Chapter XXVII: Preface (26)

In 1657, a mob of parishioners were summoned to the session, for believing in the powers of the well of Airth, a village about six miles north of Falkirk, on the banks of the Forth, and the whole were sentenced to be publicly rebuked for the sin.--“Feb. 3, 1757, Session convenit. Compeared Bessie Thomson, who declairit scho went to the well at Airth, and that schoe left money thairat, and after the can was fillat with water, they keepit it from touching the ground till they cam hom.” “February 24.--Compeired Robert Fuird who declared he went to the well of Airth, and spoke nothing als he went, and that Margrat Walker went with him, and schoe said ye beleif about the well, and left money and ane napkin at the well, and all was done at her injunction.” “Compeared Bessie Thomson declarit schoe fetchit hom water from the said well and luit it not touch the ground in homcoming, spoke not as sha went, said the beleif at it, left money and ane napkin thair; and all was done at Margrat Walker’s command,” “Compeired Margrat Walker who denyit yat scho was at yat well befoir and yat scho gave my directions.” “March 10. Compeared Margrat Forsyth being demandit if scho went to the well of Airth, to fetch water thairfrom, spok not by ye waye, luit it not touch ye ground in homcoming? if scho said ye belief? left money and ane napkin at it? Answered affirmatively in every poynt, and yat Nans Brugh directit yem, and yat they had bread at ye well, with them, and yat Nans Burg said shoe wald not be affrayit to goe to yat well at midnight hir alon.” “Compeired Nans Burg, denyit yat ever scho had bein at yat well befoir.” “Compeired Ro^{t} Squir confest he went to yat well at Airth, fetchit hom water untouiching ye ground, left money and said ye beleif at it.” “March 17. Compeired Ro^{t} Cochran, declairit, he went to the well at Airth and ane other well, bot did neither say ye beleif, nor leave money.” “Compeired Grissal Hutchin, declairit scho commandit the lasses yat went to yat well, say ye beleif, but dischargit hir dochter.” “March 21. Compeired Robert Ffuird who declairit yat Margrat Walker went to ye well of Airth to fetch water to Robert Cowie, and when schoe com thair, scho laid down money in Gods name, and ane napkin in Ro^{t} Cowie’s name.” “Compeired Jonet Robison who declairit yat when scho was seik, Jean Mathieson com to hir and told hir, that the water of the well of Airth was guid for seik people, and yat the said Jean hir guid sister desyrit hir fetch sum of it to hir guid man as he was seik, bot scho durst never tell him.” These people were all “publicly admonishit for superstitious carriage.” Yet within these few years, a farmer and his servant were known to travel fifty miles for the purpose of bringing water from a charmed well in the Highlands to cure their sick cattle.

The records contain some curious notices concerning witchcraft, which are all certified to “my lord’s court,” the baronial juridical conservator of the public peace; but, if we may judge from the re-appearance of the parties, none, much to the laird of Callander’s honour, ever were punished. I may afterwards give some of these for the amusement of the readers of the _Every-Day Book_, who will likewise find in the “Scots’ Magazine” for March, 1814, an account of trials for witchcraft at Borroustaunness, which ended in six poor creatures’ condemnation on the twenty-third of December, 1679, to “be wirried at a steak till they be dead, and then to have their bodies burnt to ashes!”

The reputed consequences of the _blink of an ill-ee_, are either death, or some horrible debility; for which there are some preventitives, such as rolling a red silk thread round the finger or the neck, or keeping a slip of rowntree (mountain ash) in the bonnet; and last, not least, there is a “gruel, thick and slab,” which is reckoned efficacious in averting “Skaith.” At this day, even in the twenty-sixth year of the nineteenth century, an old woman in Falkirk earns a comfortable livelihood by the sale of “_Skaith Saw_.”

I am, Sir, &c.

ROBERT KIER

_Falkirk, May 16, 1826._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 55·42.

[186] Session Records, June 12, 1628.

~May 21.~

1826. TRINITY SUNDAY.

For usages on this day, see vol. i. p. 722.

THE SEASON.

It is observed by Dr. Forster in the “Perennial Calendar,” that the sky is generally serene, and the weather mild and agreeable, about this time. A cloudy day, however, frequently happens, and is sometimes succeeded by a day’s rain; but we have noticed frequently, that an overcast sky, when not too obscure, is the best for viewing flowers, and at this time of year often sets off the splendid Vernal Flora to great advantage.

_Song to Summer._

Hail, rural goddess of delight!
I woo thy smiles from morn till night;
Now no more rude Eurus blows
O’er mountains of congealed snows;
But thy faire handmaid lovely Maie
Treads the fresh lawns, and leads the waie.
Now, at Flora’s earlie call,
The meadows greene and vallies all
Pour forth their variegated flowers,
To regale the sportive hours.
Hence then let me fly the crowde
Of busy men, and seke the woode,
With some Dryad of the grove,
By shades of elm and oak to rove,
Till some sequestered spot we find,
There, on violet bank reclined,
We fly the day-star’s burning heate,
Which cannot reach our green retreate;
While Zephyr, with light whispering breeze,
Softly dances in the trees;
And, upon his muskie wing,
Doth a thousand odours bring
From the blooming mead below,
Where cowslips sweet and daisies blow;
And from out her grassie bed
The harebell hangs her nodding head;
Hard bye, some purling stream beside,
Where limpid waters gently glide,
Iris shows her painted woof
Of variegated hues, windproof;
And with water lillies there,
The nymphs and naids braid the haire;
And from out their leafie haunt,
The birdes most melodious chant.
Then, sweet nymph, at eventide,
Let us roam the broke beside,
While the lovelorn nightingale
Sadlie sings the woods ymel,
Till the bittern’s booming note
O’er the sounding mashes flote,
And the ominous owls do crie,
While luckless bats are flitting bye;
Then before the midnight houre,
When ghostlie sprites and pizgies coure,
We will betake us to our cot,
And be it there, O sleep, our lot,
To rest in balmie slumberings,
Till the next cock his matin rings.

CHRONOLOGY.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--As the anniversary of that day, on which the greatest mathematician of his time was removed from this transitory world, is fast approaching, I hasten to send you a brief memorial, selected from various local works, of that truly original and eccentric genius. I also enclose a fac-simile of his hand writing, which was presented to me by a very obliging friend, Robert Surtees, of Mainsforth, Esq., F. S. A., and author of a very splendid and elaborate “History of the County Palatinate of Durham.”

Your’s truly,

JOHN SYKES

_Newcastle, Tyne, April 25, 1826._

Hurworth

Oct. 1. 1771.]

William Emerson was born at Hurworth, a pleasant village, about three miles from Darlington, in the county of Durham, on the 14th of May, 1701. The preceptor of his early years was his own father, of whom he learned writing and arithmetic, and probably the rudiments of Latin. After having studied mathematics with much ardour under able masters, at Newcastle and York, he returned to Hurworth, and again benefited by the knowledge of his father, who was a tolerable master of the mathematics. Some degree of Emerson’s celebrity may be attributed to the treatment which he received from Dr. Johnson, rector of Hurworth, whose niece he had married. The doctor had engaged to give five hundred pounds to his niece, who lived with him, as a marriage portion; but when reminded of the promise, he choose to forget that it had been made, and treated our young mathematician as a person beneath his notice.

The pecuniary disappointment Emerson (who had an independent spirit, and whose patrimony though not large, was equal to all his wants) would easily have surmounted, but the contemptuous treatment stung him to the soul. He immediately went home, packed up his wife’s clothes, and sent them to the doctor, saying, that he would scorn to be beholden to such a fellow for a single rag; vowing at the same time that he would be revenged, and prove himself to be the _better man of the two_. His first publication, however, did not meet with immediate encouragement, and most probably his other works would never have appeared, at least in the author’s lifetime, if Edward Montague, Esq., his great admirer and friend, had not procured him the patronage of Mr. John Nourse, bookseller and optician, who being himself skilled in the more abstruse sciences, immediately engaged Emerson to furnish a regular course of mathematics for the use of students, and in the summer of 1763, Emerson made a journey to London, to settle and fulfil the agreement.

His devotion to the philosophy of sir Isaac Newton was so uncommonly strong, that every oppugner of this great man was treated by Emerson as dull, blind, bigotted, prejudiced, or mad, and the fire and impetuosity of his temper would on these occasions betray him into language far distant from the strictness of mathematical demonstration. Mr. E. was in person something below the common size, but firm, compact, well made, very active and strong. He had a good open expressive countenance, with a ruddy complexion, a keen and penetrating eye, and an ardour and eagerness of look that was very demonstrative of the texture of his mind. His dress was grotesque frequently; sometimes mean and shabby. A very few hats served him through the whole course of his life; and when he purchased one (or indeed any other article of dress) it was perfectly indifferent to him whether the form or fashion of it was of the day, or of half a century before. One of these hats of immense superficies, had, by length of time, lost its elasticity, and its brim began to droop in such a manner as to prevent his being able to view the objects before him in a direct line. This was not to be endured by an optician; he therefore took a pair of sheers, and cut it off by the body of the hat, leaving a little to the front, which he dexterously rounded into the resemblance of the nib of a jockey’s cap. His wigs were made of brown, or of a dirty flaxen coloured hair, which at first appeared bushy and tortuous behind, but which grew pendulous through age, till at length it became quite straight, having probably never undergone the operation of the comb; and either through the original mal-formation of the wig, or from a custom he had of frequently thrusting his hand beneath it, the back part of his head and wig seldom came into very close contact. His coat or more properly jacket, or waistcoat with sleeves to it, which he commonly wore without any other waistcoat, was of drab colour; his linen was more calculated for warmth and duration than show, being spun and bleached by his wife, and woven at Hurworth. In cold weather he had a custom of wearing his shirt with the wrong side before, and buttoned behind the neck, yet this was not an affectation of singularity, (for Emerson had no affectation, though his customs and manners were singular,) he had a reason for it; he seldom buttoned more than two or three buttons of his waistcoat, leaving all the rest open; in wind, rain, or snow, therefore, he must have found the aperture at the breast inconvenient if his shirt had been put on in the usual manner. When he grew aged, in cold weather, he used to wear what he called _shin-covers_: these were pieces of old sacking, tied with strings above the knee, and depending down to the shoe, in order to prevent his legs from being scorched when he sat too near the fire. This singularity of dress and figure, together with his character for profound learning, and knowledge more than human, occasioned the illiterate and ignorant to consider him as a cunning man, or necromancer, and various stories have been related of his skill in the _black art_. He affected an appearance of infidelity on religious matters, and was an example to the vulgar, not a little reprehensible. His diet was as simple and plain as his dress, and his meals gave little interruption either to his studies, employments, or amusements. He catered for himself, and pretty constantly went to Darlington, to make his own markets; yet, when he had provided all the necessary articles, he not unfrequently neglected to return home for a day or two, seating himself contentedly in some public house, where he could procure good ale and company, and passing the hours in various topics of conversation. His style of conversation was generally abrupt and blunt, and often vulgar and ungrammatical. This occasioned a supposition, that his prefaces were not written by himself, an opinion that was one day mentioned to him, and the disparity of his conversation and writing pointed out as the reason. After a momentary pause, he exclaimed, with some indignation, “A pack of fools! who would write my prefaces but myself.” Mr. Emerson often tried to practise the effect of his mathematical speculations, by constructing a variety of instruments, mathematical, mechanical, and musical, on a small scale. He made a spinning-wheel for his wife, which is represented in his book of mechanics. He was well skilled in the science of music, the theory of sounds, and the various scales both ancient and modern. He was a great contributor to the “Lady’s Diary,” under the signature of “Merones,” and for many years unknown, until a transposition of letters discovered his name.[187] During the greater part of his life, his health had been strong and uninterrupted; but as he advanced into the vale of years, internal complaints allowed him but little intermission of pain, and at length deprived him of breath on the twenty-first of May, 1782, aged eighty-one years and one week. He was buried in the churchyard of his native village where he died. About a twelvemonth before his decease, he was prevailed on after much importunity, to sit for his portrait, which was taken by Mr. Sykes, for his friend Mr. Cloudsley of Darlington, surgeon. It is said to be a most striking likeness.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 55·32.

[187]

“Beneath the shelter of the silent elm,
His native elm (to sapience still a friend)
MERONES loves, and meditates beneath
The verdure of thy leaves: see there
How silently he sits! and lost in thought,
Weighs in his mind some great design! revolves
He now his _Subtile Fluxions_? or displays
By truest signs the _Sphere’s Projection_ wide?
Wide as thy sphere, Merones, be thy fame.”

See a poem on the old Elm at Hurworth, in _Gent. Mag._ for May, 1756.

~May 22.~

SOPS AND ALE.

At East-Bourn, in “a descriptive account of that village in the county of Sussex,” there is mention of a very singular custom having prevailed for many years under the denomination of “Sops and Ale.” It was productive of much mirth and good humour, being conducted as follows: the senior bachelor in the place was elected by the inhabitants, steward, and to him was delivered a damask napkin, a large wooden bowl, twelve wooden trenchers, twelve wooden knives and forks, two wooden candlesticks, and two wooden cups for the reception of sugar; and on the Saturday fortnight the steward attended at the church-door, with a white wand in his hand, and gave notice that sops and ale would be given that evening at such a place. Immediately after any lady, or respectable farmer or tradesman’s wife became mother of a child, the steward called at the house, and begged permission for “sops and ale;” which was always granted, and conducted in the following order:--Three tables were placed in some convenient room; one of which was covered with the above napkin, and had a china bowl and plates, with silver handled knives and forks placed on it; and in the bowl were put biscuits sopped with wine, and sweetened with fine sugar. The second table was also covered with a cloth, with china, or other earthern plates, and a bowl with beer sops, sweetened with fine sugar, and decent knives and forks. The third table was placed without any cloth; and on it were put the wooden bowl, knives, forks, and trenchers, as before described, with the candlesticks and sugar cups; and in the bowl were beer sops, sweetened with the coarsest sugar. As soon as the evening service was over, having had previous notice from the steward, the company assembled, and were placed in the following order:--those persons whose wives were mothers of twins, were placed at the upper or first table; those whose wives had a child or children, at the second table; and such persons as were married, and had no children, together with the old bachelors, were placed at the third table, which was styled _the bachelors’ table_, under which title the gentlemen who sat at it, were addressed for that evening, and the gentlemen at the first table were styled _benchers_. Proper toasts were given, adapted for the occasion, and the company always broke up at eight o’clock, generally very cheerful and good-humoured.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·87.

~May 23.~

CHRONOLOGY.

This is the anniversary of one of the great duke of Marlborough’s most celebrated engagements, the battle of Ramilles, a place near Namur in the Netherlands, where, on this day, in the year 1706, he gained a memorable victory over the French. It was in this battle that colonel Gardiner, then an ensign in the nineteenth year of his age, received a shot in his mouth, from a musket ball, which, without destroying any of his teeth, or touching the fore part of his tongue, went through his neck, and came out about an inch and a half on the left side of the vertebræ. He felt no pain, but dropped soon after, and lay all night among his dying companions; he recovered in an almost miraculous manner, and became, from a most profligate youth, a character eminent for piety.[188]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 55·57.

[188] Butler’s Chronological Exercises.

~May 24.~

JACK KETCH AND NEWGATE.

On this day, in 1736, five felons in Newgate were to have been executed; but the prison was so insecure, that, during the night, one of them “took up a board and got out of his cell, and made his escape.” The other four were taken to Tyburn and suffered their sentence; and Jack Ketch “on his return from doing his duty at Tyburn, robbed a woman of three shillings and sixpence.”[189]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 56·42.

[189] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~May 25.~

CORPUS CHRISTI DAY.

On Corpus Christi day, at about a quarter before one o’clock at noon, the worshipful company of skinners (attended by a number of boys which they have in Christ’s Hospital school, and girls strewing herbs before them) walk in procession from their hall on Dowgate-hill, to the church of St. Antholin’s, in Watling-street, to hear service. This custom has been observed time out of mind.

This notice is communicated by one of the company.

For other customs on this festival, see vol. i. p. 742 to 758.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·52.

~May 26.~

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·35.

~May 27.~

ADDISON’S LIBRARY.

1799. On this and the three following days, the library of the celebrated Addison was sold by auction by Messrs. Leigh and Sotheby, at their house in York-street, Covent-garden. The books were brought from Bilton, where Addison had resided, near Rugby, in Warwickshire, and under Mr. Leigh’s hammer produced 456_l._ 2_s._ 9_d._

* * * * *

There is a portrait of Mr. Leigh, who is since dead, from a drawing by Mr. Behnes.

Mr. Leigh dissolved partnership with Mr. Sotheby, his son supplied his father’s place, and the business was carried on in the Strand. On Mr. Leigh’s death, his surviving partner continued it, as he still does, near the same spot in Waterloo-place, whither he removed in consequence of the premises being required for other purposes. This establishment is the oldest of the kind in London: under Mr. Sotheby’s management its ancient reputation is supported: his sales are of the highest respectability, and attended by the best collectors. Mr. Sotheby sold the matchless _niellos_ and other prints of sir Mark Sykes. For collections of that nature, and for libraries, his arrangements are of a most superior order. One of the greatest treats to a lover of literature is a lounge at Mr. Sotheby’s during one of his sales.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·50.

~May 28.~

FEMALE ORDER OF MERIT.

The journals of this day, in 1736, announce that mademoiselle Salle, a famous dancer at Paris, who valued herself highly on her reputation, instituted an order there, of which she was president, by the name of “the Indifferents.” Both sexes were indiscriminately admitted after a nice scrutiny into their qualifications. They had rites, which no one was to disclose. The badge of the order was a ribbon striped, black, white, and yellow, and the device something like an icicle. They took an oath to fight against love, and if any of the members were particular in their regards, they were excluded the order with ignominy.[190]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·90.

[190] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~May 29.~

K. CHARLES II. RESTORATION.

For customs on this day, see vol. i. p. 711 to 722.

This anniversary is an opportunity for introducing the following curious view.

WHERE CHARLES II. WAS CONCEALED AFTER THE BATTLE OF WORCESTER.]

This engraving, from a rare print of great value, represents Boscobel-house, in the state it was when Charles II. and colonel Carlos took refuge there. They remained in the house till they became alarmed for their safety.

Dr Stukely mentions the straits to which Charles was reduced during his concealment at this place. “Not far from Boscobel-house, just by a horse track passing through the wood, stood the royal oak, into which the king and his companion, colonel Carlos, climbed by means of the henroost ladder, when they judged it no longer safe to stay in the house; the family reaching them victuals with the nuthook. The tree is now enclosed in with a brick wall, the inside whereof is covered with laurel, of which we may say, as Ovid did of that before the Augustine palace, ‘mediamque tuebere quercum.’ Close by its side grows a young thriving plant from one of its acorns. Over the door of the enclosure, I took this inscription in marble:--

‘Felicissimam arborem quam in asylum potentissimi Regis Caroli II.
Deus O. M. per quem reges regnant hic crescere voluit, tam in
perpetuam rei tantae memoriam quam specimen firmae in reges fidei,
muro cinctam posteris commendant Basilius et Jana Fitzherbert.

‘Quercus amica Jovi.’”

The situation of the house in the above year, is shown by the annexed engraving, from a view of it at that period.

At a small distance from Boscobel is Whiteladies, so called from having been a nunnery of white or Cistercian nuns, extensive ruins of which remain.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·37.

~May 30.~

CLERKENWELL, IN 1730.

This day, in 1730, being the anniversary of the birth-day of the princesses Amelia and Caroline, Mr. Cook, a publican, discharged twenty-one guns in salute of their royal highnesses as they passed his door, “to drink the water at the wells by the New River Head in the parish of St. James, Clerkenwell.” It appears that “almost every day for the latter part of that month, there was so great a concourse of the nobility and gentry, that the proprietor took about thirty pounds in a morning.”[191] Clerkenwell, therefore, in 1730, was so fashionable as to be the resort of the court for recreation. At that time it had green lanes and bowling-alleys to delight the gentry, and attract the citizens of the metropolis. It is now, in 1826, covered with houses, and without a single public place of reputable entertainment; not even a bowling-green.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·72.

[191] Gentleman’s Magazine

~May 31.~

DEATH OF AN ELEPHANT.

With the destruction of the elephant belonging to Mr. Cross, at Exeter Change, described in the present volume, may be paralleled the destruction of another on this day in the year 1820. The particulars are related in the “London Magazine” of April 1, 1826; they seem to have been translated from a “Notice sur l’Elephant mort a Geneve le 31 Mai dernier,” in the “_Almanach Historique, nommé Messager Boiteux_ pour l’An de grace, 1821,” which has been sent to the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ for the purpose of enabling him to lay the annexed engraving before the readers of London, from a print in that “Almanac,” which is printed in quarto “á Vevey, chez Freres Lœrtscher.”

* * * * *

In May, 1820, for about a fortnight a fine Bengal elephant (Elephas Indicus, Cuvier--Elephas Maximus, Linn.) had been exhibited at Geneva. The elephants of this species are taller than those of Africa. They have an elevated cranium, which has two protuberances on its summit; the frontal bone is rather concave, and the head proportionably longer; their tusks are smaller than those of the African elephant. The animal in question had but one; he had lost the other by some accident. He was nine feet high, and of a dark-brown colour, he was ten years old, and had been bought in London six years before. Mademoiselle Garnier, (the niece of his proprietor,) to whom he was much attached, always travelled with him. She was the proprietor of an elephant which had broken loose at Venice a few years previously, and was killed by a cannon-shot, after it had committed considerable ravages in that city.

The present elephant was of a much gentler character, and had excited a general interest during its stay in Geneva, by its docility and intelligence; it performed all the usual tricks which are taught these animals, with a promptitude of obedience, a dexterity, and almost a grace, which were quite remarkable. Whenever mademoiselle Garnier witnessed his exercises, her presence seemed to call forth all these qualities to an extraordinary degree. According to her statement he was so familiar and social that he had more than once appeared on the stage at Lille, Antwerp, &c. playing the principal part in a procession, and seeming proud to carry the lady who acted the princess, before whom he would kneel to take her on his back. So far from being frightened at the lights, the music, and the noise of the house, he seemed delighted to take a part in the ceremony.

Accustomed to liberty, and much as he loved it, he yet endured confinement with patience, and when his keeper came to fasten him up for the night, he used to stretch out his foot to receive the iron ring by which he was chained till morning, to a post deeply fixed in the earth. Unlike these animals in England, he did not travel in a cage, but was led from one town to another by night; he had three drivers, his keeper, properly so called, and two others, one of whom had always inspired him with more fear than attachment.

During the latter part of his stay at Geneva he had exhibited symptoms of excitement and restlessness, arising from two causes--the one, the frequent discharges of musketry from the soldiers who were exercised near his habitation, at which he was greatly irritated; the other, the paroxysms to which these animals are subject for several weeks in the spring. Nevertheless, he had never disobeyed nor menaced his keepers.

His departure was fixed for the 31st of May. He left Geneva at midnight, the gates and drawbridges having been opened for that purpose by permission of the syndic of the guard, the magistrate at the head of the military police. He was driven by his keeper and his two assistants, who carried a lantern. Mademoiselle Garnier was to follow in the morning. He made no difficulty in crossing the drawbridge, and took the road to Switzerland apparently in high spirits. But about a quarter of a league from the town he appeared out of humour with the keeper, and disposed to attack him. The man ran away towards the city; the elephant pursued him up to the gate, which the officer on guard opened, on his own responsibility, wisely calculating that it would be more easy to secure him within the town than without it, and that he might do immense mischief on the high roads, especially as it was the market-day at Geneva. He re-entered the town without hesitation, pursuing, rather than following his keeper and guides, between whom and himself all influence, whether of attachment or of fear, seemed at an end. From this moment he was his own master.

He walked for some time in the place de Saint Gervais, appearing to enjoy his liberty and the beauty of the night. He lay down for a few minutes on a heap of sand, prepared for some repairs in the pavement, and played with the stones collected for the same purpose. Perceiving one of his guides, who was watching him from the entrance of one of the bridges over the Rhone, he ran at him, and would have attacked him, and probably done him some serious injury, if he had not escaped.

Mademoiselle Garnier having been informed of what had passed, hastened to the spot, and trusting to the attachment he had always shown for her, went up to him with great courage, with some dainties of which he was particularly fond, and speaking to him with gentleness and confidence, led him into a place enclosed with walls near the barrack he had inhabited, into which he could not be induced to return. This place, called the Bastion d’Hollande, adjoined a shed containing caissoons, waggons, and gun-carriages; there were also cannon-balls piled up in an adjoining yard. Being left alone, and the gate shut upon him, he amused himself with trying his strength and skill upon every thing within his reach; he raised several caissoons and threw them on their sides, and seemed pleased at turning the wheels; he took up the balls with his trunk, and tossed them in the air, and ran about with a vivacity which might have been ascribed either to gaiety or to irritation.

At two in the morning, the syndic of the guard being informed of the circumstance, went to the spot to consult on the measures to be taken. Mademoiselle Garnier in a state of the utmost distress and agitation, entreated that the elephant might be killed in the most speedy and certain way possible. The syndic, sharing in the general feeling of interest the noble and gentle creature had excited in the town, opposed her desire. He represented that the animal was now in a place of security against all danger, whether to the public or himself; and that as his present state of irritation was, in its very nature, transient, and would soon yield to a proper regimen; but mademoiselle Garnier remembered the occurrences at Venice, and felt the whole weight and responsibility of the management of the animal was on herself alone; for the keeper and guides had decidedly refused to attend upon him again, and she persisted in her demand. The magistrate would not give his consent until it was put into writing and signed.

From that moment arrangements were made for destroying him. The chemists were laid under contribution for drugs, while two breaches were made in the wall, at each of which a four-pounder was placed, which was to be the _ratio ultima_ if the poison failed.

M. Mayor, eminent as a surgeon, and for his learning in natural history, and one of the directors of the museum, had taken great delight in visiting the elephant during his stay, and the animal had evinced a particular affection for him. This induced the magistrate to request M. Mayor to administer the poison. M. Mayor, after mixing about three ounces of prussic acid with about ten ounces of brandy, which was the animal’s favourite liquor, called him by his name to one of the breaches. The elephant came immediately, seized the bottle with his trunk, and swallowed the liquor at one draught, as if it had been his usual drink. This poison, the operation of which, even in the smallest doses, is usually tremendously rapid, did not appear to produce any sensible effect on him; he walked backwards with a firm step to the middle of the enclosure, where he lay down for some moments. It was thought that the poison was beginning to act, but he soon rose again, and began to play with the caissoons, and to walk about in the courtyard of the arsenal. M. Mayor, presuming that the prussic acid which had been kept some time had lost its strength, prepared three boluses of an ounce of arsenic each, mixed with honey and sugar. The elephant came again at his call, and took them all from his hand. At the expiration of a quarter of an hour, he did not appear at all affected by them. A fresh dose was then offered him; he took it, smelt at it for some minutes, then threw it to a distance, and began again to play all sorts of tricks. Sometimes he came to the breach, and, twining his trunk round the mouth of the cannon, pushed it back as if he had some indistinct notion of the danger which threatened him.

It was five in the morning when the first dose of poison was administered; an hour had elapsed, and no symptom of its internal action appeared. Meanwhile the market time drew near, the space around the walls was rapidly filling with inquisitive spectators, and the order was given to fire. The gunner seized the moment in which the elephant, who had advanced to the breach, was retiring, and presented his side. The mouth of the cannon almost touched him. The ball entered near the ear behind the right eye, came out behind the left ear, went through a thick partition on the opposite side of the enclosure, and spent itself against a wall. The animal stood still for two or three seconds then tottered, and fell on his side without convulsion or movement.

The above engraving, from that in the foreign almanac already mentioned, represents the manner wherein his death was effected.

The event circulated through the town with the rapidity of lightning. “They have killed the elephant!” “What had the noble creature done? he was so good, so gentle, so amiable!” “What a pity!” The people ran with one accord to the spot, to satisfy themselves with a nearer view. The eagerness was so great that the authorities were obliged to take steps for keeping order in the crowd, and a small sum of money was demanded from each for the benefit of the proprietor. The same evening, by arrangements entered into with mademoiselle Garnier, for securing the remains of the animal for the museum, the surgeons proceeded to open the body, which they continued to dissect for several successive days. The operations were executed by M. Mayor, the chevalier Bourdet, a naturalist and traveller, and M. Vichet, an eminent pupil of the veterinary surgeon of Alfort. They took an exact measurement of the animal. They traced its silhouette on the wall; and made separate casts of its head, and the two feet of one side. All the principal viscera, except the liver, which decomposed too rapidly, and the brain, which was shattered by the ball, were carefully removed and preserved in a solution of oxygenated muriate of mercury. The spleen was six feet long. The muscular or fleshy parts, as the season would not allow of their slow dissection, were taken away rather by the hatchet than the bistoury. They were given to the public, who were extremely eager and anxious to eat elephant’s flesh, and much tempted by its excellent appearance, dressed as it was with every variety of sauce. They seemed perfectly regardless of the poison, which indeed had not time to develope itself in the muscular system. Three or four hundred persons ate of it without injury, excepting one or two individuals, who brought on a fit of indigestion by indulging to excess. The osseous carcass was put into a state of maceration previous to re-composing the skeleton, in order to its deposit in the museum of natural history. The interest taken in that establishment was so strong, that the large sum required to secure possession of the entire carcass, was raised by subscription in a few days. The skin was found too thick to be tanned by the ordinary process, and as the epidermis began to detach itself naturally, it was carefully separated from the dermis, which it was not essential to preserve entire. The epidermis retained its proper consistency, in order to be supplied by a well-known process in covering the artificial carcass, constructed under the direction of Messrs. Mayor and Bourdet.

If mademoiselle Garnier had not succeeded in enticing the animal to the place where his destruction was effected, the mischief he might have occasioned by remaining at large, till the inhabitants of Geneva had risen from their beds to their daily occupations, can scarcely be imagined; especially as it was on a market-day, when the city is usually thronged with country people, and most persons are necessarily out of doors.

_May Custom at Buckingham._

RINGING THE OLD BAILIFF OUT.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--On this day, unusual bustle set the town of Buckingham alive. It was the festive consecration of the first Sunday after May-day. Having taken care of my horse and left the inn, I heard a band of music approaching the church, which is a cheerful edifice, standing on an eminence with a painted glass window. The bells rung merrily, and the sunshine gave lustre to the surrounding country, beautified by light and shade. The main street was presently lined with townspeople and villagers. My inquiries as to the cause of this “busy hum of men” were soon satisfied by the cry that, “They’re ringing the old bailiff out!” As the musicians (not of the opera band, nor of the Hanover rooms,) came nearer with the accumulating procession, I with difficulty learned the theme of their endeavours to be Weber’s “Hark! follow!” I never heard any thing surpass this murder of melody. Had Weber been present, he would not have regretted he had given the MS. of Der Freischütz, to discharge a trifling debt, which I am informed was really the case. Such discord, however, worked no “incantation” here. All faces smiled, all hearts appeared glad. The cavalcade moved in pairs. First two small children in white with garlands, then, behind them, two, a size larger; then others, increasing in growth and tallness, till six wreathed maidens and their swains moved onwards, dancing and shaking their curly locks in sportive glee around the Maypole, decorated in the habiliments of nature’s sweetest and choicest spring flowers and boughs. Dolls of various dresses were placed in the midst, as though they looked out of bowers for the arrival of kindred playfellows. Then came his worship, the bailiff, a sir John Falstaff-like sort of person, swelling with pleasurable consequence; the shining mace borne on the shoulder intimated his dignity. What a happy day of honour, of triumph, and greatness to him! Then followed the leading men of the town, the burgesses in their corporate robes and nosegays. Their friends paraded aside in their Sunday clothes, like “ladies of olden days” and “squires of high degree.” Favours and flags played on the fresh air, inviting rural enjoyment. Many rosy-faced damosels in their “best bibs and tuckers” illustrated the time by appearing at the windows; infants were held up to behold, and the aged crept to the doors, to take a glimpse of what they might not live to see repeated. As the procession arrived at the churchyard gate, soldiers were arranged in line, preparing to meet and unite in the gaiety of the day. It is thus pleasant to view the military and civil powers, peacefully ornamenting the general harmony of the season. The subordinates and illustrators of this annual custom, opened a passage at the church door, and the bailiff led the way into his seat. The bells rested their metal tongues, and the music ceased awhile. People of all descriptions, in all directions, hurried to their respective pews, with accommodating civility to strangers. The curate opened his book and his duties, the clerk unsheathed his spectacles, confined his nostrils, and the service was reverently performed, with a suitable discourse and decent melody. After this was ended, the bailiff and his friends returned in like order as they came, perambulating the precincts of the town. Then the glory of all true Britons, was manifested by the clatter of knives and forks, at the favourite depôt for provisions, and genuine hilarity closed the “ringing out of the old bailiff,” and the ringing in of the new one.

J. R. PRIOR.

* * * * *

With the preceding communication from Mr. Prior, are the following verses.

_To the Dead Nettle._

Unlike the rose,
Thou hast not bards to sing
Thy merits as thy beauty grows
’Neath hedges in the spring.

Unconscious flower!
Thy downcast blossom seems
Like widowed thought in sorrow’s hour
Away from pleasure’s beams.

Young feeling’s eye
Surveys thee in thy vernal bed,
Protected from the glare of sky,
By lovely nature fed.

He, that would learn
Sermons from thine eternal birth,
Might safely to the world return
And triumph over earth.

J. R. PRIOR.

A MAY-DAY.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--If you think the following lines worth insertion in your _Every-Day Book_, you are welcome to them.

I am, Sir, &c.

H. M. LANDER.

_King’s Bench Walk,_

_Temple._

SONG.

’Tis May! ’tis May! the skylarks sing,
The swallow tribe is on the wing,
The emerald meads look fresh and gay,
And smiles the golden orb of day.

’Tis May! ’tis May! the voice of love
Inspiring calls to yonder grove;
Then let us to the shades repair,
Where health, and mirth, and music are.

’Tis May! ’tis May! air, earth, and flood,
With life and beauty are endowed:
Myriads of forms creep, glide, and soar,
Exultant through the genial hour.

’Tis May! ’tis May! why should not man
Embrace the universal plan,
Enjoy the seasons as they roll,
And love while love inspires the soul.

’Tis May! ’tis May! the flowers soon fade,
And voiceless grows the sylvan shade:
The insects fall mid autumn’s gloom,
And man is hastening to the tomb.

’Tis May! ’tis May! the flowers revive!
Again the insect revellers live!
But man’s lost bloom no charms restore,
His youth once pass’d, returns no more.

~Dulce Domum.~

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--It may not, perhaps, be generally known what it was that gave rise to the writing of the old breaking-up song of “Dulce Domum,” so loudly and so cheerfully sung by youngsters previous to the vacation; and as an old custom is involved in it, you may deem both the song and the custom worthy a place in your _Every-Day Book_. They are subjoined.

I am, Sir, &c.

HENRY BRANDON.

_Leadenhall Street,_

_May, 1826._

About two hundred and thirty years ago, a scholar of St. Mary’s college Winchester was, for some offence committed, confined by order of the master, and it being just previous to the Whitsuntide vacation, was not permitted to visit his friends, but remained a prisoner at the college, as report says, tied to a pillar. During this period he composed the well known “_Dulce domum_,” being the recollections of the pleasures he was wont to join in, at that season of the year. Grief at the disgrace and the disappointment he endured, so heavily affected him, that he did not live to witness the return of his companions, at the end of their holydays.

In commemoration of the above, annually on the evening preceding the Whitsun holydays, the master, scholars, and choristers of the above college, attended by a band of music, walk in procession round the court of the college and the pillar to which it is alleged the unfortunate youth was tied, and chant the verses which he composed in his affliction.

DULCE DOMUM!

Concinamus, O sodales!
Eja! quid silemus?
Nobile canticum!
Dulce melos, domum!
Dulce domum, resonemus.

_Chorus._

Domum, domum, dulce domum;
Domum, domum, dulce domum!
Dulce, dulce, domum!
Dulce domum, resonemus!

Appropinquat ecce! felix
Hora gaudiorum,
Post grave tedium
Advenit omnium
Meta petita laborum.
Domum, domum, &c.

Musa, libros mitte, fessa,
Mitte pensa dura,
Mitte negotium
Jam datur otium,
Me mea mittito cura.
Domum, domum, &c.

Ridet annus, prata rident;
Nosque rideamus,
Jam repetit domum,
Daulius advena:
Nosque domum repetamus,
Domum, domum, &c.

Heus! Rogere, fer caballos;
Eja, nunc eamus.
Limen amabile
Matris et oscula,
Suaviter et repetamus,
Domum, domum, &c.

Concinamus ad Penates,
Vox et audiatur;
Phosphore! quid jubar,
Segnius emicans,
Gaudia nostra moratur?
Domum, domum, &c.

The above was put into an English dress, a copy of which is below:

Sing a sweet melodious measure,
Waft enchanting lays around;
Home! a theme replete with pleasure!
Home! a grateful theme resound!

_Chorus._

Home, sweet home! an ample treasure!
Home! with every blessing crown’d!
Home! perpetual source of pleasure!
Home! a noble strain, resound.

Lo! the joyful hour advances;
Happy season of delight!
Festal songs, and festal dances,
All our tedious toil requite.
Home, &c.

Leave, my wearied muse, thy learning,
Leave thy task, so hard to bear;
Leave thy labour, ease returning,
Leave this bosom, O! my care.
Home, &c.

See the year, the meadow, smiling!
Let us then a smile display,
Rural sports, our pain beguiling,
Rural pastimes call away.
Home, &c.

Now the swallow seeks her dwelling,
And no longer roves to roam;
Her example thus impelling,
Let us seek our native home.
Home, &c.

Let our men and steeds assemble,
Panting for the wide champaign;
Let the ground beneath us tremble,
While we scour along the plain.
Home, &c.

Oh! what raptures, oh! what blisses.
When we gain the lovely gate!
Mother’s arms, and mother’s kisses,
There, our bless’d arrival wait.
Home, &c.

Greet our household-gods with singing,
Lend, O Lucifer, thy ray;
Why should light, so slowly springing,
All our promis’d joys delay?
Home, &c.

* * * * *

Mr. Brandon’s account of the “procession round the courts of the college,” and the singing of “Dulce Domum,” is sustained by the rev. Mr. Brand, who adds, of the song, that “it is no doubt of very remote antiquity, and that its origin must be traced, not to any ridiculous tradition, but to the tenderest feelings of human nature.” He refers for the English verses to the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” for March, 1796, where they first appeared, and calls them “a spirited translation.” On looking into that volume, it seems they were written by one of Mr. Urban’s correspondents, who signs “J. R.” and dates from “New-street, Hanover-square.” Dr. Milner says, that from “amongst many translations of this Winchester ode,” the present “appears best to convey the sense, spirit, and measure, of the original; the former versions were unworthy of it.” He alleges that the existence of the original can only be traced up to the distance of about a century; yet its real author, and the occasion of its composition, are already clouded with fables.[192]

AMERICAN VOCAL MUSIC.

By the favour of a correspondent in North America, we are enabled to extract from the “Colonial Advocate” of Queenston, the following interesting article, by a Scotch resident, on the state of melody in the region he inhabits. It particularly relates to May.

SCOTTISH SONGS.

“Dear Scotia! o’er the swelling sea
From childhood’s hopes, from friends, from thee,
On earth where’er thy offspring roam,
This day their hearts should wander home.
Her sons are brave, her daughters fair,
Her gowan glens no slave can share,
Then from the feeling never stray,
That loves the land that’s far away.”

_Sung by Mr. Maywood, on St. Andrew’s day, in New York._

I have often thought it a pity that there is no feature in which Canada, and indeed America in general, exhibits more dissimilarity to Scotland, than in its want of vocal music. On the highland hills, and in the lowland vallies, of Caledonia, we are delighted with the music of the feathered choristers, who fill heaven in a May morning with their matin songs. The shepherd whistles “The Yellow Hair’d Laddie”--the shepherdess sings “In April when primroses deck the sweet plain”--all nature seems in harmony. But here all is dulness and monotony,

“We call on pleasure--and around
A mocking world repeats the sound!”

Even the emigrant seems to have forgotten his native mountains; and in the five years in which I have sojourned in America, I have not once heard “Roslin Castle” sung by a swain on a blithe summer’s day. Here they are all dull plodding farmers, as devoid of sober melody as the huge forests which surround them are void of grace and beauty: talk to them of poetry and music, and they will sit with sad civility, “as silent as Pygmalion’s wife.”

Now and then you may hear a hoarse raven of an old woodchopper in the barroom of a filthy tavern, roaring in discordant notes, “Yankee Doodle:” or, in a church or meeting-house, you may behold fifteen or twenty men and women picked out of the congregation, stuck up in a particular part of the house and singing the praises of redeeming love, with the voices of so many stentors. The affectation they display, cannot fail to disgust you: the form of godliness is present, but the power thereof is wanting.

The memory of a native Scotsman retraces back those halcyon days, when gladness filled the corn-field--when sober mirth and glee crowned the maiden feast--when the song went merrily round at Yule, to chase away the winter frosts; and coming to the day of universal rest from labour, calls to mind the venerable precentor with his well-remembered solemn tunes, where _old and young_, infancy and advanced age, willingly joined together in singing his praise--where the fiddle and the flute, the harp and the organ, were useless--where no set people stood up in a corner, as if to say, “we, the aristocracy of this congregation, can offer a sweeter and more acceptable sacrifice than you, with our melodious voices so much better attuned than yours.”

It may, perhaps, appear irreverend in me, to say a word of sacred music in an essay intended for Scottish songs; but I thought the contrast would not be complete without this allusion. A late essayist “On vulgar prejudices against Literature,” uses a fine argument in favour of native poetry.

“Let us ask,” says he, “has Britain a greater claim to distinction among the nations of the world, from any one circumstance, however celebrated it be in arts and arms, than from its being the birthplace of Shakspeare? And if the celebration of the anniversary of Waterloo be held in the farthest settlements of India, so is the anniversary of the birth of Robert Burns, the pastoral poet of Scotland:--

“Encamped by Indian rivers wild,
The soldier, resting on his arms,
In Burns’s carol sweet recalls
The scenes that blest him when a child,
And glows and gladdens at the charms
Of Scotia’s woods and waterfalls.”

When kingdoms, and states, and cities pass away, what then proves to be the most imperishable of their records, the most durable of their glories? Is it not the lay of the poet? the eloquence of the patriot? the page of the historian? Is it not the genius of the nation, imprinted on these, the most splendid of its annals, and transmitted, as a legacy, and a token of its vanished glory, to the after ages of mankind? And now, when the glories of Greece and Rome are but shadows, does not our blood stir within us at the recital of their mighty achievements, and of their majestic thoughts, which, but for the page of the chronicler would have been long ere now a blank and a vacancy; glory departed without a trace, or figures traced upon the sand, and washed away by the returns of the tide:--

“Oh! who shall lightly say that fame,
Is nothing but an empty name?
When, but for those, our mighty dead,
All ages past a blank would be,
Sunk in oblivion’s murky bed,
A desert bare, a shipless sea.

They are the distant objects seen;
The lofty marks of what hath been,
Oh! who shall lightly say that fame
Is nothing but an empty name?

Where memory of the mighty dead
To earth-worn pilgrims’ wistful eye
The brightest rays of cheering shed,
That point to immortality.”

The blue hills and mountains, among which Byron first caught the enthusiasm of song; the green vallies and brown heaths where Scott learnt to tell of Flodden field, and deeds of other days, in verse, lasting as the source of the deep Niagara, yet return an echo to the well-known “Daintie Davie” of Robert Burns.