Chapter D: A. M (5)

Man first catches the profession; the profession afterwards moulds the man. In whatever profession we engage we assume its character, become a part of it, vindicate its honour, its eminence, its antiquity, or feel a wound through its sides. Though there may be no more pride in a minister of state who opens a budget, than in a tinker who carries one, yet they equally contend for the honour of their trade.

The bellows-maker proclaims the _honour_ of his art by observing, he alone produces that instrument which commands the winds; his soft breeze, like that of the south, counteracts the chill blasts of winter; by his efforts, like those of the sun, the world receives light; he creates when he pleases, and gives breath when he creates. In his caverns the winds sleep at pleasure, and by his “orders” they set Europe in flames. He farther pretends, that the antiquity of his occupation will appear from the plenty of elm, once in the neighbourhood, but long cut up for his use; that the leather-market in Birmingham, for many ages, furnished him with sides; and though the manufacture of iron is allowed to be extremely ancient, yet the smith could not procure his heat without a blast, nor could that blast be raised without the bellows. One inference will arise from these remarks, that bellows-making is one of the oldest trades in Birmingham.

THREAD.

We who reside in the interior parts of the kingdom may observe the first traces of a river when it issues from its fountain, the current so extremely small, that if a bottle of liquor, distilled through the urinary vessels, were discharged into its course, it would manifestly augment the water and quicken the stream: the reviving bottle, having added spirits to the man, would seem to add spirits to the river. If we pursue this river, winding through one hundred and thirty miles, we shall observe it collect strength as it runs, expand its borders, swell into consequence, employ multitudes of people, carry wealth in its bosom, and exactly resemble thread-making in Birmingham. If we represent to our ideas a man able to employ three or four people, himself in an apron one of the number, but who being _unable_ to write his name, shows his attachment to the Christian religion by signing the _cross_ to receipts; whose method of book-keeping, like that of the publican, is _a door and a lump of chalk_; producing a book which none can peruse but himself; who having manufactured forty pounds weight of thread, of divers colours, and rammed it into a pair of leathern bags, something larger than a pair of boots, which we might deem the arms of his trade _empaled_; slung them on a horse, and placed himself on the top by way of a _crest_; visits an adjacent market, to starve with his goods at a stall, or retail them to the mercer, nor return without the money--we shall see a thread-maker of 1652. If we pursue this occupation, winding through the mazes of one hundred and thirty years, we shall see it enlarge its boundaries, multiply its people, increase its consequence and wealth, till in 1782 we behold the master in possession of correct accounts, the apron thrown aside, the stall kicked over, the bags tossed into the garret, and the mercer overlooked in the grand prospect of exportation. We farther behold him take the lead in provincial concerns, step into his own carriage, and hold the king’s commission as a magistrate.[441]

[441] Hutton’s History of Birmingham.

* * * * *

PRESERVATION OF FLOWERS.

A few grains of salt dropped into the water in which flowers are kept, tends greatly to preserve them from fading, and will keep them fresh and in bloom, double the period that pure water will.

* * * * *

_For the Table Book._

LETTER FROM A VILLAGE.

TO MR. CHARLES PICKWORTH.

_Lincolnshire, -- June, 1815._

Dear Charles,--You remember our meeting the other day--I shall.--It’s a long time since we ran riot, and got into mischief together--trundled our hoops, gathered flowers in summer, and rolled in the snow in winter. There is a dim pleasure in the remembrance of our late interview, and that of these isolated scenes of our childhood: they are as faint gleams of sunshine in a gloomy day. I don’t like, however, to reflect upon being handwhipped, and put into the corner: the fears of that age are dreadful--I see my aunt’s frown now, and hear her snap at me. But then again, it was over _her_ grounds that we chased the hours away as heedlessly as the butterflies. The homeclose-yard and kitchen garden--how pleasant to remember _them_! The buzzard, you know, guarded the fruit-garden, and kept us from the gooseberry-trees and strawberry-beds; but in the others what a thousand frolics have we sported in, and in what a thousand contrivances exercised our infant minds. Every joy comes to my mind--I forget every hardship. The coachman!--what would he not do for us! Bethink yourself--he had been in the family a quarter of a century. How proud he was of it; how fussy and fond of his favourite horses; how he used to pat them when out with the carriage. You don’t forget that the old people continued the fashion of postilions very long--but there is no end to remembrance.--I’ll stop----

You say in my behaviour the other day you saw the traces of my boyhood. You compliment me. Children are selfish; they perhaps may have but little to call their young feelings forth; for feelings must be met half-way. I remember some _young_ feelings with delight still. I fancy I have not that ecstasy now that the mind was tuned to then. Children have but few friendships: the reason may be, that they have few objects to engage them. This observation is vain--elder people have but few friendships, and for the same reason. I had been more correct if I had said, they are but little capable of a friendly disposition. The former is a fact--this a speculation. You saw at the party wherein we last met, how eager all the youngsters were to have their gallop in what they considered their proper turn round the large close. This is a fair sample of mankind in all their pursuits--of every age, old or young. I waved my turn for you; and though I had a joyous idea of flying round the course, I had more pleasure in seeing you gratified. It is well I hit upon my old friend in my politeness; the others would have laughed at me. The upper part of society profess more politeness than the lower; the human heart is the same in both. The upper classes have more forms, and the lower may say they are fools for their pains:--the upper bow slavishly to each other; the lower do not. With the former it is of service, but of none among the latter. For if among the ambitious and supercilious of mankind it were not a matter of pride to know and do this homage, one half of them would be turning up their noses, and tossing their heads at the other. When I see a great man bow, I always think he wants to creep into a greater man’s esteem.----

Excuse this wandering. I like to generalize mankind, and cast up the proper value of every thing around me--the use is immense: hence flows philosophy. I decide between grovelling and glorious ambition; and, clearing myself of the former, am eased of impediment in the pursuit of the latter. The consequence is, that I care nothing for wealth, provided I have competence; that I can take up my abode with pleasure among poor people, and not turn squeamish at sight of a fustian jacket; that I like the humour of farm-houses, and would dine with a couple of vagabonds, without fear of infection, amply compensated by the observation of their vein; and looking upon the beauty of nature as the source of all pleasure, far and wide as she extends, in this hole and cabin, my own appropriate spot, my aim is to keep my health as the furtherance of a superior object.

My maxim is--_necessaries_; that is, outward comfort and health. Observe it.

Your affectionate friend,

C. O.

* * * * *

_For the Table Book._

GRASSINGTON FEAST.

CLOCK DRESSINGS.

During the continuance of “Grassington Feast,” it is customary for the inhabitants to have convivial parties at one another’s houses: these are called _clock dressings_; for the guests are invited to come and “dress the clock.” Grassington feast was once one of the largest and most celebrated one in Craven, but it is fast dwindling away. This year the amusements were of a paltry description; and the sack racers, bell racers, hasty-pudding eaters, and soaped-pig catchers, who used to afford in former times such an unceasing fund of merriment, seem all fled. Nothing told of olden time, except the presence of Frank King, the Skipton minstrel, who seems determined to be in at the death.

T. Q. M.

* * * * *

A FRAGMENT

FOUND IN A SKELETON CASE AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY,

_Supposed to have been written by one of the Students, and deposited there by him_.

SCELETOS.

Behold this Ruin! ’twas a skull,
Once of ethereal spirit full,
This narrow cell was life’s retreat,
This space was thought’s mysterious seat.
What beauteous pictures fill’d this spot!
What dreams of pleasure long forgot!
Nor Love, nor Joy, nor Hope, nor Fear,
Has left one trace or record here.

Beneath this mouldering canopy
Once shone the bright and busy eye!
But start not at the dismal void,
If social love that eye employ’d;
If with no lawless fire it gleam’d,
But thro’ the dew of kindness beam’d,
The eye shall be for ever bright,
When stars and suns have lost their light.

Here in this silent cavern hung
The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue,
If falsehood’s honey it disdain’d,
And where it could not praise, was chain’d;
If bold in virtue’s cause--it spoke,
Yet gentle concord never broke,
That tuneful tongue shall plead for thee,
When Death unveils eternity.

Say, did these fingers delve the mine,
Or with its envied rubies shine?
To hew the rock, or wear the gem,
Can nothing now avail to them:
But if the page of truth they sought,
Or comfort to the mourner brought,
These hands a richer mead shall claim
Than all that waits on wealth and fame.

Avails it whether bare or shod,
These feet the path of duty trod?
If from the bowers of joy they fled
To seek affliction’s humble bed,
If grandeur’s guilty bribe they spurn’d,
And home to virtue’s hope return’d,
These feet with angel wings shall fly,
And tread the palace of the sky.[442]

[442] From the _Morning Chronicle_, Sept. 14, 1821.

* * * * *

ANECDOTE OF A MAGPIE.

_For the Table Book._

A cobbler, who lived on indifferent terms with his wife in Kingsmead-street, Bath, somewhat like Nell and Jobson, kept a magpie, that learned his favourite ejaculatory exclamation--“What the plague art _(h)at_?” Whoever came to his shop, where the bulk of his business was carried on, the magpie was sure to use this exclamation; but the bird was matched by the ghostly, bodily, and tall person of “Hats to dress!” a well-known street perambulator and hat improver, who, with that cry, daily passed the temple of Crispin. The magpie aspirating _at_ with _h_, the crier of “Hats to dress!” considered it a personal insult, and after long endurance, one morning put the bird into his bag, and walked away with his living plague. When he reached home, “poor mag!” was daintily fed, and became a favourite with the dresser’s wife. It chanced, however, that the cobbler, who supplied the _sole_ understanding of “Hats to dress!” waited on him to be rebeavered for his own understanding. The magpie, hearing his old master’s voice, cried out, “What the plague art _(h)at_?” “Ha, ha, ha,” said the astonished and delighted cobbler, “come to fetch thee home, thou ’scapegrace.” The hatter and the cobbler drank their explanation over a quart of ale; and with a new, old, hat on his head, the latter trudged through Stall-street, with his magpie in his apron, crying, “_What the plague art (h)at?_”

----.

* * * * *

THE ARTIST.

_For the Table Book._

He is a being of deep reflection,--one
That studies nature with intensest eye;
Watching the works of air, earth, sea, and sun,
Their motion, altitude, their form, their dye,
Cause and effect. The elements which run,
Or stagnant are, he traces to their source
With vivid study, till his pencil makes
A perfect likeness; or, by fancy’s force
A new creation in his art he takes,
And matches nature’s progress in his course
Towards glory. In th’ abstractions of the mind,
Harmony, passion, and identity,
His genius, like the summer sun, is shrined,
Till beauty and perfection he can see.

----.

* * * * *

Vol. II.--47.

~The Giants~

IN THE LORD MAYOR’S SHOW,

AND IN GUILDHALL.

In the Lord Mayor’s Show on the 9th of November, 1827, there was a remarkable variation from the customary route. Instead of the new chief magistrate and corporation embarking at Blackfriars, as of late years has been usual, the procession took a direction eastward, passed through the Poultry, Cornhill, Leadenhall-street, Billiter-lane, Mincing-lane, and from thence by Tower-street to the Tower Stairs, where they embarked. This deviation is presumed to have been in compliment to the Tower ward, in which the lord mayor presides as alderman. The ancient lord mayors of London were accustomed to “ride and go” on horseback, attended in like manner by the aldermen, and others of the corporation, to the bottom of Queen-street, and there embark on board the barges for Westminster. The present is the first instance of the lord mayor’s show by water having proceeded from a more distant spot down the river.

In addition to the “men in armour,” and the length of the route by land, in the lord mayor’s show of this year, there was “the far more attractive novelty of two colossal figures representing the well-known statues, Gog and Magog, (as they are called,) of Guildhall. They were extremely well contrived, and appeared to call forth more admiration and applause, than fell to the share of any of the other personages who formed part of the procession. Whatever some fastidious critics may say as to the taste of reviving in the present day some of the long-neglected civic pageants, we think the appearance of these figures augurs well for the future conduct of the new lord mayor: some of his brother magistrates would, we make no doubt, be well content if in the whole course, or at the close, of their official career, they could come in for a little of the plaudits which were yesterday bestowed on the two representatives of Gog and Magog.” (_The Times_, Nov. 10.) From the report of a spectator, it appears that the giants were constructed of wicker-work, gaily apparelled in the costume of their prototypes, and similarly armed: each walked along by means of a man withinside, who ever and anon turned the faces towards the thrones of company in the houses; and, as the figures were fourteen feet high, their features were on a level with the first-floor windows throughout the whole of their progress.

In a work, which contains much information respecting the “London Triumphs” of the lord mayors, and the “pageants” of those processions in the olden time, there is a chapter devoted to a History of the Carvings called the “Giants in Guildhall.” As the book is my own, and seems to be little known “within the walls,” I presume to render the account in a compressed form, as follows--

THE GIANTS IN GUILDHALL

From the time when I was astonished by the information, that “every day, when the giants hear the clock strike twelve they come down to dinner,” I have had something of curiosity towards them. How came they there, and what are they for? In vain were my examinations of Stow, Howell, Strype, Noorthouck, Maitland, Seymour, Pennant, and numberless other authors of books and tracts regarding London. They scarcely deign to mention them, and no one relates a syllable from whence we can possibly affirm that the giants of their day were the giants that now exist.

To this remark there is a solitary exception. Hatton, whose “New View of London” bears the date of 1708, says in that work, “This stately hall being much damnify’d by the unhappy conflagration of the city in 1666, was rebuilt anno 1669, and extremely well beautified and repaired both in and outside, which cost about two thousand five hundred pounds, and two _new_ figures of gigantick magnitude will be _as before_.”[443] Presuming on the ephemeral information of his readers at the time he published, Hatton obscured his information by a brevity, which leaves us to suppose that the giants were destroyed when Guildhall was “much damnify’d” by the fire of London in 1666; and that from that period they had not been replaced. It is certain, however, that there were giants in the year 1699, when Ned Ward published his London Spy: for, describing a visit to Guildhall, he says, “We turned down King-street, and came to the place intended, which we entered with as great astonishment to see the giants, as the Morocco ambassador did London when he saw the snow fall. I asked my friend the meaning and design of setting up those two lubberly preposterous figures; for I suppose they had some peculiar end in it. Truly, says my friend, I am wholly ignorant of what they intended by them, unless they were set up to show the city what huge loobies their forefathers were, or else to fright stubborn apprentices into obedience; for the dread of appearing before two such monstrous loggerheads, will sooner reform their manners, or mould them into a compliance with their masters’ will, than carrying them before my lord mayor or the chamberlain of London; for some of them are as much frighted at the names of _Gog_ and _Magog_, as little children are at the terrible sound of Raw-head and Bloody-bones.” There is no doubt that at that time the city giants were far more popular than now; for, in the same work, two passengers through Bartholomew fair, who had slyly alighted from a coach without discharging it, are addressed by the coachman with “Pay me my fare, or by _Gog_ and _Magog_ you shall feel the smart of my whipcord;” an oath which in our time is obsolete, though in all probability it was common then, or it would not have been used by Ward in preference to his usual indecency.

Again; as to giants being in Guildhall before Hatton wrote, and whether they were the present statues. On the 24th of April, 1685, there were “wonderful and stupendous fireworks in honour of their majesties’ coronation, (James II. and his queen,) and for the high entertainment of their majesties, the nobility, and _City of London_, made on the Thames.”[444] Among the devices of this exhibition, erected on a raft in the middle of the river, were two pyramids; between them was a figure of the sun in polished brass, below it a great cross, and beneath that a crown, all stored with fireworks; and a little before the pyramids “were placed the statues of the two giants of Guildhall, in lively colours and proportions facing Whitehall, the backs of which were all filled with fiery materials; and, from the first deluge of fire till the end of the sport, which lasted near an hour, _the two giants_, the cross, and the sun, grew all in a light flame in the figures described, and burned without abatement of matter.” From this mention of “statues _of_ the two giants _of_ Guildhall,” it is to be inferred, that giants were _in_ Guildhall fourteen years before Ward’s book was published, and that, probably, the firework-maker took them for his models, because their forms being familiar to the “_City of London_,” their appearance would be an attraction as well as a compliment to his civic audience.

Just before 1708, the date of Hatton’s book, Guildhall had been repaired; and Hatton says, “In the middle of this front are depenciled in gold these words, _Reparata et Ornata Thoma Rawlinson, Milit. Majore_, An. Dom. M. DCC. VI.” From whence, and his observation, in the extract first quoted, that “two _new_ figures of gigantick magnitude _will be as before_,” he intends his reader to understand that, as before _that_ reparation there _had been_ two giants, so, with the new adornment of the hall there would be two _new_ giants. The proof of Hatton’s meaning is to be found in “The Gigantick History of the two famous Giants in Guildhall, London, third edition, corrected. London, printed for Tho. Boreman, bookseller, near the Giants in Guildhall, and at the Boot and Crown, on Ludgate-hill, 1741.”--2 vols. 64mo. This very rare book states, that “before the present giants inhabited Guildhall, there were two giants, made only of wicker-work and pasteboard, put together with great art and ingenuity: and those two terrible original giants had the honour yearly to grace my lord mayor’s show, being carried in great triumph in the time of the pageants; and when that eminent annual service was over, remounted their old stations in Guildhall--till, by reason of their very great age, old Time, with the help of a number of city rats and mice, had eaten up all their entrails. The dissolution of the two old, weak, and feeble giants, gave birth to the two present substantial and majestic giants; who, by order, and at the city charge, were formed and fashioned. Captain Richard Saunders,[445] an eminent carver in King-street, Cheapside, was their father; who, after he had completely finished, clothed, and armed these his two sons, they were immediately advanced to those lofty stations in Guildhall, which they have peaceably enjoyed ever since the year 1708.” The title-page of the “Gigantick History” shows that the work was published within the Guildhall itself, when shops were permitted there; so that Boreman, the publisher, had the best means that time and place could afford of obtaining true information, and for obvious reasons he was unlikely to state what was not correct. It is further related in this work, that “the first honour which the two ancient wicker-work giants were promoted to in the city, was at the restoration of king Charles II., when with great pomp and majesty they graced a triumphal arch, which was erected on that happy occasion at the end of King-street, in Cheapside.” This was before the fire of London, by which the hall was “much damnify’d,” but not burned down; for the conflagration was principally confined to the wooden roof; and, according to this account, the wicker-giants escaped, till their infirmities, and the labours of the “city rats,” rendered it necessary to supersede them.

That wicker was used in constructing figures for the London pageants is certain. Haywood, in his description of the pageants in the show of the lord mayor Raynton, in 1632, says, “The moddellor and composer of these seuerall pieces, Maister Gerard Christmas, found these pageants and showes of _wicker_ and paper, and reduc’t them to sollidity and substance.”

To prove, however, the statement in the “Gigantick History,” that the present giants were put up upon the reparation of the hall in 1706, an examination of the city archives became necessary; and as the history fortunately mentions captain Richard Saunders as the carver, the name became a clue to successful inquiry. Accordingly, on examination of the city accounts at the chamberlain’s office, under the head of “Extraordinary Works,” for 1707, I discovered among the sums “paid for repairing of the Guildhall and chappell,” an entry in the following words:--

To _Richard Saunders_, carver, seaventy
pounds, by order of the co’mittee
for repairing Guildhall, dated y^{e}
x^{th}. of April, 1707, for work by
him done 70_l._

This entry of the payment confirms the relation of the gigantic historian; but Saunders’s bill, which doubtless contained the charges for the two giants, and all the city vouchers before 1786, deposited in the chamberlain’s office, were destroyed by a fire there in that year.

Giants were part of the pageantry used in different cities of the kingdom. By an ordinance of the mayor, aldermen, and common-council of Chester,[446] for the setting of the watch on the eve of the festival of St. John the Baptist, in 1564, it was directed that there should be annually, according to ancient custom, a pageant, consisting of four giants, with animals, hobby-horses, and other figures, therein specified.[447] In 1599, Henry Hardman, Esq. the mayor of Chester in that year, from religious motives, caused the giants in the Midsummer show “to be broken, and not to goe _the devil in his feathers_,” and he provided a man in complete armour to go in their stead; but in 1601, John Ratclyffe, a beer-brewer, being mayor, set out the giants and the Midsummer show as usual. On the restoration of Charles II. new ones were ordered to be made, and the estimate for finding the materials and workmanship of the four great giants, as they were before, was at five pounds a giant; and four men to carry them at two shillings and sixpence each. The materials for making these Chester giants were deal-boards, nails, pasteboard, scaleboard, paper of various sorts, buckram, size cloth, and old sheets for their bodies, sleeves, and shirts, which were to be coloured; also tinsel, tinfoil, gold and silver leaf, and colours of different kinds. A pair of old sheets were to cover the _father and mother giants_, and three yards of buckram were provided for the mother’s and _daughter’s_ hoods. There is an entry in the Chester charges of one shilling and fourpence “for arsenic to put into the paste to save the giants from being eaten by the rats;”[448] a precaution which, if adopted in the formation of the old wicker-giants of London, was not effectual, though how long they had ceased to exist before the reparation of the hall, and the carving of their successors, does not appear. One conjecture may perhaps be hazarded, that, as after the mayor of Chester had ordered the giants there to be destroyed, he provided a man in armour as a substitute; so perhaps the dissolution of the old London wicker-giants, and the lumbering incapacity of the new wooden ones for the duty of lord mayor’s show, occasioned the appearance of the men in armour in that procession.

Until the last reparation of Guildhall, in 1815, the present giants stood with the old clock and a balcony of iron-work between them, over the stairs leading from the hall to the courts of law and the council chamber. When they were taken down in that year, and placed on the floor of the hall, I thoroughly examined them as they lay in that situation. They are made of wood,[449] and hollow within, and from the method of joining and gluing the interior, are evidently of late construction, and every way too substantially built for the purpose of being either carried or drawn, or any way exhibited in a pageant. On inspecting them at that period, I made minute inquiry of an old and respectable officer of Guildhall, with whom they were favourites, as to what particulars existed in the city archives concerning them; he assured me that he had himself anxiously desired information on the same subject, and that after an investigation through the different offices, there was not a trace of the period when they commenced to be, nor the least record concerning them. This was subsequently confirmed to me by gentlemen belonging to other departments.

However stationary the present ponderous figures were destined to remain, there can scarcely be a question as to the frequent use of their wicker predecessors in the corporation shows. The giants were great favourites in the pageants.[450] Stow, in describing the ancient setting of the nightly watch in London on St John’s eve, relates that “the mayor was surrounded by his footmen and torch-bearers, and followed by two henchmen on large horses: the mayor had, besides his _giant_, three pageants; whereas the sheriffs had only two, besides their _giants_, each with their morris dance and one henchman.”[451] It is related, that, to make the people wonder, these giants were armed, and marched as if they were alive, to the great diversion of the boys, who, peering under, found them stuffed with brown paper.[452] A character in Marston’s “Dutch Courtezan,” a comedy acted in 1605, says, “Yet all will scarce make me so high as one of the _gyant’s stilts_ that stalks before my lord mayor’s pageants.”[453]

During queen Elizabeth’s progress to her coronation, Gogmagog and Corinæus, two giants, were stationed at Temple-bar. It is not certain, yet it is probable, that these were the wicker-giants brought from Guildhall for the occasion. In the reign before, when queen Mary and Philip II. of Spain made their public entry, there was at London bridge a grand spectacle, with two images representing two giants, the one named Corinæus, and the other Gogmagog, holding between them certain Latin verses.[454] There is scarcely a likelihood that these were any other than the Guildhall giants, which on the occasion of a corporation rejoicing could be removed with the utmost ease.

Orator Henley, on the 21st of October, 1730, availed himself of the anticipated civic festival for that year to deliver a lecture upon it, mentioning the _giants_, which he announced by newspaper advertisement as follows:--

At the Oratory, the corner of Lincoln’s-Inn-Fields, near Clare-market,
this Day, being Wednesday, at Six o’Clock in the Evening, will be a
new Riding upon an old Cavalcade, entituled THE CITY IN ITS GLORY; OR,
MY LORD MAYOR’S SHEW: Explaining to all Capacities that wonderful
Procession, so much envy’d in Foreign Parts, and nois’d at Paris: on
my Lord Mayor’s Day; the fine Appearance and Splendor of the Companies
of Trade; Bear and Chain; the Trumpets, Drums, and Cries, intermix’d;
the qualifications of my L--’s Horse, the whole Art and History of the
City Ladies and Beaux at Gape-stare in the Balconies; the Airs, Dress,
and Motions; THE TWO GIANTS walking out to keep Holiday; like Snails
o’er a Cabbage, says an old Author, they all crept along; admir’d by
their Wives, and huzza’d by the Throng.

There is no stronger evidence of the indifference to playfulness and wit at city elections, than the almost total silence on those occasions respecting such ample subjects for allusion and parallel as the giants in the hall. Almost the only instance of their application in this way is to be found in a handbill on occasion of a mayoralty election, dated Oct. 4th, 1816, addressed “To the London Tavern Livery and their Spouses.” It states, that “the day after Mr. Alderman ---- is elected lord mayor for the year ensuing, the following entertainments will be provided for your amusement gratis, viz. 1. The two giants, at the bottom of the hall, will dance a minuet by steam, attended by Mr. Alderman ---- in a new wig upon an elastic principle, gentleman having bought half of his old one for the purpose of making a new peruke for the aforesaid giants.” This is the first humorous allusion to the giants after their removal to their present station.

It is imagined by the author of the “Gigantick History,” that the Guildhall giants represent Corinæus a Trojan, and Gogmagog a Cornish giant, whose story is related at large in that work; the author of which supposes, that as “Corinæus and Gogmagog were two brave giants, who nicely valued their honour, and exerted their whole strength and force in defence of their liberty and country; so the city of London, by placing these their representatives in their Guildhall, emblematically declare, that they will, like mighty giants, defend the honour of their country and liberties of this their city, which excels all others, as much as those huge giants exceed in stature the common bulk of mankind.” Each of these giants, as they now stand, measures upwards of fourteen feet in height: the young one is believed to be Corinæus, and the old one Gogmagog.

Such being the chief particulars respecting these enormous carvings, the terror of the children, the wonder of the ’prentices, and the talk of the multitude, in former days, I close the subject, satisfied with having authenticated their origin. Trifling as this affair may seem, I pursued the inquiry for upwards of sixteen years; and though much of the time I spent in the search might have been better employed, I can assure those who are unacquainted with the nature of such investigations, that I had much pleasure in the pursuit, and when I had achieved my purpose I felt more highly gratified, than I think I should had I attained to the dignity of being “proud London’s proud lord mayor.”

There are other memoranda respecting the giants and lord mayors’ shows in my volume on “Ancient Mysteries,” from whence the present particulars are extracted.

*

[443] Hatton’s New View of London, 1708, 8vo. p. 607.

[444] See the “Narrative,” by R. Lowman, 1685, folio, half sheet,
1685.

[445]

“-------------- a citizen
Of credit and renown,
A _trainband captain_----.”--_Cowper_.

[446] Harl. MSS. 1368.

[447] Ibid. 2125.

[448] Strutt’s Sports, Pref. p. xxvi.

[449] Noorthouck writing in 1773, (Hist. of London, 4to. p. 590,)
erroneously affirms that the giants are made of pasteboard.

[450] Strutt, p. xxiii.

_Giants_ were introduced into the May-games. “On the 26th of May,
1555, was a gay May-game at St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields, with giants
and hobby-horses, drums and guns, morris-dancers, and other
minstrels.”--(Strype’s Memorials.) Burton, in his “Anatomy of
Melancholy,” includes giants among the ordinary domestic recreations
of winter.

[451] Strutt, p. 319.

[452] Brand, i. p. 257.

[453] _Stilts_ to increase the stature of the _giants_, and the
introduction of the _morris-dance_, are instances of the desire to
gratify the fondness of our ancestors for strange sights and festive
amusements. A cock dancing on _stilts_ to the music of a pipe and
tabor is in Strutt’s Sports, from a book of prayers written towards
the close of the thirteenth century. Harl. MSS. 6563.

[454] Strutt’s Sports, Pref. p. xxvii.

* * * * *

NORWICH GUILD.

MAYOR’S FEAST, TEMP. ELIZABETH.

The earls of Northumberland and Huntingdon, the lords Thomas Howard and Willoughby, with many other noblemen and knights, paid a visit to the duke of Norfolk, and were entertained, with their retinue, at the duke’s palace, in Norwich, in 1561. The guild happening at this time, William Mingay, Esq., then mayor, invited them and their ladies to the feast, which they accepted, and expressed the greatest satisfaction at their generous and hospitable reception. At the entertainment the duke and duchess of Norfolk sat first; then the three earls of Northumberland, Huntingdon, and Surrey, lord Thomas Howard, lord Scroop and his lady, lord and lady Bartlet, lord Abergavenny, with so many other peers, knights, and ladies, that the hall could scarcely contain them and their retinue.[455] The mayor’s share of the expense was one pound, twelve shillings, and ninepence. The feast makers, four in number, paying the rest. The mayor’s bill of fare was as follows:--

£. _s._ _d._

Eight stone of beef, at 8d. a stone, and a sirloin 0 5 8
Two collars of brawn 0 1 0
Four cheeses, at 4d. a cheese 0 1 4
Eight pints of batter 0 1 6
A hinder quarter of veal 0 0 10
A leg of mutton 0 0 5
A fore quarter of veal 0 0 5
Loin of mutton and shoulder of veal 0 0 9
Breast and coat of mutton 0 0 7
Six pullets 0 1 0
Four couple of rabbits 0 1 8
Four brace of partridges 0 2 0
Two Guinea cocks 0 1 6
Two couple of mallard 0 1 0
Thirty-four eggs 0 0 6
Bushel of flour 0 0 6
Peck of oatmeal 0 0 2
Sixteen white bread-loaves 0 0 4
Eighteen loaves of white wheat-bread 0 0 9
Three loaves of meslin bread 0 0 3
Nutmegs, mace, cinnamon, and cloves 0 0 3
Four pounds of Barbary sugar 0 1 0
Sixteen oranges 0 0 2
A barrel of double strong beer 0 2 6
A barrel of table beer 0 1 0
A quarter of wood 0 2 2
Two gallons of white wine and Canary 0 2 0
Fruit, almonds, sweet water, perfumes 0 0 4
The cook’s wages 0 1 2
-----------
Total £1 12 9
===========

After dinner, Mr. John Martyn, a wealthy and honest man of Norwich, made the following speech:--“Maister Mayor of Norwich, and it please your worship, you have feasted us like a king. God bless the queen’s grace. We have fed plentifully and now, whilom I can speak plain English, I heartily thank you, maister Mayor, and so do we all. Answer, boys, answer. Your beer is pleasant and potent, and will soon catch us by the _caput_ and stop our manners: and so huzza for the queen’s majesty’s grace, and all her bonny-brow’d dames of honour.[456] Huzza for maister Mayor, and our good dame Mayoress. His noble grace,[457] there he is, God bless him, and all this jolly company. To all our friends round county, who have a penny in their purse and an English heart in their bodies, to keep out Spanish dons, and papists with their faggots to burn our whiskers. Shove it about, twirl your cap-cases, handle your jugs, and huzza for maister Mayor, and his bretheren their worships.”

The honesty, freedom, loyalty, and good-humour of this speech would, at any time, entitle the orator to a patient hearing and an approving smile.

The above is from Beatniffe’s Norfolk Tour.

G. B.

_Norwich,_

_September, 1827._

[455] Five hundred can conveniently dine in this hall. I have seen
seven hundred entertained on the guild day.

[456] This is familiar enough, and looks as if the fumes of the potent
beverage had begun to attack the honest orator’s _caput_.

[457] The duke of Norfolk.

* * * * *

~Garrick Plays.~

No. XLI.

[Dedications to Fletcher’s “Faithful Shepherdess;” without date;
presumed to be the First Edition.]

1ST.

_To that noble and true lover of learning, Sir Walton Aston._

Sir, I must ask your patience, and be true.
This Play was never liked, except by few
That brought their judgments with them; for of late
First the infection,[458] then the common prate
Of common people, have such customs got
Either to silence Plays, or like them not:
Under the last of which this Interlude
Had fal’n, for ever press’d down by the rude
That, like a torrent which the moist South feeds,
Drowns both before him the ripe corn and weeds;
Had not the saving sense of better men
Redeem’d it from corruption. Dear Sir, then
Among the better souls be you the best,
In whom as in a center I take rest,
And proper being; from whose equal eye
And judgement nothing grows but purity.
Nor do I flatter; for, by all those dead
Great in the Muses, by Apollo’s head,
He that adds any thing to you, ’tis done
Like his that lights a candle to the sun.
Then be as you were ever, yourself still
Moved by your judgement, not by love or will.
And when I sing again (as who can tell
My next devotion to that holy Well?)
Your goodness to the Muses shall be all
Able to make a work Heroical.

2ND.

_To the Inheritor of all Worthiness, Sir William Scipwith._

ODE.

1.

If from servile hope or love
I may prove
But so happy to be thought for
Such a one, whose greatest ease
Is to please,
Worthy Sir, I have all I sought for.

2.

For no itch of greater name,
Which some claim
By their verses, do I show it
To the world; nor to protest,
’Tis the best;
These are lean faults in a poet.

3.

Nor to make it serve to feed
At my need;
Nor to gain acquaintance by it;
Nor to ravish kind Atturneys
In their journies;
Nor to read it after diet.

4.

Far from me are all these aims;
Frantic claims,
To build weakness on and pity;
Only to yourself, and such
Whose true touch
Makes all good, let me seem witty.

3RD.

_To the perfect gentleman, Sir Robert Townesend._

If the greatest faults may crave
Pardon, where contrition is,
Noble Sir, I needs must have
A long one for a long amiss.
If you ask me how is this,
Upon my faith I’ll tell you frankly;
You love above my means to thank ye.
Yet according to my talent,
As sour fortune loves to use me,
A poor Shepherd I have sent
In home-spun gray, for to excuse me:
And may all my hopes refuse me
But, when better comes ashore,
You shall have better, never more;
’Till when, like our desperate debtors,
Or our three-piled sweet “protesters,”
I must please you in bare letters;
And so pay my debts, like jesters.
Yet I oft have seen good feasters,
Only for to please the pallet,
Leave great meat, and chuse a sallet.

_Apologetical Preface, following these:_

_To the Reader._

If you be not reasonably assured of your knowledge in this kind of Poem, lay down the Book; or read this, which I would wish had been the Prologue. It is a Pastoral Tragic-Comedy; which the people seeing when it was played, having ever had a singular gift in defining, concluded to be a play of Country hired Shepherds, in gray cloaks, with cur-tailed dogs in strings, sometimes laughing together, sometimes killing one another; and, missing Whitsun Ales, cream, wassail, and Morris dances, began to be angry. In their error I would not have you fall, lest you incur their censure.[459] Understand, therefore, a Pastoral to be--a Representation of Shepherds and Shepherdesses, with their Actions and Passions, which must be such as agree with their natures; at least, not exceeding former fictions and vulgar traditions. They are not to be adorn’d with any art, but such improper ones as nature is said to bestow, as Singing and Poetry; or such as experience may teach them, as the virtues of herbs and fountains; the ordinary course of the sun, moon, and stars; and such like. But you are ever to remember Shepherds to be such, as all the ancient poets (and modern of understanding) have received them; that is, the Owners of Flocks, and not Hirelings.--A Tragic-comedy is not so called in respect of mirth and killing, but in respect it wants deaths (which is enough to make it no Tragedy); yet brings some near to it (which is enough to make it no Comedy): which must be a Representation of Familiar People, with such kind of trouble as no life can be without; so that a God is as lawful in this, as in a Tragedy; and mean People, as in a Comedy.--Thus much I hope will serve to justify my Poem, and make you understand it; to teach you more for nothing, I do not know that I am in conscience bound.

JOHN FLETCHER.

* * * * *

[From the “Wars of Cyrus;” a Tragedy Author unknown, 1594.]

_Dumb Show exploded._

_Chorus (to the Audience)._ ------- Xenophon
Warrants what we record of Panthea.
It is writ in sad and tragic terms,
May move you tears; then you content our Muse,
That scorns to trouble you again with toys
Or needless antics, imitations,
Or shows, or new devises sprung o’ late;
We have exiled them from our tragic stage,
As trash of their tradition, that can bring
Nor instance nor excuse: for what they _do_,[460]
Instead of mournful plaints our Chorus _sings_;
Although it be against the upstart guise,
Yet, warranted by grave antiquity,
We will revive the which hath long been done.

* * * * *

[From the “Married Beau,” a Comedy, by John Crowne, 1694.]

_Wife tempted: she pleads religion._

_Lover._ Our happy love may have a secret Church
Under the Church, as _Faith’s_ was under _Paul’s_,
Where we may carry on our sweet devotion;
And the Cathedral marriage keep its state,
And all its decency and ceremonies.

* * * * *

[From the “Challenge for Beauty,” Tragi-Comedy, by T. Heywood, 1636.]

_Appeal for Innocence against a false accusation._

_Helena._ Both have sworn:
And, Princes, as you hope to crown your heads
With that perpetual wreath which shall last ever,
Cast on a poor dejected innocent virgin
Your eyes of grace and pity. What sin is it,
Or who can be the patron to such evil?--
That a poor innocent maid, spotless in deed,
And pure in thought, both without spleen and gall,
That never injured creature, never had heart
To think of wrong, or ponder injury;
That such a one in her white innocence,
Striving to live peculiar in the compass
Of her own virtues; notwithstanding these,
Should be sought out by strangers, persecuted,
Made infamous ev’n there where she was made
For imitation; hiss’d at in her country;
Abandon’d of her mother, kindred, friends;
Depraved in foreign climes, scorn’d every where,
And ev’n in princes’ courts reputed vile:
O pity, pity this!

C. L.

[458] The Plague: in which times, the acting of Plays appears to have
been discountenanced.

[459] He damns the Town: the Town before damn’d him.--ED.

We can almost be not sorry for the ill dramatic success of this Play,
which brought out such spirited apologies; in particular, the masterly
definitions of Pastoral and Tragi-Comedy in this Preface.

[460] So I point it; instead of the line, as it stands in this unique
copy--

Nor instance nor excuse for what they do.

The sense I take to be, what the common playwrights _do_ (or shew by
action--the “inexplicable dumb show” of Shakspeare--), our Chorus
_relates_. The following lines have else no coherence.

* * * * *

THE RESIDENCE OF JOHN WARD, ESQ. FORMERLY OF THE LATE RIGHT HON. WILLIAM PITT.]

Mr. S. Young’s comfortable little inn, the Cross at Keston, or Keston Mark, is mentioned before as being at the north-east corner of the grounds belonging to Holwood. My friend W---- and I, on a second visit to Mr. Young’s house, went from thence, for the purpose of seeing the church and village of Keston, through which the main road runs to Westerham. We kept along to the entrance gate of Holwood, which we passed, having the park palings on our left, till we came to a well in the road, which derives its water from springs within Holwood, and stands on a swell of meadow land, called “the War Bank.” Further on, and out of the road to the right, lies the village of Keston, a few houses embowered in a dell of trees; with a stone church, which did not seem to have been built more than a couple of centuries. A peep through the windows satisfied us that there was nothing worth looking at within. We had heard of stone coffins having been found at the bottom of the War Bank, and we returned to that spot; where, though the ground had been ploughed and was in pasture, we met with much stone rubbish in the soil, and some large pieces loose on the surface and in the ditches of the hedge. These appearances indicated a former structure there; and an old labourer, whom we fell in with, told us that when he was a boy, his grandfather used to talk of “Keston old church” having stood in that spot, but becoming decayed, it was pulled down, and the church rebuilt in its present situation, with the materials of the ancient edifice. If this information was correct, the coffins which were discovered in that spot were more likely to have been deposited there in ordinary burial, than to have contained, as most of the country people suppose, the bodies of persons slain in battle on the War Bank. Besides, if that mound derives its name, as tradition reports, from a conflict there between the Romans and the ancient Britons, it must be remembered that our rude aboriginal ancestors were unaccustomed to that mode of sepulture, and that Cæsar had work of more consequence to employ his soldiers on than such laborious constructions for the interment of his officers. One of these coffins is at Mr. Smith’s, near the well-head on the War Bank, and another is at lady Farnaby’s, at Wickham Court.

The little village of Keston is, of itself, nothing; but, looking over it from the road towards the weald of Kent, and particularly Surrey, there is a sweeping view of hill and dale, arable and pasture, intersected with woodlands. Its name is said to have been derived from Cæsar’s (pronounced Kæsar’s) town; but it is quite as likely to have been a corruption of “castrum,” a fortress or citadel. There is little doubt that the Romans maintained a military position on the heights adjoining Keston for a considerable time. The site they held was afterwards occupied by the late right honourable William Pitt; and respecting it, there was published in the year 1792 the following

ACCOUNT OF HOLWOOD.

Holwood-hill, at present the seat of the right hon. William Pitt, is a most beautiful eminence, commanding (without the view of water) one of the most agreeable prospects in this country, or perhaps in this kingdom.

The house is a very small, old, plastered brick building; but being on the edge of a celebrated fox-hunting country, it was formerly the residence of various gentlemen who hunted with the old duke of Grafton. It afterwards came into the hands of the late Mr. Calcraft, the agent; and, small as it is, was used as a house of rendezvous by the heads of the great party at that time, where they privately formed their schemes of parliamentary manœuvre, and partook of Mr. Calcraft and Mrs. Bellamy’s elegant entertainment.

From Mr. Calcraft it came into the hands of the Burrell family: by them it was sold to captain Ross, and was purchased of him by ---- Burrow, Esq., (nephew of the late sir James Burrow,) who stuccoed the house, added greatly to the grounds by various purchases, grubbed and converted considerable woods into beautiful pasture and pieces of water, and planted those ornamental shrubberies, which have rendered it so delightful and so justly admired a spot.

---- Randall, Esq., an eminent shipbuilder, purchased it of Mr. Burrow, and he has since sold it to the right hon. William Pitt, a native of (Hayes) the adjoining parish.

Holwood is fourteen miles distant from London, in the parish of Keston, Kent; which parish evidently, either by Latin or Saxon derivation, takes its name from the camp, commonly called Julius Cæsar’s Camp; on the south entrenchment of which Mr. Pitt’s house stands, and some part of the pleasure-ground is within the same.

This celebrated camp, till within these twenty years, was tolerably perfect: it consisted of a circular double, and in some places treble entrenchment, enclosing about twenty-nine acres of land; into which there appeared to have been no original entrance but by the opening to the north-west, which descends to the spring called “Cæsar’s Spring.” This spring has long been converted into a most useful public cold bath; a dressing-house is built on the brink of it; it is ornamented with beautiful trees, and from its romantic situation, forms a most pleasing scene.

However antiquarians (from the variety of fragments, coins, &c. discovered ploughed up in the neighbourhood) may have been induced to differ in conjecture as to the person who framed it, they all agree that this camp was originally a strong and considerable Roman station, though not of the larger sort; but rather from its commanding situation, and short distance from the Thames, a camp of observation, or castra æstiva. At the same time, there is great reason to suppose it to have been since possessed by other invaders.

The beautiful common of Keston to the south-west of the camp, from its charming turf, shade, and views, has long been the promenade of the neighbouring company; and parties of gentry from even so far as Greenwich, have long been accustomed to retire with music and provision to spend in this delightful spot the sultry summer’s day, drinking at Cæsar’s Fountain, and making the stupendous Roman bulwarks resound with the strains of instruments and the voice of social glee.

The above is some account of the country-seat of Mr. Pitt; but as an inhabitant of the capital may be desirous of knowing what works of taste, or of neighbouring utility, may have engaged the retirement of our illustrious prime minister, the following are the few improvements Holwood has yet undergone.

Whether from a natural antipathy to the animal, or from too much of “Fox” in other places, certain it is, the first order that was issued, was for the utter destruction of the “fox earth,” being a lodgement in one side of the bulwarks, which the sagacious Reynards are supposed to have been in quiet possession of ever since the Roman abdication.