Chapter XLVII: Part I: 5th May to 13th 8 (9)

The amusements last till near midnight, when the rustics, being exhilarated with the effects of good strong Wiltshire ale, generally part after a few glorious battles.

The next day several champions enter the field to contest the right to several prizes, which are laid out in the following order:--

1st. A new smock.

2nd. A new hat with a blue cockade.

3rd. An inferior hat with a white cockade.

4th. A still inferior hat without a cockade.

A stage is erected on the green, and at five o’clock the sport commences; and a very celebrated personage, whom they call their _umpshire_, (umpire,) stands high above the rest to award the prizes. The candidates are generally selected from the best players at singlestick, and on this occasion they use their utmost skill and ingenuity, and are highly applauded by the surrounding spectators. I must not forget to remark that on this grand, and to them, interesting day, the inhabitants of Purton do not combat against each other. No--believe me, sir, they are better acquainted with the laws of chivalry. Purton produces four candidates, and a small village adjoining, called Stretton, sends forth four more. These candidates are representatives of the villages to which they respectively belong, and they who lose have to pay all the expenses of the day; but it is to the credit of the sons of Purton I record, that for seven successive years their candidates have been returned the victors. The contest generally lasts two hours, and, after that, the ceremony of chairing the representatives takes place, which is thus performed:--Four chairs made with the boughs of trees are in waiting, and the conquerors are placed therein and carried through the village with every possible demonstration of joy, the inhabitants shouting “Purton for ever! huzza! my boys, huzza!” and waving boughs over their triumphant candidates. After the chairing they adjourn to the village public-house, and spend the remainder of the evening as before.

The third day is likewise a day of bustle and confusion. All repair to a small common, called the cricket ground, and a grand match takes place between the Purton club and the Stretton club; there are about twenty candidates of a side. The vanquished parties pay a shilling each to defray the expense of a cold collation, which is previously provided in a pleasant little copse adjoining the cricket-ground, and the remainder of the day is spent convivially.

I remember hearing the landlord of the public-house at Purton, (which is situated on one side of the green,) observe to a villager, that during the three days’ merriment he had sold six thousand gallons of strong beer and ale; the man of course doubted him, and afterwards very sarcastically remarked to me, “It’s just as asy, measter, for he to zay zix thousand gallons as dree thousand!” Does not this, good Mr. Editor, show a little genuine Purton wit?

I have now, my dear sir, finished, and have endeavoured to describe three pleasant days spent in an innocent and happy manner; and if I have succeeded in affording you any service, or your readers any amusement, I am amply rewarded. Allow me to add I feel such an affection for old Purton, that should I at any time in my life visit Wiltshire, I would travel twenty miles out of my road to ramble once more in the haunts of my boyhood.

Believe me, my dear Sir,

Yours very sincerely,

_August, 18, 1826._

C. T.

* * * * *

P.S. Since writing the above I have received a letter from a very particular friend who went to Purton school five years, to whom I applied for a few extra particulars respecting the fair, &c., and he thus writes, “Dear C. You seem to think that with the name I still retain all the characteristics and predilections of a _hodge_; and therefore you seek to me for information respecting the backsword-playing, fair, &c. Know that as to the first, it is (and has been for the last two years) entirely done away with, as the principal ‘farmers’ in the place ‘_done_’ like it, and so don’t suffer it. As to the fair, where lads and lasses meet in their best gowns, and ribands, and clean smocks, you must know, most assuredly, more of it than I do, as I seldom troubled about it. You must bear in mind that this fair is exactly the same as that held in the month of May, but as no notice has been taken of it by Mr. Hone in either of his volumes, I suppose it very little matters whether your description is of the fair held in May or September.”

I have to lament, my dear sir, the discontinuance of the ancient custom of backswording at Purton village; but so long as they keep up their fairs, the other loss will not be so much felt.

C. T.

* * * * *

_August 30, 1826._

I forgot to mention in my particulars of Purton-fair, that Old Corey, and the other _celebrated_ worthies, only come to the September fair, as the May fair is disregarded by them, it being a fair principally for the sale of cattle, &c. and the September fair is entirely devoted to pleasure. Perhaps you can introduce this small piece of intelligence, together with the following doggrel song written for the occasion.

C. T.

TO THE WORTHY AND RESPECTABLE INHABITANTS OF PURTON,

_This_ SONG _is most respectfully inscribed_,

_By their ever true and devoted humble servant_,

CHARLES TOMLINSON.

=SONG.=

PURTON FAIR.

Come, neighbours, listen, I’ll sing you a song,
Which, I assure you, will not keep you long;
I’ll sing a good song about old Purton fair,
For that is the place, lads, to drive away care.

The damsels all meet full of mirth and of glee,
And they are as happy as happy can be;
Such worth, and such beauty, fairs seldom display,
And sorrow is banished on this happy day.

There’s the brave lads of Purton at backsword so clever,
Who were ne’er known to flinch, but victorious ever;
The poor boys of Stretton are basted away,
For Purton’s fam’d youths ever carry the day.

’Tis “Old Corey Dyne,” who wisely declares,
Stretton’s lads must be beaten at all Purton’s fairs;
They can’t match our courage, then, huzza! my boys,
To still conquering Purton let’s kick up a noise.

“Old Corey’s” the merriest blade in the fair,
What he tells us is true, so, prithee, don’t stare;
“Remember poor Corey, come, pray have a throw,
’Tis _but_ once a year, as you very well know.”

_But_--here ends my song, so let’s haste to the green,
’Tis as pretty a spot as ever was seen;
And if you are sad or surrounded with care,
Haste quickly! haste quickly! to OLD PURTON FAIR.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 61·07.

~September 4.~

HOW TO KEEP APPLES.

Gather them dry, and put them with clean straw, or clean chaff, into casks; cover them up close, and put them into a cool dry cellar. Fruit will keep perfectly good a twelvemonth in this manner.

_How to mark your fruit._

Let the cultivator of choice fruit cut in paper the initial letters of his name, or any other mark he likes; and just before his peaches, nectarines, &c. begin to be coloured, stick such letters or mark with gum-water on that side of the fruit which is next the sun. That part of the rind which is under the paper will remain green, in the exact form of the mark, and and so the fruit be known wheresoever found, for the mark cannot be obliterated.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·92.

~September 5.~

OLD BARTHOLOMEW.

This day has been so marked in our almanacs since the new style.

THE SEASON.

We may expect very pleasant weather during this month. For whether the summer has been cold, warm, or showery, September, in all latitudes lying between 45 and 55 degrees north, produces, on an average, the finest and pleasantest weather of the year: as we get farther south the pleasantest temperature is found in October; more northward than 55 degrees the chills of autumn are already arrived, and we must look for temperature to August.[334]

* * * * *

THE GYMNASIUM.

_For the Every-Day Book._

Hæc opera atque hæ sunt generosi Principis artes.

Juv. Sat. 8. L. 224.

Let cricket, tennis, fives, and ball,
The active to amusement call;
Let sportsmen through the fields at morn
Discharge the gun and sound the horn,--
Gymnastic sport shall fill my hours,
Renew my strength and tone my powers.

I learn to climb, to walk and run,
I make defence, and dangers shun;
Now quick, now slow, now poised on high,
I stand in air and vault the sky;
The sailor’s skill, the soldier’s part,
I compass by Gymnastic art.

All life’s concerns require that health
Should be secured to gather wealth;
That limb and muscle, nerve and vein,
Should vigorous force and motion gain:--
Seek the Gymnasium,--try the plan,
And be the strong and graceful man.

The Olympic games, of Grecian birth,
Gave many a youth athletic worth;
Hence Romans shone;--hence Britons fought,
The Picts and Vandals influence caught;
The lance, the spear, and arrow flew,
And prove what deeds Gymnastics do.

With ease the horseman learns to ride
And keep his hobby in his pride;
Bloodless the feats are here pursued,
And vanquished contests are renewed.
Hey for Gymnastics!--’tis the rage
Both with the simple and the sage.

Clias, and Voelker as the chief,
Each makes his charge and gives relief;
Each points his pupils to the goal,
And, more than Parry, gains the pole:--
Up and be trim!--the sport is fine,--
Fling down the gauntlet,--mount the line.

Caleidoscopes were once the taste,--
Velocipedes were rode for haste,--
Those fed the eye with pleasing views,
These ran the streets and tithed their dues;
Thrown to the shade like fashions past,
Gymnastics reign, for they are last.

Nature with art is like a tower,
Strong in defence in every hour;
Nature with art can nearly climb
The Alp and Appenine of time;
Make life more lasting, life more bold,
By true Gymnastic skill controlled.

J. R. PRIOR.

_Sept. 1826._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 60·35.

[334] Perennial Calendar.

~September 6.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 6th of September, 1734, died in France, the Sieur Michael Tourant, aged ninety-eight, of whom it is said he never eat salt, and had none of the infirmities of old age.[335]

A TOTAL ECLIPSE IN CALIGRAPHY.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--As a subscriber to your highly entertaining work, I take the liberty of sending you the following.

In the first volume of the _Every-Day Book_, page 1086, I found an account of some small writing, executed by Peter Bales, which Mr. D’Israeli presumed to have been the whole bible written so small, that it might be put in an English walnut no bigger than a hen’s egg. “The nut holdeth the book; there are as many leaves in this little book as in the great bible, and as much written in one of the little leaves, as a great leaf of the bible.”--There is likewise an account in the same pages of the “Iliad” having been written so small that it might be put in a nut-shell; which is nothing near so much as the above.

I have lately seen written within the compass of a new penny piece, with the naked eye, and with a common clarified pen, the lord’s prayer, the creed, the ten commandments, the sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth collects after Trinity, the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, &c., the name of the writer, place of abode, nearest market town, county, day of the month and date of the year, all in words at length, and with the whole of the capital letters and stops belonging thereto, the commandments being all numbered. It was written by, and is in the possession of, Mr. John Parker of Wingerworth, near Chesterfield, Derbyshire: the writing bears date September 10, 1823. This piece of writing, I find, upon calculation, to be considerably smaller than either of the before-mentioned pieces. My calculation is as follows:--

A moderate sized egg will hold a book one inch and three quarters by one inch and three-eighths. Bibles have from about sixty to eighty lines in a column; I have not seen more. In this ingenious display of fine penmanship, there are eighty lines in one inch, and two half-eighths of an inch, which in one inch and three quarters, (the length of the bible,) is one hundred and six lines, which would contain one-third more matter than the bibles with eighty lines in a column; and one line of this writing, one inch and two-half eighths of an inch in length, (which is the sixteenth of an inch less in bread than the small bible,) is equal to two lines from one column of the great bible--for example.

Isaiah. Chap. XXIV.--Two lines of verse 20, the bible having seventy-nine lines in a column:--

“and the transgression thereof shall be heavy
upon it, and it shall fall, and not rise again.”

Ezekiel, Chap. XXX.--Two lines of verse 12, the bible having sixty-three lines in a column:--

“and I will make the Land waste, and all that
is therein, by the hand of strangers.”

One line of Mr. Parker’s writing being part of the seventh collect after Trinity:--

“good things; graft in our hearts the love of thy
name, increase in us true religion, now”--

Another line being part of the ninth and tenth commandments:--

“false witness against thy neighbour. 10.--Thou
shalt not covet thy neighbour’s house.”--

Mr. Parker very obligingly submits his writing to the inspection of the curious, and would execute one similar for a proper reward. If this account should be thought worthy of a place in your “_Every-Day Book_,” I shall feel much obliged by its insertion, and will endeavour to send you something amusing respecting the customs, pastimes, and amusements of this part of Derbyshire.

I am, Sir,

Your well-wisher

And obedient servant,

JOHN FRANCIS BROWNE.

_Lings, near Chesterfield,_

_August, 30, 1826._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·17.

[335] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~September 7.~

ENURCHUS.

For this saint, in the church of England calendar, see vol. i. col. 1253.

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 7th of September, 1772, a most astonishing rain fell at Inverary, in Scotland, by which the rivers rose to such a height, as to carry every thing along with the current that stood in the way. Even trees that had braved the floods for more than one hundred years, were torn up by the roots and carried down the stream. Numbers of bridges were swept away, and the military roads rendered impassable. All the duke of Argyle’s cascades, bridges, and bulwarks, were destroyed at his fine palace, in that neighbourhood.[336]

A Latin line beneath his name
May lift along the laureate’s fame,
As on a crutch, and make it go
For half an age, for all to know
That there was one, in our time,
Who thought mere folly not a crime;
And, though he scorn’d to be a scorner
And offer Brown to Poets Corner,
Imagined it a fit proceeding
To give his life--let who will sneer at
It--“PALMAM QUI MERUIT FERAT.”

MR. JOHN SYKES, bookseller, Johnson’s-head, Newcastle, in the “Local Records, or Historical Register of Remarkable Events,” which, in 1824, he compiled into a very interesting octavo volume, inserts the death, with some account of the “life, character, and behaviour,” of the self-celebrated poet-laureate of Durham, whose portrait adorns this page. He has not been registered here under the day of his decease according to Mr. Syke’s obit, but it is not fitting as regards this work, that Brown should die for ever, and therefore, from a gentleman who knew him, the reader will please to accept the following

MEMOIR OF JAMES BROWN.

_For the Every-Day Book._

This curious personage was well known for a long series of years to the inhabitants of Northumberland and Durham, and we believe few men have figured on the stage of the world more remarkable for their peculiarities and eccentricities.

Of the early part of James Brown’s life little is known that can be depended upon, but the compiler of the present article has heard him assert that he was born at Berwick-on-Tweed; if this be the case it is probable he left that town at a very early age, as in his speech none of the provincialisms of the lower order of inhabitants of Berwick could be observed, and had he resided there for any length of time, he must have imperceptibly imbibed the vulgar dialect. Certain, however, it is, that when a young man he resided in that “_fashionable_” part of Newcastle-upon-Tyne called “the Side,” where he kept a rag-shop, and was in the habit of attending the fairs in the neighbourhood with clothes ready-made for sale. During his residence in Newcastle his first wife died; of this person he always spoke in terms of affection, and was known long after her death, to shed tears on her being alluded to. In all probability it was owing to his loss of her that his mind became disturbed, and from an industrious tradesman he became a fanatic. A few years after her decease he married a Miss Richardson, of Durham, a respectable though a very eccentric character, and who survived him a year. This lady being possessed of a theatre, and some other little property in Durham, he removed to that city to reside.

When Brown first devoted himself to the muses is uncertain, but about thirty-three years ago, he lived in Newcastle, styled himself the poet-laureate of that place, and published a poem explanatory of a chapter in the Apocalypse, which was “adorned” with a hideous engraving of a beast with ten horns. Of this plate he always spoke in terms of rapture. We have heard that it was designed by the bard; but as Mr. B., though a poet, never laid any claim to the character of an artist, it is our belief that he had no hand in its manufacture, but that it was the work of some of those waggish friends who deceived him by their tricks, and rendered his life a pleasure. Their ingenious fictions prevented his dwelling on scenes by which his existence might have been embittered, and it is but justice to his numerous hoaxers to assert, that without their pecuniary assistance he would have often been in want of common necessaries. Though credulous he was honest; though poor he was possessed of many virtues; and while they laughed at the fancies of the visionary, they respected the man. Brown once indulged a gentleman in Durham with a sight of the drawing above alluded to, and on a loud laugh at what the poet esteemed the very perfection of terrific sublimity, Brown told him “he was no christian, or he would not deride a scriptural drawing _which the angel Gabriel had approved_!”

Brown’s poesy was chiefly of a serious nature, (at least it was intended to be so,) levity and satire were not his _forte_. Like Dante, his imagination was gloomy--he delighted to describe the torments of hell--the rattling of the chains, and the screams of the damned; the mount of Sisyphus was his Parnassus, the Styx was his Helicon, and the pale forms that flit by Lethe’s billows, the muses that inspired his lay. His poems consisted chiefly of visions, prophecies, and rhapsodies, suggested by some part of the sacred volume of the contents of which he had an astonishing recollection. When he was at the advanced age of ninety-two it was almost impossible to quote any passage of scripture to him without his remembering the book, chapter, and frequently the verse from whence it was taken. Of his poetry (though in his favourite city he has left many imitators) we cannot say any thing in praise; it had “neither rhyme nor reason,” it was such as a madman would inscribe on the walls of his cell. His song, like that of the witches in Thalaba, was “an unintelligible song” to all but the writer, on whose mind in reading it, to use the words of one of the sweetest of our modern poets, “meaning flashed like strong inspiration.” The only two lines in his works that have any thing like meaning in them are--

“When men let Satan rule their heart
They do act the devil’s part.”

Our author’s last, and as he esteemed it, his best work--his _monumentum ære perennius_, was a pamphlet published in Newcastle in 1820, by Preston and Heaton, at the reasonable price of one shilling; for, unlike his brother bards, Mr. Brown never published in an expensive form. He was convinced that merit would not lie hid though concealed in a pamphlet, but like Terence’s beauty, _diu latere non potest_, and that nonsense, though printed in quarto with the types of a Davison, would be still unnoticed and neglected. On his once being shown the quarto edition of the “White Doe,” and told that he ought to publish in a similar manner, his answer was that “none but the _devil’s_ poets needed fine clothes!” The pamphlet above alluded to was entitled “Poems on Military Battles, Naval Victories, and other important subjects, the most extraordinary ever penned, a Thunderbolt shot from a Lion’s Bow at Satan’s Kingdom, the Kingdom of the Devil and the Kingdom of this World reserving themselves in darkness for the great and terrible Day of the Lord, as Jude, the servant of God, declareth: By JAMES BROWN, P. L.” This singular work was decorated with a whole length portrait of the author treading on the “devil’s books,” and blowing a trumpet to alarm sinners; it was, as we have heard him say, the work of a junior pupil of the ingenious Mr. Bewick.

During the contest for Durham, in 1820, a number of copies of an election squib, written by a humble individual connected with a northern newspaper, and entitled “A Sublime Epistle, Poetic and Politic, by James Brown, P. L.” was sent him for distribution; these, after printing an explanatory address on the back of the title, wherein he called himself S. S. L. D., the “Slayer of Seven Legions of Devils,” and disowned the authorship, he turned to his own emolument by selling at sixpence a copy.

In religious affairs Brown was extremely superstitious; he believed in every mad fanatic who broached opinions contrary to reason and sense. The wilder the theory, the more congenial to his mind. He was successively a believer in Wesley, Messrs. Buchan, Huntington, Imanuel Swedenburg, and Joanna Southcote; had he lived a little longer he would probably have been “a ranter.” He was a great reader, and what he read he remembered. The bible, of which he had a very old and curious pocket edition in black letter, was his favourite work; next to that he esteemed Alban Butler’s wonderful lives of the saints, to every relation of which he gave implicit credit, though, strange to tell, he was in his conversation always violent against the idolatries of the catholic church.

When Brown was a follower of Mr. Buchan, he used to relate that he fasted forty days and forty nights, and it is to this subject that veterinary doctor Marshall, of Durham, his legitimate successor, alludes in the following lines of an elegy he wrote on the death of his brother poet and friend:--

“He fasted forty days and nights
When Mr. Buchan put to rights
The wicked, for a wonder;
And not so much, it has been thought,
As weigh’d the button on his coat,
He took to keep sin under.”

So said a Bion worthy of such an Adonis! but other accounts differ. If we may credit Mr. Sykes, the respectable author of “Local Records,” Marshall erred in supposing that the poet, camelion-like, lived on air for “forty days and forty nights.” Mr. Sykes relates that in answer to a question he put to him as to how he contrived for so long a time to sustain the cravings of nature, Brown replied, that “they (he and the rest of the party of fasters) only set on to the fire a great pot, in which they boiled water, and then stirred into it oatmeal, and supped _that_!”

Brown was very susceptible of flattery, and all his life long constantly received letters in rhyme, purporting to come from Walter Scott, Byron, Shelley, Southey, Wilson, and other great poets; with communications in prose from the king of England, the emperor of Morocco, the sultan of Persia, &c. All of these he believed to be genuine, and was in the habit of showing as curiosities to his friends, who were frequently the real authors, and laughed in their sleeves at his credulity.

In 1821, Brown received a large parchment, signed G. R., attested by Messrs. Canning and Peel, to which was suspended a large unmeaning seal, which he believed to be the great seal of Great Britain. This document purported to be a patent of nobility, creating him “baron Durham, of Durham, in the county palatine of Durham.” It recited that this title was conferred on him in consequence of a translation of his works having been the means of converting the Mogul empire! From that moment he assumed the name and style of “baron Brown,” and had a wooden box made for the preservation of his patent.

Of the poetic pieces which Brown was in the habit of receiving, many were close imitations of the authors whose names were affixed to them, and evinced that the writers were capable of better things. One “from Mr. Coleridge,” was a respectable burlesque of the “Ancient Mariner,” and began:--

It is a lion’s trumpeter,
And he stoppeth one of three.

Another, “from Mr. Wilson,” commenced thus:--

Poetic dreams float round me now,
My spirit where art thou?
Oh! art thou watching the moonbeams smile
On the groves of palm in an Indian isle;
Or dost thou hang over the lovely main
And list to the boatswain’s boisterous strain;
Or dost thou sail on sylphid wings
Through liquid fields of air,
Or, riding on the clouds afar,
Dost thou gaze on the beams of the evening star
So beautiful and so fair.
O no! O no! sweet spirit of mine
Thou art entering a holy strain divine
A strain which is so sweet,
Oh, one might think ’twas a fairy thing,
A thing of love and blessedness,
Singing in holy tenderness,
A lay of peaceful quietness,
Within a fairy street!
But _ah! ’tis_ BROWN, &c. &c.

A piece “from Walter Scott” opened with:--

The heath-cock shrill his clarion blew
Among the heights of Benvenue,
And fast the sportive echo flew,
Adown Glenavin’s vale.
But louder, louder was the knell,
Of Brown’s Northumbrian penance-bell,[337]
The noise was heard on Norham fell,
And rung through Teviotdale.

These burlesques were chiefly produced by the law and medical students in Newcastle and Durham, and the young gentlemen of the Catholic College of Ushaw, near the latter place. As the writer of this sketch was once congratulating Mr. Brown on his numerous respectable correspondents, the old man said that he had an acquaintance far superior to any of his earthly ones, and no less a personage than the angel Gabriel, who, he stated, brought him letters from Joanna Southcote, and call to carry back his answers! This “Gabriel” was a young West Indian then residing in Durham, who used to dress himself in a sheet with goose wings on his shoulders and visit the poet at night, with letters purporting to be written to him in heaven by the far-famed prophetess. After “Gabriel” left Durham, Brown was frequently told of the deception which had been practised upon him, but he never could be induced to believe that his nocturnal visiter was any other than the angel himself. “Did I not,” he once said, “see him clearly fly out at the ceiling!” Brown used to correspond with some of Joanna’s followers in London, on the subject of these supposed revelations, and actually found (_credite posteri_) believers in the genuineness.

Amongst Brown’s strange ideas, one was that he was immortal, and should never die. Under this delusion when ill he refused all medical assistance, and it induced him at the age of 90 to sell the little property which he acquired by marriage, for a paltry guinea a week, to be paid during the life of himself and Mrs. Brown, and the life of the survivor. The property he parted from, in consideration of this weekly stipend, was a leasehold house in Sadler-street, (the theatre having been pulled down soon after the erection of the present one opposite to it,) and the house was conveyed to two Durham tradesmen, Robinson Emmerson and George Stonehouse, by whom the allowance was for some time regularly paid; but on the latter becoming embarrassed in his circumstances, the payment was discontinued, and poor Brown and his aged wife were thrown on the world without a farthing, at a time when bodily and mental infirmities had rendered them incapable of gaining a livelihood. Far be it from the writer of this to cast any aspersion on Messrs. Emmerson and Stonehouse, but it does certainly appear to him that their conduct to Brown was unkind to say the least of it. After this calamity Brown became for a few months an inhabitant of a poor-house, which he subsequently left for a lodging at an obscure inn, where, on the 11th of July, 1823, he died in a state of misery and penury at the advanced age of 92; his wife shortly afterwards died in the poorhouse. They are both interred in the churchyard of St. Oswald.

Such was James Brown the Durham poet, who with all his eccentricities was an honest, harmless and inoffensive old man. Of his personal appearance, the excellent portrait which accompanies this memoir from a drawing by Mr. Terry is an exact resemblance. All who knew him will bear testimony to its correctness. It is indeed the only one in existence that gives a correct idea of what he was. The other representations of him are nothing better than caricatures.

D.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·45.

[336] Annual Register.

[337] Ringing the penance-bell was an expression which frequently
occurred in his writings. As--

We toll’d the devil’s penance-bell,
And warn’d you to keep from hell, &c.

The penance-bell occurs three or four times in each of his several
poems.

~September 8.~

NATIVITY B. V. M.

The legend of this festival retained in the church of England calendar, is related in vol. i. col. 1274.

CHRONOLOGY.

_Fatal Puppet Play._

_Extract from the Parish Register of Burwell, in Cambridgeshire_, “1727, September 8. N. B. About nine o’clock in the evening, a most dismal fire broke out in a barn in which a great number of persons were met together to see a puppet-show. In the barn there were a great many loads of new light straw; the barn was thatched with straw, which was very dry, and the inner roof of the barn was covered with old dry cobwebs; so that the fire, like lightning, flew round the barn in an instant, and there was but one small door belonging to the barn, which was close nailed up, and could not be easily broke open; and when it was opened, the passage was so narrow, and every body so impatient to escape, that the door was presently blocked up, and most of those that did escape, which were but very few, were forced to crawl over the heads and bodies of those that lay on a heap at the door, and the rest, in number seventy-six, perished instantly, and two more died of their wounds within two days. The fire was occasioned by the negligence of a servant, who set a candle and lantern to, or near, the heap of straw that was in the barn. The servant’s name was Richard Whitaker, of the parish of Hadstock, in Essex, near Linton, in Cambridgeshire, who was tried for the fact at the assizes held at Cambridge, March 27, 1728, but he was acquitted.”[338]

STAINES CHURCH, MIDDLESEX.

_Exhumation._

In a small apartment under the staircase leading to the gallery at the west end of the church, is presented the singular and undesirable spectacle of two unburied coffins, containing human bodies. The coffins are covered with crimson velvet and are otherwise richly embellished. They are placed beside each other on trestles, and bear respectively the following inscriptions:--

“JESSIE ASPASIA.

The most excellent and truly beloved
wife of F. W. Campbell, Esq. of Barbreck,
N. B. and of Woodlands in Surrey.
Died in her 28th year,

July 11th, 1812.”

“HENRY E. A. CAULFIELD, ESQ.
Died Sept. 3, 1808.
Aged 29 years.”

As it was necessarily supposed that coffins thus open to inspection would excite much curiosity, a card is preserved at the sexton’s house, which states, in addition to the intelligence conveyed by the above inscriptions, that the deceased lady was daughter of W. T. Caulfield, Esq. of Rahanduff in Ireland, by Jessie, daughter of James, third lord Ruthven; and that she bore, with tranquil and exemplary patience, a fatal disorder produced by grief on the death of her brother, who removed from a former place of sepulture, now lies beside her in unburied solemnity.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 57·87.

[338] Lysons.

~September 9.~

THE SEASON.

At this period of the year the fashionable people of unfashionable times were accustomed to close their sojournments on the coasts, and commence their inland retreats before they “came to town for _good_.” In this respect manners are altered. The salubrity of the ocean-breeze is now courted, and many families, in defiance of gales and storms, spend the greater part of the winter at the southern watering places. The increase of this remarkable deviation deserves to be noticed, as a growing accommodation to the purposes of life.

* * * * *

A literary gentleman on his arrival from viewing the world of waters, obliges the editor with some original flowings from his pen, so fresh and beautiful, that they are submitted immediately to the reader’s enjoyment.

SONNET.

_Written in a Cottage by the Sea-side. Hastings._

Ye, who would flee from the world’s vanities
From cities’ riot, and mankind’s annoy,
Seek this lone cot, and here forget your sighs,
For health and rest are here--guests but too coy.
If the vast ocean, with its boundless space,
Its power omnipotent, and eternal voice,
Wean not thy thoughts from wearying folly’s choice,
And mortal trifling, unto virtue’s grace,
To high intent, pure purpose, and sweet peace,
Leaving of former bitter pangs no trace;--
If each unworthy wish it does not drown,
And free thee from ennui’s unnerving thrall,
Then art thou dead to nature’s warning call,
And fit but for the maddening haunts of town.

_August, 1826._

W. T. M.

SONNET STANZAS.

_On the Sea._

I never gaze upon the mighty sea,
And hear its many voices, but there steals
A host of stirring fancies, vividly
Over my mind; and memory reveals
A thousand wild and wondrous deeds to me;
Of venturous seamen, on their daring keels;
And blood-stain’d pirates, sailing fearlessly;
And lawless smugglers, which each cave conceals;
In his canoe, the savage, roving free;
And all I’ve read of rare and strange, that be
On every shore, o’er which its far wave peals:
With luxuries, in which Imagination reels,
Of bread fruit, palm, banana, cocoa tree,
And thoughts of high emprize, and boundless liberty!

I ne’er upon the ocean gaze, but I
Think of its fearless sons, whose sails, unfurl’d,
So oft have led to Art’s best victory.
Columbus upon unknown waters hurl’d,
Pursuing his sole purpose, firm and high,
The great discovery of another world;
And daring Cook, whose memory’s bepearled
With pity’s tears, from many a wild maid’s eye;
Their Heiva dance, in fancy I espy,
While still the dark chief’s lip in anger curled:
O’er shipwreck’d Crusoe’s lonely fate I sigh,
His self-form’d bark on whelming billows whirled;
And oft, in thought, I hear the Tritons cry,
And see the mermaid train light gliding by.

I never gaze upon the boundless deep,
But still I think upon the glorious brave,
Nelson and Blake, who conquered but to save;
I hear their thunders o’er the billows sweep,
And think of those who perish’d on the wave,
That Britain might a glorious harvest reap!
High hearts and generous, Vain did foemen
Peace to their souls, and sweetly may they sleep,
Entomb’d within the ocean’s lonely cave!
Still many a lovely eye for them shall weep,
Tears, far more precious than the pearls, that keep
Their casket there, or all the sea e’er gave,
To the bold diver’s grasp, whose fearless leap
With wealth enriches, or in death must sleep!

W. T. M.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·55.

~September 10.~

THE RAINBOW.

Behold yon bright, ethereal bow,
With evanescent beauties glow;
The spacious arch streams through the sky,
Decked with each tint of nature’s dye:
Refracted sunbeams, through the shower,
A humid radiance from it pour;
Whilst colour into colour fades,
With blended lights and softening shades.

LUNAR RAINBOW.

On the 10th of September, 1802, a very beautiful lunar rainbow was observed at Matlock, in Derbyshire, between the hours of eight and nine in the evening: its effect was singularly pleasing. The colours of these phenomena are sometimes very well defined; but they have a more tranquil tone than those which originate in the solar beams. They are not unfrequent in the vicinity of Matlock, being mentioned by some writers among the natural curiosities of that delightful spot.

On Saturday evening, September 28, 1822, an extremely interesting iris of this description was distinctly observed by many persons in the neighbourhood of Boston, in Lincolnshire. It made its appearance nearly north, about half-past eight in the evening. This bow of the heavens was every way complete, the curvature entire, though its span was extensive, and the altitude of its apex seemed to be about 20 degrees. The darkness occasioned by some clouds pregnant with rain, in the back ground of this white arch of beauty, formed a striking contrast, while several stars in the constellation of Ursa Major, (the great bear,) which were for a time conspicuous, imparted additional grandeur to the scene.[339]

* * * * *

An observer of a nocturnal rainbow on the 17th of August 1788, relates its appearance particularly. “On Sunday evening, after two days, on both of which, particularly the former, there had been a great deal of rain, together with lightning and thunder, just as the clocks were striking nine, three and twenty hours after full moon, looking through my window, I was struck with the appearance of something in the sky which seemed like a rainbow. Having never seen a rainbow by night, I thought it a very extraordinary phenomenon, and hastened to a place where there were no buildings to obstruct my view of the hemisphere. The moon was truly ‘walking in brightness,’ brilliant as she could be, not a cloud was to be seen near her; and over-against her, toward the northwest, or perhaps rather more to the north, was a rainbow, a vast arch, perfect in all its parts, not interrupted or broken as rainbows frequently are, but unremittedly visible from one horizon to the other. In order to give some idea of its extent, it is necessary to say, that, as I stood toward the western extremity of the parish of Stoke Newington, it seemed to take its rise from the west of Hampstead, and to end, perhaps, in the river Lea, the eastern boundary of Tottenham; its colour was white, cloudy, or greyish, but a part of its western leg seemed to exhibit tints of a faint, sickly green. I continued viewing it for some time, till it began to rain; and at length the rain increasing, and the sky growing more hazy, I returned home about a quarter or twenty minutes past nine, and in ten minutes came out again, but by that time all was over, the moon was darkened by clouds, and the rainbow of course vanished.”[340]

A “walking” man should not refrain
To take a saunter up Webb’s-lane,
Tow’rds Shepherd’s bush, and see a rude
Old lumb’ring pump. It’s made of wood,
And pours its water in a font
So beautiful--that if he do’n’t
Admire how such a combination
Was form’d, in such a situation,
He has no power of causation,
Or taste, or feeling; but must live
Painless, and pleasureless; and give
Himself to doing what he can;
And die a sort of sort-of-man.

Some persons walk the strait road from Dan to Beersheba, and finding it firm beneath the foot, have no regard to any thing else, and are satisfied when they get to their journey’s end. I do not advise these good kind of people to go to Hammersmith; but, here and there, an out-of-the-way man will be glad to bend his course thitherward, in search of the object represented. It is fair to say I have not seen it myself: it turned up the other day in an artist’s sketch-book. He had taken it as an object, could tell no more than that he liked it, and, as I seemed struck by its appearance, but could not then go to look at it and make inquiries, he volunteered his services, and wrote me as follows:--“I went to Hammersmith, and was some time before I could find the place again; however, I at length discovered it in Webb’s-lane, opposite the Thatched-house, (Mr. Gowland is the landlord.) There I took some refreshment, and gained what information I could, which was but little. The stone _font_ with other things (old carved ornaments, &c., which were used in fitting up the upper rooms of some cottages that the pump belongs to) were purchased at a sale; and this was all I could obtain at the Thatched-house. Coming from thence I learned from a cobler at work that there was originally a _leaden_ pump, but that it was doubled up, and rolled away, by some thieves, and they attempted to take the font, but found it too heavy. The Crispin could not inform me where the sale was, but he told me where his landlady lived and her name, which was Mrs. Springthorp, of Hammersmith, any one could tell me her house: so, being very tired, I took coach, and rode to town without inquiry. Please to send me word whether I shall do it for next week.”

To the latter inquiry my answer of course was “yes,” but I am as dark as my informant, as to the origin of what he calls the “font” which forms the sink of this pump. It does not appear to me to be a font, but a vase. I could have wished he had popped the question to “Mrs. Springthorp” respecting the place from whence it came, and concerning the “other things, old carved ornaments, &c.” I entreat some kind reader to diligently seek out and obligingly acquaint me with full particulars of these matters. In the mean time I console myself with having presented a picturesque object, and with the hope of being enabled to account for the agreeable union.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·07.

[339] Butler’s Chronological Exercises.

[340] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~September 11.~

WOODLAND WALKS.

These are delightful at any time. At about this season of the year, 1817, the following poetical description appeared in a newspaper which no longer exists:--

LINES

BY MR. J. H. REYNOLDS.

Whence is the secret charm of this lone wood,
Which in the light of evening sweetly sleeps!--
I tread with lingering feet the quiet steeps,
Where thwarted oaks o’er their own old age brood;--
And where the gentler trees, in summer weather,
Spring up all greenly in their youth together;
And the grass is dwelling in a silent mood,
And the fir-like fern its under forest keeps
In a strange stillness. My winged spirit sweeps
Not as it hath been wont,--but stays with me
Like some domestic thing that loves its home;
It lies a-dreaming o’er the imagery
Of other scenes,--which from afar do come,
Matching them with this indolent solitude.
Here,--I am walking in the days gone by,--
And under trees which I have known before.
My heart with feelings old is running o’er--
And I am happy as the morning sky.
The present seems a mockery of the past--
And all my thoughts flow by me, like a stream,
That hath no home, that sings beneath the beam
Of the summer sun,--and wanders through sweet meads,--
In which the joyous wildflower meekly feeds,--
And strays,--and wastes away in woods at last.
My thoughts o’er many things fleet silently,--
But to this older forest creep, and cling fast.
Imagination, ever wild and free,
With heart as open as the naked sea,
Can consecrate whate’er it looks upon:--
And memory, that maiden never lone,
Lights all the dream of life. While I can see
This blue deep sky,--that sun so proudly setting
In the haughty west,--this spring patiently wetting
The shadowy dell,--these trees so tall and fair,
That have no visiters but the birds and air:--
And hear those leaves a gentle whispering keep,
Light as young joy, and beautiful as sleep,--
The melting of sweet waters in the dells,--
The music of the loose flocks’ lulling bells,
Which sinks into the heart like spirit’s spells.
While these all softly o’er my senses sweep,--
I need not doubt that I shall ever find
Things, that will feed the cravings of my mind.
My happiest hours were past with those I love
On steeps;--in dells, with shadowy trees above;
And therefore it may be my soul ne’er sleeps,
When I am in a pastoral solitude:--
And such may be the charm of this lone wood,
That in the light of evening sweetly sleeps.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·40.

~September 12.~

STORM AT ENGHIEN.

On the 12th of September, 1817, the gentlemen forming a deputation of the “Caledonian Horticultural Society,” while inspecting Mr. Parmentier’s gardens at Enghien, were suddenly overtaken by a violent thunder storm, and compelled to flee for shelter to Mr. Parmentier’s house. “As this thunder storm was of a character different from what we are accustomed to in Scotland, and much more striking than what we had witnessed at Brussels, a short notice of it may be excused.--A dense, black cloud was seen advancing from the east; and as this cloud developed itself and increased in magnitude, one-half of the horizon became shrouded in darkness, enlivened only by occasional flashes of forked lightning, while the other half of the horizon remained clear, with the sun shining bright. As the black cloud approached, the sun’s rays tinged it of a dull copper colour, and the reflected light caused all the streets and houses to assume the same lurid and metallic hue. This had a very uncommon and impressive effect. Before we reached the mayor’s house, scarce a passenger was to be seen in the streets; but we remarked women at the doors, kneeling, and turning their rosaries as they invoked their saints. Meantime ‘thick and strong the sulphurous flame descended;’ the flashes and peals began to follow each other in almost instantaneous succession, and the tout-ensemble became awfully sublime. A sort of whirlwind, which even raised the small gravel from the streets, and dashed it against the windows, preceded the rain, which fell in heavy drops, but lasted only a short time. The sun now became obscured, and day seemed converted into night. Mr. Parmentier having ordered wine, his lady came to explain that she could not prevail on any of the servants to venture across the court to the cellar. The mayor, in spite of our remonstrances, immediately undertook the task himself; and when, upon his return, we apologised for putting him to so much trouble, he assured us that he would not on any account have lost the brilliant sight he had enjoyed, from the incessant explosions of the electric fluid, in the midst of such palpable darkness. Such a scene, he added, had not occurred at Enghien for many years; and we reckoned ourselves fortunate in having witnessed it. We had to remain housed for more than two hours; when the great cloud began to clear away, and to give promise of a serene and clear evening.”

Two days before, on the 10th, the same party had been surprised at Brussels by a similar tempest. They were on a visit to the garden of Mr. Gillet, and remarking on the construction of his forcing-house. “In this forcing-house, as is usual, the front of the roof extends over the sloping glass, till it reaches the perpendicular of the parapet. Mr. Gillet had no doubt, that the object of this sort of structure is to help to save the glass from the heavy falls of hail, which frequently accompany thunder storms. Just as he had made this observation, we perceived menacing thunder clouds approaching: the gardener hastened to secure his glazed frames; Mr. Gillet took his leave; and before we could get home, the whole horizon was overcast; lightning flashed incessantly; the streets seemed to have been suddenly swept of the inhabitants, the shop-doors were shut, and we could scarcely find a person of whom to inquire the way.”--The day had been altogether sultry; and at ten o’clock P. M. the mercury in the thermometer stood at seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit.[341]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 56·42.

[341] Journal of a Horticultural Tour.

~September 13.~

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 56·90.

~September 14.~

HOLY CROSS.

The origin of the festival of “Holy Cross,” standing in the church of England calendar and almanacs, is related in vol. i. col. 1291, with some account of the _rood_ and the _rood-loft_ in churches.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·20.

~September 15.~

“THE DEVIL LOOKING OVER LINCOLN.”

On the 15th of September, 1731, “the famous devil that used to overlook Lincoln college in Oxford, was taken down, having, about two years since, lost his head, in a storm.”

On the same day in the same year “a crown, fixed on the top of Whitehall gate in the reign of king Charles II., fell down suddenly.”[342]

* * * * *

The origin of the statue of the devil at Oxford is not so certain as that the effigy was popular, and gave rise to the saying of “the devil looking over Lincoln.”

SATANIC SUPERSTITIONS.

That the devil has a “cloven foot,” which he cannot hide if it be looked for is a common belief with the vulgar. “The ground of this opinion at first,” says sir Thomas Browne, “might be his frequent appearing in the shape of a goat,” (this accounts also for his horns and tail,) “which answers this description. This was the opinion of the ancient christians, concerning the apparition of panites, fauns, and satyrs; and of this form we read of one that appeared to Anthony in the wilderness.” Mr. Brand collects, respecting this appearance, that Othello says, in the “Moor of Venice,”

“I look down towards his feet; but that’s a fable;
If that thou be’st a devil, I cannot kill thee;”

which Dr. Johnson explains: “I look towards his feet, to see, if, according to the common opinion, his feet be cloven.” There is a popular superstition both in England and Scotland relative to _goats_: that they are never to be seen for twenty-four hours together; and that once in that space, they pay a visit to the devil in order to have their beards combed.

Baxter, in his “World of Spirits,” mentions an anecdote from whence Mr. Brand imagines, that “this infernal visitant was in no instance treated with more _sang froid_ on his appearing, or rather, perhaps, his imagined appearance, than by one Mr. White of Dorchester.” That gentleman was assessor to the Westminster Assembly at Lambeth, and “the devil, in a light night, stood by his bed-side: he looked awhile whether he would say or do any thing, and then said, ‘If thou hast nothing else to do, I have;’ and so turned himself to sleep.”

* * * * *

King James I. told his parliament in a speech on a certain occasion, that “the _devil_ is a busy _bishop_.” It has been objected to this saying of “His Most Dread Majesty,” that it would have sounded well enough from a professed enemy to the bench, “but came very improperly from a king who flattered them more, and was more flattered by them, than any prince till his time.”[343]

PRINTERS’ DEVILS.