Chapter D: A. M (9)

5TH ITEM. That if any Lord or Officer hath once given licence to any Man to build, or set up an hearth, or Washing-house, to wash, cleanse or blow the Oare, He that once hath leave shall keep it for ever, or give it to whom he will, so that he doth justly pay his Lot-lead, which is the Tenth pound which shall be blown at the Hearth or hearths, and also that he doth keep it Tenantable, as the Custom doth require--

6TH ITEM. That, if any of that Occupation doth pick or steal any lead or Oare to the value of _thirteen-pence halfpenny_[486] the lord or his Officer may Arrest all his Lead-works, house and hearth, with all his Groofs and Works, and keep them as safely for his own Use; and shall take the person that hath so offended, and bring him where his house is, or his work, and all his Tools or Instruments which to the Occupation belongs, as he useth, and put him into the said house, and set Fire on all together about him, and banish him from that Occupation before the Miners for ever--

7TH ITEM. That, if ever that person do pick or Steal there any more, he shall be tryed by the Common Law, for this Custom and Law hath noe more to do with him--

8TH ITEM. That every Lord of Soyle or Soyles ought to keep two Mynedrie Courts by the year, and to swear twelve Men or more of the same occupation, for the orders of all Misdemeanours and wrongs touching the Mynedries.

9TH ITEM. The Lord, or Lords, may make three manner of Arrests, (that is to say) ye first is for strife between man and man, for their workes under the Earth, &c.; the second is for his own duty, for Lead or Oare, wheresoever he find it within the said Forrest; the third is upon felon’s goods of the same occupation, wheresoever he find it within the same Hill, &c.--

10TH ITEM. That, if any Man, by means of Misfortune take his Death, as by falling of the Earth upon him, by drawing or Stifling, or otherwise, as in time past many have been, the Workmen of the same Occupation are bound to fetch him out of the Earth, and to bring him to Christian burial, at their own Costs and Charges, although he be Forty Fathoms under the Earth, as heretofore hath been done; and the Coroner, or any Officer at large, shall not have to do with him in any respect.

[486] _Thirteen-pence halfpenny._ This particular sum is the subject
of an article immediately ensuing the present.

* * * * *

THIRTEEN-PENCE HALFPENNY.

HANGMAN’S WAGES.

JACK KETCH A GENTLEMAN.

Dr. Samuel Pegge, who is likely to be remembered by readers of the article on the Revolution-house at Whittington, he having, on the day he entered his eighty-fifth year, preached the centenary sermon to commemorate the Revolution, was an eminent antiquary. He addressed a paper to the Society of Antiquaries, on “the vulgar notion, though it will not appear to be a vulgar error, that _thirteen-pence halfpenny_ is the fee of the executioner in the common line of business at Tyburn,[487] and that, therefore, it is called _hangman’s wages_.” It is proposed from this paper to give an account of the origin of the saying.

According to Dr. Pegge, the office of hangman was, in some parts of the kingdom, annexed to other posts; for the porter of the city of Canterbury was the executioner for the county of Kent, temporibus Hen. II. and Hen. III.; for which he had an allowance from the sheriff, who was reimbursed from the exchequer, of twenty shillings per annum.[488] From the great and general disesteem wherein the office is held, the sheriffs are much obliged to those who will undertake it, as otherwise its unpleasant and painful duty must fall upon themselves. For, to them the law looks for its completion, as they give a receipt to the gaoler for the bodies of condemned criminals whom they are to punish, or cause to be punished, according to their respective sentences. Sometimes in the country, sheriffs have had much difficulty to procure an executioner. In short, although, in the eyes of the people generally, a stigma attaches to the hangman, yet, in fact, the hangman is the sheriff’s immediate deputy in criminal matters, as his under-sheriff is for civil purposes. The nature and dignity of the office in some particulars, and the rank of the officer, called _Squire Ketch_, will be found to be supportable, as well as the fee of office.

And first, as regards the sheriff himself. The sheriff is, by being so styled in the king’s patent under the great seal, an esquire, which raises him to that rank, unless he has previously had the title adventitiously. None were anciently chosen sheriffs, but such _gentlemen_ whose fortunes and stations would warrant it; so, on the other hand, merchants, and other liberal branches of the lower order, were admitted first into the rank of gentlemen, by a grant of arms, on proper qualifications, from the earl marshal, and the kings of arms, respectively, according to their provinces. After a negotiant has become a gentleman, courtesy will very soon advance that rank, and give the party the title of esquire; and so it happened with a worthy _gentleman_, for so a _hangman_ will be proved to have been. This remarkable case happened in the year 1616, in the manner following.

Ralph Brooke, whose real name was Brokesmouth, at that time “York herald,” put a trick upon sir William Segar, “garter king of arms,” which had very nearly cost both of them their places. Brooke employed a person to carry a coat of arms ready drawn to garter, and to pretend it belonged to one Gregory Brandon, a gentleman who had formerly lived in London, but was then residing in Spain. The messenger was instructed to desire garter to set his hand to this coat of arms: and to prevent deliberation, he was further to pretend that the vessel, which was to carry this confirmation into Spain, when it had received the seal of the office and garter’s hand, was just ready to sail.[489] This being done, and the fees paid, Brooke carried it to Thomas earl of Arundel, then one of the commissioners for executing the office of earl marshal; and, in order to vilify garter, and to represent him as a rapacious, negligent officer, assured his lordship that those were the arms of Arragon, with a canton for Brabant, and that Gregory Brandon was a mean and inconsiderable person. This was true enough; for he was the common hangman for London and Middlesex. Ralph Brooke afterwards confessed all these circumstances to the commissioners who represented the earl marshal; the consequence of which was, that, by order of the king, when he heard the case, garter was committed to prison for negligence, and the herald for treachery. There was this previous result, however, that Gregory Brandon, the hangman, had become a _gentleman_; and, as the Bastard says in King John, “could make any Joan a gentlewoman.”

Thus was this Gregory Brandon advanced, perhaps from the state of a convict, to the rank of a gentleman; and though it was a personal honour to himself, notwithstanding it was surreptitiously obtained by the herald, of which _Gregory Brandon, gentleman_, was perhaps ignorant, yet did it operate so much on his successors in office, that afterwards it became transferred from the family to the officer for the time being; and from Mr. Brandon’s popularity, though not of the most desirable kind, the mobility soon improved his rank, and, with a jocular complaisance, gave him the title of _esquire_, which remains to this day.

It seems too as if this office had once, like many other important offices of state, been hereditary. Shakspeare has this passage in Coriolanus, act ii. sc. 1.--

“_Menenius._--Marcius, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your
predecessors, since Deucalion; though, peradventure, some of the best
of them were hereditary hangmen.”

This looks as if the office of executioner had run in some family for a generation or two, at the time when Shakspeare wrote; and that it was a circumstance well understood, and would be well relished, at least by the galleries. This might, indeed, with regard to time, point at the ancestors of Mr. Brandon himself; for it was in the reign of king James I. that this person was brought within the pale of gentility. Nay, more, we are told by Dr. Grey, in his Notes on Shakspeare,[490] that from this gentleman, the hangmen, his successors, bore for a considerable time his Christian name of _Gregory_, though not his arms, they being a personal honour, till a greater man arose, viz. _Jack Ketch_, who entailed the present official name on all who have hitherto followed him.[491]

Whether the name of _Ketch_ be not the provincial pronunciation of _Catch_ among the cockneys, may be doubted, notwithstanding that learned and laborious compiler, B. E., gent., the editor of the “Canting Dictionary,” says that _Jack Kitch_, for so he spells it, was the real name of a hangman, which has become that of all his successors.

So much for the office. It now remains to consider the emoluments which appertain to it, and assign a reason why _thirteen-pence halfpenny_ should be esteemed its standard fee for inflicting the last stroke of the law.

Before proceeding to matters of a pecuniary nature, it may be allowed, perhaps, to illustrate a Yorkshire saying. It was occasioned by a truly unfortunate man, whose guilt was doubtful, and yet suffered the sentence of the law at York. This person was a saddler at Bawtry, and hence the saying among the lower people to a man who quits his friends too early, and will not stay to finish his bottle:--“He will be hanged for leaving his liquor, like the saddler of Bawtry.” The case was this:--There was formerly an ale-house, which house to this day is called “The Gallows House,” situate between the city of York and their Tyburn; at this house the cart used always to stop, and there the convict and the other parties were refreshed with liquors; but the rash and precipitate saddler of Bawtry, on his road to the fatal tree, refused this little regale, and hastened on to the place of execution; where, but not until after he had been turned off, and it was too late, a reprieve arrived. Had he stopped, as was usual, at the gallows house, the time consumed there would have been the means of saving his life. He was hanged, as truly as unhappily, for leaving his liquor.

Similar means of refreshment were anciently allowed to convicts, on their passage to Tyburn, at St. Giles’s hospital; for we are told by Stowe, that they were there presented with a bowl of ale, called “_St. Giles’s bowl_; thereof to drink at their pleasure, as their last refreshing in this life.” Tyburn was the established scene of executions in common cases so long ago as the first year of king Henry IV.; Smithfield and St. Giles’s Field being reserved for persons of higher rank, and for crimes of uncommon magnitude, such as treason and heresy. In the last of these, sir John Oldcastle, lord Cobham, was burnt, or rather roasted, alive; having been hanged up over the fire by a chain which went round his waist.[492]

The executioner of the duke of Monmouth (in July, 1685) was peculiarly unsuccessful in the operation. The duke said to him, “Here are six guineas for you: pray do your business well; do not serve me as you did my lord Russell: I have heard you struck him three or four times. Here, (to his servant,) take these remaining guineas, and give them to him if he does his work well.”

_Executioner._--“I hope I shall.”

_Monmouth._--“If you strike me twice, I cannot promise you not to stir. Pr’ythee let me feel the axe.” He felt the edge, and said, “I fear it is not sharp enough.”

_Executioner._--“It is sharp enough, and heavy enough.”

The executioner proceeded to do his office; but the note says, “it was under such distraction of mind, that he fell into the very error which the duke had so earnestly cautioned him to avoid; wounding him so slightly, that he lifted up his head, and looked him in the face, as if to upbraid him for making his death painful; but said nothing. He then prostrated himself again, and received two other ineffectual blows; upon which the executioner threw down his axe in a fit of horror; crying out, ‘he could not finish his work:’ but, on being brought to himself by the threats of the sheriffs, took up the fatal weapon again, and at two other strokes made a shift to separate the head from the body.”[493]

As to the fee itself, “thirteen-pence half-penny--hangman’s wages,” it appears to have been of Scottish extraction. The Scottish mark (not ideal or nominal money, like our mark) was a silver coin, in value _thirteen-pence halfpenny_ and two placks, or two-thirds of a penny; which plack is likewise a coin. This, their mark, bears the same proportion to their pound, which is twenty-pence, as our mark does to our pound, or twenty shillings, being two-thirds of it. By these divisions and sub-divisions of their penny (for they have a still smaller piece, called a bodel or half a plack) they can reckon with the greatest minuteness, and buy much less quantities of any article than we can.[494] This Scottish mark was, upon the union of the two crowns in the person of king James I., made current in England at the value of thirteen-pence halfpenny, (without regarding the fraction,) by proclamation, in the first year of that king; where it is said, that “the coin of silver, called the mark piece, shall be from henceforth current within the said kingdom of England, at the value of thirteen-pence halfpenny.”[495] This, probably, was a revolution in the current money in favour of the hangman, whose fee before was perhaps no more than a shilling. There is, however, very good reason to conclude, from the singularity of the sum, that the odious title of “hangman’s wages” became at this time, or soon after, applicable to the sum of _thirteen-pence halfpenny_. Though it was contingent, yet it was then very considerable pay; when one shilling per day was a standing annual stipend to many respectable officers of various kinds.

Nothing can well vary more than the perquisites of this office; for it is well known that Jack Ketch has a _post-obit_ interest in the convict, being entitled to his clothes, or to a composition for them; though, on the other hand, they must very frequently be such garments that, as Shakspeare says, “a hangman would bury with those who wore them.”[496]

This emolument is of no modern date, and has an affinity to other _droits_ on very dissimilar occasions, which will be mentioned presently. The executioner’s perquisite is at least as old as Henry VIII.; for sir Thomas More, on the morning of his execution, put on his best gown, which was of silk camlet, sent him as a present while he was in the Tower by a citizen of Lucca, with whom he had been in correspondence; but the lieutenant of the Tower was of opinion that a worse gown would be good enough for the person who was to have it, meaning the executioner, and prevailed upon sir Thomas to change it, which he did for one made of frize.[497] Thus the antiquity of this obitual emolument, so well known in Shakspeare’s time, seems well established; and, as to its nature, has a strong resemblance to a fee of a much longer standing, and formerly received by officers of very great respectability. For anciently “garter king of arms” had specifically the gown of the party on the creation of a peer; and again, when archbishops, bishops, abbots, and priors, did homage to the king, their upper garment was the perquisite even of the lord chamberlain of the household. The fee in the latter case was always compounded for, though garter’s was often formerly received in kind, inasmuch as the statute which gives this fee to the lord chamberlain directs the composition, because, as the words are, “it is more convenient that religious men should fine for their upper garment, than to be stripped.”[498] The same delicate necessity does not operate in the hangman’s case, and his fee extends much farther than either of them, he being entitled to _all_ the sufferer’s garments, having first rendered them useless to the party. Besides this perquisite, there has always been a pecuniary compliment, where it could possibly be afforded, given by the sufferer to the executioner, to induce him to be speedy and dexterous in the operation. These outward gifts may likewise be understood as tokens of inward forgiveness.

“Upon the whole,” says Dr. Pegge, “I conceive that what I have offered above, though with much enlargement, is the meaning of the ignominious term affixed to the sum of thirteen-pence halfpenny, and I cannot but commiserate those for whom it is to be paid.”[499]

[487] “The executions, on ordinary occasions, were removed from this
memorable place, and were performed in the street of the Old Bailey,
at the door of Newgate. This was first practised on the 9th of
December, 1783. See the printed account. Every of these executions I
was told by Mr. Reed, 1785, is attended with an expense of upwards of
nine pounds. Twenty persons were hanged at once in February,
1785.”--Dr. Pegge.

[488] Madox’s History of the Exchequer, ii. p. 373.

[489] These arms actually appear in Edmondson’s Body of Heraldry,
annexed to the name of _Brandon_, viz. the arms of Arragon with a
difference, and the arms of Brabant in a canton.

[490] Vol. ii, p. 163.

[491] The hangman was known by the name of _Gregory_ in the year 1642,
as we learn from the Mercurius Aulicus, p. 553.

[492] Rapin. See also Bale’s Life and Trial of Sir John Oldcastle. St.
Giles’s was then an independent village, and is still called St.
Giles’s in the Fields, to distinguish it from St. Giles’s,
Cripplegate; being both in the same diocese.

[493] Lord Somers’s Tracts, vol. i. pp. 219, 220; the note taken from
the Review of the reigns of Charles and James, p. 885.

[494] Mr. Ray, in his Itinerary, gives the fractional parts of the
Scottish penny.

[495] The proclamation may be seen in Strype’s Annals, vol. iv. p.
384, where the mark-piece is valued exactly at thirteen-pence
halfpenny.

[496] Coriolanus, act. i. sc. 8.

[497] More’s Life of sir Thomas More, p. 271.

[498] Stat. 13 Edward I.

[499] Pegge’s Curialia Miscellanea.

Vol. II.--50.

The first point of peculiarity that strikes the traveller on approaching the “Running Horse” is the pictorial anomaly on the front of the house--the sign represents a race-horse with a rider on its back; but the painter has given us a horse _standing_ as still as most horses would be glad to do after having been _running horses_ for more than half a century. Our “Running Horse” then, _stands_ hard by the church in the village of Merrow, (_olim_ Merewe,) about two miles from Guildford, in Surrey, on the road leading from the latter place to London by way of Epsom. It is at the intersection of the high roads leading to Epsom, to Guildford, to Stoke, and to Albury, Shere, and Dorking. The latter road passes over Merrow Downs, upon which, at the distance of a quarter of a mile from our hostel, is the course whereon Guildford races are annually held.

Guildford races formerly attracted a very numerous assemblage of spectators. The elderly inhabitants of the above-named ancient borough relate that, such was the influx of company, not a bed was to be had in Guildford unless secured some weeks before the sports commenced. From some cause, the nature of which the good people of Guildford have never been able satisfactorily to ascertain, the races have, for several years, gradually declined in celebrity and importance, and at present they are too often but thinly attended. The _programme_ of the sports, which annually issues from the Guildford press, is embellished with a wood-cut, an impression I believe of the same block that has been used for the last century. The course is not considered by sportsmen a good one, but its situation, and the views it commands, are delightful.

When king George the First was at lord Onslow’s at Clandon, (the adjoining parish,) he gave a plate of one hundred guineas to be run for; and this is now the principal attraction to the proprietors of horses. The members for the borough of Guildford also give a plate of fifty pounds, and there is generally a subscription plate besides.

Our hostel, the “Running Horse” at Merrow, is the place of rendezvous for all the “running horses.” Its stable doors bear highly characteristic and interesting trophies of the honours obtained by their former temporary inmates. The best formed _pumps_ that ever trod the floors of Almack’s or the saloons of Carlton palace, are not more delicately turned than the shoes, (albeit they are of iron,) which, having done their duty on the course, and brought their high-mettled wearers first to the winning-post, are now securely nailed against the honoured portals, as memorials of his success. They are placed heel to heel, and within the oval is carved, in rude characters, the name of the horse, with the day on which he won for his master the purse of gold. What an association of ideas does the simple record convey! Here, on a fine warm evening in June, the evening preceding

-----------“the great, th’ important day,
Big with the fate of jockey and of horse,”

arrived the majestic “Cydnus.” His fine proportions were hid from vulgar gaze, by cloths of purest white. As he walked slowly up the village street ridden by his jockey, a stripling of sixteen, his approach was hailed by the acclamations of the village boys, and the calmer admiration of the men, all looking forward to their holiday on the succeeding day. “Here, I say; here, here;--here comes one of the racers!--There’s a _purty_ creatur! _law_--look at his long legs--_law_, Jem, I say, look what long steps he _do_ take--fancy how he must _gallop_, if he walks _so_--_purty fellur!_--I’m sure he’ll win--mind if he don’t now!” Meanwhile the noble animal arrives at the inn door--high breeding, whether in biped or quadruped, is not to be kept waiting--out comes the host in an important bustle, with the bright key of the stable door swinging upon his finger. He shows the way to the best stall, and then takes his station at the door to keep out the inquisitive gazers, while the jockey and trainer commence their tender offices of cleaning and refreshing the horse after his unusual exercise of walking the public road. This done, he is fed, clothed, and left to his repose upon as soft a bed as clean straw will make, while the jockey and trainer adjourn to the house, the admiration of the knot of idlers who are there assembled to hear the pedigree, birth, parentage, education, and merits of “the favourite.” Other horses soon arrive, and the conversation takes a more scientific turn, while the jockies make their own bets, and descant learnedly upon those of their masters, till they betake themselves to rest, “perchance to dream” of the important event of the succeeding day.

Long before the dew has left the short herbage on the neighbouring downs, the jockies are busily engaged in the stables; and before the sun’s heat has exceeded that of an April noon, they are mounted, and gently cantering over the turf, with the double object of airing their horses and showing them the course over which, in a few hours, they are urged, at their utmost speed, in the presence of admiring thousands. What an elating thought for the youthful rider of “the favourite;” with what delight does he look forward to the hour when the horse and his rider will be the objects of attraction to hundreds of fair one’s eyes glancing upon _him_ with looks of admiration and interest; while, in his dapper silk jacket and cap of sky-blue and white, he rides slowly to the weighing-place, surrounded by lords and gentlemen “of high degree.” Within a short space the vision is realized--more than realized--for he has won the first heat “by a length.” In the next heat he comes in second, but only “half a neck” behind, and his horse is still fresh. The bell rings again for saddling; and the good steed is snuffing the air, and preparing for renewed exertions, while his rider “hails in his heart the triumph yet to come.” The bell rings for starting--“They are off,” cry a hundred voices at once. Blue and white soon takes the lead. “Three to one”--“five to one”--“seven to one”--are the odds in his favour; while at the first rise in the ground he gives ample proof to the admiring “cognoscenti” that he “_must_ win.” A few minutes more, and a general hum of anxious voices announces that the horses are again in sight. “Which is first?”--“Oh, blue and white still.”--“I knew it; I was sure of it.” Here comes the clerk of the course flogging out the intruders within the rails, and here comes the gallant bay--full two lengths before the only horse that, during the whole circuit of four miles, has been once within speaking distance of him. He keeps the lead, and wins the race without once feeling the whip. Here is a moment of triumph for his rider! he is weighed again, and receives from his master’s hand the well-earned reward of his “excellent riding.” The horse is carefully reclothed, and led back to his stable, where his feet are relieved from the shoes which are destined to assist in recording, to successive generations of jockies, the gallant _feats_, performed by

“Hearts that then beat high for praise,
But feel that pulse no more.”

Our hostel, however, must not be thus quitted.--The date inscribed within the circle above the centre window is, I think, 1617. (I have a memorandum of it somewhere, but have mislaid it.) The house is plastered and washed with yellow; but its gables, Elizabethan chimnies, and projecting _bay_ window, (a very proper kind of window for a “running horse,”) render it a much more picturesque building than I have been able to represent it on the small scale of my drawing. In front of it, at about the distance of thirty yards, there was formerly a well of more than a hundred feet in depth; the landlord used to repair this well, receiving a contribution from all who made use of it; but other wells have of late years been dug in the neighbourhood, and the use of this has subsequently been confined to the inmates of the public-house.

The church of Merrow, of which there is a glimpse in the background, is worthy of further notice than I have the means of affording in the present communication.

PHILIPPOS.

_November, 1827._

* * * * *

WILLIAM CAPON,

THE SCENE PAINTER.

_To the Editor._

Sir,--Presuming you may not have been acquainted with the late Mr. William Capon, whose excellence as a gothic architectural scene-painter has not been equalled by any of his compeers, I venture a few particulars respecting him.

My acquaintance with Mr. Capon commenced within only the last five or six years, but his frank intimacy and hearty good-will were the same as if our intercourse had been of longer date. A memoir of him, in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” seems to me somewhat deficient in its representation of those qualities.

The memoir just noticed assigns the date of his birth at Norwich to have been October 6, 1757; and truly represents, that though wanting but ten days of arriving at the seventieth year of his age when he died, his hale appearance gave little indication of such a protracted existence. He laboured under an asthmatic affection, of which he was accustomed to complain, while his fund of anecdote, and his jocular naïveté in recitation, were highly amusing. His manner of relating many of the follies of theatrical monarchs, now defunct, was wont to set the table in a roar; and could his reminiscences be remembered, they would present a detail quite as amusing as some that have recently diverted the town. Kemble he deified; he confessed that he could not get rid of old prejudices in favour of his old friend; and, to use his own phrase, “there never was an actor like him.” I have often seen him in ecstasy unlock the glazed front of the frame over his drawing-room chimney-piece, that enclosed a singularly beautiful enamel portrait of that distinguished actor, which will shortly be competed for under the auctioneer’s hammer. Some of his finest drawings of the Painted Chamber at Westminster, framed with the richness of olden times, also decorated this room, which adjoined his study on the same floor. His larger drawings had green silk curtains before them; and these he would not care to draw, unless he thought his visitors’ ideas corresponded with his own respecting the scenes he had thus depicted. The most valuable portion of his collection was a series of drawings of those portions of the ancient city of Westminster, which modern improvements have wholly annihilated. During the course of demolition, he often rose at daybreak, to work undisturbed in his darling object; and hence, some of the tones of morning twilight are so strictly represented, as to yield a hard and unartist-like appearance.

It was a source of disquiet to Mr. Capon that the liberality of publishers did not extend to such enlargements of Smith’s Westminster, as his own knowledge would have supplied. In fact, such a work could not be accomplished without a numerous list of subscribers; and as he never issued a prospectus, the whole of his abundant antiquarian knowledge has died with him, and the pictorial details alone remain.

Mr. Capon was, greatly to his inconvenience, a creditor of the late Richard Brinsley Sheridan, of whom he was accustomed to speak with evident vexation. He had been induced to enter into the compromise offered him by the committee of management of Drury-lane theatre, and give a receipt barring all future claims. This galled him exceedingly; and more than once he hinted suspicions respecting the conflagration of the theatre, which evinced that he had brooded over his losses till his judgment had become morbid.

But he is gone, and in him society has lost an amiable and respected individual. To the regret of numerous friends he expired on the 26th of September at his residence, No. 4, North-street, Westminster.

I am, &c.

A. W.

_November 3, 1827._

* * * * *

~Garrick Plays.~

No. XLIII.

[From “Brutus of Alba,” a Tragedy, by Nahum Tate, 1678.]

_Ragusa, and four more Witches, about to raise a storm._

_Rag._ ’Tis time we were preparing for the storm.
Heed me, ye daughters of the mystic art;
Look that it be no common hurricane,
But such as rend the Caspian cliffs, and from
Th’ Hyrcanian hills sweep cedars, roots and all.
Speak; goes all right?
_All._ Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!
_1st W._ The cricket leaves our cave, and chirps no more.
_2d W._ I stuck a ram, but could not stain my steel.
_3d W._ His fat consumed in th’ fire, and never smok’d.
_4th W._ I found this morn upon our furnace wall
Mysterious words wrought by a slimy snail,
Whose night-walk fate had guided in that form.
_2d W._ Thou’rt queen of mysteries, great Ragusa.
How hast thou stemm’d the abyss of our black science,
Traced dodging nature thro’ her blind ’scape-roads,
And brought her naked and trembling to the light!
_Rag._ Now to our task--
Stand off; and, crouching, mystic postures make,
Gnawing your rivel’d knuckles till they bleed,
Whilst I fall prostrate to consult my art,
And mutter sounds too secret for your ear.

(_storm rises._)

_Rag._ The storm’s on wing, comes powdering from the Nore;
Tis past the Alps already, and whirls forward
To th’ Appenine, whose rifted snow is swept
To th’ vales beneath, while cots and folds lie buried.
Thou Myrza tak’st to-night an airy march
To th’ Pontic shore for drugs; and for more speed
On my own maple crutch thou shalt be mounted,
Which bridled turns to a steed so manageable,
That thou may’st rein him with a spider’s thread.
_4th W._ And how if I o’ertake a bark in the way?
_Rag._ Then, if aloft thou goest, to tinder scorch
The fauns; but if thou tak’st a lower cut,
Then snatch the whips off from the steersman’s hand,
And sowce him in the foam.
_4th W._ He shall be drench’d.

(_storm thickens._)

_Rag._ Aye, this is music! now methinks I hear
The shrieks of sinking sailors, tackle rent,
Rudders unhing’d, while the sea-raveners swift
Scour thro’ the dark flood for the diving corpses.

(_the owl cries._)

Ha! art thou there, my melancholy sister?
Thou think’st thy nap was short, and art surpris’d
To find night fallen already.
More turf to th’ fire, till the black mesh ferment;
Burn th’ oil of basilisk to fret the storm.
That was a merry clap: I know that cloud
Was of my Fricker’s rending, Fricker rent it;
0 ’tis an ardent Spirit: but beshrew him,
’Twas he seduced me first to hellish arts.
He found me pensive in a desart glin,
Near a lone oak forlorn and thunder-cleft,
Where discontented I abjured the Gods,
And bann’d the cruel creditor that seiz’d
My Mullees,[500] sole subsistence of my life.
He promised me full twelve years’ absolute reign
To banquet all my senses, but he lied,
For vipers’ flesh is now my only food,
My drink of springs that stream from sulph’rous mines;
Beside with midnight cramps and scalding sweats
I am almost inured for hell’s worst tortures.--
I hear the wood-nymphs cry; by that I know
My charm has took--
but day clears up,
And heavenly light wounds my infectious eyes.
_1st W._ Now, sullen Dame, dost thou approve our works?
_Rag._ ’Twas a brave wreck: O, you have well perform’d.
_2d W._ Myrza and I bestrid a cloud, and soar’d
To lash the storm, which we pursued to th’ City,
Where in my flight I snatch’d the golden globe,
That high on Saturn’s pillar blaz’d i’ th’ air.
_3d W._ I fired the turret of Minerva’s fane.
_4th W._ I staid i’ th’ cell to set the spell a work.
The lamps burnt ghastly blue, the furnace shook;
The Salamander felt the heat redoubled,
And frisk’d about, so well I plied the fire.
_Rag._ Now as I hate bright day, and love moonshine,
You shall be all my sisters in the art:
I will instruct ye in each mystery;
Make ye all Ragusas.
_All._ Ho! Ho! Ho!
_Rag._ Around me, and I’ll deal to each her dole.
There’s an elf-lock, tooth of hermaphrodite,
A brace of mandrakes digg’d in fairy ground,
A lamprey’s chain, snake’s eggs, dead sparks of thunder
Quench’d in its passage thro’ the cold mid air,
A mermaid’s fin, a cockatrice’s comb
Wrapt i’ the dried caul of a brat still-born.
Burn ’em.--
In whispers take the rest, which named aloud
Would fright the day, and raise another storm.
_All._ Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!

_Soziman, a wicked Statesman, employs Ragusa for a charm._

_Rag._--my drudges I’ll employ
To frame with their best arts a bracelet for thee,
Which, while thou wear’st it lock’d on thy left arm,
Treason shall ne’er annoy thee, sword and poison
In vain attempt; Nature alone have power
Thy substance to dissolve, nor she herself
Till many a winter-shock hath broke thy temper.
_Soz._ Medea for her Jason less performed!
My greatening soul aspires to range like thee,
In unknown worlds, to search the reign of Night.
Admitted to thy dreadful mysteries,
I should be more than mortal.
_Rag._ Near my cell,
Mong’st circling rocks (in form a theatre)
Lies a snug vale--
_Soz._ With horror I have view’d it;
Tis blasted all and bare as th’ ocean beech,
And seems a round for elves to revel in.
_Rag._ With my attendants there each waining moon
My dreadful Court I hold, and sit in state:--
And when the dire transactions are dispatch’d,
Our zany Spirits ascend to make us mirth
With gambals, dances, masks and revelling songs,
Till our mad din strike terror through the waste,
Spreads far and wide to th’ cliffs that bank the main,
And scarce is lost in the wide ocean’s roar.
Here seated by me thou shalt view the sports,
Whilst demons kiss thy foot, and swear thee homage.

_Ragusa, with the other Witches, having finished the bracelet._

_Rag._ Proceed we then to finish our black projects.--
View here, till from your green distilling eyes
The poisonous glances center on this bracelet,
A fatal gift for our projecting son;--
Seven hours odd minutes has it steept i’ th’ gall
Of a vile Moor swine-rooted from his grave.
Now to your bloated lips apply it round,
And with th’ infectious dew of your black breaths
Compleat its baleful force.

* * * * *

[From the “Fatal Union,” a Tragedy; Author Unknown.]

_Dirge._

Noblest bodies are but gilded clay.
Put away
But the precious shining rind,
The inmost rottenness remains behind.
Kings, on earth though Gods they be,
Yet in death are vile as we.
He, a thousand Kings before,
Now is vassal unto more.
Vermin now insulting lie,
And dig for diamonds in each eye;
Whilst the sceptre-bearing hand
Cannot their inroads withstand.
Here doth one in odours wade,
By the regal unction made;
While another dares to gnaw
On that tongue, his people’s law.
Fools, ah! fools are we that so contrive,
And do strive,
In each gaudy ornament,
Who shall his corpse in the best dish present.

C. L.

[500] Her cows.

* * * * *

ISLE OF WIGHT

_To the Editor._

HAY HARVEST CUSTOM.

Sir,--Perhaps you may deem the following singular tenure from “Horsey’s Beauties of the Isle of Wight, 1826,” worth adding to those already perpetuated in the _Every-Day Book_, and your present agreeable continuation of it.

At the foot of St. John’s Wood are two meadows, one on each hand, the main road running between them. These meadows are known by the name of Monk’s Meads. It is a remarkable circumstance, that the first crop of hay they produce annually is reaped, not by the owner, nor the person who may rent the land, but by the tenant of Newnham farm, which is situated upwards of two miles distant, and has no connection whatever with the land. There is a legend attaching to this circumstance. The tale is, that one of the monks of Quarr was in the habit of visiting the family that once occupied Newnham farm, and as his visits were pretty frequent, and he was accustomed to put up his horse at the farmer’s expense, he bequeathed to the tenant of Newnham farm the first crop of hay which these meadows produce annually, each meadow to be reaped for his benefit every alternate year; and the warrant for his doing so was to be the continuance of a rude image in the wall of the house. Whether this be the legal tenure or not is another question; one thing is certain, the idol is preserved in the wall, the farmer comes on the specific day for the crop, and the produce is carried to Newnham.

I am, &c.

DICK DICK’S SON.

_May 17, 1827_

* * * * *

ORIGIN OF HAY-BAND?

_For the Table Book._

Many of our origins and customs are derived from the Romans. In the time of Romulus, a handful of hay was used in his ranks instead of a flag; and his military ensign, who commanded a number of soldiers, was called a _band_, or ancient bearer. Thus it will appear, that a twisted band of hay being tied round a larger quantity of hay, for its support, it is, agreeably to the derivation, properly called a _hay-band_.

This word might serve for the tracing a variety of “bands,”--as the “band of gentleman pensioners,”--the “duke of York’s band,” _cum multis, et cæt_.

P.

* * * * *

BRISTOL HIGH CROSS.

_For the Table Book._

The High Cross, which formerly stood at Bristol, was first erected in 1373 in the High-street, near the Tolsey; and in succeeding times it was adorned with the effigies of four kings, who had been benefactors to the city, viz. king John facing north to Broad-street, king Henry III. east to Wine-street, king Edward III. west to Corn-street, and king Edward IV. south to High-street.

After the original Cross had stood three hundred and sixty years at the top of High-street, a silversmith who resided in the house (now 1827) called the Castle Bank, facing High-street and Wine-street, _offered to swear_ that during every high wind his premises and his life were endangered by the expected fall of the Cross!--A petition, too, was signed by several _respectable citizens!_ to the corporation for its removal, with which that body _complied with great reluctance, and saw its demolition with great regret_!

In the year 1633 it was taken down, enlarged, and raised higher, and four other statues were then added, viz. king Henry VI. facing east, queen Elizabeth west, king James I. south, and king Charles I. north; the whole was painted and gilded, and environed with iron palisadoes.

In 1733, being found incommodious by obstructing the passage of carriages, it was again taken down, and erected in the centre of College-green, the figures facing the same points as before. On that occasion it was painted in imitation of grey marble, the ornaments were gilt, and the figures were painted in their proper colours.

About the year 1762 it was discovered that it prevented ladies and gentlemen from walking eight or ten abreast, and its final ruin resolved upon; and it was once more taken down by the order of the Rev. Cuts Barton, then dean, and strange to say, as if there were no spot in the whole city of Bristol whereon this beautiful structure could be again erected, it was given by the “very reverend” gentleman to Mr. Henry Hoare of Stourton, who afterwards set it up in his delightful gardens there.

The following extracts from some old newspapers preserved by the Bristol antiquary, the late Mr. George Symes Catcott, are interesting.

“August 21, 1762.--Several workmen are now employed in raising the walls in College-green, and taking down the High Cross, which, _when beautified_, will be put up in the middle of the grass-plot near the lower green, about thirty yards from where it now stands.”

“A.D. 1764--Epigram:--

“Ye people of Bristol deplore the sad loss
Of the kings and the queens that once reigned in your Cross;
Tho’ your patrons they were, and their reigns were so good,
Like Nebuchadnezer they’re forced to the wood.
Your great men’s great wisdom you surely must pity,
Who’ve banished what all men admir’d from the city.”

“October, 1764.--To the printer (of one of the Bristol newspapers)--

“Sir,--By inserting the following in your paper you will oblige, &c.:--

“In days of yore, when haughty France was tamed,
In that great battle, which from Cressy’s named,
Our glorious Edward and his Godlike son
To England added what from France they’d won.
In this famed reign the High Cross was erected,
And for its height and beauty much respected.
Succeeding times (for gratitude then reigned
On earth, nor was by all mankind disdained)
The Cross adorned with four patron kings,
So History assures the muse that sings;
Some hundred years it stood, to strangers shown
As the palladium of this trading town:
Till in king Charles the first’s unhappy reign
’Twas taken down, but soon was raised again:
In bulk and height increased, four statues more
Were added to the others, there before:
Then gilded palisadoes fenc’d it round--
A Cross so noble grac’d no other ground.
There long it stood, and oft admir’d had been,
Till mov’d from thence to adorn the College-green.
There had it still remained; but envious fate,
Who secret pines at what is good or great,
Raised up the _ladies_ to conspire its fall,
For boys and men, and dogs defiled it all.
For those faults condemned, this noble pile
Was in the sacred college stow’d a while.
From thence these kings, so very great and good,
Are sent to grace proud Stourton’s lofty wood.

“R. S.”

Mr. Britton observes, that “the improvements and embellishments of this Cross in 1633 cost the chamber of Bristol 207_l._ Its height from the ground was thirty-nine feet six inches. After taking it down in 1733 it was thrown into the Guildhall, where it remained till some gentlemen of the College-green voluntarily subscribed to have it re-erected in the centre of that open space; but here it was not suffered long to continue, for in 1763 the whole was once more levelled with the ground, and thrown into a secluded corner of the cathedral, so insensible were the Bristolians of its beauty and curiosity. Mr. Hoare expended about 300_l._ in its removal to and re-erection at Stourton. The present structure at Stourton, however, varies in many particulars from the original Cross. It constitutes not only an unique garden ornament in its present situation, but is singularly beautiful for its architectural character, its sculpture, and its eventful history.”

1821.--A clergyman of Bristol (the Rev. Mr. Sayer) having an occasion to write to sir R. C. Hoare, bart. received in reply a letter containing the following paragraph:--“I am glad to hear that the citizens of Bristol show a desire to restore the ancient monuments of their royal benefactors; pray assure them, that I shall be very happy to contribute any assistance, but my original is in such a tottering state that no time should be lost.”

Thus the beautiful High Cross which once adorned the city of Bristol may now, through the liberality of sir R. C. Hoare, be transplanted (if we may use the expression) to its native soil, after a banishment of fifty-seven years. Its reappearance in the College-green would be beautiful and highly appropriate.

At a meeting of the Bristol Philosophical and Literary Society on the 19th April, 1827, Mr. Richard Smith read a paper from Thomas Garrard, Esq. the chamberlain of Bristol, on the subject of the High Cross, together with a brief notice of “the well of St. Edith” in Peter-street. The latter, as well as the remains of the Cross, are still preserved at sir R. C. Hoare’s at Stourton. Many other interesting particulars may be found in the Bristol Mirror, April 28, 1827.

A. B.

_August, 1827._

* * * * *

ORIGIN OF THE WORD TAILOR.

_To the Editor._

Dear Sir,--Bailey derives “_tailor_ from _tailler_, French, a maker of garments:” but when a boy I remember perfectly well, my grandfather, who was facetious, and attached to the usages of the past, acquainting me with _his_ origin of the word “tailor.” He stated it nearly thus:--“The term tailor originated between a botcher (a man that went from farm-house to farm-house, and made and repaired clothes by the day) and his wife--who, going to a town fair without her husband, returned in a storm at a late hour, all bespattered with mud. The wearied botcher had searched for her in vain, till meeting a neighbour, who told him his wife was gone home draggletailed, he exclaimed, ‘God be praised! _she’s_ where she ought to be; but the De’el take the _tail-’o’her_.’ His brother villagers ever after called him (not the botcher) but the _tail o’her_--hence _tailor_. The Devil among the Tailors perhaps owes its origin to a similar freak.”

Speaking of a _tail_, the following from Bailey may not be inappropriate.--“_Kentish long tails._ The Kentish men are said to have had tails for some generations, by way of punishment, as some say; for the Kentish pagans abusing Austin the monk and his associates, by beating them, and opprobriously tying fish-tails to them; in revenge of which, such appendages grew to the hind parts of all that generation. But the scene of this lying wonder was not in Kent, but at Carne, in Dorsetshire. Others again say, it was for cutting off the tail of Saint Thomas of Canterbury’s horse; who, being out of favour with Henry II., riding towards Canterbury upon a poor sorry horse, was so served by the common people. _Credat Judæus Apella._”

“Animals’ tails” were worn at country festivals by buffoons and sportmakers; for which, see “Plough Monday,” in the _Every-Day Book_; and also, see Liston, in Grojan, “I could a _tail_ unfold!” &c.

Yours truly,

*, *, P.

* * * * *

_For the Table Book._

THE CLERK IN THE DARK.

“_Set forth, but not allowed to be sung in all Churches, of all the people together._”

Once on a time, ’twas afternoon,
And winter--while the weary day
Danced off with Phœbus--to the tune
Of “O’er the hills and far away”----

I went to church, and heard the clerk
Preface the psalm with “Pardon me,
But really friends it is so dark,
Do all I may I cannot see”----

The “quire” that used the psalms to chant
Not dreaming to be thus misled--
Struck up in chorus jubilant,
The clerk’s apology instead!

MORAL.

“The force of habit” should not keep
Our trust in other heads so sure,
That reason may drop off to sleep.
Or sense enjoy a sinecure.

A. X.

* * * * *

_For the Table Book._

CINDERELLA.

Of all the narratives either of fact or of fiction there are none, I will pledge my veracity, like the Fairy Tales of the Nursery, for interesting all the best feelings of our nature, and for impressing an imperishable and beautiful morality upon the heart. Was there ever, can you imagine--was there ever a young woman hardened and heartless enough to explore a forbidden closet, after she had perused the romantic history of Bluebeard? Would she not fearfully fancy that every box, bag, and bottle, jar, jelly, and jam-pot was grinning hideously at her in the person of one of the departed Mrs. Bluebeards? In fact, there is not a tale that does not convey some fine instruction, and, I would venture to affirm, that does not produce more salutary influence on the youthful mind, than all that Dr. Gregory and Mrs. Chapone, Dr. Fordyce and Miss Hannah More, have ever, in their wearisome sagacity, advised.

Of the whole of these entertaining stories, perhaps the best, and deservedly the most popular, is the History of Cinderella. How deeply do we sympathise in her cinders! how do we admire her patient endurance and uncomplaining gentleness,--her noble magnanimity in not arranging her sisters’ _tresses amiss_--for presuming to be her _miss-tresses_--and finally, how do we rejoice at her ultimate and unexpected prosperity! Judge then of my horror, imagine my despair, when I read the New Monthly Magazine, and saw this most exquisite story derived from the childish folly of a strolling player! The account, which is in a paper entitled “Drafts on La Fitte,” states, that the tale originated in an actual occurrence about the year 1730 at Paris. It is to this effect:--An actor, one Thevenard, saw a shoe, where shoes are frequently to be seen, viz. at a cobbler’s stall, and, like a wise man, fell deeply in love with it. He immediately took his stand by the stall all the rest of the day--but nobody came for the shoe. Next morning “Ecce iterum Crispinus,” he was with the cobbler again, still nobody came: however, to make a short story of a long one, day after day the poor actor stood there, till the proprietor of the shoe applied for it, in the person of a most elegant young woman; when monsieur Thevenard took the opportunity of telling her, he admired her foot so much he was anxious to gain her hand; to this modest desire she kindly complied, and they were accordingly married. Thus ends this pitiful account. He must have had an inventive fancy, indeed, who could manufacture the sweet story of Cinderella out of such meagre materials--it was making a mountain out of a molehill! The gentle and interesting Cinderella dwindles down into a girl, whose only apparent merit was her economy in having her shoe patched--and the affable and affluent prince melts away into a French actor. Were the prize of squeezing her foot into the little slipper only to become the bride of an actor, I should imagine the ladies would not have been quite so anxious to stand in her shoes!