glass and drink to their next happy meeting.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·62.

And, when November came, there fell
Another limning in, to tell
The month’s employment; which we see
Providance was, for time to be.
Now was the last loud squeaking roar
Of many a mighty forest boar,
Whose head, when came the Christmas days,
Was crown’d with rosemary and bays,
And so brought in, with shoutings long,
And minstrelsy, and choral song.

*

We can now perceive the departure of “that delightful annual guest, the summer, under the agreeable _alias_ of autumn, in whose presence we have lately been luxuriating. We might, perhaps, by a little gentle violence, prevail upon her to stay with us for a brief space longer; or might at least prevail upon ourselves to believe that she is not quite gone. But we shall do better by speeding her on her way to other climes, and welcoming ‘the coming guest,’ gray-haired winter:”--nor can we do better at this moment than take “note of preparation,” for a grateful adieu to the year and welcome to the comer.

On ushering in the winter we recur to the “Mirror of the Months,” from whence we have derived so many delightful reflections, and take a few “looks” in it, for, perhaps, the last time. At this season last year it presented to us the evergreens, and now, with a “now,” we select other appearances.

* * * * *

Now--as the branches become bare, another sight presents itself, which, trifling as it is, fixes the attention of all who see it. I mean the _birds’ nests_ that are seen here and there in the now transparent hedges, bushes, and copses. It is not difficult to conceive why this sight should make the heart of the schoolboy leap with an imaginative joy, as it brings before his eyes visions of five blue eggs lying sweetly beside each other, on a bed of moss and feathers; or as many gaping bills lifting themselves from out what seems one callow body. But we are, unhappily, not all schoolboys; and it is to be hoped not many of us ever _have been_ bird-nesting ones. And yet we all look upon this sight with a momentary interest, that few other so indifferent objects are capable of exciting. The wise may condescend to explain this interest, if they please, or if they can. But if they do, it will be for their own satisfaction, not ours, who are content to be pleased, without insisting on penetrating into the cause of our pleasure.

* * * * *

Now, the _felling of wood_ for the winter store commences; and, in a mild still day, the measured strokes of the wood-man’s axe, heard far away in the thick forest, bring with their sound an associated feeling, similar to that produced by a wreath of smoke rising from out the same scene: they tell us a tale of

“Uncertain dwellers in the pathless wood.”

* * * * *

THE WOODMAN.

Far removed from noise and smoke,
Hark! I hear the woodman’s stroke,
Who dreams not as he fells the oak,
What mischief dire he brews;

How art may shape his falling trees,
In aid of luxury and ease:--
He weighs not matters such as these,
But sings, and hacks, and hews.

Perhaps, now fell’d by this bold man,
That tree may form the spruce sedan;
Or wheelbarrow, where oyster Nan
Oft runs her vulgar rig;

The stage, where boxers crowd in flocks;
Or else a quack’s; perhaps, the stocks;
Or posts for signs; or barber’s blocks,
Where smiles the parson’s wig.

Thou mak’st, bold peasant, oh what grief!
The gibbet on which hangs the thief,
The seat where sits the grave lord chief,
The throne, the cobler’s stall.

Thou pamper’st life in ev’ry stage,
Mak’st folly’s whims, pride’s equipage;
For children, toys; crutches, for age;
And coffins for us all.

_C. Dibdin._

* * * * *

The “_busy flail_” too, which is now in full employment, fills the air about the homestead with a pleasant sound, and invites the passer-by to look in at the great open doors of the barn, and see the wheatstack reaching to the roof on either hand; the little pyramid of bright grain behind the threshers; the scattered ears between them, leaping and rustling beneath their fast-falling strokes; and the flail itself flying harmless round the labourers’ heads, though seeming to threaten danger at every turn; while, outside, the flock of “barn-door” poultry ply their ceaseless search for food, among the knee-deep straw; and the cattle, all their summer frolics forgotten, stand ruminating beside the half-empty hay-rack, or lean with inquiring faces over the gate that looks down into the village, or away towards the distant pastures.

* * * * *

Of the _birds_ that have hitherto made merry even at the approach of winter, now all are silent; all, save that one who now earns his title of “the household bird,” by haunting the thresholds and window-cills, and casting sidelong glances in-doors, as if to reconnoitre the positions of all within, before the pinching frosts force him to lay aside his fears, and flit in and out, silently, like a winged spirit. All are now silent except him; but _he_, as he sits on the pointed palings beside the door-way, or on the topmost twig of the little black thorn that has been left growing in the otherwise closely-clipt hedge, pipes plaintive ditties with a low _inward_ voice--like that of a love-tainted maiden, as she sits apart from her companions, and sings soft melodies to herself, almost without knowing it.

* * * * *

Some of the other small _birds_ that winter with us, but have hitherto kept aloof from our dwellings, now approach them, and mope about among the house-sparrows, on the bare branches, wondering what has become of all the leaves, and not knowing one tree from another. Of these the chief are, the hedge-sparrow, the blue titmouse, and the linnet. These also, together with the goldfinch, thrush, blackbird, &c. may still be seen rifling the hip and haw grown hedges of their scanty fruit. Almost all, however, even of those singing-birds that do not migrate, except the redbreast, wren, hedge-sparrow, and titmouse, disappear shortly after the commencement of this month, and go no one knows whither. But the pert house-sparrow keeps possession of the garden and courtyard all the winter; and the different species of wagtails may be seen busily haunting the clear cold spring-heads, and wading into the unfrozen water in search of their delicate food, consisting of insects in the _aurelia_ state.

* * * * *

Now, the _farmer_ finishes all his out-of-door work before the frosts set in, and lays by his implements till the awakening of spring calls him to his hand-labour again.

Now, the _sheep_, all their other more natural food failing, begin to be penned on patches of the turnip-field, where they first devour the green tops joyfully, and then gradually hollow out the juicy root, holding it firm with their feet, till nothing is left but the dry brown husk.

Now, the _herds_ stand all day long hanging their disconsolate heads beside the leafless hedges, and waiting as anxiously, but as patiently too, to be called home to the hay-fed stall, as they do in summer to be driven afield.

* * * * *

Now, cold _rains_ come deluging down, till the drenched ground, the dripping trees, the pouring eaves, and the torn ragged-skirted clouds, seemingly dragged downward slantwise by the threads of dusky rain that descend from them, are all mingled together in one blind confusion; while the few cattle that are left in the open pastures, forgetful of their till now interminable business of feeding, turn their backs upon the besieging storm, and hanging down their heads till their noses almost touch the ground, stand out in the middle of the fields motionless, like dead images.

Now, too, a single rain-storm, like the above, breaks up all the paths and ways at once, and makes home no longer “home” to those who are not obliged to leave it; while, _en revance_, it becomes doubly endeared to those who are.

* * * * *

_London_ is so perfect an antithesis to the country in all things, that whatever is good for the one is bad for the other. Accordingly, as the country half forgets itself this month, so London just begins to know itself again.--Its streets revive from their late suspended animation, and are alive with anxious faces and musical with the mingled sounds of many wheels.

Now, the shops begin to shine out with their new winter wares; though as yet the chief profits of their owners depend on disposing of the “summer stock,” at fifty per cent. under prime cost.

Now, the theatres, admonished by their no longer empty benches, try which shall be the first to break through that hollow truce on the strength of which they have hitherto been acting only on alternate nights.

Now, during the first week, the citizens see visions and dream dreams, the burthens of which are barons of beef; and the first eight days are passed in a state of pleasing perplexity, touching their chance of a ticket for the lord mayor’s dinner on the ninth.

Now, all the little boys give thanks in their secret hearts to Guy Faux, for having attempted to burn “the parliament” with “gunpowder, treason, and plot,” since the said attempt gives them occasion to burn every thing they can lay their hands on,--their own fingers included: a bonfire being, in the eyes of an English schoolboy, the true “beauteous and sublime of human life.”

ODE TO WINTER.

_By a Gentleman of Cambridge._

From mountains of eternal snow,
And Zembla’s dreary plains;
Where the bleak winds for ever blow
And frost for ever reigns,

Lo! Winter comes, in fogs array’d,
With ice, and spangled dews;
To dews, and fogs, and storms be paid
The tribute of the Muse.

Each flowery carpet Nature spread
Is vanish’d from the eye;
Where’er unhappy lovers tread,
No Philomel is nigh.

(For well I ween her plaintive note,
Can soothing ease impart;
The little warblings of her throat
Relieve the wounded heart.)

No blushing rose unfolds its bloom,
No tender lilies blow,
To scent the air with rich perfume,
Or grace Lucinda’s brow.

Th’ indulgent Father who protects
The wretched and the poor;
With the same gracious care directs
The sparrow to our door.

Dark, scowling tempests rend the skies,
And clouds obscure the day;
His genial warmth the sun denies,
And sheds a fainter ray.

Yet blame we not the troubled air,
Or seek defects to find;
For Power Omnipotent is there,
And ‘walks upon the wind.’

Hail! every pair whom love unites
In wedlock’s pleasing ties;
That endless source of pure delights,
That blessing to the wise!

Though yon pale orb no warmth bestows,
And storms united meet.
The flame of love and friendship glows
With unextinguish’d heat.

~November 1.~

All Saints.[405]

INSCRIPTIONS IN CHURCHES.

A remarkable colloquy between queen Elizabeth and dean Nowell at St. Paul’s cathedral on the 1st of November, 1561, is said to have originated the usage of inscribing texts of scripture in English on the inner side of the church-walls as we still see them in many parishes.

Her majesty having attended worship “went straight to the vestry, and applying herself to the dean, thus she spoke to him.”

_Q._ Mr. Dean, how came it to pass that a new service-book was placed on my cushion?

To which the dean answered:

_D._ May it please your majesty, I caused it to be placed there.

Then said the queen:

_Q._ Wherefore did you so?

_D._ To present your majesty with a new-year’s gift.

_Q._ You could never present me with a worse.

_D._ Why so, madam?

_Q._ You know I have an aversion to idolatry and pictures of this kind.

_D._ Wherein is the idolatry, may it please your majesty?

_Q._ In the cuts resembling angels and saints; nay, grosser absurdities, pictures resembling the blessed Trinity.

_D._ I meant no harm: nor did I think it would offend your majesty when I intended it for a new-year’s gift.

_Q._ You must needs be ignorant then. Have you forgot our proclamation against images, pictures, and Romish relics in churches? Was it not read in your deanery?

_D._ It was read. But be your majesty assured, I meant no harm, when I caused the cuts to be bound with the service-book.

_Q._ You must needs be very ignorant, to do this after our prohibition of them.

_D._ It being my ignorance, your majesty may the better pardon me.

_Q._ I am sorry for it: yet glad to hear it was your ignorance, rather than your opinion.

_D._ Be your majesty assured it was my ignorance.

_Q._ If so, Mr. Dean, God grant you his Spirit, and more wisdom for the future.

_D._ Amen, I pray God.

_Q._ I pray, Mr. Dean, how came you by these pictures?--Who engraved them?

_D._ I know not who engraved them,--I bought them.

_Q._ From whom bought you them?

_D._ From a German.

_Q._ It is well it was from a stranger. Had it been any of our subjects, we should have questioned the matter. Pray let no more of these mistakes, or of this kind, be committed within the churches of our realm for the future.

_D._ There shall not.

* * * * *

Mr. Nichols, after inserting the preceding dialogue, in “Queen Elizabeth’s Progresses,” remarks--

“This matter occasioned all the clergy in and about London, and the churchwardens of each parish, to search their churches and chapels: and caused them to wash out of the walls all paintings that seemed to be Romish and idolatrous; and in lieu thereof suitable texts, taken out of the holy scriptures, to be written.”

Similar inscriptions had been previously adopted: the effect of the queen’s disapprobation of pictured representations was to increase the number of painted texts.

* * * * *

Mr. J. T. Smith observes, that of these sacred sentences there were several within memory in the old church of Paddington, now pulled down; and also in the little old one of Clapham.

In an inside view of Ambleside church, painted by George Arnald, Esq. A. R. A. he has recorded several, which are particularly appropriate to their stations; for instance, that over the door admonishes the comers in; that above the pulpit exhorts the preacher to spare not his congregation; and another within sight of the singers, encourages them to offer praises to the Lord on high. These inscriptions have sometimes one line written in black, and the next in red; in other instances the first letter of each line is of a bright blue, green, or red. They are frequently surrounded by painted imitations of frames or scrolls, held up by boys painted in ruddle. It was the custom in earlier times to write them in French, with the first letter of the line considerably larger than the rest, and likewise of a bright colour curiously ornamented. Several of these were discovered in 1801, on the ceiling of a closet on the south side of the Painted Chamber, Westminster, now blocked up.

Others of a subsequent date, of the reign of Edward III. in Latin, were visible during the recent alterations of the house of commons, beautifully written in the finest jet black, with the first letters also of bright and different colours.

Hogarth, in his print of the sleeping congregation, has satirized this kind of church embellishments, by putting a tobacco pipe in the mouth of the angel who holds up the scroll; and illustrates the usual ignorance of country art, by giving three joints to one of his legs. The custom of putting up sacred sentences is still continued in many churches, but they are generally written in letters of gold upon black grounds, within the pannels of the fronts of the galleries.[406]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·00.

[405] See vol. 1. col. 1421.

[406] Mr. J. T. Smith’s Ancient Topography of London, 4to p. 11.

~November 2.~

All Souls.[407]

Naogeorgus in his satire, the “Popish Kingdome,” has a “description which” Dr Forster says “is grossly exaggerated, like many other accounts of catholics written by protestants.” If the remark be fair, it is fair also to observe that many accounts of protestants written by catholics are equally gross in their exaggerations. It would be wiser, because it would be honest, were each to relate truth of the other, and become mutually charitable, and live like christians. How far Naogeorgus misrepresented the usages of the Romish churchmen in his time, it would not be easy to prove; nor ought his lines which follow in English, by Barnaby Googe, to be regarded here, otherwise than as homely memorials of past days.

_All Soulne Day._

For souls departed from this life, they also carefull bee;
The shauen sort in numbers great, thou shalt assembled see,
Where as their seruice with such speede they mumble out of hande,
That none, though well they marke, a worde thereof can vnderstande.
But soberly they sing, while as the people offring bee,
For to releaue their parents soules that lie in miseree.
For they beleeue the shauen sort, with dolefull harmonie,
To draw the damned soules from hell, and bring them to the skie;
Where they but onely here regarde, their belly and their gaine,
And neuer troubled are with care of any soule in paine.
Their seruice thus in ordering, and payde for masse and all,
They to the tauerne streightways go, or to the parsons hall,
Where all the day they drinke and play, and pots about do walk, &c.

OLD HOB.

T. A. communicates that there is a custom very common in Cheshire called _Old Hob_: it consists of a man carrying a dead horse’s head, covered with a sheet, to frighten people. This frolic is usual between All Soul’s day and Christmas.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·37.

[407] See vol. i. col. 1423.

~November 3.~

THE BECKFORD FAMILY.

On the 3d of November, 1735, Peter Beckford, Esq. died in Jamaica, worth three hundred thousand pounds.[408] His direct male ancestor, served in a humble capacity in the armament under Penn and Venables, which captured that important island. Mr. Peter Beckford was father of the celebrated alderman Beckford, whose fortune enabled him to purchase the landed estate of the Meroyns in Wiltshire, which, till lately, formed a distinguished part of the possessions of the present Mr. Beckford.

* * * * *

A correspondent communicates a pleasant account of a wake in Wiltshire, during the present month.

CLACK FALL FAIR.

“See, neighbours, what Joe Ody’s doing.”

The township of Clack stands on an eminence which gives a view of twenty miles round a part of the most beautiful county of Wilts.[409] Clack is attached to Bradenstoke-priory, remarkable for its forest, and the reception of the monks of St. Augustine. Many vestiges remain of the splendour of this abbey, which is now a large farm, and stone coffins have been found here. A carpenter in this neighbourhood recently digging a hole for the post to a gate, struck his spade against a substance which proved to be gold, and weighed two ounces: it was the image of a monk in the posture of prayer, with a a book open before him. A subterraneous passage once led from this place to Malmsbury-abbey, a distance of seven miles. At this ruin, when a boy, I was shown the stone upon which the blood is said to have been spilt by a school-master, who, in a passion, killed his pupil with a penknife.

Clack spring and fall Fairs were well attended formerly. They were held for horses, pigs, cows, oxen, sheep, and shows; but especially for the “hiring servants.” Hamlet’s words,--“Oh, what a _fall_ing off is here!” may not inappropriately be applied. Old Michaelmas-day is the time the fall fair is kept, but, really, every thing which constitutes a fair, seemed this year to be absent. A few farmers strolled up and down the main street in their boots, and took refuge in the hospitable houses; a few rustics waited about the “Mop” or “Statue” in their clean frocks twisted round their waists with their best clothes on; a few sellers of cattle looked round for customers, with the _pike_ tickets in their hats; and a few maid servants placed themselves in a corner to be hired: here, there was no want of _Clack_, for many were raised in stature by their pattens and rather towering bonnets; and a few agriculturists’ daughters and dames, in whom neither scarcity of money nor apparel were visible, came prancing into the courts of their friends and alighting at the uppingstocks, and dashed in among the company with true spirit and _bon hommie_.

Clack fair was worth gazing at a few years ago. When Joe Ody,[410] the _stultum ingenium_, obtained leave to _show_ forth in the Blindhouse by conjuring rings off women’s fingers, and finding them in men’s pockets, eating fire and drawing yards of ribands out of his mouth, giving shuffling tricks with cards, to ascertain how much money was in the ploughman’s yellow purse, cutting off cock’s heads, pricking in the garter for love tokens, giving a chance at the “black cock or the white cock,” and lastly, raising the devil, who carries off the cheating parish baker upon his back. These, indeed, were fine opportunities for old women to talk about, when leaning over the hatch of the front door, to gossip with their ready neighbours in the same position opposite, while their goodmen of the house, sat in the porch chuckling with “pipe in one hand and jug in the other.” Then the “learned dog” told person’s names by _letters_; and here I discovered the secret of this canine sapiency, the master twitched his thumb and finger for the letter at which the dog stopped. I posed, master and dog, however, by giving my christian name “Jehoiada.” A word no fair scholar could readily spell; this shook the faith of many gaping disciples. The “poney” too was greatly admired for telling which lassie loved her morning bed, which would be first married, and which youth excelled in kissing a girl in a sly corner. The being “ground _young_ again,” no less enlivened the spirits of maiden aunts, and the seven tall single sisters; then the pelican put its beak on the child’s head for a night cap, and the monkeys and bears looked, grimaced and danced, to the three dogs in red jackets, with short pipes in their mouths; and the “climbing cat” ascended the “maypole,” and returned into its master’s box at a word. This year’s attractions chiefly were three booths for gingerbread and hard ware--a raree show! a blind fidler--the E. O. table--the birds, rats, and kittens in one cage--and a song sung here and there, called the “Bulleyed Farmers,” attributed to Bowles of Bremhill, but who disclaimed like Coleridge, the authorship of a satiric production.

Thus, fairs, amusements and the works of mortals, pass away--one age dies, another comes in its stead--but who will secure the sports of ancestry inviolate? who search into the workings of the illiterate, and hand them down to posterity, without the uncertain communication of oral tradition, which often obscures the light intended to be conveyed for information.--Thanks be to the art of printing, to the cultivation of reading, and the desire which accompanies both.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 44·40.

[408] Gentleman’s Magazine.

[409] There is a very old stanza known here, which though it gives no
favourable mention of Clack, couples many surrounding places well
known--

“White Cliff--Pepper Cliff--Cliff and Cliff Ancey,
Lyneham and lo--e Clack,
C--se Malford[411] and Dauncey.”

[410] A native of this part, and at the top of _Merry-Andrewism_.

[411] Christian Malford, no doubt, was a _bad_ ford for the monks that
came down the Avon to the surrounding abbeys.

~November 4.~

KING WILLIAM LANDED.

On the day appointed for the commemoration of the landing of king William III. (who in fact landed on the 5th[412]) it may be worth notice, that its centenary in 1788 is thus mentioned in the “Public Advertiser” of that year--“This day is appointed to commemorate an event, which, if deserving commemoration, ought _never_ to be forgotten, and yet it is probable it will produce as much good moral or political effect as the events which distinguish Christmas, Good Friday, or Easter, from other days of the year. However, we are not disposed to quarrel with the scheme, the events of a day are few, the remembrance cannot be long. In the City, in Westminster, and in many of the principal towns in England, societies have been formed, cards of invitation sent, sold and bought, and grand dinners are prepared, and have this day been devoured with keen revolution appetites. Not to exclude the females, in some places balls are given; and that the religious may not wholly be disappointed, revolution sermons were this morning preached in several chapels and meeting-houses. Scotland is not behind hand in zeal upon this occasion, although a little so in point of time. To-morrow is their day of commemoration. Over all the kingdom a day of thanksgiving is appointed.”

KING WILLIAM’S PEERS.

_For the Every-Day Book._

The essential services of king William III. to the cause of civil and religious liberty, his perseverance and prowess as a warrior, his shrewdness and dexterity as a statesman, adapting the most conciliatory means to the most patriotic ends, have been repeatedly dilated on, and generally acknowledged. Here, is merely purposed to be traced how he exercised one of the most exclusive, important, and durable prerogatives of an English monarch, by a brief recapitulation of such of his additions and promotions in the hereditory branch of our legislature as still are in existence.