Chapter IX: Preface (8)

[53] See “Every-Day Book,” vol. i. p. 1303.

~February 6.~

COLLOP MONDAY. See vol. i. p. 241.

_The Season and Smoking._

At this time, Dr. Forster says that people should guard against colds, and, above all, against the contagion of typhus and other fevers, which are apt to prevail in the early spring. “Smoking tobacco,” he observes, “is a very salutary practice in general, as well as being a preventive against infection in particular. The German pipes are the best, and get better as they are used, particularly those made of merschaum, called _Ecume de Mer_. Next to these, the Turkey pipes, with long tubes, are to be recommended; but these are fitter for summer smoking, under the shade of trees, than for the fireside. The best tobacco is the Turkey, the Persian, and what is called Dutch canaster. Smoking is a custom which should be recommended in the close cottages of the poor, and in great populous towns liable to contagion.”

_The Rule of Health._

Rise early, and, take exercise in plenty,
But always take it with your stomach empty.
After your meals sit still and rest awhile,
And with your pipe a careless hour beguile.
To rise at light or five, breakfast at nine,
Lounge till eleven, and at five to dine,
To drink and smoke till seven, the time of tea,
And then to dance or walk two hours away
Till ten o’clock,--good hour to go to nest,
Till the next cock shall wake you from your rest.

On the virtues of tobacco its users enhance with mighty eloquence, and puff it bravely.

_In praise of Tobacco._

Much food doth gluttony procure to feed men fat like swine,
But he’s a frugal man indeed who on a leaf can dine.

He needs no napkin for his hands, his finger ends to wipe,
Who has his kitchen in a box, his roast-meat in a pipe.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 39·47.

~February 7.~

1826.--SHROVE TUESDAY.

Several of the customs and sports of this day are related in vol i. p. 242-261. It is the last _meat_ day permitted by the papacy before Lent, which commences to-morrow, and therefore in former times, full advantage was taken of the expiring opportunity to feast and make merry. Selden observes, “that what the church debars us one day, she gives us leave to eat another--first, there is a carnival, and then a Lent.” This period is also recorded in the homely rhymes of Barnaby Googe.

_Shrove-tide._

Now when at length the pleasant time of Shrove-tide comes in place,
And cruell fasting dayes at hand approach with solemne grace.
Then olde and yong are both as mad, as ghestes of Bacchus’ feast,
And foure dayes long they tipple square, and feede and never reast.
Downe goes the hogges in every place, and puddings every wheare
Do swarme: the dice are shakte and tost, and cardes apace they
teare:
In every house are showtes and cryes, and mirth, and revell route,
And daintie tables spred, and all be set with ghestes aboute:
With sundrie playes and Christmasse games, and feare and shame away,
The tongue is set at libertie, and hath no kinde of stay.

_Naogeorgus._

_The Great Seal in Danger._

_February 7, 1677_, about one in the morning, the lord chancellor Finch’s mace was stolen out of his house in Queen-street; the seal laid under his pillow, so the thief missed it. The famous thief that did it was Thomas Sadler, he was soon after taken, and hanged for it at Tyburn on the 16th of March.[54]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 37·37.

[54] Life of Ant. a Wood.

~February 8.~

1826.--ASH WEDNESDAY,

_The First Day of Lent_.

To the particulars concerning this day, and the _ashes_, (in vol. i. p. 261,) is to be added, that the _ashes_, made of the branches of brushwood, properly cleansed, sifted, and consecrated, were worn four times a year, as at the beginning of Lent; and that on this day the people were excluded from church, husbands and wives parted bed, and the penitents wore sackcloth and _ashes_.[55]

According to the Benedictine rule, on _Ash Wednesday_, after sext, the monks were to return to the cloister to converse; but, at the ringing of a bell, be instantly silent. They were to unshoe themselves, wash their hands, and go to church, and make one common prayer. Then was to follow a religious service; after which the priest, having consecrated the ashes, and sprinkled holy water on them, was to throw them on the heads of the monks, saying, “Remember that you are but dust, and to dust must return.” Then “the procession” was to follow.[56]

In former times, on the evening of Ash Wednesday, boys used to run about with firebrands and torches.[57]

_Lent Assizes and Sessions._

These follow, in due course, after Hilary Term, which is within a week of its expiration. The importance of assize and sessions business is frequently interrupted by cases not more serious than

~The Trial~

_Of Farmer Carter’s Dog_

PORTER

~For Murder~.

Edward Long, esq., late judge of the admiralty court of Jamaica, wrote and published this “Trial,”[58] which is now scarce, and here somewhat abridged from the original without other alteration.

He commences his report thus:--

County of SEX- }
GOTHAM, ss.}

At a High Court of Oyer and Terminer and Gaol-Delivery, holden this --
day of ---- 1771, at _Gotham-Hall_.

Present:

The Worshipful } PRESIDENT.
_J. Bottle_, Esq.}

_A. Noodle_, }
_Mat o’ the Mill_,} Esqs., _Just-asses_ and
_Osmyn Ponser_, } Associates.

GAME-ACT _Plaintiff_
versus
PORTER _Defendant_.

The Court being met, the indictment was read, which we omit, for sake of brevity.

_Court._ Prisoner, hold up your paw at the bar.

_First Counsel._ He is sullen, and refuses.

_Court._ Is he so? Why then let the constable hold it up, _nolens volens_.

[Which was done, according to order.]

_Court._ What is the prisoner’s name?

_Constable._ _P-P-Po-rt-er_, an’t please your worship.

_Court._ What does the fellow say?

_Constable._ _Porter!_ an’t please you; _Porter!_

_Mat._ He says Porter. It’s the name of a liquor the London _kennel_[59] much delight in.

_Ponser._ Ay, ’tis so; and I remember another namesake of his. I was hand in glove with him, I’ll tell you a droll story about him--

_Court._ Hush, brother. _Culprit_, how will you be tried?

_Counsel for the Prosecution._ Please your worship, he won’t say a word. _Stat mutus_--as mute as a fish.

_Court._ How?--what?--won’t the dog speak? Won’t he do what the court bids him? What’s to be done? Is the dignity of this court to be trifled with in such a manner?

_Counsel for Pros._ Please your worships--it is provided by the statute in these cases, that when a culprit is stubborn, and refuses to plead, he is to be made to plead whether he will or no.

_Court._ Ay? How’s that, pray?

_Counsel for Pros._ Why, the statute says--that he must first of all be _thumb-screwed_--

_Court._ Very good.

_Counsel for Pros._ If _that_ will not do, he must be laid flat on his back, and squeezed, like a cheese in a press, with heavy weights.

_Court._ Very well. And what then?

_Counsel for Pros._ What then? Why, when all the breath is squeezed out of his body, if he should still continue dumb, which sometimes has been the case, he generally dies for want of breath.

_Court._ Very likely.

_Counsel for Pros._ And thereby saves the court a great deal of trouble; and the nation, the expense of a halter.

_Court._ Well, then, since the land stands thus--constable, twist a cord about the _culprit’s_--

_Counsel for Pros._ Fore-paws.

_Constable._ _Four_ paws? Why he has but two.

_Court._ Fore-paws, or fore-feet, blockhead! and strain it as tight as you can, ’till you make him open his mouth.

[The constable attempted to enforce the order, but in drawing a little
too hard, received a severe bite.]

_Constable._ _’Sblood and suet!_ He has snapped off a piece of my nose.

_Court._ Mr. Constable, you are within the statute of swearing, and owe the court one shilling.

_Constable._ _Zounds and death!_ your worships! I could not help it for the blood o’ me.

_Court._ Now you owe us two shillings.

_Constable._ That’s a d----d bad plaster, your worships, for a sore nose!

_Court._ That being but _half_ an oath, the whole fine amounts to two shillings and sixpence, or a half-crown bowl. So, without going further, if you are afraid of his teeth, apply this pair of _nut-crackers_ to his tail.

_Constable._ I shall, your worships.

[He had better success with the tail, as will now appear.]

_Prisoner._ _Bow, wow, wow, ow, wow!_

_Court._ Hold! Enough. That will do.

It was now held that though the prisoner expressed himself in a strange language, yet, as he could speak no other, and as the law can not only make _dogs_ to speak, but explain their meaning too, so the law understood and inferred that the prisoner pleaded _not guilty_, and put himself upon his trial. _Issue_ therefore being joined, the _Counsel for the Prosecution_ proceeded to address the Court; but was stopped by the other side.

_Prisoner’s Counsel._ I take leave to _demur_ to the jurisdiction of the court. If he is to have a trial _per pares_, you must either suppose their worships to be his _equals_, that is to say, _not_ his _betters_, which would be a great indignity, or else you must have a _venire_ for a jury of _twelve dogs_. I think you are fairly caught in this dilemma.

_Counsel for Pros._ By no means. It is easily cured. We’ll send the constable with a _Mandamus_ to his _Grace’s kennel_.

_Pris. Counsel._ They are _fox hounds_. Not the same species; therefore not his equals. I do not object to the _harriers_, nor to a _tales de circumstantibus_.

_Counsel for Pros._ That’s artful, brother, but it won’t take. I smoke your intention of _garbling_ a jury. You know the _harriers_ will be partial, and acquit your client at any rate. Neither will we have any thing to do with your _tales_.

_Mat._ No--no--you say right. I hate your _tales_ and _tale-bearers_. They are a rascally _pack_ altogether.

_Counsel for Pros._ Besides, the statute gives your worships _ample_ jurisdiction in this case; and if it did not _give_ it, your worships know how to _take_ it, because the law says, _boni est judicis ampliare jurisdictionem_.

_Pris. Counsel._ Then--I _demur_ for irregularity. The prisoner is a _dog_, and cannot be triable as a _man_--_ergo_, not within the intent of the statute.

_Counsel for Pros._ That’s a poor subterfuge. If the statute respects a _man_, (_a fortiori_) it will affect a _dog_.

_Ponser._ You are certainly right. For when I was in the _Turkish_ dominions, I saw an _Hebrew Jew_ put to death for killing a _dog_, although _dog_ was the aggressor.

_Counsel for Pros._ A case in point, please your worship. And a very curious and learned one it is. And the plain induction from it is this, that the _Jew_ (who I take for granted was a _man_) being put to death for killing _dog_, it follows that said _dog_ was as respectable a person, and of equal rank in society with the said _Jew_; and therefore--_ergo_--and moreover--That, said _dog_, so slain, was, to all and every purpose of legal inference and intendment, neither more nor less than--a _man_.

_Court._ We are all clearly of that opinion.

_Counsel for Pros._ Please your worships of the honourable bench. On _Saturday_ the day of _February inst._ on or about the hour of _five_ in the afternoon, the deceased Mr. _Hare_ was travelling quietly about his business, in a certain highway or road leading towards _Muckingham_; and then, and there, the prisoner at the bar being in the same road, in and upon the body of the deceased, with force and arms, a violent assault did make; and further, not having the fear of your worships before his eyes, but being moved and seduced by the instigation of a devilish fit of hunger, he the said prisoner did him the said deceased, in the peace of our lord of the manor then and there being, feloniously, wickedly, wantonly, and of malice aforethought, tear, wound, pull, haul, touzle, masticate, macerate, lacerate, and dislocate, and otherwise evilly intreat; of all and singular which tearings, woundings, pullings, haulings, touzleings, mastications, and so forth, maliciously inflicted in manner and form aforesaid, the said _Hare_ did languish, and languishing did die, in Mr. _Just-ass Ponser’s_ horsepond, to wit, and that is to say, contrary to the statute in that case made and provided, and against the peace of our said lord, his manor and dignity.

This, please your worships, is the purport of the indictment; to this indictment the prisoner has pleaded _not guilty_, and now stands upon his trial before this honourable bench.

Your worships will therefore allow me, before I come to call our evidence, to expatiate a little upon the heinous sin, wherewith the prisoner at the bar is charged. Hem!--To _murder_,--Ehem--To _murder_, may it please your worships, in Latin, is--is--_Murderare_;--or in the true and original sense of the word, _Murder-ha-re_. _H--_, as your worships well know, being not as yet raised to the dignity of a letter by any act of parliament, it follows that it plainly is no other than _Murder-a-re_, according to modern refined pronunciation. The very root and etymology of the word does therefore comprehend in itself a thousand volumes in folio, to show the nefarious and abominable guilt of the prisoner, in the commission and perpetration of this horrid fact. And it must appear as clear as sunshine to your worships, that the word _Murderare_, which denotes the prisoner’s crime, was expressly and originally applied to that crime, and to _that_ only, as being the most superlative of all possible crimes in the world. I do not deny that, since it first came out of the mint, it has, through corruption, been affixed to offences of a less criminal nature, such as _killing_ a _man_, a _woman_, or a _child_. But the sense of the earliest ages having stamped _hare-murder_, or _murder-ha-re_, (as the old books have it,) with such extraordinary atrociousness, I am sure that _Just-asses_ of your worships’ acknowledged and well-known wisdom, piety, erudition, and humanity, will not, at this time of the day, be persuaded to hold it less detestable and sinful. Having said thus much on the nature of the prisoner’s _guilt_, I mean not to aggravate the charge, because I shall always feel due compassion for my _fellow-creatures_, however wickedly they may demean themselves.--I shall next proceed, with your worships’ leave, to call our witnesses.--Call _Lawrence Lurcher_ and _Toby Tunnel_.

_Pris. Counsel._ I must object to swearing these witnesses.--I can prove, they were both of them _drunk_, and _non compos_, during the whole evening, when this fact is supposed to have been committed.

_Bottle._ That will do you no service. I am very often _drunk_ myself, and never _more_ in my senses than at such times.

_Court._ We all agree in this point with brother _Bottle_.

[Objection overruled and witnesses sworn.]

_Lurcher._ As I, and _Toby Tunnel_ here, was a going hoam to squire _Ponser’s_, along the road, one evening after dark, we sees the prisoner at the bar, or somebody like him, lay hold of the deceased, or somebody like him, by the back, an’t please your worships. So, says I, _Toby_, says I, that looks for all the world like one of ’squire _Ponser’s_ hares. So the deceased cried out pitifully for help, and jumped over a hedge, and the prisoner after him, growling and swearing bitterly all the way. So, says I, _Toby_, let’s run after ’um. So I scrambled up the hedge; but _Toby_ laid hold of my leg, to help himself up; so both of us tumbled through a thick furze bush into the ditch. So, next morning, as we was a going by the squire’s, we sees the deceased in his worship’s horse-pond.

_Pris. Counsel._ Are you sure he was dead?

_Lurcher._ Ay, as dead as my great grandmother.

_Pris. Counsel._ What did you do with the body?

_Ponser._ That’s not a fair question. It ought not to be answered.

_Lurcher._ I bean’t ashamed nor afeard to tell, not I. We carried it to his worship, squire _Ponser_; and his worship had him roasted, with a pudding in his belly, for dinner, that seame day.

_Council for Pros._ That is nothing to the purpose. Have you any more questions for the witness?

_Pris. Counsel._ Yes, I have. Pray friend, how do you know the body you found was the very same you saw on the evening before?

_Lurcher._ I can’t tell; but I’m ready to take my _bible oath_ on’t.

_Pris. Counsel._ That is a _princely_ argument, and I shall ask you nothing farther.

Mrs. _Margery Dripping_, cook to his worship squire _Ponser_, deposed to the condition of the deceased.

DEFENCE

_Prisoner’s Counsel._ Please your worships, I am counsel for the prisoner, who, in obedience to your worships’ commands, has pleaded _not guilty_; and I hope to prove that his plea is a good plea; and that he must be acquitted by the justice of his cause. In the first place, the witnesses have failed in proving the prisoner’s identity. Next, they have not proved the identity of the deceased. Thirdly, they do not prove who gave the wounds. Fourthly, nor to whom they were given. Fifthly, nor whether the party died of the wounds, if they were given, as supposed, to this identical _hare_. For, I insist upon it, that, because _a hare_ was found in the squire’s horse-pond, _non sequitur_, that he was killed, and thrown in by the defendant. Or, if they had proved that defendant had maliciously, and _animo furioso_, pursued the deceased into the horse-pond, it does not prove the _defendant_ guilty of his death, because he might owe his death to the _water_; and therefore, in that case, the _pond_ would be _guilty_; and if _guilty_, triable; and if triable, _punishable_ for the same, and _not_ my client. And I must say, (under favour,) that his _worship_ would likewise be _particeps criminis_, for not having filled it up, to prevent such accidents. One evidence, who never saw the prisoner till now, nor the deceased till after the fact supposed to have happened, declares, he is sure the prisoner killed the deceased. And why? Because he is ready to take his _bible oath_ on’t. This is, to be sure, a very _logical_ conviction.

_Court._ It is a very _legal_ one, and that’s better.

_Pris. Counsel._ I submit to your wisdoms. But I must conclude with observing, that admitting a part of the evidence to be true, viz. that the prisoner did meet the deceased on the highway, and held some conference with him; I say, that supposing this, for argument sake; I do insist, that Mr. _Hare_, the deceased, was not following a lawful, honest business, at that late hour; but was wickedly and mischievously bent upon a felonious design, of trespassing on farmer _Carter’s_ ground, and stealing, consuming, and carrying off, his corn and his turnips. I further insist that the defendant, knowing this his felonious and evil machination, and being resolved to defend the property of his good friend and patron from such depredations, did endeavour to divert him from it. Which not being able to effect by fair means, he then was obliged to try his utmost, as a good subject and trusty friend, to seize and apprehend his person, and bring him, _per habeas corpus_, before your worships, to be dealt with according to law. But the deceased being too nimble for him, escaped out of his clutches, and tumbling, accidentally, in the dark, into his worship’s horse-pond, was there _drowned_. This is, I do not doubt, a true history of the whole affair; and proves that, in the strictest construction of law, it can only be a case of _per infortunium_--unless your worships should rather incline to deem it _felo de se_.

_Noodle._ _A fall in the sea!_ No such thing: it was only a _horse-pond_, that’s clear from the evidence.

_Pris. Counsel._ Howsoever your worships may think fit to judge of it, I do humbly conceive, upon the whole matter, that the defendant is _not guilty_; and I hope your worships, in your wisdoms, will concur with me in opinion, and _acquit_ him.

The _Counsel for the Prosecution_ replied in a long speech. He contended that Mr. _Hare_, the deceased, was a peaceable, quiet, sober, and inoffensive sort of a person, beloved by _king_, _lords_, and _commons_, and never was known to entertain any idea of robbery, felony, or depredation, but was innocently taking the air, one afternoon, for the benefit of his health, when he was suddenly accosted, upon his majesty’s highway, by the prisoner, who immediately, and bloody-mindedly, without saying a syllable, made at him, with so much fury in his countenance, that the deceased was put in bodily fear; and being a lover of peace, crossed the other side of the way: the prisoner followed him close, and pressed him so hard, that he was obliged to fly over hedge and ditch with the prisoner at his heels. It was at this very juncture they were observed by the two witnesses first examined. The learned counsel further affirmed from circumstances, which he contended amounted to _presumptive_ evidence, that, after various turnings and windings, in his endeavour to escape, his foot slipped, and the prisoner seized him and inflicted divers wounds; but that the deceased finding means to get away, took to the pond, in order to swim across; when the prisoner, running round the pond incessantly, prevented his escape: so that, faint and languishing under his wounds and loss of blood, the hapless victim there breathed his last, in manner and form as the indictment sets forth. He also alleged that, as Mr. _Hare_ lived within his worship’s territory, where there are several more of the same family, he could not, therefore, be going to farmer _Carter’s_; for that would have been absurd, when he might have got corn and turnips enough on his worship’s own ground. Can there, said the learned gentleman, be a stronger, a weightier, a surer, a--a--a--?

_Court._ We understand you. It is as clear as _crystal_.

[Their worships in consultation.]

_Court._ Has the prisoner’s counsel any thing further to offer in his behalf?

_Pris. Counsel._ Call farmer Carter.

Pray, _farmer Carter_, inform the court what you know of the prisoner’s life, character, and behaviour.

_Carter._ I have known the prisoner these several years. He has lived in my house great part of the time. He was always sober--

_Court._ Never the _honester_ for that. Well, go on.

_Carter._ Sober, honest, sincere, trusty, and careful. He was one of the best and most faithful friends I ever knew. He has many a time deterred thieves from breaking into my house at night, and murdering me and my family. He never hated nor hurt any body but rogues and night-walkers. He performed a million of good offices for me, for no other recompense than his victuals and lodging; and seemed always happy and contented with what I could afford him, however scanty the provision. He has driven away many a _fox_ that came to steal my geese and turkies; and, for taking care of a flock of sheep, there is not his equal in the county. In short, whenever he dies I shall lose my best friend, my best servant, and most vigilant protector. I am positive that he is as innocent as a babe of the crime charged upon him; for he was with me that whole evening, and supped and slept at home. He was indeed my constant companion, and we were seldom or never asunder. If your worships please, I’ll be _bail_ for him from _five pounds to five hundred_.

_Court._ That cannot be: it is not a _bailable offence_. Have you any thing else to say, Mr. _Positive_?

_Carter._ Say? I think I’ve said enough, if it signified any thing.

_Bottle._ Drag him away out of hearing.

_Carter._ I will have justice! You, all of ye, deserve hanging more than your prisoner, and you all know it too.

_Court._ Away with him, constable.--_Scum of the earth! Base-born peasant!_

[_Carter_ is hauled out of the court, after a stout resistance.]

_Court._ _A sturdy beggar!_ We must find out some means of _wiring_ that fellow!

_The Counsel for the Prosecution_ prayed sentence of death upon the _culprit_ at the bar.

_Court._ How says the _statute_? Are we competent for this?

_Counsel for Pros._ The _statute_ is, I confess, silent. But silence gives consent. Besides, this is a case of the first impression, and unprovided for by law. It is your duty, therefore, as good and wise magistrates of the _Hundreds_ of _Gotham_, to supply this defect of the law, and to suppose that the law, where it says nothing, may be meant to say, whatever your worships shall be pleased to make it.

_Bottle._ It is now incumbent upon me to declare the opinion of this high and right worshipful court here assembled.

Shall the reptile of a dunghill, a paltry muckworm, a pitch-fork fellow, presume for to go for to keep a _dog_?--and not only a dog, but a dog that murders _hares_? Are these divine creatures, that are religiously consecrated to the mouths alone of squires and nobles, to become the food of garlic-eating rogues? It is a food, that nature and policy forbid to be contaminated by their profane teeth. It is by far too dainty for their _robustious_ constitutions. How are our clayey lands to be turned up and harrowed, and our harvests to be got in, if our labourers, who should strengthen themselves with _beef_ and _ale_, should come to be fed with _hare_, _partridge_, and _pheasant_? Shall we suffer our giants to be nourished with mince-meat and pap? Shall we give our horses chocolate and muffins? No, gentlemen. The brains of labourers, tradesmen, and mechanics, (if they have any,) should ever be sodden and stupified with the grosser aliments of _bacon_ and _dumpling_. What is it, but the spirit of _poaching_, that has set all the lower class, the _canaille_, a hunting after _hare’s-flesh_? You see the effects of it gentlemen; they are all run mad with _politics_, resist their rulers, despise their magistrates, and abuse _us_ in every corner of the kingdom. If you had begun hanging of _poachers_ ten years ago, d’ye think you would have had _one_ left in the whole kingdom by this time? No, I’ll answer for it; and your _hares_ would have multiplied, till they had been as plenty as _blackberries_, and not left a stalk of corn upon the ground. This, gentlemen, is the very thing we ought to struggle for; that these insolent clowns may come to find, that the only _use_ they are good for, is to furnish provision for these animals. In short, gentlemen, although it is not totally clear from the evidence, that the prisoner is _guilty_; nevertheless, _hanged_ he must and ought to be, _in terrorem_ to all other offenders.

Therefore let the _culprit_ stand up, and hearken to the judgment of the court.

_Constable._ Please your worship, he’s up.

_Bottle._ _Porter!_ Thou hast been found _guilty_ of a most daring, horrible, and atrocious crime. Thou hast, without being qualified as the law directs, and without licence or deputation from the _lord_ of the _manor_, been _guilty_ of shedding innocent blood. In so doing, thou hast broken the peace of the realm, set at naught the laws and statutes of thy country, and (what is more than all these) offended against these respectable personages, who have been sitting in judgment upon thee. For all this enormity of guilt, thy life doth justly become forfeit, to atone for such manifold injuries done to our most excellent constitution. We did intend, in _Christian_ charity, to have given some moments for thy due repentance, but, as the hour is late, and _dinner ready_, now hear thy _doom_.

Thou must be led from the bar to the end of the room, where thou art to be _hanged_ by the neck to yonder beam, _coram nobis_, till you are _dead, dead, dead_! _Hangman_, do your duty.

_Constable._ Please your worships, all is ready.

_Ponser._ Hoist away, then, hoist away.

[_Porter_ is tucked up.]

_Mat._ Come, it seems to be pretty well over with him now. The constable has given him a jerk, and done his business.

_Bottle._ He’s an excellent fellow.

_Ponser._ The best _informer_ in the whole county.

_Bottle._ And must be well encouraged.

_Ponser._ He shall never want a _licence_, whilst _I_ live.

_Noodle._ Come, shall we go to _dinner_?

_Bottle._ Ay--he’ll never course _hares_ again in this world. Gentlemen, the court is _adjourned_.

[_Exeunt omnes._

EPITAPH,

_Composed by Sam. Snivel, the parish clerk, proposed to be put, at
Farmer Carter’s expense, on the unfortunate malefactor’s tombstone:_

Here lie the remains
of
honest PORTER;
who,
after an innocent and well-spent life,
was dragged hither, and
_tried_,
for a _crime_ he never committed,
upon _laws_ to which he was unamenable,
before _men_ who were no judges,
found _guilty_ without _evidence_,
and _hanged_ without _mercy_:
to give to future ages an example,
that the spirit
of _Turkish_ despotism, tyranny, and
oppression,
after glutting itself with the conquest of
_liberty_
in _British men_,
has stooped at length to wreak its bloody
vengeance
on _British dogs_!
_Anno Dom. 1771._
_Requiescat in pace!_

S. S.

* * * * *

This humorous “Trial” was written in consequence of “a real event which actually took place, in 1771, near Chichester.” The persons who composed the court are designated by fictitious names; but to a copy of the pamphlet, in the possession of the editor of the _Every-day Book_, there is a manuscript-key to their identity. The affair is long past, and they are therefore added in italics.

’SQUIRES.

J. Bottle--_Butler_.
A. Noodle--_Aldridge_.
Mat o’ the Mill--_Challen_.
O. Ponser--_Bridger_.

It appears that “the actors in the tragedy were well known by their nicknames, given in Mr. Long’s pamphlet.”

* * * * *

Edward Long, esq. was called to the bar in 1757, and sailed immediately for Jamaica, where he, at first, filled the post of private secretary to his brother-in-law, sir Henry Moore, bart., then lieutenant-governor of the island. He was afterwards appointed judge of the vice-admiralty court, and left the island in 1769. The remainder of his long life was spent in England, and devoted to literature. Mr. Long’s first production was the facetious report of the case of “Farmer Carter’s Dog Porter.” He wrote ably on negro slavery, the sugar trade, and the state of the colonies; but his most distinguished work is “The History of Jamaica,” in three quarto volumes, which contains a large mass of valuable information, much just reasoning, and many spirited delineations of colonial scenery and manners, and is almost as rare as the curious and amusing tract that has contributed to the preceding pages. He was born on the 23d of August, 1734, at Rosilian, in the parish of St. Blaize, Cornwall, and died, on the 13th of March, 1813, at the house of his son-in-law, Henry Howard Molyneux, esq. M.P. of Arundel Park, Sussex, aged 79. Further particulars of his life, writings, and family, are in Mr. Nichols’s “Literary Anecdotes,” and the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” vol. lxxiii., from whence this brief notice is extracted.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 37·27.

[55] Fosbroke’s British Monachism.

[56] Ibid.

[57] Ibid.

[58] Printed for T. Lowndes, 1771. 8vo.

[59] His worship meant _canaille_.

~February 9.~

_St. Apollonia._

She is called, by Butler, “the admirable Apollonia, whom old age and the state of virginity rendered equally venerable.” He relates, that in a persecution of the Christians, stirred up by “a certain poet of Alexandria,” she was seized, and all her _teeth_ were beaten out, with threats that she should be cast into the fire, “if she did not utter certain impious words;” whereupon, of her own accord, she leaped into the flames. From this legend, St. Apollonia is become the patron saint of persons afflicted by _tooth-ach_.

* * * * *

In the “Horæ B. Virginis” is the following prayer:--

“O Saint Apollonia, by thy passion, obtain for us the remission of all the sins, which, with teeth and mouth, we have committed through gluttony and speech; that we may be delivered from pain and gnashing of teeth here and hereafter; and loving cleanness of heart, by the grace of our lips we may have the king of angels our friend. Amen.”

* * * * *

If her teeth and jaws in Romish churches be good evidence, St. Apollonia superabounded in these faculties; the number of the former is surprising to all who disbelieve that relics of the saints multiply of themselves. A church at Bononia possesses her _lower_ jaw, “which is solemnly worshipped by the legate;” St. Alban’s church at Cologne also has her _lower_ jaw--each equally genuine and of equal virtue.

CHRONOLOGY.

1555. On the 9th of February in this year, Dr. Rowland Taylor, vicar of Hadleigh in Suffolk, one of the first towns in England that entertained the Reformation, suffered death there for resisting the establishment of papal worship in his church. The engraving beneath is a correct representation of an old stone commemorative of the event, as it appeared in 1825, when the drawing was made from it, by a gentleman who obligingly transmits it for the present purpose.

Besides the rude inscription on this old stone, as it is represented in the engraving, there is another on a neat monument erected by the side of the original in 1818. The lines are as follows: they were supplied by the Rev. Dr. Hay Drummond, rector of Hadleigh.

Mark this rude Stone, where Taylor dauntless stood,
Where Zeal infuriate drank the Martyr’s blood:
Hadleigh! that day, how many a tearful eye
Saw the lov’d Pastor dragg’d a Victim by;
Still scattering gifts and blessings as he past
“To the blind pair” his farewell alms were cast;
His clinging flock e’en here around him pray’d
“As thou hast aided us, be God thine aid;”
Nor taunts, nor bribes of mitred rank, nor stake,
Nor blows, nor flames, his heart of firmness shake;
Serene--his folded hands, his upward eyes,
Like Holy Stephen’s, seek the opening skies;
There, fix’d in rapture, his prophetic sight
Views Truth dawn clear, on England’s bigot night;
Triumphant Saint! he bow’d, and kiss’d the rod,
And soar’d on Seraph-wing to meet his God.

Rowland Taylor was “a doctor in both the civil and canon lawes, and a right perfect divine.” On induction to his benefice, he resided with his flock, “as a good shepherd abiding and dwelling among his sheep,” and “not only was his word a preaching unto them, but all his life and conversation was an example of unfained christian life, and true holinesse: he was void of all pride, humble and meeke as any child, so that none were so poore, but they might boldly, as unto their father, resort unto him; neither was his lowlinesse childish or fearfull; but, as occasion, time, and place required, he would be stout in rebuking the sinfull and evil doers, so that none was so rich, but he would tell him plainly his fault, with such earnest and grave rebukes as became a good curate and pastor.” He continued in well-doing at Hadleigh during the reign of king Edward VI. till the days of queen Mary, when one Foster, a lawyer, and one John Clerk, of Hadley, “hired one Averth, parson of Aldam, a right popish priest, to come to Hadley, and there to give the onset to begin again the popish masse: to this purpose they builded up, with all haste possible, the altar, intending to bring in their masse again about the Palme Munday.” The altar was thrown down in the night, but on the following day it was replaced, and the Aldam priest entered the church, attended by Foster and Clerk, and guarded by men with swords and bucklers. Dr. Taylor, who was in his study, and ignorant of this irruption, hearing the church bells ring, repaired thither, and found the priest, surrounded by his armed force, ready to begin mass, against whom he was unable to prevail, and was himself thrust, “with strong hand, out of the church.” Two days afterwards, he was summoned by Gardiner, bishop of Winchester, to come before him at London, and answer complaints. His friends counselled him to fly, but Taylor determined to meet his enemies, “and, to their beards, resist their false doings.” He took his departure amidst their weeping, “leaving his cure with a godly old priest named sir Richard Yeoman, who afterwards, for God’s truth, was burnt at Norwich.” On his appearance, bishop Gardiner, who was also lord chancellor, reviled him, “calling him knave, traitor, heretike, with many other villainous reproaches.” Taylor listened patiently: at last he said, “My lord, I am neither traitor nor heretike, but a true subject, and a faithfull christian man; and am come, according to your commandment, to know what is the cause that your lordship hath sent for me?” The bishop charged upon him that he was married. “Yea,” quoth Taylor, “that I thank God I am, and have had nine children, and all in lawful matrimony; and blessed be God that ordained matrimony.” Then the bishop charged him with having resisted the priest of Aldam in saying mass at Hadleigh. Taylor also admitted this, and, after stout dispute, was committed to the king’s bench, where he spent his time in praying, reading the scriptures, writing, preaching, and exhorting the prisoners to repentance and amendment of life. There he found “master Bradford,” whom he comforted by his courage. While imprisoned, he was cited to appear “in the Arches at Bow church,” and was carried thither, and “deprived of his benefice because he was married.” On the 20th of January, 1555, Taylor was again taken before Gardiner and other bishops. He gives a long account of his disputations with them on that and like occasions. They urged him, and others with him, to recant: the prisoners refused, and “then the bishops read sentence of death upon them.”

After condemnation, Dr. Taylor was “bestowed in the Clinke till it was toward night, and then he was removed to the counter by the Poultry.” On the 4th of February, Bonner, bishop of London, came to the counter to degrade him; first wishing him to return to the church of Rome, and promising him to sue for his pardon. Whereunto Taylor answered, “I woulde you and your fellowes would turne to Christ; as for me I will not turn to Antichrist.” “Well,” quoth the bishop, “I am come to degrade you, wherefore put on these vestures.” “No,” quoth doctor Taylor, “I will not.” “Wilt thou not?” said the bishop. “I shall make thee, ere I goe.” Quoth doctor Taylor, “You shall not, by the grace of God.” Then Bonner caused another to put them on his back; and when thus arrayed, Taylor, walking up and down, said, “How say you, my lord, am I not a goodly fool? How say you, my masters; if I were in Cheap, should I not have boys enough to laugh at these apish toys, and toying trumpery?” The bishop proceeded, with certain ceremonies, to his purpose, till at the last, when, according to the form, he should have struck Taylor on the breast with his crosier, the bishop’s chaplain said, “My lord, strike him not, for he will sore strike again.” Taylor favoured the chaplain’s suspicion. “The cause,” said he, “is Christ’s; and I were no good christian if I would not fight in my master’s quarrel.” It appears that “the bishop laid his curse upon him, but struck him not;” and after all was over, when he got up stairs, “he told master Bradford (for both lay in one chamber) that he had made the bishop of London afraid; for, saith he, laughingly, his chaplain gave him counsell not to strike with his crosier-staff, for that I would strike again; and by my troth, said he, rubbing his hands, I made him believe I would doe so indeed.”

Thus was Taylor still cheerful from rectitude. In the afternoon his wife, his son, and John Hull his servant, were permitted to sup with him. After supper, walking up and down, he impressively exhorted them, with grave advice, to good conduct and reliance on Providence. “Then they, with weeping tears, prayed together, and kissed one the other; and he gave to his wife a book of the church service, set out by king Edward, which in the time of his imprisonment he daily used; and unto his sonne Thomas he gave a latine booke, containing the notable sayings of the old martyrs, gathered out of _Ecclesiastica Historia_; and in the end of that booke he wrote his testament and last _vale_.” In this “vale,” dated the 5th of February, he says to his family, “I goe before, and you shall follow after, to our long home. I goe to the rest of my children. I have bequeathed you to the onely Omnipotent.” In the same paper he tells his “dear friends of Hadley, to remain in the light opened so plainely and simply, truly, throughly, and generally in all England,” for standing in which he was to die in flames.

In the morning at two o’clock, the sheriff of London with his officers brought him, without light, from the counter to Aldgate. His wife, suspecting that he would be carried away thus privately, had watched, from the time they had parted, within the porch of St. Botolph’s church, having her daughter Mary with her, and a little orphan girl named Elizabeth, whom the honest martyr had reared from three years old to her then age of thirteen: and when the sheriff and his company came nigh to where they stood, the child Elizabeth cried, “O my dear father! Mother, mother, here is my father led away.” The darkness being so great that the one could not see the other, his wife cried, “Rowland, Rowland, where art thou?” Taylor answered, “Dear wife! I am here,” and he stayed; and the sheriff’s men would have forced him, but the sheriff said, “Stay a little, my masters, I pray you, and let him speak to his wife.” Then he took his daughter Mary in his arms, and he, and his wife, and the orphan girl kneeled and prayed; and the sheriff, and many who were present, wept; and he arose and kissed his wife, and shook her by the hand, and said, “Farewell, my dear wife, be of good comfort, for I am quiet in my conscience; God shall stir up a father for my children.” He had three others, besides his daughter Mary and the young Elizabeth. He then kissed Mary, and then Elizabeth, and he bade them, also, farewell and enjoined them to stand steadfast in their faith. His weeping wife said, “God be with thee, dear Rowland, I will, with God’s grace, meet thee at Hadleigh.” Then he was led on to the Woolsack inn, at Aldgate, where he was put in a chamber, under the custody of four yeomen of the guard and the sheriff’s men. Here his wife again desired to see him, but was restrained by the sheriff, who otherwise treated her with kindness, and offered her his own house to abide in; but she preferred to go to her mother’s, whither two officers conducted her, charging her mother to keep her within till their return.

Meantime so soon as Taylor entered the chamber he prayed; and he remained at the inn until the sheriff of Essex was ready to receive him. At eleven o’clock the inn gates were shut, and then he was put on horseback within the gates. When they arrived outside, Taylor saw his son Thomas standing against the rails, in the care of his man John Hull; and he said, “Come hither, my son Thomas.” John Hull lifted the child up, and set him on the horse before his father; and Taylor put off his hat, and spoke a sentence or two to the people in behalf of matrimony, and then he lifted up his eyes and prayed for his son, and laid his hat on the child’s head, and blessed him. This done he delivered the child to John Hull, whom he took by the hand, and he said to him, “Farewell, John Hull, the faithfullest servant that ever man had.” Having so said, he rode forth with the sheriff of Essex and the yeomen of the guard to go to his martyrdom in Suffolk.

When they came near to Brentwood, one Arthur Taysie, who had been servant to Taylor, supposing him free, took him by the hand and said, “Master Doctor, I am glad to see you again at liberty;” but the sheriff drove him back. At Brentwood, a close hood was put over Taylor’s face, with holes for his eyes to look out at, and a slit for his mouth to breathe through. These hoods were used at that place to be put on the martyrs that they should not be known, and that they should not speak to any one, on the road to the burning-places.

Yet as they went, Taylor was so cheerful, and talked to the sheriff and his guards in such wise, that they were amazed at his constancy. At Chelmsford they met the sheriff of Suffolk, who was there to carry him into his county. At that time he supped with the two sheriffs. The sheriff of Essex laboured during supper to persuade him to return to queen Mary’s religion, telling him that all present would use their suit to the queen for his pardon, nor doubted they could obtain it. The sheriff reminded him, that he had been beloved for his virtues, and honoured for his learning; that, in the course of nature, he was likely to live many years; and that he might even be higher esteemed than ever; wherefore he prayed him to be advised: “This counsel I give you,” said the sheriff, “of a good heart and good will towards you;” and, thereupon he drank to him; and the yeomen of the guard said, “In like manner, upon that condition, master Doctor, we all drink to you.” When they had so done, and the cup came to Taylor, he staid awhile, as studying what he might say, and then answered thus: “Master sheriff, and my masters all, I heartily thank you for your good will. I have hearkened to your words and marked well your counsels; and to be plain with you, I do perceive that I have been deceived myself, and am likely to deceive a great many of their expectation.” At these words they were exceedingly glad. “Would ye know my meaning plainly?” he said. “Yea, good master Doctor,” answered the sheriff, “tell it us plainly.” “Then,” said Taylor, “I will tell you:” and he said, that, as his body was of considerable bulk, and as he thought, if he had died in his bed, it would have been buried in Hadleigh church-yard, so he had deceived himself; and, as there were a great many worms there abiding, which would have mealed handsomely upon him, so they, as well as himself, were deceived; “for” said he, “it must be burnt to ashes, and they will thereby lose their feeding.” The sheriff and his company were thereupon astonished at him, as being a man without fear of death, and making a jest of the flames. During their progress, many gentlemen and magistrates were admitted to see him, and entreated him, in like manner, but he remained immovable.

Thus they drew near to Hadleigh: and when they rode over Hadleigh bridge, a poor man with his five small children awaited their coming. When they saw Taylor, they all fell down on their knees and held up their hands, and cried aloud, “God help and succour thee, as thou hast many a time succoured me and my poor children.” The streets of Hadleigh were crowded on each side by men and women, of the town and country, sorely weeping, and with piteous voices loudly bewailing the loss of their pastor, praying that he might be strengthened and comforted in his extremity, and exclaiming, “What shall become of this wicked world!” Taylor said, “I have preached to you God’s word and truth, and am come to seal it with my blood.” When he came to the almshouses, he put some money, that had been bestowed on him during his imprisonment, into a glove, and this he is said to have given to the poor almsmen as they stood at their doors, to see their wonted benefactor pass. At the last of the almshouses he inquired, “Is the blind man, and blind woman, that dwelt here, alive?” He was answered, “Yes; they are there, within.” Then he threw glove and all in at the window, and so rode forth towards the field of his death.

Coming where a great multitude were assembled, he asked, “What place is this, and what meaneth it that so much people are gathered hither?” It was answered, “This is Aldham common, the place where you must suffer.” He said, “Thanked be God, I am even at home.” Then he alighted from his horse, and with both his hands rent the hood from his head. His hair was unseemly, for Bonner, when he degraded him, had caused it to be clipped in manner of a fool’s. At the sight of his ancient and reverend face, and his long white beard, the people burst into tears, and prayed for him aloud. He would have spoken to them, but whenever he attempted, one or other of the yeomen of the guard thrust a tipstaff into his mouth.

Then he desired licence to speak, of the sheriff; but the sheriff refused him, and bade him remember his promise to the council: “Well,” quoth Taylor, “promise must be kept.” What the promise was is unknown. Seating himself on the ground he called to one in the crowd, “Soyce, I pray thee come and pull off my boots, and take them for thy labour; thou hast long looked for them, now take them.” Then he arose, and putting off his underclothes, them also he bestowed. This done, he cried with a loud voice, “Good people! I have taught you nothing but God’s holy word, and those lessons that I have taken out of God’s blessed book, the Holy Bible; and I am come hither this day to seal it with my blood.” One Holmes, a yeoman of the guard, who had used him cruelly all the way, then struck him a violent blow on the head “with a waster,” and said, “Is that the keeping of thy promise, thou heretick?” Whereupon Taylor knelt on the earth and prayed, and a poor, but faithful woman, stepped from among the people to pray with him: the guards would fain have thrust her away, they threatened to tread her down with their horses, but she was undismayed, and would not remove, but remained and prayed with him. Having finished his devotions he went to the stake, and kissed it, and placed himself in a pitch-barrel which had been set for him to stand in; and he stood with his back upright against the stake, and he folded his hands together, and he lifted his eyes towards heaven, and he prayed continually. Then they bound him with chains, and the sheriff called one Richard Donningham, a butcher, and commanded him to set up the faggots, but he said, “I am lame, sir, and not able to lift a faggot.” The sheriff threatened to send him to prison, but the man refused to obey his command notwithstanding. Then the sheriff appointed to this labour one Mullcine of Carsey, “a man for his virtues fit to be a hangman.” Soyce, a very drunkard, a man named Warwick, and one Robert King, “a deviser of interludes.” These four set up the faggots, and prepared for making ready the fire, and Warwick cast a faggot at the martyr, which lit upon his head and wounded his face, so that the blood ran down. Taylor said, “O, friend! I have harm enough, what needed that?” Then, while he repeated the psalm _Miserere_, in English, sir John Shelton struck him on the mouth: “You knave,” said he, “speak Latin; or I will make thee.” At last they set the faggots on fire, and Taylor, holding up both his hands, called on God, crying, “Merciful Father of Heaven! for Jesus Christ our saviour’s sake, receive my soul into thy hands!” He stood, during his burning, without crying or moving, till Soyce struck him on the head with a halberd, and the brains falling out, the corpse fell down into the fire.[60]

* * * * *

While some may deem this narrative of Rowland Taylor’s conduct too circumstantial, others perhaps may not so deem. It is to be considered as exemplifying the manners of the period wherein the event occurred, and may at least be acceptable to many. It will assuredly be approved by a few who regard inflexible adherence to principle, at the hazard of death itself, as preferable to a conscience-consuming subserviency, which, while it truckles to what the mind judges to be false, depraves the heart, and saps the foundations of public virtue.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 39·05.

[60] Acts and Monuments.

~February 10.~

_Biographical Notice._