Chapter M: Blackmore (6)

At the parish priests’ houses in France, especially in Languedoc, the table-cloth is on the board all day long, and ready for what is in the house to be put thereon for strangers, travellers, friars, and pilgrims; so ’twas, I have heard my grandfather say, in his grandfather’s time.

_Private Heralds._

Heretofore noblemen and gentlemen of fair estates had their heralds, who wore their coat of arms at Christmas, and at other solemn times, and cried “Largesse” thrice.

At Tomarton, in Gloucestershire, anciently the seat of the Rivers, is a dungeon thirteen or fourteen feet deep; about four feet high are iron rings fastened to the wall, which was probably to tie offending villains to, as all lords of manors had this power over their villains, (or soccage tenants,) and had all of them no doubt such places for their punishment. It is well known, all castles had dungeons, and so I believe had monasteries, for they had often within themselves power of life and death.

In days of yore, lords and gentlemen lived in the country like petty kings; had jura regalia belonging to their seigniories, had their castles and boroughs, had gallows within their liberties, where they could try, condemn, and execute. Never went to London but in parliament-time, or once a year to do their homage to the king. They always ate in gothic halls, at the high table or _oreille_, (which is a little room at the upper end of the hall, where stands a table,) with the folks at the side-tables. The meat was served up by watchwords. Jacks are but of late invention. The poor boys did turn the spits, and licked the dripping for their pains. The beds of the men-servants and retainers were in the hall, as now in the grand or privy chamber.

Here in the hall, the mumming and the loaf-stealing, and other Christmas sports, were performed.

The hearth was commonly in the middle, whence the saying, “Round about our coal-fire.”

A neat-built chapel, and a spacious hall, were all the rooms of note, the rest more small.

_Private Armories._

Every baron and gentleman of estate kept great horses for men at arms. Some had their armories sufficient to furnish out some hundreds of men.

_Justices’ Halls._

The halls of the justices of peace were dreadful to behold; the screen was garnished with corselets and helmets gaping with open mouths, with coats of mail, lances, pikes, halberds, brown bills, batterdastors, and buckles.

_Inns._

Public inns were rare. Travellers were entertained at religious houses for three days together, if occasion served.

_Gentry Meetings._

The meeting of the gentry were not at taverns, but in the fields or forests, with hawks and hounds, and their bugle-horns, in silken bawderies.

_Hawking._

In the last age every gentleman-like man kept a sparrow-hawk, and the priest a hobby, as dame Julian Berners teaches us, (who wrote a treatise on field-sports, temp. Henry VI.:) it was a divertisement for young gentlewomen to manne sparrow-hawks and merlines.

_Church-houses--Poor-rates._

Before the Reformation there were no poor’s rates; the charitable doles given at religious houses, and church-ale in every parish, did the business. In every parish there was a church-house, to which belonged spits, pots, crocks, &c. for dressing provision. Here the housekeepers met and were merry, and gave their charity. The young people came there too, and had dancing, bowling, shooting at butts, &c. Mr. A. Wood assures me, there were few or no alms-houses before the time of king Henry VIII.; that at Oxford, opposite to Christ church, is one of the most ancient in England. In every church was a poor man’s box, and the like at great inns.

In these times, besides the jollities above-mentioned, they had their pilgrimages to several shrines, as to Walsingham, Canterbury, Glastonbury, Bromholm, &c. Then the crusades to the holy wars were magnificent and splendid, and gave rise to the adventures of the knight-errant and romances; the solemnity attending processions in and about churches, and the perambulations in the fields, were great diversions also of those times.

_Glass Windows._

Glass windows, except in churches and gentlemen’s houses, were rare before the time of Henry VIII. In my own remembrance, before the civil wars, copyholders and poor people had none.

_Men’s Coats._

About ninety years ago, noblemen’s and gentlemen’s coats were of the bedels and yeomen of the guards, i. e. gathered at the middle. The benchers in the inns of court yet retain that fashion in the make of their gowns.

_Church-building._

Captain Silas Taylor says, that in days of yore, when a church was to be built, they watched and prayed on the vigil of the dedication, and took that point of the horizon where the sun arose for the east, which makes that variation, so that few stand true, except those built between the two equinoxes. I have experimented some churches, and have found the line to point to that part of the horizon where the sun rises on the day of that saint to whom the church was dedicated.

Before the wake, or feast of the dedication of the church, they sat up all night fasting and praying, (viz.) on the eve of the wake.

_New Moon._

In Scotland, especially among the Highlanders, the women make a courtesy to the new moon; and our English women in this country have a touch of this, some of them sitting astride on a gate or style the first evening the new moon appears, and say, “A fine moon, God bless her!” The like I observed in Herefordshire.

_Husbandry--Shepherds._

The Britons received the knowledge of husbandry from the Romans; the foot and the acre, which we yet use, is the nearest to them. In our west country, (and I believe so in the north,) they give no wages to the shepherd, but he has the keeping so many sheep with his master’s flock. Plautus hints at this in his Asinaria, act 3, scene 1, “etiam Opilio,” &c.

_Architecture._

The Normans brought with them into England civility and building, which, though it was gothic, was yet magnificent.

Mr. Dugdale told me, that, about the time of king Henry III., the pope gave a bull, or patent, to a company of Italian architects, to travel up and down Europe to build churches.

_Trumpets--Sheriffs’ Trumpets._

Upon occasion of bustling in those days, great lords sounded their trumpets, and summoned those that held under them. Old sir Walter Long, of Draycot, kept a trumpeter, rode with thirty servants and retainers. Hence the sheriffs’ trumpets at this day.

_Younger Brothers._

No younger brothers were to betake themselves to trades, but were churchmen or retainers to great men.

_Learning, and learned Men._

From the time of Erasmus till about twenty years last past, the learning was downright pedantry. The conversation and habits of those times were as starched as their bands and square beards, and gravity was then taken for wisdom. The doctors in those days were but old boys, when quibbles passed for wit, even in their sermons.

_Gentry and their Children._

The gentry and citizens had little learning of any kind, and their way of breeding up their children was suitable to the rest. They were as severe to their children as their schoolmasters, and their schoolmasters as masters of the house of correction: the child perfectly loathed the sight of his parents as the slave his torture.

Gentlemen of thirty and forty years old were to stand like mutes and fools bare-headed before their parents; and the daughters (grown women) were to stand at the cupboard-side during the whole time of her proud mother’s visit, unless (as the fashion was) leave was desired forsooth that a cushion should be given them to kneel upon, brought them by the servingman, after they had done sufficient penance in standing.

The boys (I mean the young fellow) had their foreheads turned up and stiffened with spittle: they were to stand mannerly forsooth thus, the foretop ordered as before, with one hand at the bandstring, and the other behind.

_Fans._

The gentlewomen had prodigious fans, as is to be seen in old pictures, like that instrument which is used to drive feathers, and it had a handle at least half a yard long; with these the daughters were oftentimes corrected, (sir Edward Coke, lord chief justice, rode the circuit with such a fan; sir William Dugdale told me he was an eye-witness of it. The earl of Manchester also used such a fan,) but fathers and mothers slashed their daughters in the time of their besom discipline, when they were perfect women.

_University Flogging._

At Oxford (and I believe at Cambridge) the rod was frequently used by the tutors and deans; and Dr. Potter, of Trinity college, I knew right well, whipped his pupil with his sword by his side, when he came to take his leave of him to go to the inns of court.

Young lambs to sell! young lambs to sell
If I’d as much money as I could tell,
I’d not come here with lambs to sell!
Dolly and Molly, Richard and Nell,
Buy my young lambs, and I’ll use you well!

This is a “London cry” at the present time: the engraving represents the crier, William Liston, from a drawing for which he purposely _stood_.

This “public character” was born in the Gallowgate in the city of Glasgow. He became a soldier in the waggon-train, commanded by colonel Hamilton, and served under the duke of York in Holland, where, on the 6th of October, 1799, he lost his right arm and left leg, and his place in the army. His misfortunes thrust distinction upon him. From having been a private in the ranks, where he would have remained a single undistinguishable cipher 0, amongst a row of ciphers 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 he now makes a figure in the world; and is perhaps better known throughout England than any other individual of his order in society, for he has visited almost every town with “young lambs to sell.” He has a wife and four children; the latter are constantly employed in making the “young lambs,” with white cotton wool for fleeces, spangled with Dutch gilt, the head of flour paste, red paint on the cheeks, two jet black spots for eyes, horns of twisted shining tin, legs to correspond, and pink tape tied round the neck for a graceful collar. A full basket of these, and his song-like cry, attract the attention of the juvenile population, and he contrives to pick up a living, notwithstanding the “badness of the times.” The day after last Christmas-day, his cry in Covent-garden allured the stage-manager to purchase four dozen of “young lambs,” and at night they were “brought out” at that theatre, in the basket of a performer who personated their old proprietor, and cried so as to deceive the younger part of the audience into a belief that he was their real favourite of the streets.

I remember the _first_ crier of “young lambs to sell!” He was a maimed sailor; and with him originated the manufacture. If I am not mistaken, this man, many years after I had ceased to be a purchaser of his ware, was guilty of some delinquency, for which he forfeited his life: _his_ cry was

Young lambs to sell! young lambs to sell!
Two for a penny young lambs to sell!
Two for a penny young lambs to sell--
Two for a penny young lambs to sell!
If I’d as much money as I could tell,
I wouldn’t cry young lambs to sell!
Young lambs to sell--young lambs to sell--
Two for a penny young lambs to sell!
Young lambs to se--e--ll,
Young la--a--mbs to sell!

Though it is five and thirty years ago since I heard the sailor’s musical “cry,” it still sings in my memory; it was a tenor of modulated harmonious tune, till, in the last line but one, it became a thorough bass, and rolled off at the close with a loud swell that filled urchin listeners with awe and admiration. During this chant his head was elevated, and he gave his full voice, and apparently his looks, to the winds; but the moment he concluded, and when attention was yet rivetted, his address became particular: his persuasive eye and jocular address flashed round the circle of “my little masters and mistresses,” and his hand presented a couple of his snow white “fleecy charge,” dabbled in gold, “two for a penny!” nor did he resume his song till ones and twos were in the possession of probably every child who had a halfpenny or penny at command.

The old sailor’s “young lambs” were only half the cost of the poor soldier’s. It may be doubted whether the materials of their composition have doubled in price, but the demand for “young lambs” has certainly lessened, while the present manufacturer has quite as many wants as the old one, and luckily possessing a monopoly of the manufacture, he therefore raises the price of his articles to the necessity of his circumstances. It is not convenient to refer to the precise chapter in the “Wealth of Nations,” or to verified tables of the increased value of money, in order to show that the new lamb-seller has not exceeded “an equitable adjustment” in the arrangement of his present prices; but it is fair to state in his behalf, that he declares, notwithstanding all the noise he makes, the carrying on of the lamb business is scarcely better than pig-shaving; “Sir,” says he, “it’s great _cry_, and little _wool_.” From a poor fellow, at his time of life, with only half his limbs to support a large family this is no joke. Not having been at his native place for two and twenty years, the desire to see it once more is strong within him, and he purposes next Easter to turn his face northwards, with his family, and “cry” all the way from London to Glasgow. Let the little ones, therefore, in the towns of his route, keep a penny or two by them to lay out in “young lambs,” and so help the poor fellow along the road, in this stage of his struggle through life.

*

_March 19, 1827._

* * * * *

LINES ON HAPPINESS.

_For the Table Book._

Like a frail shadow seen in maze,
Or some bright star shot o’er the ocean,
Is happiness, that meteor’s blaze,
For ever fleeting in its motion.

It plays within our fancied grasp,
Like a phantasmagorian shade,
Pursued, e’en to the latest gasp,
It still seems hovering in the glade.

Tis but like hope, and hope’s, at best,
A star that leads the weary on,
Still pointing to the unpossess’d
And palling that it beams upon.

J. B. O.

* * * * *

HUMAN LIFE.

BY GOETHE.

That life is but a dream is the opinion of many; it is mine. When I see the narrow limits which confine the penetrating, active genius of man; when I see that all his powers are directed to satisfy mere necessities, the only end of which is to prolong a precarious or painful existence; that his greatest care, with regard to certain inquiries, is but a blind resignation; and that we only amuse ourselves with painting brilliant figures and smiling landscapes on the walls of our prison, whilst we see on all sides the boundary which confines us; when I consider these things I am silent: I examine myself; and what do I find? Alas! more vague desires, presages, and visions, than conviction, truth, and reality.

The happiest are those, who, like children, think not of the morrow, amuse themselves with playthings, dress and undress their dolls, watch with great respect before the cupboard where mamma keeps the sweetmeats, and when they get any, eat them directly, and cry for more; these are certainly happy beings. Many also are to be envied, who dignify their paltry employments, sometimes even their passions, with pompous titles; and who represent themselves to mankind as beings of a superior order, whose occupation it is to promote their welfare and glory. But the man who in all humility acknowledges the vanity of these things; observes with what pleasure the wealthy citizen transforms his little garden into a paradise; with what patience the poor man bears his burden; and that all wish equally to behold the sun yet a little longer; he too may be at peace. He creates a world of his own, is happy also because he is a man; and, however limited his sphere, he preserves in his bosom the idea of liberty.

* * * * *

VALEDICTORY STANZAS.

_For the Table Book._

The flower is faded,
The sun-beam is fled,
The bright eye is shaded,
The loved one is dead:
Like a star in the morning--
When, mantled in gray,
Aurora is dawning--
She vanish’d away.

Like the primrose that bloometh
Neglected to die,
Though its sweetness perfumeth
The ev’ning’s soft sigh--
Like lightning in summer,
Like rainbows that shine
With a mild dreamy glimmer
In colours divine--

The kind and pure hearted,
The tender, the true,
From our love has departed
With scarce an adieu:
So briefly, so brightly
In virtue she shone,
As shooting stars nightly
That blaze and are gone.

The place of her slumber
Is holy to me,
And oft as I number
The leaves of the tree,
Whose branches in sorrow
Bend over her urn,
I think of to-morrow
And silently mourn.

The farewell is spoken,
The spirit sublime
The last tie has broken,
That bound it to time;
And bright is its dwelling
Its mansion of bliss--
How far, far excelling
The darkness of this!

Yet hearts still are beating,
And eyes still are wet--
True, our joys are all fleeting,
But who can forget?
I know they must vanish
As visions depart,
But oh, can this banish
The thorn from my heart?

The eye of affection,
Its tribute of tears
Sheds, with fond recollection
Of life’s happy years;
And tho’ vain be the anguish
Indulg’d o’er the tomb,
Yet nature will languish
And shrink from its gloom.

Those lips--their least motion
Was music to me,
And, like light on the ocean,
Those eyes seem’d to be:
Are they mute--and for ever?
The spell will not break;
Are they closed--must I never
Behold them awake?

When distress was around me
Thy smiles were as balm,
That in misery found me,
And left me in calm:
Success became dearer
When thou wert with me,
And the clear sky grew clearer
When gaz’d on with thee.

Thou art gone--and tho’ reason
My grief would disarm,
I feel there’s a season
When grief has a charm;
And ’tis sweeter, far sweeter
To sit by thy grave,
Than to follow Hope’s meteor
Down time’s hasty wave.

In darkness we laid thee--
The earth for thy bed--
The couch that we made thee
Is press’d by thee dead:
In sorrow’s film shrouded,
Our eyes could not see
The glory unclouded
That opened on thee.

Thou canst not, pure spirit,
Return to the dust,
But we may inherit--
So humbly we trust--
The joys without measure
To which thou art gone,
The regions of pleasure
Where tears are unknown.

H.

* * * * *

EFFECT OF CONSCIENCE.

On the 30th of March, 1789, 360_l._ was carried to the account of the public, in consequence of the following note received by the chancellor of the exchequer.

“Sir--You will herewith receive bank notes to the amount of 360_l._ which is the property of the nation, and which, as an honest man, you will be so just as to apply to the use of the state in such manner that the nation may not suffer by its having been detained from the public treasury. You are implored to do this for the ease of conscience to an honest man.”

* * * * *

~Anecdotes~

OF

HENRY THE GREAT.

PUBLIC LIBEL.

About 1605, Henry IV. of France attempting to enforce some regulations respecting the annuities upon the Hotel de Ville, of Paris, several assemblies of the citizens were held, in which Francis Miron, the prévôt des marchands, addressed the king’s commissioners against the measures with fervour and firmness. It was rumoured amongst the people of Paris, that their magistrate was threatened, for having exerted himself too warmly in their behalf; they crowded about his house, in order to defend him, but Miron requested them to retire, and not to render him really criminal. He represented that nothing injurious was to be apprehended, for they had a king as great and wise, as he was beneficent and just, who would not suffer himself to be hurried away by the instigations of evil counsellors. Yet those whose conduct Miron had arraigned, endeavoured to persuade Henry to punish him, and deprive him of his office, for disobedient actions, and seditious discourse. The king’s answer contained memorable expressions:--“Authority does not always consist in carrying things with a high hand: regard must be paid to times, persons, and the subject-matter. I have been ten years in extinguishing civil discord, I dread its revival, and Paris has cost me too much for me to risk its loss; in my opinion, it would unquestionably be the case, were I to follow your advice; for I should be obliged to make terrible examples, which, in a few days, would deprive me of the glory of clemency, and the affection of my people; and these I prize as much, and even more than my crown. I have experienced, on many occasions, the fidelity and probity of Miron, who harbours no ill intentions, but undoubtedly deemed himself bound, by the duties of his office, to act as he has acted. If unguarded expressions have escaped him, I pardon them, on account of his past services; and, should he even desire a martyrdom in the public cause, I will disappoint him of the glory, by avoiding to become a persecutor and a tyrant.”

Henry ended the affair by receiving the apology and submission of Miron, and revoking the orders concerning the annuities, which had occasioned the popular alarm.[93]

* * * * *

LIBELLOUS DRAMA.

On the 26th of January, 1607, a pleasant farce was acted at the Hotel de Bourgogne, at Paris, before Henry IV., his queen, and the greater part of the princes, lords, and ladies of the court. The subject of the piece was a quarrel between a married man and his wife. The wife told her husband, that he staid tippling at the tavern while executions were daily laid upon their goods, for the tax which must be paid to the king, and that all their substance was carried away. “It is for that very reason,” said the husband in his defence, “that we should make merry with good cheer; for of what service would all the fortune we could amass be to us, since it would not belong to ourselves, but to this same noble king. I will drink the more, and of the very best: monsieur the king shall not meddle with that; go fetch me some this minute; march.” “Ah, wretch!” replied the wife, “would you bring me and your children to ruin?” During this dialogue, three officers of justice came in, and demanded the tax, and, in default of payment, prepared to carry away the furniture. The wife began a loud lamentation; at length the husband asked them who they were? “We belong to Justice,” said the officers: “How, to _Justice_!” replied the husband; “they who belong to Justice act in another manner; I do not believe that you are what you say.” During this altercation the wife seized a trunk, upon which she seated herself. The officers commanded her, “in the king’s name,” to open it; and after much dispute the trunk was opened, and out jumped three devils, who carry away the three officers of justice.

The magistrates, conceiving themselves to have been insulted by this performance, caused the actors to be arrested, and committed them to prison. On the same day they were discharged, by express command of the king, who magnanimously told those that complained of the affront, “You are fools! If any one has a right to take offence, it is I, who have received more abuse than any of you. I pardon the comedians from my heart; for the rogues made me laugh till I cried again.”[94]

[93] Perefixe.

[94] L’Etoile, Hist. d’Henri IV.

* * * * *

CUSTOM AT SCARBOROUGH.

The fish-market is held on the sands, by the sides of the boats, which, at low water, are run upon wheels with a sail set, and are conducted by the fishermen, who dispose of their cargoes in the following manner.

One of the female fishmongers inquires the price, and bids a groat; the fishermen ask a sum in the opposite extreme: the one bids up, and the other reduces the demand, till they meet at a reasonable point, when the bidder suddenly exclaims, “Het!” This practice seems to be borrowed from the Dutch. The purchase is afterwards retailed among the regular, or occasional surrounding customers.

* * * * *

LINES TO A BARREL ORGAN.

_For the Table Book._

How many thoughts from thee I cull,
Music’s humblest vehicle!
From thy caravan of sounds,
Constant in its daily rounds,
Some such pleasure do I find
As when, borne upon the wind,
The well-known “bewilder’d chimes”
Plaintively recall those times,
(Long since lost in sorrow’s shade,)
When, in some sequester’d glade,
Their simple, stammering tongues would try
Some heart-moving melody.--
Oldest musical delight
Of my boyish days! the sight
Or sound of thee would charm my feet,
And make my joy of heart complete--
How thou luredst listeners
To thy crazy, yearning airs!--
Harmonious, grumbling volcano!
Murm’ring sounds in small _piano_,
Or screaming forth a shrill _soprano_,
Mingled with the growling bass.
Fragments of some air I trace,
Stifled by the notes which cram it--
Scatter’d ruins of the gamut!--
Sarcophagus of harmony!
Orpheus’ casket! guarded by
A swain who lives by what he earns
From the music which he churns:
Every note thou giv’st _by turns_.--
Not Pindar’s lyre more variety
Possess’d than thou! no cloy’d satiety
Feel’st thou at thy perpetual feast
Of sound; nor weariness the least:
Thy task’s perform’d with right goodwill.--
Thou art a melodious mill!
Notes, like grain, are dribbled in,
Thou _grindest_ them, and fill’st the bin
Of melody with plenteous store.
Thy tunes are like the parrot’s lore,
Nothing of them dost thou wot,
But repeatest them by rote.--
Curious, docile instrument!
To skilless touch obedient:
Like a mine of richest ore,
Inexhaustible in store,
Yielding at a child’s command
All thy wealth unto its hand.
Harmonicon peripatetic!
What clue to notes so oft erratic
Hast thou, by which the ear may follow
Through thy labyrinthine hollow,
Which its own echo dost consume,
As stoves devour their own fume.--
Mysterious fabric! cage-like chest!
Behind whose gilded bars the nest
Of unfledg’d melodies is hid
’Neath that brazen coverlid.--
In thy bondage-house of song,
Bound in brazen fetters strong,
Immortal harmonies do groan!
Doleful sounds their stifled moan.
A vulture preys upon their pangs,
Round whose neck their prison hangs,
Like that tenanted strong box
By eagle found upon the rocks
Of Brobdingnag’s gigantic isle.
Like Sysiphus, their endless toil
Is hopeless: their tormentor’s claw
Turns the wheel (his will’s their law)
Which all their joints and members racks,
Ne’er will his cruelty relax.--
Miniature in shape and sound
Of that grand instrument, which round
Old cathedral walls doth send
Its pealing voice; whose tones do blend
The clangor of the trumpet’s throat,
And the silver-stringed lute.--
To what else shall I compare thee?--
Further epithets I’ll spare thee.
Honest and despised thing,
To thy memory I cling.
Spite of all thy faults, I own
I love thy “old, familiar” tone.

GASTON.

* * * * *

MINISTERIAL FAVOUR.

A gentleman who had been long attached to cardinal Mazarine, reminded the cardinal of his many promises, and his dilatory performance. Mazarine, who had a great regard for him, and was unwilling to lose his friendship, took his hand, and explained the many demands made upon a person in his situation as minister, which it would be politic to satisfy previously to other requests, as they were founded on services done to the state. The cardinal’s adherent, not very confident in his veracity, replied, “My lord, all the favour I now ask at your hand is, that whenever we meet in public, you will do me the honour to tap me on the shoulder in an unreserved manner.” The cardinal smiled, and in the course of two or three years tapping, his friend became a wealthy man, on the credit of these attentions to him; and Mazarine and his confidant laughed at the public security which enriched the courtier at so little expense to the state.

* * * * *

DUDLEY OF PORTSMOUTH.

“I’M A GOING!”

_For the Table Book._

Barbers are not more celebrated by a desire to become the most busy citizens of the state, than by the expert habit in which they convey news. Many a tale is invented out of a mere surmise, or whisper, for the gratification of those who attend barbers’ shops. An old son of the scissors and razor, well known at Portsmouth, was not, however, quite so perfect a _phiz_iologist, as his more erudite and bristling fraternity. One evening, as he was preparing his fronts, and fitting his comb “to a hair,” two supposed gentlemen entered his shop to be dressed; this being executed with much civility and despatch, a wager was laid with old Dudley, (for that was his name,) that he could not walk in a ring three feet in diameter, for one hour, and utter no other words than “I’m a going!” Two pounds on each side was on the counter; the ring was drawn in chalk; the money chinked in the ear, and old Dudley moved in the circle of his orbit. “I’m a going!--I’m a going!--I’m a going!” were the only words which kept time with his feet during the space of fifty-five minutes, when, on a sudden, one of the gentlemen sprang forward, and taking up the money, put it into his pocket. This device threw old Dudley off his guard, and he exclaimed, “That’s not fair!”--“Enough!” rejoined the sharpers, “you’ve lost the wager.” They departed, leaving him two pounds minus, and to this day old Dudley is saluted by the appellation of “I’m a going!”

JEHOIADA.

* * * * *

ROYAL DECISION.

In the reign of George I. the sister of judge Dormer being married to a gentleman who afterwards killed a man very basely, the judge went to move the king for a pardon. It was impossible that he could offer any thing to the royal ear in extenuation of the crime, and therefore he was the more earnest in expressing his hope that his majesty would save him and his family from the infamy the execution of the sentence would bring upon them. “So, Mr. Justice,” said the king, “what you propose to me is, that I should transfer the infamy from you and your family, to me and my family; but I shall do no such thing.” Motion refused.

* * * * *

~Biographiana.~

REV. THOMAS COOKE.

_To the Editor._

Sir--In reply to the inquiries of your correspondent G. J. D. at p. 136, I beg to state, that the person he alludes to was the translator of Hesiod, immortalized by Pope in his Dunciad.

The Rev. Thomas Cooke was a profound Greek and Latin scholar, and consequently much better versed in the beauties of Homer, &c. than the irritable translator of the Iliad and Odyssey: his remarks on, and expositions of Pope’s glaring misconceptions of many important passages of the ancient bard drew down the satirical vengeance of his illustrious translator.

It would, however, appear that Pope was not the assailant in the first instance, for in the Appendix to the Dunciad we find “A list of Books, Papers, and Verses, in which our author (Pope) was abused, before the publication of that Poem;” and among the said works “The Battle of the Poets, an heroic Poem, by Thomas Cooke, printed for J. Roberts, folio, 1725,” is particularly mentioned. In book ii. of the Dunciad, we have the following line,--

“Cooke shall be Prior, and Concanen Swift;”

to which the following note is appended:--

“The man here specified writ a thing called _The Battle of the Poets_, in which Philips and Welsted were the heroes, and Swift and Pope utterly routed.”

Cooke also published some “malevolent things in the British, London, and daily journals, and at the same time wrote letters to Mr. Pope, protesting his innocence.”

His chief work was a translation of “Hesiod, to which Theobald writ notes, and half notes, which he carefully owned.”

Again, in the testimonies of authors, which precede the Dunciad, we find the following remark:--

“_Mr. Thomas Cooke_,

“After much blemishing our author’s Homer, crieth out

“But in his other works what beauties shine,
While sweetest music dwells in ev’ry line!
These he admir’d, on these he stamp’d his praise,
And bade them live t’ enlighten future days!”

I have somewhere read that Cooke was a native of Sussex; that he became famous for his knowledge of the Greek and Latin languages while at Cambridge; and was ultimately settled in some part of Shropshire, where he soon became acquainted with the family of the young lady celebrated by his muse, in the fifth number of the _Table Book_, and where he also greatly distinguished himself as a clergyman, and preceptor of the younger branches of the neighbouring gentry and nobility. This may in some measure account for the respectable list of subscribers alluded to by G. J. D.

It is presumed, however, that misfortune at length overtook him; for we find, in the “Ambulator, or London and its Environs,” under the head “Lambeth,” that he lies interred in the church-yard of that parish, and that he died extremely poor: he is, moreover, designated “the celebrated translator of Hesiod, Terence, &c.”

I have seen the poem entitled “The Immortality of the Soul,” mentioned by G. J. D., though I have no recollection of its general features or merit; but of “The Battle of the Poets” I have a copy; and what renders it more rare and valuable is, that it was Mr. Cooke’s own impression of the work, and has several small productions upon various occasions, written, I presume, with his own hand, each having the signature “Thomas Cooke,” on the blank leaves at the commencement of the book.

On my return from the continent, I shall have no objection to intrust this literary curiosity to your care for a short time, giving you the liberty of extracting any (and all if you think proper) of the pieces written on the interleaves: and, in the mean time, I will do myself the pleasure of selecting one from the number, for insertion in the _Table Book_, which will, at least, prove that Mr. Cooke’s animosity was of transient duration, and less virulent than that of Pope.

It is possible that at some future time I may be able to enlarge upon this subject, for the better information of your correspondent; and I beg, in the interim, to remark that there is no doubt the Annual Register, from about the year 1750 to 1765, or works of that description, will fully satisfy his curiosity, and afford him much more explanation relative to Mr. Cooke than any communications from existing descendants.

In Mr. Cooke’s copy of “The Battle of the Poets,” the lines before quoted run thus:--

“But in his other works what beauties shine--
What sweetness also dwells in ev’ry line!
These all admire--these bring him endless praise,
And crown his temples with unfading bays!”

I remain, sir,

Your obedient servant and subscriber,

* * * * * * * * * * * *

_Oxford, Jan. 29, 1827._

VERSES,

OCCASIONED BY THE LAMENTED DEATH OF MR. ALEXANDER POPE.

POPE! though thy pen has strove with heedless rage
To make my name obnoxious to the age,
While, dipp’d in gall, and tarnish’d with the spleen,
It dealt in taunts ridiculous and mean,
Aiming to lessen what it could not reach,
And giving license to ungrateful speech,
Still I forgive its enmity, and feel
Regrets I would not stifle, nor conceal;
For though thy temper, and imperious soul,
Needed, at times, subjection and controul,
There was a majesty--a march of sense--
A proud display of rare intelligence,
In many a line of that transcendent pen,
We never, perhaps, may contemplate again--
An energy peculiarly its own,
And sweetness perfectly before unknown!

Then deign, thou mighty master of the lyre!
T’ accept what justice and remorse inspire;
Justice that prompts the willing muse to tell,
None ever wrote so largely and so well--
Remorse that feels no future bard can fill
The vacant chair with half such Attic skill,
Or leave behind so many proofs of taste,
As those rich poems dulness ne’er disgrac’d!

Farewell, dear shade! all enmity is o’er,
Since Pope has left us for a brighter shore,
Where neither rage, nor jealousy, nor hate,
Can rouse the little, nor offend the great;
Where worldly contests are at once forgot,
In the bright glories of a happier lot;
And where the dunces of the Dunciad see
Thy genius crown’d with immortality!

THOMAS COOKE.

* * * * *

DUKE OF YORK

ALBANY AND CLARENCE.

_For the Table Book._

In the History of Scotland, there is a remark which may be added to the account of the dukes of York, at col. 103; viz.

_Shire of Perth._--That part of the county called Braidalbin, or Breadalbane, lies amongst the Grampian-hills, and gives title to a branch of the family of Campbell; where note that Braid-Albin, in old Scotch, signifies the highest part of Scotland, and Drum-Albin, which is the name of a part thereof, signifies the ridge or back of Scotland. Hence it is collected that this is the country which the ancients called _Albany_, and part of the residence of the ancient Scots, who still retain the name, and call themselves “Albinkich,” together with the ancient language and habit, continuing to be a hardy, brave, and warlike people, and very parsimonious in their way of living; and from this country the sons of the royal family of Scotland took the title of “duke of _Albany_;” and since the union of the two crowns, it has been found amongst the royal titles of the dukes of York.

Respecting the dukedom of _Clarence_, which is originally derived from Clare, in Suffolk, king Edward III. in the thirty-sixth year of his reign, for default of issue male in the former family, created his third son, Lionel, by reason of his marriage with the grandaughter of the late earl of _Clare_, duke of Clarence, being a word of a fuller sound than the monosyllable “Clare.”

~M.~

* * * * *

DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENTS.

Lord George Germain was of a remarkably amiable disposition; and his domestics lived with him rather as humble friends than menial servants. One day entering his house in Pall-mall, he observed a large basket of vegetables standing in the hall, and inquired of the porter to whom they belonged, and from whence they came? Old John immediately replied, “They are _ours_, my lord, from _our_ country-house.”--“Very well,” rejoined his lordship. At that instant a carriage stopped at the door, and lord George, turning round, asked what coach it was? “_Ours_,” said honest John. “And are the children in it _ours_ too?” said his lordship, smiling. “_Most certainly_, my lord,” replied John, with the utmost gravity, and immediately ran to lift them out.

* * * * *

~Riddle.~

A LITERARY CHARACTER.

I have long maintained a distinguished station in our modern days, but I cannot trace my origin to ancient times, though the learned have attempted it. After the revolution in 1688, I was chief physician to the king; at least in my absence he ever complained of sickness. Had I lived in ancient days, so friendly was I to crowned heads, that Cleopatra would have got off with a sting; and her cold arm would have felt a reviving heat. I am rather a friend to sprightliness than to industry; I have often converted a neutral pronoun into a man of talent: I have often amused myself with reducing the provident ant to indigence; I never meet a post horse without giving him a blow; to some animals I am a friend, and many a puppy has yelped for aid when I have deserted him. I am a patron of architecture, and can turn every thing into brick and mortar; and so honest withal, that whenever I can find a pair of stockings, I ask for their owner. Not even Lancaster has carried education so far as I have: I adopt always the system of interrogatories. I have already taught my hat to ask questions of fact; and my poultry questions of chronology. With my trees I share the labours of my laundry; they scour my linen; and when I find a rent, ’tis I who make it entire.

* * * * *

In short, such are my merits, that whatever yours may be, you can never be more than half as good as I am.

* * * * *

ANSWER

TO THE PRECEDING.

A _literary_ character you view,
Known to the moderns only--W:
I was physician to king William;
When absent, he would say, “how--ill I am!”
In ancient days if I had liv’d, the asp
Which poison’d Egypt’s queen, had been a--Wasp;
And the death-coldness of th’ imperial arm
With life reviving had again been--Warm.
A friend to sprightliness, that neuter it
By sudden pow’r I’ve chang’d into a--Wit.
The vainly-provident industrious ant
With cruel sport I oft reduce to--Want;
Whene’er I meet with an unlucky hack,
I give the creature a tremendous--Whack:
And many a time a puppy cries for help,
If I desert capriciously the--Whelp.
A friend to architecture, I turn all
(As quick as Chelt’nham builders) into--Wall.
I’m honest, for whene’er I find some hose,
I seek the owner, loud exclaiming--Whose?
Farther than Lancaster I educate,
My system’s always to interrogate;
Already have I taught my very hat
Questions of fact to ask, and cry out--What?
Questions of time my poultry, for the hen
Cackles chronology, enquiring--When?
My laundry’s labour I divide with ashes;
It is with them the laundress scours and--Washes:
And if an ugly rent I find, the hole
Instantly vanishes, becoming--Whole.

In short, my merits are so bright to view
How good soe’er you may be, just or true,
You can but halve my worth, for I am--_double you_.

_Cheltenham._

* * * * *

THE MERRY MONARCH,

AND “BLYTHE COCKPEN.”

While Charles II. was sojourning in Scotland, before the battle of Worcester, his chief confidant and associate was the laird of Cockpen, called by the nick-naming fashion of the times, “Blythe Cockpen.” He followed Charles to the Hague, and by his skill in playing Scottish tunes, and his sagacity and wit, much delighted the merry monarch. Charles’s favourite air was “Brose and Butter;” it was played to him when he went to bed, and he was awakened by it. At the restoration, however, Blythe Cockpen shared the fate of many other of the royal adherents; he was forgotten, and wandered upon the lands he once owned in Scotland, poor and unfriended. His letters to the court were unpresented, or disregarded, till, wearied and incensed, he travelled to London; but his mean garb not suiting the rich doublets of court, he was not allowed to approach the royal presence. At length, he ingratiated himself with the king’s organist, who was so enraptured with Cockpen’s wit and powers of music, that he requested him to play on the organ before the king at divine service. His exquisite skill did not attract his majesty’s notice, till, at the close of the service, instead of the usual tune, he struck up “Brose and Butter,” with all its energetic merriment. In a moment the royal organist was ordered into the king’s presence. “My liege, it was not me! it was not me!” he cried, and dropped upon his knees. “You!” cried his majesty, in a rapture, “you could never play it in your life--where’s the man? let me see him.” Cockpen presented himself on his knee. “Ah, Cockpen, is that you?--Lord, man, I was like to dance coming out of the church!”--“I once danced too,” said Cockpen, “but that was when I had land of my own to dance on.”--“Come with me,” said Charles taking him by the hand, “you shall dance to _Brose and Butter_ on your own lands again to the nineteenth generation;” and as far as he could, the king kept his promise.

* * * * *

~Topography.~

SINGULAR INTERMENT.

The following curious entry is in the register of Lymington church, under the year 1736:--

“Samuel Baldwin, esq. sojourner in this parish, was _immersed_,
without the Needles, _sans cérémonie_, May 20.”

This was performed in consequence of an earnest wish the deceased had expressed, a little before his dissolution, in order to disappoint the intention of his wife, who had repeatedly assured him, in their domestic squabbles, (which were very frequent,) that if she survived him, she would revenge her conjugal sufferings, by dancing on his grave.

* * * * *

ODD SIGNS.

A gentleman lately travelling through Grantham, in Lincolnshire, observed the following lines under a sign-post, on which was placed an inhabited bee-hive.

Two wonders, Grantham, now are thine,
The highest spire, and a living sign.

The same person, at another public-house in the country, where London porter was sold, observed the figure of Britannia engraved upon a tankard, in a reclining posture; underneath was the following motto:--

Pray SUP-PORTER.

Vol. I.--14.

The above engraving is from a lithographic view, published in Durham in 1820: it was designed by Mr. Bouet, a very ingenious French gentleman, resident there, whose abilities as an artist are of a superior order.

Elvet bridge consists of nine or ten arches, and was built by the excellent bishop Pudsey, about the year 1170. It was repaired in the time of bishop Fox, who held the see of Durham from 1494 to 1502, and granted an “indulgence” to all who should contribute towards defraying the expense; an expedient frequently resorted to in Catholic times for the forwarding of great undertakings. It was again improved, by widening it to twice its breadth, in 1806.

Upon this bridge there were two chapels, dedicated respectively to St. James and St. Andrew, one of which stood on the site of the old house close to the bridge, at present inhabited by Mr. Adamson, a respectable veterinary surgeon; the other stood on the site of the new houses on the south side of the bridge, occupied by Mr. Fenwick and Mr. Hopper. About three years ago, while clearing away the rubbish, preparatory to the erection of the latter houses, some remains of the old chapel were discovered: an arch was in a very perfect state, but unfortunately no drawing was made.

It is believed by some, that another chapel stood on, or near Elvet bridge, dedicated to St. Magdalen; and the name of the flight of steps leading from Elvet bridge to Saddler-street, viz. the Maudlin, or Magdalen-steps, rather favours the supposition. On the north side of Elvet bridge is a building, erected in 1632, formerly used as the house of correction, but which, since the erection of the new gaol, was sold to the late Stephen Kemble, Esq., and is now the printing and publishing office of the Durham Chronicle. The ground cells are miserable places: some figures, still visible on many of the walls, as faces, ships, &c. show to what resources the poor fellows confined there were driven to amuse themselves. This building is said to be haunted by the restless sprite of an old piper, who, as the story is, was brought down the river by a flood, and, on being rescued from the water, became an inmate of the house of correction, where he died a few years afterwards. The credulous often hear his bagpipes at midnight. Every old bridge seems to have its legend, and this is the legend of Elvet bridge.

The buildings represented by the engraving in the distance are the old gaol, and a few of the adjoining houses. This gaol, which stood to the east of the castle, and contiguous to the keep, was originally the great north gateway to the castle, and was erected by bishop Langley, who held the see of Durham from 1406 to 1437. It divided Saddler-street from the North Bailey, and was a fine specimen of the architecture of the age, but, from its confined situation, in a public part of the city, it was adjudged to be a nuisance, and was accordingly destroyed in 1820. On the west side of it is erected an elegant subscription library and news-room, and on the opposite a spacious assembly-room; these form a striking contrast to the spot in the state here represented. The present county gaol is at the head of Old Elvet; it is a splendid edifice, and so it should be, considering that it cost the county 120,000_l_.

Of bishop Pudsey, the builder of Elvet bridge, the following account is given in Hegg’s Legend of St. Cuthbert. Speaking of St. Goodrick, of whom there are particulars in the _Every-Day Book_, Hegg says, “Thus after he had acted all the miracles of a legend, he ended his scene in the yeare 1170, not deserving that honour conferred on his cell by the forenamed bishop Pusar (Pudsey), who told him he should be seven yeares blind before his death, so that the bishop deferring his repentance till the tyme of his blindness, (which Goodrick meant of the eyes of his understanding) dyed unprovided for death. But if good works be satisfactorie, then died he not in debt for his sinnes, who repayred and built many of the episcopall manors, and founded the manor and church at Darlington, and two hospitals, one at Alverton, and the other at _Sherburne_, neare Durham. He built also Elvet bridge, with two chapels upon it, over the Weer; and, lastly, built that beautiful work the Galilee, now the bishop’s consistory, and hither translated saint Bede’s bones, which lye enterred under a tomb of black marble.”

From the above extract, as punctuated in all the printed copies I have seen, it would appear that Hegg intended to represent both the chapels as being _over the Weer_, whereas only one was so situated, the other being on one of the land arches. To render this passage correct, the words “with two chapels upon it” should have been inserted in a parenthesis, which would make the passage stand thus, “He built also Elvet bridge, (with two chapels upon it,) over the Weer.” Hegg, with all his humour, is frequently obscure; and his legend, which was for some time in manuscript, has suffered by the inattention of transcribers; there are three different copies in print, and all vary. The edition printed by the late Mr. Allan of Darlington, from a manuscript in the library of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, and since reprinted by Mr. Hogget of Durham, is the most correct one, and from that the above extract is taken.

Bishop Pudsey’s memory must always be dear to the inhabitants of the county of Durham, as probably no man ever conferred greater service on the county. It was he who, in order to supply the deficiency of Doomsday-book, caused a general survey to be made of all the demesne lands and possessions in his bishopric. This survey is recorded in a small folio of twenty-four pages, written in a bad hand, and called “Bolden Buke,” now in the archives at Durham. It contains inquisitions, or verdicts of all the several tenures of lands, services, and customs; all the tenants’ names of every degree; how much each of them held at that time, and what rents were reserved for the same. This book has been produced, and read in evidence on several trials at law, on the part of the succeeding bishops, in order to ascertain their property.

~Garrick Plays.~

No. XI.

[From “Jack Drum’s Entertainment,” a Comedy, Author unknown, 1601.]

_The free humour of a Noble Housekeeper._