Chapter M: Blackmore (5)

Then in foreign affairs
You may give yourself _airs_,
For I’ve heard it reported at home, sir,
That you’re on the best terms
With the _diet of Worms_,
And have often been tempted to _Rome_, sir.

Thus you feather your nest
In the way you like best,
And live high without fear of mishap, sir;
You are fond of your _grub_,
Have a taste for some _shrub_,
And for _gin_--there you understand _trap_, sir.

Tho’ the rivers won’t flow
In the frost and the snow,
And for fish other folks vainly try, sir;
Yet you’ll have a treat,
For, in cold or in heat,
You can still take a _perch_ with a _fly_, sir.

In love, too, oh Dick,
(Tho’ you oft when love-sick
On the course of good-breeding may trample;
And though often henpeck’d,
Yet) you scorn to neglect
To set all mankind an _eggsample_.

Your _opinions_, ’tis true,
Are flighty a few,
But at this I, for one, will not grumble;
So--your breakfast you’ve got,
And you’re off like a _shot_,
Dear Dicky, your humble _cum tumble_.[87]

[87] Examiner Feb. 12, 1815.

* * * * *

And who gave thee that jolly red nose?
Brandy, cinnamon, ale, and cloves,
That gave me the jolly red nose.

OLD SONG.

THE BISHOP OF BUTTERBY.

A SKETCH, BY ONE OF HIS PREBENDARIES.

_For the Table Book_

I remember reading in that excellent little periodical, “The Cigar,” of the red nose of the friar of Dillow, which served the holy man in the stead of a lantern, when he crossed the fens at night, to visit the fair lady of the sheriff of Gloucestershire. Whether the nose of the well-known eccentric now under consideration ever lighted his path, when returning from Shincliffe feast, or Houghton-le-spring hopping--whether it ever

“Brightly beam’d his path above,
And lit his way to his ladye love”--

this deponent knoweth not; but, certainly, it ever nose could serve for such purposes, it is that of Hut. Alderson, which is the reddest in the city of Durham--save and excepting, nevertheless, the nose of fat Hannah, the Elvet orange-woman. Yes Hut. thou portly living tun! thou animated lump of obesity! thou hast verily a most jolly nose! Keep it out of my sight, I pray thee! Saint Giles, defend me from its scorchings! there is fire in its mere pictorial representation! Many a time, I ween, thou hast mulled thine ale with it, when sitting with thy pot companions at Morralies!

Hutchinson Alderson, the subject of the present biographical notice, is the well-known bellman of the city of Durham. Of his parentage and education I am ignorant, but I have been informed by him, at one of his “visitations,” that he is a native of the place, where, very early in life, he was “bound ’prentice to a shoemaker,” and where, after the expiration of his servitude, he began business. During the period of the threatened invasion of this nation by the French, he enlisted in the Durham militia; but I cannot correctly state what office he held in the regiment; the accounts on the subject are very conflicting and contradictory. Some have informed me he was a mere private, others that he was a corporal; and a wanton wag has given out that he was kept by the regiment, to be used as a beacon, in cases of extraordinary emergency. Certain it is that he was in the militia, and that during that time the accident occurred which destroyed his hopes of military promotion, and rendered him unable to pursue his ordinary calling--I allude to the loss of his right hand, which happened as follows:--A Durham lady, whose husband was in the habit of employing Alderson as a shoemaker, had a favourite parrot, which, on the cage door being left open, escaped, and was shortly afterwards seen flying from tree to tree in a neighbouring wood. Alderson, on being made acquainted with the circumstance, proceeded with his gun to the wood, where, placing himself within a few yards of the bird, he fired at it, having previously poured a little water into the muzzle, which he thoughtlessly imagined would have the effect of bringing down the bird, without doing it material injury; but, unhappily, the piece exploded, and shattered his right hand so dreadfully, that immediate amputation was rendered necessary.

For some time after this calamity, Alderson’s chief employment consisted in taking care of gentlemen’s horses, and cleaning knives. He was then appointed street-keeper; and, during the short time he held that office, discharged its duty in a very impartial manner--I believe to the entire satisfaction of all the inhabitants. He has also, at different periods, been one of the constables of the parish of Saint Mary le Bow. About the year 1822, the office of bellman to the city of Durham became vacant, by resignation, upon which Hut. immediately offered himself as a candidate; and, from there being no opposition, and his being a freeman, he was installed by the unanimous voice of every member of the corporation, and he has accordingly discharged the duties of bellman ever since. It is in that capacity our artist has represented him in the cut at the head of the present sketch. But Hut. Alderson is the wearer of other dignities.

About three miles from Durham is a beautiful little hamlet, called Butterby, and in ancient deeds _Beautrove_,[88] and _Beautrovensis_, from the elegance of its situation; and certainly its designation is no misnomer, for a lovelier spot the imagination cannot picture. The seclusion of its walks, the deep shade of its lonely glens, and the many associations connected with it, independently of its valuable mineral waters, conspire to render it a favourite place of resort; and, were I possessed of the poetic talent of veterinary doctor Marshall, I should certainly be tempted to immortalize its many charms in a sonnet. Butterby was formerly a place of considerable note; the old manor-house there, whose haunted walls are still surrounded by a moat, was once the residence of Oliver Cromwell, whose armorial bearings still may be seen over one of the huge, antique-fashioned fire-places. In olden time, Butterby had a church, dedicated to saint Leonard, of which not a _visible_ vestige is remaining; though occasionally on the spot which antiquaries have fixed upon as its site, divers sepulchral relics have been discovered. Yet, to hear many of the inhabitants of Durham talk, a stranger would naturally believe that the hamlet is still in possession of this sacred edifice; for “Butterby-_church_” is there spoken of, not as a plate adorning the antiquarian page, nor even as a ruin to attract the gaze of the moralizing tourist, but as a real, substantial, _bonâ fide_ structure: the fact is, that, in the slang of Durham, (for the modern Zion[89] has its slang as well as the modern Babylon,) a Butterby church-goer is one who does not frequent any church; and when such an one is asked, “What church have you attended to-day?” the customary answer is, “I have been attending service at Butterby.” About the year 1823, there appeared in one of the London journals an account of a marriage, said to have been solemnized at Butterby-church, between two parties who never existed but in the fertile brain of the writer of the paragraph, “By the Rev. Hutchinson Alderson, rector.” From that time, Hut. Alderson began to be designated a clergyman, and was speedily dubbed A. M. Merit _will_ rise, and therefore the A.M. became D.D., and Alderson himself enjoyed the waggery, and insisted on the young gentlemen of the place touching their hats, and humbling themselves when his reverence passed.

Not content with the honours which already, like laurel branches, had encircled his brow, Hut. aspired to still greater distinction, and gave out that Butterby was a bishop’s see, that the late parochial church was a cathedral, and, in fine, that the late humble rector was a lordly bishop--THE RIGHT REVEREND HUTCHINSON ALDERSON LORD BISHOP OF BUTTERBY, or HUT. BUT. Having thus dubbed himself, he next proceeded to the proper formation of his cathedral; named about ten individuals as prebends, (among whom were the writer of this sketch, and his good friend his assistant artist,) chose a dean and archdeacon, and selected a few more humble individuals to fill the different places of sexton, organist, vergers, bell-ringers, &c., and soon began, in the exercise of his episcopal functions, to give divers orders, oral and written, respecting repairs of the church, preaching of sermons, &c. The last I recollect was a notice, delivered to one of the prebends by the bishop in _propriâ personâ_, intimating that, owing to the church having received considerable damage by a high flood, he would not be required to officiate there till further notice.

A cathedral is nothing without a tutelary saint, and accordingly Butterby-church has been dedicated to saint Giles. Several articles have been written, and privately circulated, descriptive of the splendid architecture of this imaginary edifice; every arch has had its due meed of approbation, and its saint has been exalted in song, almost as high as similar worthies of the Roman catholic church. A legend has been written--I beg pardon, _found_ in one of the vaults of Bear-park,--containing an account of divers miracles performed by saint Giles; which legend is doubtless as worthy of credit, and equally true, as some of Alban Butler’s, or the miracles of prince Hohenlohe and Thomas à Becket. Happening to have a correct copy of the composition to which I allude, I give it, with full persuasion that by so doing I shall confer a signal obligation on the rest of my brother prebends, some of whom are believers in its antiquity, though, I am inclined to think, it is, like the _ancient_ poems found in Redcliffe-church, and published by the unfortunate Chatterton--all “_Rowley_ powley,” &c. I have taken the liberty to modernize the spelling.

SAINT GILES

_His Holie Legend_:

WRITTEN IN LATIN, BY FATHER PETER, MONK OF BEAUPAIRE, AND DONE INTO
ENGLISH THIS YEAR OF REDEMPTION, 1555, BY MASTER JOHN WALTON,
SCHOOLMASTER, ST. MAGDALENE HER CHAPEL YARD DURHAM: AND DEDICATED TO
OUR GOOD QUEEN MARY, WHOM GOD LONG PRESERVE.

1.

O did ye ne’er hear of saint Giles,
The saint of fam’d Butterby steeple.
There ne’er was his like seen for miles,
Pardie, he astonied the people!
His face was as red as the sun,
His eyne were a couple of sloes, sir,
His belly was big as a tun,
And he had a huge bottle nose, sir;
O what a strange fellow was he.

2.

Of woman he never was born,
And wagers have been laid upon it;
They found him at Finchale one morn,
Wrapp’d up in an heavenly bonnet:
The prior was taking his rounds,
As he was wont after his _brick_fast,
He heard most celestial sounds,
And saw something in a tree stick fast,
Like a bundle of dirty old clothes.

3.

Quite frighten’d, he fell on his knees,
And said thirteen aves and ten credos,
When the thing in the tree gave a sneeze,
And out popp’d a hand, and then three toes:
Now, when he got out of his faint,
He approach’d, with demeanour most humble,
And what should he see but the saint,
Not a copper the worse from his tumble,
But lying all sound wind and limb.

4.

Says the prior, “From whence did you come,
Or how got you into my garden?”
But the baby said nothing but mum--
And for the priest car’d not a _farden_:
At length, the saint open’d his gob,
And said, “I’m from heaven, d’ye see, sir.
Now don’t stand there scratching your nob,
But help me down out of the tree, sir,
Or I’ll soon set your convent a-blaze!”
5.

The prior stood quite in a maze,
To hear such an infant so queerly call,
So, humbling himself, he gave praise
To our lady for so great a miracle:
Saint Giles from the bush then he took,
And led him away to the priory;
Where for years he stuck close to his book,
A holie and sanctified friar, he
Was thought by the good folks all round.

6.

In sanctity he pass’d his days,
Once or twice exorcis’d a demoniac;
And, to quiet his doubts and his fears,
Applied to a flask of old Cogniac;
To heaven he show’d the road fair,
And, if he saw sinner look glum or sad,
He’d tell him to drive away care,
And say, “Take a swig of good rum, my lad,
And it will soon give your soul ease.”

7.

In miracles too the saint dealt,
And some may be seen to this minute;
At his bidding he’d make a rock melt,
Tho’ Saint Sathanas might be in it:
One evening when rambling out,
He found himself stopp’d by the river,
So he told it to turn round about,
And let him go quietly over,
And the river politely complied!

8.

To Butterby often he’d stray,
And sometimes look in at the well, sir;
And if you’ll attend to the lay,
How it came by its virtues I’ll tell, sir:
One morning, as wont, the saint call’d,
And being tremendously faint then,
He drank of the stuff till he stall’d,
And out spake the reverend saint then,
My blessing be on thee for aye!

9.

Thus saying he bent his way home,
Now mark the event which has follow’d,
The fount has from that time become
A cure for sick folks--for its hallow’d:
And many a pilgrim goes there
From many a far distant part, sir,
And, piously uttering a prayer,
Blesses the saint’s pious heart, sir,
That gave to the fount so much grace.

10.

At Finchale his saintship did dwell,
Till the devil got into the cloister,
And left the bare walls as a shell,
And gulp’d the fat monks like an oyster.
So the saint was enforced to quit,
But swore he’d the fell legions all amuse,
And pay back their coin every whit,
Tho’ his hide should be flay’d like Bartholemew’s,
And red as Saint Dunstan’s red nose.

11.

Another church straight he erected,
Which for its sanctity fam’d much is,
Where sinners and saints are protected,
And kept out of Belzebub’s clutches:
And thus in the eve of his days
He still paternosters and aves sung,
His lungs were worn threadbare with praise,
Till death, who slays priors, rest gave his tongue
And sent him to sing in the spheres!

12.

It would be too long to tell here
Of how, when or where, the monks buried him.
Suffice it to say, it seems clear
That somewhere or other they carried him.
His odd life by death was made even,
He popp’d off on one of Lent Sundays,
His corpse was to miracles given,
And his choristers sung “De profundis
Clamavi ad te Domine!”

_Finis coronat opus._

Such is the extraordinary legend of saint Giles, which I leave the antiquaries to sit in judgment on, and with which I quit the subject of Butterby-church, wishing that its good bishop may long continue in peaceful possession of the see, and in full enjoyment of all the honours and revenues connected therewith.

As relating to Butterby, I may be allowed perhaps to mention, that this place has afforded considerable amusement to many young men of wit and humour. About twenty years ago, the law students, then in Durham, instituted what they called the “Butterby manor court,” and were in the habit of holding a sham court at a public-house there. A gentleman, who is now in London, and one of the most eminent men in the profession, used to preside as steward; and was attended by the happy and cheerful tenantry, who did suit and service, constituted a homage, and performed other acts and deeds, agreeable to the purpose for which they were duly and truly summoned, and assembled.

Hitherto, little has been said respecting the personal appearance and character of Hut. Alderson, and therefore, without further circumvolution, I hasten to add, that he is fifty years of age “and upwards,” of the middle size and rather corpulent, of a very ruddy countenance, is possessed of a vast fund of anecdote, and is at all times an agreeable and humorous companion. He may generally be seen parading the streets of Durham, as represented by my brother prebend. Considering his humble rank in society, he is well-informed; and if he has any failing, it is what has given the beautiful vermilion tint to that which, as it forms the most prominent feature in _his_ appearance, is made one of the most prominent features of _my_ memoir. As a crier, I never liked him--his voice is too _piano_, and wants a little of the _forte_.

In religion, Hut. is a stanch supporter of the establishment, and regularly attends divine service at St. Mary-le-Bow, where “his reverence” is allowed an exalted seat in the organ gallery, in which place, but for his services, I fear my friend, Mr. Weatherell, the organist, would have difficulty in drawing a single tone from the instrument. His aversion to dissenters is tremendous, and he is unsparing in his censure of those who do not conform to the church; yet, notwithstanding this, both Catholics and Unitarians unaccountably rank amongst his prebends. In politics, he is a whig of the old school, and abominates the radicals. At elections, (for he has a vote both for county and city, being a leaseholder for lives, and a freeman,) he always supports Michael Angelo Taylor and Mr. Lambton. He prides himself on his integrity, and I believe justly, for he is one that will never be bought or sold; if thousands were offered to him to obtain his vote, he would spurn the bribe, and throw the glittering ore in the faces of those who dared to insult his independent spirit.

It may amuse the reader, if I offer the following as a specimen of the ridiculous interruptions Hut. meets with when crying.

THREE RINGS--_Ding dong! ding dong! ding dong!_

_Hut._ To be sold by auction--

_1 Boy._ Speak up! speak up! Hut.

_Hut._ Hod your jaw--at the Queen’s _heed_ in--

_2 Boy._ The town of Butterby.

_Hut._ I’ll smash your heed wi’ the bell--the Queen’s _heed_ in the
_Bailya_--a large collection of--

_3 Boy._ Pews, pulpits, and organs.

_Hut._ I’ll rap your canister--of valuable--_buiks_ the property of--

_1 Boy._ The bishop of Butterby.

_Hut._ Be quiet, you scamp--of a gentleman from Lunnon--the buiks may
be viewed any time between the hours of one and three, by applying
to--

_2 Boy._ Tommy Sly--

_Hut._ Mr. Thwaites on the premises: the sale to commence at seven
o’clock in the evening _prizizely_.

_All._ Huih! hooeh! hooeh!

_Hut._ I’ll smash some o’ your heeds wi’ the bell--I knaw thee,
Jack!--mind, an’ I doant tell thee mither noo, thou daft fule!

This farce is usually acted every day in the streets of Durham; and to be truly enjoyed it should be witnessed. Having nothing more of my own to say, I shall conclude this sketch in the language of Rousseau.--“Voilà ce que j’ai fait, ce que j’ai pensé. J’ai dit le bien et le mal avec la mème franchise. Je n’ai rien tû de mauvais, rien ajouté de bon; et s’il m’est arrivé d’employer quelque ornement indifférent, ce n’a jamais été que pour remplir un ruide occasionné par mon défaut de mémoire; j’ai pu supposer vrai ce que je savois, avoir pu l’être jamais ce que je savois être faux.”[90]

R. I. P.

* * * * *

To show the high estimation in which the above character is held by the inhabitants of Durham and Northumberland, a correspondent relates, that on Saturday last a select party of gentlemen connected with the above counties, and chiefly of the legal and medical professions, dined at the Queen’s-head tavern, Holborn; where, after the healths of the king and royal family, a gentleman present proposed the health of “the Rev. Dr. Alderson, bishop of Butterby.” In the course of the introductory speech, allusion was made to Hut.’s many acquirements, and to his lustrous qualities as a living ornament of the ancient city of Durham. The toast was drunk amid the most enthusiastic applause, and a dignitary of “Butterby-church” returned thanks for the honour conferred on his exalted diocesan.

_March 12, 1827._

[88] Vide Mr. Dixon’s View of Durham.

[89] Ibid.

[90] Les Confessions, part. i. liv. i.

* * * * *

THE DRAYMAN.

_For the Table Book._

Lie heavy on him, _earth_! for he
Laid many a _heavy load_ on thee.

_Epig._ 23, CHRISTMAS _Treat_.

The drayman is a being distinct from other men, as the brewer’s horse is distinct from other horses--each seems adapted to the other’s use: the one eats abundantly of grains, and prospers in its traces--the other drinks porter by the canful, and is hardly able to button his jerkin. Much of a drayman’s life is spent with his master’s team and barrels. Early rising is his indispensable duty; and, long ere the window-shutters of London shopkeepers are taken down, he, with his fellow stavesmen, are seen half way through the streets to the vender of what is vulgarly called “heavy wet.” Woe to the patience of a crowd, waiting to cross the roadway, when the long line, in clattering gear, are passing review, like a troop of unyielding soldiers. The driver, with his whip, looks as important as a sergeant-major; equipped in his coat of mail, the very pavement trembles with his gigantic tread.[91] Sometimes his comrades ride on the shaft and sleep, to the imminent risk of their lives. Arrived at their destination, they move a slow and sure pace, which indicates that “all things should be taken easy,” for “the world was not made in a day.”

The cellar being the centre of gravity, the empty vessels are drawn out, and the full ones drawn in; but with as much science as would require Hercules himself to exercise, and Bacchus to improve. After these operations are performed, what a sight it is to behold the drayman at work over his breakfast, in the taproom if the weather is cold, or on a bench in view of a prospect, if the sunshine appears: the hunch of bread and meat, or a piece of cheese deposited in the hollow of his hand, which he divides into no small portions, are enough to pall the appetite. The manner in which he clenches the frothy pot, and conducts it to his mouth, and the long draft he takes, in gurgles down his unshorn, summer-like throat, almost warrant apprehensions of supply not being equal to demand, and consequent advance of price. He is an entire proof of the lusty quality of his master’s porter, for he is the largest opium-pill in the brewhouse dispensary. While feeding on the fat of the publican’s larder, his horses are shaking up the corn, so unfeelingly crammed in hair-bags, to their reeking nostrils. The drayman is a sort of rough give and take fellow; he uses the whip in a brangle, and his sayings are sometimes, like himself, rather dry. When he returns to the brewhouse, he is to be found in the stable, at the vat, and in the lower apartments. To guard against cold, he prefers a red nightcap to a Welsh wig, and takes great care of the grains, without making scruples. He is a good preparer, well versed in the art of refinement--knows when his articles work well, and is an excellent judge of brown stout. At evening, as his turn relieves him, he takes his next day’s orders at the counting-house, and with clean apron and face, goes to his club; and sometimes even ventures to make a benefit speech in behalf of the sick members, or a disconsolate widow. Now and then, in his best white “foul weather,” he treats his wife and nieces to “the Wells,” or “the Royalty,” taking something better than beer in his pocket, made to hold his “bunch of fives,” or any other esteemed commodity. At a “free and easy,” he sometimes “rubs up,” and enjoys a “bit of ’bacco” out of the tin box, wherein he drops his halfpenny before he fills; and then, like a true Spectator, smokes the company in a genteel way. If called upon for a song, he either complains of hoarseness, or of a bad memory; but should he indulge the call of his Vice on his right hand, he may be heard fifty yards in the wind, after which he is “knocked down” with thund’rous applause. He shakes his collops at a good joke about the “tap,” and agrees with Joe Miller, that

“Care to our coffin adds a nail no doubt,
But every grin of laughter draws one out.”

An old dog’s-eared song-book is the companion to a bung-plug, a slate memoranda, and sundry utensils, which are his pocket residents. He is proud to wear a pair of fancy garters below knee, and on Mondays his neckcloth and stockings show that he was “clean as a new pin _yesterday_.” Like an undertaker, he smells of the beer to which he is attached, and rarely loses sight of “Dodd’s Sermon on Malt.” He ventures to play sly tricks with his favourite horse, and will give kick for kick when irritated. His language to his team is pure low Dutch, untranslatable, but perfectly understood when illustrated by a cut. It may be said that he moves in his own sphere; for, though he drives through the porter world, he spends much of his time _out of_ the public-house, and is rarely _te-ipse_. What nature denies to others, custom sanctions in him, for “he eats, drinks, and is _merry_.” If a _rough_ specimen of an unsophisticated John Bull were required, I would present the drayman.

J. R. P.

[91] I am here reminded of an old epigram on a “Fat Doctor,” in the
_Christmas Treat_, xxxiii.

“When Tadloe treads the streets, the paviers cry
‘_God bless you, sir!_’ and lay their rammers by.”

* * * * *

SONNET.

FROM THE SPANISH OF QUEVEDO.

_For the Table Book._

“_En el mundo naciste, no a emmendarle._”

In this wide world, beware to think, my friend,
Thy lot is cast to change it, or amend;
But to perform thy part, and give thy share
Of pitying aid; not to subdue, but bear.

If prudent, thou may’st know the world; if wise,
In virtue strong, thou may’st the world despise;
For good, be grateful--be to ill resign’d,
And to the better world exalt thy mind.

The peril of thy soul in this world fear,
But yet th’ Almighty’s wondrous work revere;
See all things good but man; and chiefly see,
With eye severe, the faults that dwell in thee.
On them exert thine energies, and try
Thyself to mend, ere judge the earth and sky.

* * * * *

ACQUAINTANCE TABLE.

2 Glances make 1 Bow.
2 Bows 1 How d’ye do.
6 How d’ye do’s 1 Conversation.
4 Conversations 1 Acquaintance.

* * * * *

~The Royal Table.~

ORIGIN OF

MARKING THE KING’S DISHES

WITH THE COOKS’ NAMES.

King George II. was accustomed every other year to visit his German dominions with the greater part of the officers of his household, and especially those belonging to the kitchen. Once on his passage at sea, his first cook was so ill with the sea-sickness, that he could not hold up his head to dress his majesty’s dinner; this being told to the king, he was exceedingly sorry for it, as he was famous for making a Rhenish soup, which his majesty was very fond of; he therefore ordered inquiry to be made among the assistant-cooks, if any of them could make the above soup. One named Weston (father of Tom Weston, the player) undertook it, and so pleased the king, that he declared it was full as good as that made by the first cook. Soon after the king’s return to England, the first cook died; when the king was informed of it, he said, that his steward of the household always appointed his cooks, but that he would now name one for himself, and therefore asking if one Weston was still in the kitchen, and being answered that he was, “That man,” said he, “shall be my first cook, for he makes most excellent Rhenish soup.” This favour begot envy among all the servants, so that, when any dish was found fault with, they used to say it was Weston’s dressing: the king took notice of this, and said to the servants, it was very extraordinary, that every dish he disliked should happen to be Weston’s; “in future,” said he, “let every dish be marked with the name of the cook that makes it.” By this means the king detected their arts, and from that time Weston’s dishes pleased him most. The custom has continued ever since, and is still practised at the king’s table.

* * * * *

MONEY--WEIGHTS AND MEASURES.

POUND, is derived from the Latin word _pondus_.

OUNCE, from _uncia_, or twelfth, being the twelfth of a pound troy.

INCH, from the same word, being the twelfth of a foot.

YARD, from the Saxon word _gyrd_, or _girth_, being originally the circumference of the body, until Henry I. decreed that it should be the length of his arm.

HALFPENNY and FARTHING. In 1060, when William the Conqueror began to reign, the PENNY, or sterling, was cast, with a deep cross, so that it might be broken in half, as a HALF-penny, or in quarters, for _Four_things, or _Far_things, as we now call them.

* * * * *

OLD MUG-HOUSES.

The internal economy of a mug-house in the reign of George I. is thus described by a foreign traveller:--

At the mug-house club in Long-acre, where on Wednesdays a mixture of gentlemen, lawyers, and tradesmen meet in a great room, a grave old gentleman in his grey hairs, and nearly ninety years of age, is their president, and sits in an armed chair some steps higher than the rest. A harp plays all the while at the lower end of the room; and now and then some one of the company rises and entertains the rest with a song, (and by the by some are good masters.) Here is nothing drank but ale, and every gentleman chalks on the table as it is brought in: every one also, as in a coffee-house, retires when he pleases.

N. B. In the time of the parliament’s sitting, there are clubs composed of the members of the commons, where most affairs are digested before they are brought into the house.

* * * * *

“AS DRUNK AS DAVID’S SOW.”

A few years ago, one David Lloyd, a Welchman, who kept an inn at Hereford, had a living sow with six legs which occasioned great resort to the house. David also had a wife who was much addicted to drunkenness, and for which he used frequently to bestow on her an admonitory drubbing. One day, having taken an extra cup which operated in a powerful manner, and dreading the usual consequences, she opened the stye-door, let out David’s sow, and lay down in its place, hoping that a short unmolested nap would sufficiently dispel the fumes of the liquor. In the mean time, however, a company arrived to view the so much talked of animal; and Davy, proud of his office, ushered them to the stye, exclaiming, “Did any of you ever see such a creature before?”--“Indeed, Davy,” said one of the farmers, “I never before saw a sow so drunk as thine in all my life!”--Hence the term “as drunk as David’s sow.”

* * * * *

SINGULAR RETURN.

_For the Table Book._

An inhabitant of the parish of Clerkenwell being called upon, a short time ago, to fill up the blanks of a printed circular under the following heads, in pursuance of an act of parliament passed in the sixth year of his present majesty’s reign, entitled “An Act for consolidating and amending the Laws relative to Jurors and Juries,” sent in his return as follows:--

“STREET.”

_Baker-street_--badly paved--rascally lighted--with one old woman of a watchman.

“TITLE, QUALITY, CALLING, OR BUSINESS.”

No _title_--no _quality_--no _calling_, except when my wife and sixteen children call for bread and butter--and as for _business_, I _have_ none. Times are bad, and there’s no _business_ to be done.

“NATURE OF QUALIFICATION; WHETHER FREEHOLD, COPYHOLD, OR LEASEHOLD
PROPERTY.”

No _freehold_ property--no _copyhold_ property--no _leasehold_ property. In fact, no _property_ at all! I live by my _wits_, as one half of the world live, and am therefore NOT _qualified_.

GASPARD.

* * * * *

~Suburban Sonnets.~

I.

ISLINGTON.

Thy fields, fair Islington! begin to bear
Unwelcome buildings, and unseemly piles;
The streets are spreading, and the Lord knows where
Improvement’s hand will spare the neighb’ring stiles:
The rural blandishments of Maiden Lane
Are ev’ry day becoming less and less,
While kilns and lime roads force us to complain
Of nuisances time only can suppress.
A few more years, and COPENHAGEN HOUSE
Shall cease to charm the tailor and the snob;
And where attornies’ clerks in smoke carouse,
Regardless wholly of to-morrow’s job,
Some Claremont Row, or Prospect-Place shall rise,
Or terrace, p’rhaps, misnomer’d PARADISE!

II.

HAGBUSH LANE.

Poor HAGBUSH LANE! thy ancient charms are going
To rack and ruin fast as they can go;
And where but lately many a flow’r was growing,
Nothing shall shortly be allow’d to grow!
Thy humble cottage, where as yet they sell
No “nut-brown ale,” or luscious Stilton cheese--
Where dusky gipsies in the summer dwell,
And donkey drivers fight their dogs at ease,
Shall feel ere long the lev’lling hand of taste,
If that be _taste_ which darkens ev’ry field;
Thy garden too shall likewise be displac’d,
And no more “cabbage” to its master yield;
But, in its stead, some new Vauxhall perchance
Shall rise, renown’d for pantomime and dance!

III.

HIGHGATE.

Already, HIGHGATE! to thy skirts they bear
Bricks, mortar, timber, in no small degree,
And thy once pure, exhilarating air
Is growing pregnant with impurity!
The would-be merchant has his “country box”
A few short measures from the dusty road,
Where friends on Sunday talk about the stocks
Or praise the beauties of his “neat abode:”
One deems the wall-flow’r garden, in the front,
Unrivall’d for each aromatic bed;
Another fancies that his old sow’s grunt
“Is so much _like_ the country,” and instead
Of living longer down in Crooked-lane,
Resolves, at once, to “ruralize” again!

J. G.

_Islington._

Vol. I.--13.

The verdant lawns which rise above the rill
Are not unworthy Virgil’s past’ral song.

On the west side of Hampstead, in the middle of one of the pleasant meadows called Shepherd’s fields, at the left-hand of the footpath going from Belsize-house towards the church, this arch, embedded above and around by the green turf, forms a conduit-head to a beautiful spring: the specific gravity of the fluid, which yields several tuns a day, is little more than that of distilled water. Hampstead abounds in other springs, but they are mostly impregnated with mineral substances. The water of “Shepherd’s well,” therefore, is in continual request, and those who cannot otherwise conveniently obtain it, are supplied through a few of the villagers, who make a scanty living by carrying it to houses for a penny a pail-full. There is no carriage-way to the spot, and these poor things have much hard work for a very little money.

I first knew this spring in my childhood, when domiciled with a relation, who then occupied Belsize-house, by being allowed to go with Jeff the under-gardener, whose duty it was to fetch water from the spring. As I accompanied _him_, so a tame magpie accompanied _me_: Jeff slouched on with his pails and yoke, and my ardour to precede was restrained by fear of some ill happening to Mag if I did not look after the rogue. He was a wayward bird, the first to follow wherever I went, but always according to his own fashion; he never put forth his speed till he found himself a long way behind, so that Jeff always led the van, and Mag always brought up the rear, making up for long lagging by long hopping. On one occasion, however, as soon as we got out of the side-door from the out-house yard into Belsize-lane, Mag bounded across the road, and over the wicket along the meadows, with quick and long hops, throwing “side-long looks behind,” as if deriding my inability to keep up with him, till he reached the well: there we both waited for Jeff, who for once was last, and, on whose arrival, the bird took his station on the crown of the arch, looking alternately down to the well and up at Jeff. It was a sultry day in a season of drought, and, to Jeff’s surprise, the water was not easily within reach; while he was making efforts with the bucket, Mag seemed deeply interested in the experiment, and flitted about with tiresome assiduity. In a moment Jeff rose in a rage, execrated poor Mag, and vowed cruel vengeance on him. On our way home the bird preceded, and Jeff, to my continual alarm in behalf of Mag, several times stopped, and threw stones at him with great violence. It was not till we were housed, that the man’s anger was sufficiently appeased to let him acquaint me with its cause: and then I learned that Mag was a “wicked bird,” who knew of the low water before he set out, and was delighted with the mischief. From that day, Jeff hated him, and tried to maim him: the creature’s sagacity in eluding his brutal intent, he imputed to diabolical knowledge; and, while my estimation of Jeff as a good-natured fellow was considerably shaken, I acquired a secret fear of poor Mag. This was my first acquaintance with the superstitious and dangerous feelings of ignorance.

The water of Shepherd’s well is remarkable for not being subject to freeze. There is another spring sometimes resorted to near Kilburn, but this and the ponds in the Vale of Health are the ordinary sources of public supply to Hampstead. The chief inconvenience of habitations in this delightful village is the inadequate distribution of good water. Occasional visitants, for the sake of health, frequently sustain considerable injury by the insalubrity of private springs, and charge upon the fluid they breathe the mischiefs they derive from the fluid they drink. The localities of the place afford almost every variety of aspect and temperature that invalids require: and a constant sufficiency of wholesome water might be easily obtained by a few simple arrangements.

*

_March 19, 1827._

* * * * *

~Garrick Plays.~

No. X.

[From the “Fair Maid of the Exchange,” a Comedy, by Thomas Heywood,
1637.]

_Cripple offers to fit Frank Golding with ready made Love Epistles._

_Frank._ Of thy own writing?
_Crip._ My own, I assure you, Sir.
_Frank._ Faith, thou hast robb’d some sonnet-book or other.
And now would’st make me think they are thy own.
_Crip._ Why, think’st thou that I cannot write a Letter,
Ditty, or Sonnet, with judicial phrase,
As pretty, pleasing, and pathetical,
As the best Ovid-imitating dunce
In the whole town?
_Frank._ I think thou can’st not.
_Crip._ Yea, I’ll swear I cannot.
Yet, Sirrah, I could coney-catch the world,
Make myself famous for a sudden wit,
And be admired for my dexterity,
Were I disposed.
_Frank._ I prithee, how?
_Crip._ Why, thus. There lived a Poet in this town,
(If we may term our modern writers Poets),
Sharp-witted, bitter-tongued; his pen, of steel;
His ink was temper’d with the biting juice
And extracts of the bitterest weeds that grew;
He never wrote but when the elements
Of fire and water tilted in his brain.
This fellow, ready to give up his ghost
To Lucia’s bosom, did bequeath to me
His Library, which was just nothing
But rolls, and scrolls, and bundles of cast wit,
Such as durst never visit Paul’s Church Yard.
Amongst ’em all I lighted on a quire
Or two of paper, fill’d with Songs and Ditties,
And here and there a hungry Epigram;
These I reserve to my own proper use,
And Pater-noster-like have conn’d them all.
I could now, when I am in company,
At ale-house, tavern, or an ordinary,
Upon a theme make an extemporal ditty
(Or one at least should seem extemporal),
Out of the abundance of this Legacy,
That all would judge it, and report it too,
To be the infant of a sudden wit,
And then were I an admirable fellow.
_Frank._ This were a piece of cunning.
_Crip._ I could do more; for I could make enquiry,
Where the best-witted gallants use to dine,
Follow them to the tavern, and there sit
In the next room with a calve’s head and brimstone,
And over-hear their talk, observe their humours,
Collect their jests, put them into a play,
And tire them too with payment to behold
What I have filch’d from them. This I could do
But O for shame that man should so arraign
Their own fee-simple wits for verbal theft!
Yet men there be that have done this and that,
And more by much more than the most of them.[92]

* * * * *

After this Specimen of the pleasanter vein of Heywood, I am tempted to extract some lines from his “Hierarchie of Angels, 1634;” not strictly as a Dramatic Poem, but because the passage contains a string of names, all but that of _Watson_, his contemporary Dramatists. He is complaining in a mood half serious, half comic, of the disrespect which Poets in his own times meet with from the world, compared with the honors paid them by Antiquity. _Then_ they could afford them three or four sonorous names, and at full length; as to Ovid, the addition of Publius Naso Sulmensis; to Seneca, that of Lucius Annæas Cordubensis; and the like. _Now_, says he,

Our modern Poets to that pass are driven,
Those names are curtail’d which they first had given;
And, as we wish’d to have their memories drown’d,
We scarcely can afford them half their sound.
Greene, who had in both Academies ta’en
Degree of Master, yet could never gain
To be call’d more than Robin: who, had he
Profest ought save the Muse, served, and been free
After a sev’n years prenticeship, might have
(With credit too) gone Robert to his grave.
Marlowe, renown’d for his rare art and wit,
Could ne’er attain beyond the name of Kit;
Although his Hero and Leander did
Merit addition rather. Famous Kid
Was call’d but Tom. Tom Watson; though he wrote
Able to make Apollo’s self to dote
Upon his Muse; for all that he could strive,
Yet never could to his full name arrive.
Tom Nash (in his time of no small esteem)
Could not a second syllable redeem.
Excellent Beaumont, in the foremost rank
Of the rarest wits, was never more than Frank.
Mellifluous SHAKSPEARE, whose inchanting quill
Commanded mirth or passion, was but WILL;
And famous Jonson, though his learned pen
Be dipt in Castaly, is still but Ben.
Fletcher, and Webster, of that learned pack
None of the meanest, neither was but Jack;
Decker but Tom; nor May, nor Middleton;
And he’s now but Jack Ford, that once were John.

Possibly our Poet was a little sore, that this contemptuous curtailment of their Baptismal Names was chiefly exercised upon his Poetical Brethren of the _Drama_. We hear nothing about Sam Daniel, or Ned Spenser, in his catalogue. The familiarity of common discourse might probably take the greater liberties with the Dramatic Poets, as conceiving of them as more upon a level with the Stage Actors. Or did their greater publicity, and popularity in consequence, fasten these diminutives upon them out of a feeling of love and kindness; as we say Harry the Fifth, rather than Henry, when we would express good will?--as himself says, in those reviving words put into his mouth by Shakspeare, where he would comfort and confirm his doubting brothers:

Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds,
But Harry Harry!

And doubtless Heywood had an indistinct conception of this truth, when (coming to his own name), with that beautiful _retracting_ which is natural to one that, not Satirically given, has wandered a little out of his way into something recriminative, he goes on to say:

Nor speak I this, that any here exprest
Should think themselves less worthy than the rest,
Whose names have their full syllables and sound;
Or that Frank, Kit, or Jack, are the least wound
Unto their fame and merit. I for my part
(Think others what they please) accept that heart,
Which courts my love in most familiar phrase;
And that it takes not from my pains or praise,
If any one to me so bluntly come:
I hold he loves me best that calls me Tom.

C. L.

[92] The full title of this Play is “The Fair Maid of the Exchange,
with the humours of the Cripple of Fenchurch.” The above Satire
against some Dramatic Plagiarists of the time, is put into the mouth
of the Cripple, who is an excellent fellow, and the Hero of the
Comedy. Of his humour this extract is a sufficient specimen; but he is
described (albeit a tradesman, yet wealthy withal) with heroic
qualities of mind and body; the latter of which he evinces by rescuing
his Mistress (the Fair Maid) from three robbers by the main force of
one crutch lustily applied; and the former by his foregoing the
advantages which this action gained him in her good opinion, and
bestowing his wit and finesse in procuring for her a husband, in the
person of his friend Golding, more worthy of her beauty, than he could
conceive his own maimed and halting limbs to be. It would require some
boldness in a dramatist now-a-days to exhibit such a Character; and
some luck in finding a sufficient Actor, who would be willing to
personate the infirmities, together with the virtues, of the Noble
Cripple.

* * * * *

ERRATA.

GARRICK PLAYS, NO. IX.

Col. 357. Last line but two of the last extract--

“Blushing forth golden hair and glorious red”--

a sun-bright line spoiled:--

_Blush_ for _Blushing_.

Last line but two of the extract preceding the former, (the end of the old man’s speech)--

“Restrained liberty attain’d is sweet,”

should have a full stop.

These little blemishes kill such delicate things: prose feeds on grosser punctualities.

* * * * *

Will the reader be pleased to make the above corrections with a pen, and allow the fact of illness in excuse for editorial mischance?

*

* * * * *

SNUFF AND TOBACCO.

_For the Table Book._

In the year 1797 was circulated the following:--

PROPOSALS for Publishing by Subscription, a HISTORY OF SNUFF AND TOBACCO, in two Volumes.

Vol. I. to contain a Description of the Nose--Size of Noses--A Digression on Roman Noses--Whether long Noses are symptomatic--Origin of Tobacco--Tobacco first manufactured into Snuff--Enquiry who took the first Pinch--Essay on Sneezing--Whether the ancients sneezed, and at what--Origin of Pocket-handkerchiefs--Discrimination between Snuffing and taking Snuff; the former applied only to Candles--Parliamentary Snufftakers--Troubles in the time of Charles the First, as connected with Smoking.

Vol. II. Snufftakers in the Parliamentary army--Wit at a Pinch--Oval Snuff-boxes first used by the Round-heads--Manufacture of Tobacco Pipes--Dissertation on Pipe Clay--State of Snuff during the Commonwealth--The Union--Scotch Snuff first introduced--found very pungent and penetrating--Accession of George the Second--Snuff-boxes then made of Gold and Silver--George the Third--Scotch Snuff first introduced at Court--The Queen--German Snuffs in fashion--Female Snufftakers--Clean Tuckers, &c. &c.--Index and List of Subscribers.

In connection with this subject I beg to mention an anecdote, related
to me by an old Gentleman who well remembered the circumstance:--

“When every Shopkeeper had a Sign hanging out before his door, a Dealer in Snuff and Tobacco on Fish Street Hill, carried on a large trade, especially in Tobacco, for his Shop was greatly frequented by Sailors from the Ships in the River. In the course of time, a Person of the name of Farr opened a Shop nearly opposite, and hung out his Sign inscribed ‘The best Tobacco _by Farr_.’ This (like the Shoemaker’s inscription, ‘Adam Strong Shoemaker,’ so well known) attracted the attention of the Sailors, who left the old Shop to buy ‘the best Tobacco by far.’ The old Shopkeeper observing that his opponent obtained much custom by his Sign, had a new one put up at his Door inscribed ‘_Far better_ Tobacco than the best Tobacco _by Farr_.’ This had its effect; his trade returned, and finally his opponent was obliged to give up business.”

W. P.

* * * * *

THE SMOKER’S SONG.

_For the Table Book._

For thy sake, Tobacco, I
Would do any thing but die!

CHARLES LAMB.

1.

There is a tiny weed, man,
That grows far o’er the sea man;
The juice of which does more bewitch
Than does the gossip’s tea, man.

2.

Its name is call’d tobacco,
’Tis used near and far man;
The car-man chews--but I will choose
The daintier cigar, man.

3.

’Tis dainty ev’n in shape, man--
So round, so smooth, so long, man!
If you’re a churl, ’twill from you hurl
Your spleen--you’ll sing a song, man!

4.

If you will once permit it
To touch your swelling lip, man,
You soon shall see ’twill sweeter be
Than what the bee doth sip, man!

5.

If e’er you are in trouble,
This will your trouble still, man,
On sea and land ’tis at command,
An idle hour to kill, man!

6.

And if the blind god, Cupid,
Should strike you to the heart, man,
Take up a glass, and toast your lass--
And--ne’er from smoking part, man!

7.

And also if you’re married,
In Hymen’s chains fast bound, man;
To plague your wife out of her life,
Smoke still the whole year round, man!

8.

How sweet ’tis of an evening
When wint’ry winds do blow, man,
As ’twere in spite, to take a pipe,
And smoke by th’ fire’s glow, man!

9.

The sailor in his ship, man,
When wildly rolls the wave, man,
His pipe will smoke, and crack his joke
Above his yawning grave, man!

10.

The soldier, in the tavern,
Talks of the battle’s roar, man;
With pipe in hand, he gives command,
And thus he lives twice o’er man!

11.

All classes in this world, man,
Have each their own enjoyment,
But with a pipe, they’re all alike--
’Tis every one’s employment!

12.

Of all the various pleasures
That on this earth there are, man,
There’s nought to me affords such glee
As a pipe or sweet cigar, man!

O. N. Y.

* * * * *

~Old Customs and Manners~

BY JOHN AUBREY, 1678

EX MS. COLL. ASHMOL. MUS. OXFORD.

_Education._

There were very few free-schools in England before the Reformation. Youth were generally taught Latin in the monasteries, and young women had their education not at Hackney, as now, scilicit, anno 1678, but at nunneries, where they learnt needle-work, confectionary, surgery, physic, (apothecaries and surgeons being at that time very rare,) writing, drawing, &c. Old Jackquar, now living, has often seen from his house the nuns of St. Mary Kingston, in Wilts, coming forth into the Nymph Hay with their rocks and wheels to spin, sometimes to the number of threescore and ten, all whom were not nuns, but young girls sent there for their education.

_Chimneys._

Anciently, before the Reformation, ordinary men’s houses, as copyholders, and the like, had no chimneys, but flues like louver-holes; some of them were in being when I was a boy.

_Painted Cloths._

In the halls and parlours of great houses were wrote texts of Scripture on the painted cloths.

_Libels._

The lawyers say, that, before the time of king Henry VIII., one shall hardly find an action on the case as for slander, &c. once in a year, quod nota.

_Christmas._

Before the last civil wars, in gentlemen’s houses at Christmas, the first dish that was brought to the table was a boar’s head with a lemon in his mouth. At Queen’s College in Oxford they still retain this custom; the bearer of it brings it into the hall, singing to an old tune an old Latin rhyme, “Caput apri defero,” &c. The first dish that was brought up to the table on Easter-day was a red herring riding away on horseback, i. e. a herring ordered by the cook something after the likeness of a man on horseback, set in a corn salad.

_Easter._

The custom of eating a gammon of bacon at Easter, which is still kept up in many parts of England, was founded on this, viz. to show their abhorrence to Judaism at that solemn commemoration of our Lord’s resurrection. In the Easter holydays was the clerk’s ale for his private benefit, and the solace of the neighbourhood.

_Salutations._

The use of “Your humble servant” came first into England on the marriage of queen Mary, daughter of Henry IV. of France, which is derived from _Votre très humble serviteur_. The usual salutation before that time was, “God keep you!” “God be with you!” and among the vulgar, “How dost do?” with a thump on the shoulder.

_Court Rudeness._

Till this time the court itself was unpolished and unmannered. King James’s court was so far from being civil to women, that the ladies, nay the queen herself, could hardly pass by the king’s apartment without receiving some affront.

_Travellers in France._