Chapter C: Lamb (2)

The prisons of the classical ancients consisted of “souterains,” or, sometimes, of only simple vestibules, where the prisoners saw their friends, &c.: it was in this latter kind of confinement that Socrates was placed. Their “latomiæ” and “lapidicinæ” were caves or vast quarries, guarded at the entrance: in the “latomiæ” prisoners could move about; but in the “lapidicinæ” they were chained and fettered. The famous “latomiæ” at Syracuse made a capital prison. The prisoners bribed the lictor or executioner to introduce food, and allow them to visit friends, &c. Some prisoners had merely chains upon the legs, others were set fast in stocks. There were also free prisons; as committal to the house of a magistrate, or custody of the accused in his own house.[277] Felix, at Cesarea, commanded a centurion to keep Paul, and to let him have liberty, and that he should forbid none of his acquaintance to minister or come to him. At Rome, Paul was suffered to dwell by himself with a soldier that kept him; and while in that custody the chief of the Jews came and heard him expound. He spoke to them of being “bound with this chain.” He dwelt two whole years in his own hired house preaching and teaching with all confidence, no man forbidding him.[278]

In the middle age there were prisons provided with collars, handcuffs, and other fetters, without doors or windows, and descended into only by ladders. Other prisons were made like a cage, with portcullised doors, as now; and there was a kind of prison, called “pediculus,” because in it the feet were bound with chains, and prisons were made dark on purpose.

Anglo-Saxon prisons were annexed to palaces, with a work-place in them; the prisoners were chained and had guards. In castles there were dungeons, consisting of four dark apartments, three below, and one above, up a long staircase, all well secured; in the uppermost, a ring to which criminals were chained. Prisons were sometimes guarded by dogs, and prisoners bound in chains, brought in carts, and discharged upon a new reign.[279]

* * * * *

AN ENGLISH PRISON A. D. 1827.

In the _Table Book_, which notes the manners and customs, and sketches the features of ancient and modern times, whenever they are conveniently presented, it seems appropriate to notice a petition printed by order of the House of Commons, on the 12th of February, 1827, respecting

HORSHAM GAOL, SUSSEX.

The petition alluded to is from debtors in the above prison, and the Votes of the House state the following particulars, as set forth in the petition:--

The said gaol is ill constructed, confined, and inconvenient, having only twenty cells on the debtors’ side, half of which are appropriated to the debtors, and the other half chiefly to smugglers and others for notorious offences against the revenue laws, and to deserters from the army.

The said cells for debtors are constructed of the same dimensions, and in the same manner, as the cells for the felons, having no glazed sash-windows, but merely iron-gratings, with the addition at night of an ill-constructed wooden shutter, having a small square hole in the same of about six inches diameter, in some instances glazed and in others not, and by no means calculated to keep out the rain or cold during the inclement season.

The cells are small, being only twelve feet by eight feet, and having no fire-place or other means of being warmed.

The said cells are merely brick arches lime-whitened, with rough stone pavement, and so exceedingly damp at times that the water condenses on the walls, and runs down the sides thereof, and on to the floor, and from thence into the common passage, which is so narrow, that when any of the doors of the cells are open there is not room for one person safely to walk, particularly as the passage is dark.

When the weather is wet, or otherwise inconvenient, the shutters of the cells must necessarily be put up to exclude the same, thereby rendering the cells so dark that the prisoners cannot conveniently see either to read or write; and, therefore, when the prisoners wish to retire to read or write they cannot do so, and are compelled to sit in the common kitchen, which is small, and consequently crowded, and is the only place for the cooking for all the prisoners and at the same time to accommodate them for a sleeping ward and other purposes.

The fire-place is small and inconvenient, and very scantily supplied with fuel, and when the prison is crowded, as it has lately been, it is totally impossible for all the prisoners to have access to the fire, for the required purposes of cooking or otherwise particularly when most required, as in wet and inclement weather.

It sometimes happens that thirteen or more prisoners are obliged to sleep in the said kitchen, and three in each bed in many of the cells.

To each cell is affixed an iron-grating door, and also a door made of timber; and the debtors are locked up within their respective cells at nine o’clock in the evening, having no access to them till seven o’clock the next morning, so that any one being taken ill in the night might lay and perish before his situation could be discovered or made known, or any assistance rendered.

The prisoners are unlocked at seven o’clock in the morning, and are allowed to go into the yard of the prison till eight, when they are called in by means of a whistle until nine o’clock, and allowed to remain in the yard again until twelve o’clock at noon, again locked into the wards till one o’clock, and again in the same manner at five o’clock in the afternoon for the night.

Respectable females are confined in the same ward with the smugglers and others, and no female is appointed or employed to attend on them in any case.

The state of the prison is in general filthy.

There is no sink or water-course, nor any water laid on to either of the wards, nor any means of obtaining water after five o’clock in the evening.

If any part or the whole of the prison is at any time cleaned, it is done by some of the debtors.

There is no proper place for the reception of the dirty water or filth from the wards, but the same is indiscriminately thrown out at the iron-grating doors at the end of the passage to each ward, thereby occasioning a great stench highly disagreeable and unwholesome to the prisoners.

The prisoners are not allowed to see their respective friends or solicitors within the walls of the prison, but are compelled to come into a room in the gaoler’s house, and there meet their friends or solicitors, subject to the continual interruption or presence of the gaoler, his wife, or others, to the great annoyance of the prisoners and their friends, and on the sabbath-day even this privilege is not allowed.

No debtor is allowed to have any trunk, portmanteau, dressing-case, or even a clothes-bag, with lock and key, within the prison, so that the prisoners are obliged, whensoever they require any change of clothing, to obtain leave to come into the room in the gaoler’s house before mentioned, and there take them from their portmanteau, or otherwise; no respectable prisoner can therefore have any article of convenience or value with him, without being obliged either to carry it about his person, or leave it exposed in his cell, or in an ill-constructed small cupboard, where he is also obliged to keep his provisions, &c.; and so great is the injustice in the prison, that smugglers not only receive fourpence-halfpenny per day, but are also allowed a quart of strong beer or ale each man, while the debtors are not permitted to have strong beer or ale even by paying for it.

When a debtor is removed by a writ of habeas corpus to London, a distance of thirty-six miles, and for which one shilling per mile is allowed by law to the gaoler, the sum of two pounds five shillings has been demanded and taken by the gaoler.

A marked inattention to the complaints or remonstrances repeatedly made by various prisoners, together with the general bad state of the prison, and the excessive and unnecessary harshness of the regulations, rendered it imperative on the petitioners to attempt to lay their grievances before the house, in the fervent hope that the house would be pleased to cause inquiry to be made into the truth of the several allegations contained in the petition, which the petitioners pledge themselves to prove, if permitted, by affidavit or otherwise, as the house should direct.

The petitioners humbly prayed, that a speedy remedy might be applied to their complaints as to the house in its wisdom should seem meet.

[277] Fosbroke’s Ency. of Antiquities.

[278] Acts xxviii. 16, 20, 23, 30, 31.

[279] Fosbroke.

* * * * *

ODE

TO A SPARROW ALIGHTING BEFORE THE JUDGES’ CHAMBERS IN SERJEANT’S INN, FLEET-STREET.

_Written in half an hour, while attending a Summons._

Art thou solicitor for all thy tribe,
That thus I now behold thee?--one that comes
Down amid bail-above, an under-scribe,
To sue for crumbs?--
Away! ’tis vain to ogle round the square,--
I fear thou hast no head--
To think to get thy bread
Where lawyers are!

Say--hast thou pull’d some sparrow o’er the coals
And flitted here a summons to indite?
I only hope no curs’d judicial kite
Has struck thee off the rolls!
I scarce should deem thee of the law--and yet
Thine eye is keen and quick enough--and still
Thou bear’st thyself with perk and tiny fret:--
But then how desperately short thy _bill_!
How quickly might’st thou be of that bereft?
A sixth “tax’d off”--how little would be left!

Art thou on summons come, or order bent?
Tell me--for I am sick at heart to know!
Say,--in the sky is there “distress for rent,”
That thou hast flitted to the courts below?
If thou _wouldst_ haul some sparrow o’er the coals,
And _wouldst_ his spirit hamper and perplex--
Go to John Body--he’s available--
Sign--swear--and get a bill of Middlesex
Returnable (mind,--bailable!)
On Wednesday after th’ morrow of All Souls.

Or dost thou come a sufferer? I see--
I see thee “cast thy _bail_-ful eyes around;”
Oh, call James White, and he will set thee free,
He and John Baines will speedily be bound,--
In double the sum
That thou wilt come
And meet the plaintiff Bird on legal ground.
But stand, oh, stand aside,--for look,
Judge Best, on no fantastic toe,
Through dingy arch,--by dirty nook,--
Across the yard into his room doth go--
And wisely there doth read
Summons for time to plead.--
And frame
Order for same.

Thou twittering, legal, foolish, feather’d thing,
A tiny boy, with salt for latitat,
Is sneaking, bailiff-like, to touch thy wing;--
Canst thou not see the trick he would be at?
Away! away! and let him not prevail.
I do rejoice thou’rt off! and yet I groan
To read in that boy’s silly fate my own
_I_ am at fault!
For from my _attic_ though I brought my _salt_,
I’ve fail’d to put a little on thy _tale_!

Vol. II.--31.

On our visit to Bromley church, as soon as the modern outer gates of the porch were unlocked, we were struck by the venerable appearance of the old inner oak door; and, instead of taking a view of the church, of which there are several prints, Mr. Williams made a drawing of the decayed portal, from whence he executed the present engraving. On the hinge-side of the engraving, there is a representation of the outer edge of the door.

This door formerly hung on the western stone jamb; but, for warmth, and greater convenience, the churchwardens, under whose management the edifice was last repaired, put up a pair of folding-doors covered with crimson cloth; yet, with respectful regard, worthy of imitation in other places, they preserved this vestige of antiquity, and were even careful to display its time-worn front. For this purpose the door has been attached to the eastern jamb, so that if it were shut its ornamented side would be hidden; instead whereof, it is kept open by a slight fastening against the eastern form, or settle, within the porch.

* * * * *

It may be remembered by readers of the _Every Day Book_,[280] that, on St. Mark’s eve, our ancestors “watched the _church-porch_,” as they do to the present day in some parts of Yorkshire and the north of England, from eleven o’clock at night till one in the morning. This done thrice, on the third year they were supposed to have seen the ghosts of those who were to die the next year pass by into the church. When any one sickens that is thought to have been seen in this manner, it is presently whispered about that he will not recover, for that such or such an one, who watched on St. Mark’s eve, says so. This idle superstition is in such force, that if the patients themselves hear of it, they almost despair of recovery: many are said to have actually died by their imaginary fears. The like irrational belief and fond practice prevail on St. John’s eve. “I am sure,” says a writer in the “Connoisseur,” “that my own sister Hetty, who died just before Christmas, stood in the church-porch last Midsummer eve, to see all that were to die that year in our parish; and she saw her own apparition.” It is told of a company of these “watchers,” that one of them fell into a sound sleep, so that he could not be waked, and while in this state his ghost or spirit was seen by the rest of his companions knocking at the church-door.

In relation to this church-watching on St. Mark’s and St. John’s eve, there is a narrative in the “Athenian Oracle,” published by John Dunton:--“Nine others besides myself went into a church-porch, with an expectation of seeing those who should die that year; but about eleven o’clock I was so afraid that I left them, and all the nine did positively affirm to me, that about an hour after, the church-doors flying open, the minister, (who it seems was very much troubled that night in his sleep,) with such as should die that year, did appear in order: which persons they named to me, and they appeared then all very healthful; but six of them died in six weeks after, in the very same order that they appeared.”[281]

* * * * *

Before mention of the “church-porch,” it might have been more orderly to have noticed the “church-_yard_-porch.” There is one at Bromley, though more modern than the fine “lich-gate” at Beckenham already engraved and described.[282] Sir John Sinclair records of some parishioners in the county of Argyll, that “though by no means superstitious, (an observation which in the sequel seems very odd,) they still retain some opinions handed down by their ancestors, perhaps from the time of the Druids. It is believed by them, that the spirit of the last person that was buried watches round the church-yard till another is buried, to whom he delivers his charge.” Further on, in the same work,[283] is related, that “in one division of this county, where it was believed that the ghost of the person last buried kept the _gate_ of the church-_yard_ till relieved by the next victim of death, a singular scene occurred, when two burials were to take place in one church-yard on the same day. Both parties staggered forward as fast as possible to consign their respective friend in the first place to the dust: if they met at the gate, the dead were thrown down till the living decided, by blows, whose ghost should be condemned to porter it.”

* * * * *

Bromley church-door is a vestige; for on examination it will be found not perfect. It is seven feet four inches in height, and in width four feet eight inches: the width of the door-way, between the stone jambs, is two inches more; the width of the door itself, therefore, has been reduced these two inches; and hence the centre of the ornaments in relief is not in the centre of the door in its present state. It is a good specimen of the fast-decaying, and often prematurely removed, fine doors of our old churches. The lock, probably of like age with the door, and also of wood, is a massive effectual contrivance, two feet six inches long, seven inches and a half deep, and five inches thick; with a bolt an inch in height, and an inch and a half in thickness, that shoots out two inches on the application of the rude heavy key, which as to form and size is exactly depictured in the following page. It seemed good to introduce the engraving, both in respect to the antiquity of the original, and to the information it conveys of the devices of our ancestors for locking-up.

Keys varied in their form according to the age wherein they were made, and the purposes for which they were used. Anciently, the figure of the key of the west door of the church was put in the register. This was mostly done on the delivery of the church keys to the “ostiarii,” who were officers, created with much ceremony, to whom the keys were intrusted: the bishops themselves delivered the _keys_, and the deacons the _doors_ of the respective churches.[284]

* * * * *

While W. drew the door of Bromley church I had ample opportunity to make measurements and look about; and I particularly noticed a capital large umbrella of old construction, which I brought out and set up in the church-yard: with its wooden handle, fixed into a movable shaft, shod with an iron point at the bottom, and struck into the ground, it stood seven feet high; the awning is of a green oiled-canvass, such as common umbrellas were made of forty years ago, and is stretched on ribs of cane. It opens to a diameter of five feet, and forms a decent and capacious covering for the minister while engaged in the burial-service at the grave. It is in every respect a more fitting exhibition than the watchbox sort of vehicle devised for the same purpose, and in some church-yards trundled from grave to grave, wherein the minister and clerk stand, like the ordinary of Newgate and a dying malefactor at the new drop in the Old Bailey. An unseemly thing of this description is used at St. George’s in the Borough.

* * * * *

The church of Bromley, an ancient spacious edifice with a square tower, has been much modernised, yet to the credit of the inhabitants it retains its old Norman font. It is remarkable, that it is uncertain to what saint it was dedicated: some ascribe it to St. Peter and St. Paul; others to St. Blaise; but it is certain that Browne Willis, with all his industry and erudite research, was unable to determine the point. This I affirm from a MS. memorandum before me in his hand-writing. It abounds with monuments, though none are of very old standing. There was formerly a tomb to Water de Henche, “persone de Bromleghe, 1360.”[285] Among the mural tablets are the names of Elizabeth, wife to “the great moralist” Dr. Johnson; Dr. Hawkesworth, a resident in Bromley, popular by his “Adventurer;” and Dr. Zachary Pearce. The latter was successively rector of St. Bartholomew’s by the Royal Exchange, vicar of St. Martin’s in the Fields, dean of Winchester, bishop of Bangor, dean of Westminster, and bishop of Rochester. His principal literary labours were editorial--“Longinus de Sublimitate,” “Cicero de Officiis,” and “Cicero de Oratore.” He wrote in the “Spectator,” No. 572, upon “Quacks,” and No. 633 upon “Eloquence;” and No. 121 in the “Guardian,” signed “Ned Mum.” The chief of this prelate’s other works were Sermons. There is a cenotaph to him in Westminster Abbey; a distinction he was entitled to by his learning and virtues.

Dr. Zachary Pearce is remarkable for having desired to resign his deanery and bishopric. In 1763, being then seventy-three years old, he told his majesty in his closet that he found the business of his stations too much for him; that he was afraid it would grow more so as he advanced in years, and desired to retire, that he might spend more time in his devotions and studies. Afterwards, one of the law lords doubted the practicability of resigning a bishopric, but on further consideration the difficulty disappeared. The king then gave his consent, and the bishop kissed hands upon it; but lord Bath requesting the bishopric and deanery of the king for Dr. Newton, then bishop of Bristol, the ministry thought that no church dignities should pass from the crown but through their hands, and opposed the resignation, as the shortest way of keeping the bishopric from being disposed of otherwise than they liked. On this occasion the law lord, earl Mansfield, who had been doubtful, and who soon after had seen clear, doubted again, and Dr. Pearce was told by the king he must think no more about resigning the bishopric. In 1768 he resigned the deanery of Westminster, and wrote

THE WISH.

From all Decanal cares at last set free,
(O could that freedom still more perfect be)
My sun’s meridian hour, long past and gone;
Dim night, unfit for work, comes hast’ning on;
In life’s late ev’ning, thro’ a length of day,
I find me gently tending to decay:
How shall I then my fated exit make?
How best secure my great eternal stake?
This my prime wish, to see thy glorious face,
O gracious God, in some more happy place;
Till then to spend my short remains of time
In thoughts, which raise the soul to truths sublime;
To live with innocence, with peace and love,
As do those saints who dwell in bliss above:
By prayers, the wings which faith to reason lends,
O _now_ my soul to Heav’n’s high throne ascends:
While here on earth, thus on my bended knee,
O Power divine, I supplicate to thee;
May I meet Death, when his approach is made,
Not fend of life, nor of his dart afraid;
Feel that my gain, which I esteem’d a loss:
Heav’n is the gold refin’d, earth but the dross.

Bishop Pearce lived and laboured till June 29, 1774, when he died in the eighty-fourth year of his age.

* * * * *

There is a neat monument by Nollekens over the north gallery of the church, with a remarkable inscription:--“Sacred to the memory of Thomas Chase, Esq. formerly of this parish, born in the city of Lisbon the 1st of November, 1729; and buried under the ruins of the same house where he first saw the light in the ever-memorable and terrible earthquake which befell that city the 1st of November, 1755: when after a most wonderful escape, he by degrees recovered from a very deplorable condition, and lived till the 20th of Nov 1788, aged 59 years.”

* * * * *

On the outside of the church a monumental stone, fixed in the wall, records a memorable and affecting instance of gratitude in noble terms:--

Near this Place lies the Body of
ELIZABETH MONK,
Who departed this Life
On the 27th Day of August, 1753,
Aged 101:
She was the Widow of JOHN MONK, late of this
Parish, Blacksmith,
Her second Husband,
To whom she had been a wife near fifty Years,
By whom she had no Children;
And of the Issue of the first Marriage none lived
to the second;
But VIRTUE
Would not suffer her to be Childless:
An Infant, to whom, and to whose Father and
Mother she had been Nurse
(Such is the Uncertainty of temporal Prosperity)
Became dependent upon Strangers
for the Necessaries of Life:
To him she afforded the Protection of a Mother.
This parental Charity
Was returned with filial Affection;
And she was supported, in the Feebleness of Age,
by him whom she had cherished in
the Helplessness of Infancy.
LET IT BE REMEMBERED,
That there is no Station in which Industry will
not obtain Power to be liberal,
Nor any Character on which Liberality will not
confer Honor
She had been long prepared, by a simple and
unaffected Piety,
For that awful moment, which, however delayed,
Is universally sure.
How few are allowed an equal Time of Probation!
How many, by their Lives,
appear to presume upon more!

To preserve the memory of this person; and yet more, to perpetuate the
lesson of her life, this stone was erected by voluntary contribution.

* * * * *

An intelligent inhabitant of Bromley, in the year 1747, mentions a discovery, with some accompanying remarks, appropriate to the present notice:--

“In the year 1733, the present clerk of the parish church of Bromley in Kent, by his digging a grave in that church-yard, close to the east end of the chancel wall, dug up a funeral crown, or garland, which is most artificially wrought in fillagree work with gold and silver wire, in resemblance of myrtle, (with which plant the funebrial garlands of the ancients were composed,[286]) whose leaves are fastened to hoops of larger wire of iron, now something corroded with rust, but both the gold and silver remain to this time very little different from their original splendour. It was also lined with cloth of silver, a piece of which, together with part of this curious garland, I keep as a choice relic of antiquity.

“Besides these crowns, (which were buried with deceased virgins,) the ancients had also their depository garlands, the use of which was continued even till of late years (and perhaps are still retained in many parts of this nation, for my own knowledge of these matters extends not above twenty or thirty miles round London,) which garlands, at the funerals of the deceased, were carried solemnly before the corpse by two maids, and afterwards hung up in some conspicuous place within the church, in memorial of the departed person, and were (at least all that I have seen) made after the following manner, viz. the lower rim or circlet was a broad hoop of wood, whereunto was fixed, at the sides thereof, part of two other hoops crossing each other at the top, at right angles, which formed the upper part, being about one-third longer than the width; these hoops were wholly covered with artificial flowers of paper, dyed horn, or silk, and more or less beauteous, according to the skill or ingenuity of the performer. In the vacancy of the inside, from the top, hung white paper, cut in form of gloves, whereon was wrote the deceased’s name, age, &c. together with long slips of various coloured paper or ribbons. These were many times intermixed with gilded or painted empty shells of blown eggs, as farther ornaments; or, it may be, as emblems of the bubbles or bitterness of this life; whilst other garlands had only a solitary hour-glass hanging therein, as a more significant symbol of mortality.

“About forty years ago these garlands grew much out of repute, and were thought by many as very unbecoming decorations for so sacred a place as the church; and at the reparation or new beautifying several churches where I have been concerned, I was obliged, by order of the minister and churchwardens, to take the garlands down, and the inhabitants were strictly forbidden to hang up any more for the future. Yet notwithstanding, several people, unwilling to forsake their ancient and delightful custom, continued still the making of them, and they were carried at the funerals, as before, to the grave, and put therein upon the coffin over the face of the dead; this I have seen done in many places.”[287]

[280] See the _Every Day-Book_, on St. John’s eve, &c.

[281] Brand.

[282] In vol. i. p. 715.

[283] Statistical Account of Scotland.

[284] Fosbroke’s Ency. of Antiquities.

[285] Weever.

[286] Sir Thomas Brown’s Misc. Tracts, p. 29.

[287] Gentleman’s Magazine.

* * * * *

~Garrick Plays.~

No. XXVII.

[From the “Gentleman of Venice,” a Tragi-Comedy by James Shirley,
1655.]

_Giovanni, of noble extraction, but brought up a Gardener, and ignorant of any greater birth, loves Bellaura, a Princess; and is beloved again._

_Bellaura. Giovanni._

_Bell._ How now, Giovanni;
What, with a sword! You were not used to appear
Thus arm’d. Your weapon is a spade, I take it.
_Gio._ It did become my late profession, Madam:
But I am changed--
_Bell._ Not to a soldier?
_Gio._ It is a title, Madam, will much grace me;
And with the best collection of my thoughts
I have ambition to the wars.
_Bell._ You have?
_Gio._ O ’tis a brave profession and rewards
All loss we meet, with double weight in glory;
A calling, Princes still are proud to own;
And some do willingly forget their crowns,
To be commanded. ’Tis the spring of all
We here entitle fame to; Emperors,
And all degrees of honours, owing all
Their names to this employment; in her vast
And circular embraces holding Kings,
And making them; and yet so kind as not
To exclude such private things as I, who may
Learn and commence in her great arts.--My life
Hath been too useless to my self and country;
’Tis time I should employ it, to deserve
A name within their registry, that bring
The wealth, the harvest, home of well-bought honour.
_Bell._ Yet I can see
Through all this revolution, Giovanni,
’Tis something else has wrought this violent change.
Pray let me be of counsel with your thoughts,
And know the serious motive; come, be clear.
I am no enemy, and can assist
Where I allow the cause.
_Gio._ You may be angry,
Madam, and chide it as a saucy pride
In me to name or look at honour; nor
Can I but know what small addition
Is my unskilful arm to aid a country.
_Bell._ I may therefore justly suspect there is
Something of other force, that moves you to
The wars. Enlarge my knowledge with the secret.
_Gio._ At this command I open my heart. Madam,
I must confess there is another cause,
Which I dare not in my obedience
Obscure, since you will call it forth; and yet
I know you will laugh at me--
_Bell._ It would ill
Become my breeding, Giovanni--
_Gio._ Then,
Know, Madam, I am in love.
_Bell._ In love with whom?
_Gio._ With one I dare not name, she is so much
Above my birth and fortunes.
_Bell._ I commend
Your flight. But does she know it?
_Gio._ I durst never
Appear with so much boldness to discover
My heart’s so great ambition; it is here still
A strange and busy guest.
_Bell._ And you think absence
May cure this wound--
_Gio._ Or death--
_Bell._ I may presume
You think she’s fair--
_Gio._ I dare as soon question your beauty, Madam,
The only ornament and star of Venice,
Pardon the bold comparison; yet there is
Something in you, resembles my great Mistress.
She blushes--(_aside_).
Such very beams disperseth her bright eye,
Powerful to restore decrepit nature;
But when she frowns, and changes from her sweet
Aspect, (as in my fears I see you now,
Offended at my boldness), she does blast
Poor Giovanni thus, and thus I wither
At heart, and wish myself a thing lost in
My own forgotten dust.

C. L.

* * * * *

JAMES THOMSON.

A volume, entitled the “English Gentleman’s Library Manual,” contains the following remarkable anecdotes respecting the author of “The Seasons.”

MEMORANDA COMMUNICATED BY JAMES ROBERTSON, ESQ. OF RICHMOND, IN
SURREY, LATE SURGEON TO THE HOUSEHOLD AT KEW, OCTOBER 17, 1791, TO
THOMAS PARKE, ESQ. THE POET, AND BY HIM TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN.

_Parke._ Have you any objection, sir, to my taking down memorandums to a conversation?

_Robertson._ Not in the least, I will procure you pen, ink, and paper immediately.

I understand, sir, you knew Thomson long?

I became acquainted with him in the year 1726, when he published his poem of Winter. He lived opposite to me, in Lancaster-court, in the Strand. I went to the East Indies soon after, which caused a chasm in our acquaintance; but, on my return, our intimacy was strengthened, and continued to the hour of his death. I do not know any man, living or dead, I ever esteemed more highly, and he was attached to me. I had once a complaint of a consumptive nature, which confined me much at home, and he was so good as to come often from Kew-lane to sit with me.

Did you know Amanda?

Know her? Yes, sir, I married her sister. Amanda was a Miss Young, daughter to captain Gilbert Young, of the Gulyhill family, in Dumfriesshire, and was married afterwards to admiral Campbell. She was a fine sensible woman, and poor Thomson was desperately in love with her. Mr. Gilbert Young, her nephew, left my house this very morning. Thomson, indeed, was never wealthy enough to marry.

Mr. Collins, the brewer, has told me, that he was so heedless in his money concerns, that in paying him a bill for beer, he gave him two bank notes rolled together instead of one. Collins did not perceive the mistake till he got home, and when he returned the note Thomson appeared perfectly indifferent about the matter, and said he had enough to go on without it! Mr. Robertson smiled at this anecdote, and said it was like him.

He was not, I believe, one of the weeping philosophers. He was no Heraclitus?

No, he was not, indeed. I remember his being stopped once between London and Richmond, and robbed of his watch, and when I expressed my regret for his loss, “Pshaw, damn it,” said he, “I am glad they took it from me, ’twas never good for any thing.”

Was he national in his affections?

He had no prejudices whatever; he was the most liberal of men in all his sentiments.

I have been told that he used to associate with parson Cromer, and some other convivials, at the Old Orange Tree, in Kew-lane?

Relaxation of any kind was to him frequently desirable, and he could conform to any company. He was benevolent and social, both in his writings and in his life; as his friend, Dr. Armstrong, said on another occasion, he practised what he preached. Lord L.’s character of him as an author was perfectly just, that in his last moments he had no cause to wish any thing blotted he had ever written.

I hear he kept very late hours?

No, sir, very early; he was always up at sunrise, but then he had never been in bed.

Did you ever correspond with him?

Very seldom. We were so much together there was little opportunity or occasion for it.

You do not happen to have any reliques of his hand-writing?

I don’t think I have; but when I get my breath a little better I will look among my papers to try if I can find any.

The kind old gentleman was warmed with the subject, and even set forward to his escritoire in the pursuit, but returned only with a letter from the late Dr. Armstrong, which he flattered himself contained something relative to Thomson. In this he was mistaken. It was a rhapsody of thanks in return for being presented with a large bottle of spirits; but it was well worth an airing. This, said Mr. R., will show you the intimate terms I was upon with Johnny Armstrong, who wrote that beautiful poem, the “Art of Preserving the Health.” He was a very ingenious and excellent man.

Did you know Dr. Patrick Murdoch, who wrote Thomson’s Life?

Ay, very well, and esteemed him. Pattie, as I always called him, had a good heart.

Pope, as I have heard, used often to visit Thomson?

Yes, frequently. Pope has sometimes said, Thomson, I’ll walk to the end of your garden, and then set off to the bottom of Kew-foot-lane and back. Pope, sir, courted Thomson, and Thomson was always admitted to Pope whether he had company or not; but Pope had a jealousy of every eminent writer; he was a viper that gnawed the file.

Was Pope a great talker?

Pope, when he liked his company, was a very agreeable man. He was fond of adulation, and when he had any dislike was a most bitter satirist.

Thomson, I think, was very intimate with David Mallet, the editor of Bolingbroke?

Sir, that person’s name was properly “Malloch;” but I used to call him “Moloch” in our festive moments, and Thomson enjoyed the jest. Sir, he had not Thomson’s heart; he was not sound at the core; he made a cat’s-paw of Thomson, and I did not like the man on that account.

Thomson had two cousins or nephews, who were gardeners, did they live with him?

No, they did not live with him, they lived upon him. He was so generous a man, that if he had but two eggs he would have given them both away.

Were you acquainted with Mr. Gray, who lived at Richmond Hill?

Yes, I knew a John Gray, who was a victualler. He purchased Thomson’s collection of prints and drawings after his decease, but I believe purely out of ostentation.

You must have had great influence over him, sir, from several circumstances you have mentioned, but wish to be suppressed?

Without ostentation or vanity, sir, I really very often have wondered how I came to have so much, and the rest of his friends wondered too; for I do say it most sincerely, that I never could find out what made Thomson and many of these geniuses so partial to me as they appeared.

Then, sir, I suspect you are the only one who could not make the discovery?

Sir, I was not fishing for a compliment, I do assure you.

If you had, sir, I should not have snatched so eagerly at your bait.

I suppose you attended Thomson in a medical as well as in a social capacity?

Yes, Armstrong and myself were with him till his last moments. I was in the room with him when he died. A putrid fever carried him off in less than a week. He seemed to me to be desirous not to live, and I had reason to think that my sister-in-law was the occasion of this. He could not bear the thoughts of her being married to another.

Pray did you attend his funeral?

Indeed I did, and a real funeral it was to me, as Quin said when he spoke the prologue to “Coriolanus”--“I was in truth no actor there.”

Did you hear Quin speak that prologue, sir?

Yes, I could not have been absent.

Were you the only intimate friend who paid the last tribute of respect to Thomson’s remains?

No, sir, Quin attended, and Mallet, and another friend, whose name I do not recollect. He was interred in the north-west corner of Richmond church, just where the christening pew now stands. I pointed out the place to the sexton’s widow, that she might show it to strangers.

Did you know Andrew Millar, the bookseller?

I knew him well. He took a box near Thomson’s, in Kew-lane, to keep in with him as an author who might be profitable to him. Andrew was a good-natured man, and not an unpleasant companion, but he was a little contracted in mind by his business, and had the dross of a bookseller about him.

Did you know Paterson?

Yes. Paterson had been clerk to a counting-house in the city, went for some time abroad, and on his return was amanuensis to Thomson, was his deputy as surveyor-general to the Leeward Islands, and succeeded him in that office, but he did not live long to enjoy it, I believe not more than two years.

Collins, the poet, and Hammond, author of the “Love Elegies,” visited Thomson?

Yes. Ah! poor Collins, he had much genius, but half mad. Hammond was a gentleman, and a very pleasant man. Yet Thomson, I remember, one day called him a burnished butterfly. Quin, the comedian, was a sincere friend of Thomson; he was naturally a most humane and friendly man, and only put on the brute when he thought it was expected from him by those who gave him credit for the character.

Was the anecdote of Quin and Thomson true?

Yes, I believe it was.

Boswell surmised that Thomson was a much coarser man than is commonly allowed?

Sir, Thomson was neither a _petit-maître_ nor a boor; he had simplicity without rudeness, and a cultivated manner without being courtly. He had a great aversion to letter-writing, and did not attempt much of prose composition of any kind. His time for composition was generally at the dead of night, and was much in his summer-house, which, together with every memorial of his residence, is carefully preserved by the honourable Mrs. Boscawen.

Did you know, sir, of any other attachments of Thomson’s, except that to his Amanda?

No, I believe he was more truly attached to my little wife and her sister than to any one else, next to Amanda. Mr. H., of Bangor, said he was once asked to dinner by Thomson, but could not attend. One of his friends, who was there, told him that there was a general stipulation agreed on by the whole company, that there should be no hard drinking. Thomson acquiesced, only requiring that each man should drink his bottle. The terms were accepted unconditionally, and when the cloth was removed, a three-quart bottle was set before each of his guests. Thomson had much of this kind of agreeable humour. Mr. Aikman, the painter, and Dr. De la Cour, a physician and ingenious writer, were intimate and beloved friends of Thomson. Mr. Aikman was a gentleman of competent estate, and was always friendly to Thomson.

Sir, I cordially thank you for this kindness, in suffering yourself to be teased with interrogations; and when lord Buchan’s tablet on the grave of the poet shall be imposed in Richmond church, I shall hope to see you tripping across the green to take a peep at it.

Sir, if I can crawl across for such a gratification, I shall certainly do it.

We then twice shook hands and parted. Intelligent old gentleman! Little was I aware that his lengthened eve of life was so very near its close! He was taken seriously ill a few hours after I left him, Monday, October 24, and on the Friday following he died, and was buried on Saturday, the 4th of November, by the south side of Richmond church.

Mors ultima linea rerum est.

(Signed) T. P.

* * * * *

QUIPOES.

The Peruvians had a method of expressing their meaning by narrow knotted ribands of various colours, which they called “Quipoes:” a certain number of knots of one colour, divided by so many of another, expressed particular meanings; and served these simple and innocent people in place of the art of writing.

P.

* * * * *

SPANISH MYSTERIES.

Of all the dramatic works of Lope de Vega, the Lives of the Saints are in every respect the most irregular. Allegorical characters, buffoons, saints, peasants, students, kings, God, the infant Jesus, the devil, and the most heterogeneous beings that the wildest imagination could bring together, are introduced. Music seems always to have been an indispensable accessary. Lope de Vega’s spiritual comedy, entitled the Life of Saint Nicolas de Tolentino,[288] commences with a conversation maintained by a party of students, who make a display of their wit and scholastic learning. Among them is the future saint, whose piety shines with the brighter lustre when contrasted with the disorderly gaiety of those by whom he is surrounded. The devil disguised by a mask joins the party. A skeleton appears in the air; the sky opens, and the Almighty is discovered sitting in judgment, attended by Justice and Mercy, who alternately influence his decisions. Next succeeds a love intrigue between a lady named Rosalia, and a gentleman named Feniso. The future saint then reenters attired in canonicals, and delivers a sermon in redondillas. The parents of the saint congratulate themselves on possessing such a son; and this scene forms the conclusion of the first act. At the opening of the second a party of soldiers are discovered; the saint enters accompanied by several monks, and offers up a prayer in the form of a sonnet. Brother Peregrino relates the romantic history of his conversion. Subtle theological quiddities ensue, and numerous anecdotes of the lives of the saints are related. St. Nicolas prays again through the medium of a sonnet. He then rises in the air, either by the power of faith, or the help of the theatrical machinery; and the Holy Virgin and St. Augustin descend from heaven to meet him. The sonnet by which St. Nicolas performs this miracle is the most beautiful in this sacred farce. In the third act the scene is transferred to Rome, where two cardinals exhibit the holy sere-cloth to the people by torch-light. Music performed on clarinets adds to the solemnity of this ceremony, during which pious discourses are delivered. St. Nicolas is next discovered embroidering the habit of his order; and the pious observations which he makes, while engaged in this occupation, are accompanied by the chanting of invisible angels. The music attracts the devil, who endeavours to tempt St. Nicolas. The next scene exhibits souls in the torments of purgatory. The devil again appears attended by a retinue of lions, serpents, and other hideous animals; but in a scene, which is intended for burlesque, (_graciosamente_,) a monk armed with a great broom drives off the devil and his suite. At the conclusion of the piece the saint, whose beatification is how complete, descends from heaven in a garment bespangled with stars. As soon as he touches the earth, the souls of his father and mother are released from purgatory, and rise through a rock; the saint then returns hand-in-hand with his parents to heaven, music playing as they ascend.[289]

[288] St. Nicolas de Tolentino is a saint of modern creation.

[289] Bouterwek.

* * * * *

PORTUGUESE MYSTERIES.

One of the spiritual dramas of Gil Vicente, performed at Lisbon, commences with shepherds, who discourse and enter a chapel, which is decorated with all the apparatus necessary for the celebration of the festival of Christmas. The shepherds cannot sufficiently express their rustic admiration of the pomp exhibited in the chapel. Faith (_La Fé_) enters as an allegorical character. She speaks Portuguese, and after announcing herself to the shepherds as True Faith, she explains to them the nature of faith, and enters into an historical relation of the mysteries of the incarnation. This is the whole subject of the piece.

Another of these dramas, wherein the poet’s fancy has taken a wider range, presents scenes of a more varied nature. Mercury enters as an allegorical character, and as the representative of the planet which bears his name. He explains the theory of the planetary system and the zodiac, and cites astronomical facts from Regiomontanus, in a long series of stanzas in the old national style. A seraph then appears, who is sent down from heaven by God, in compliance with the prayers of Time. The seraph, in the quality of a herald, proclaims a large yearly fair in honour of the Holy Virgin, and invites customers to it. A devil next makes his appearance with a little stall which he carries before him. He gets into a dispute with Time and the seraph, and asserts, that among men such as they are, he shall be sure to find purchasers for his wares. He therefore leaves to every customer his free choice. Mercury then summons eternal Rome as the representative of the church. She appears, and offers for sale Peace of Mind, as the most precious of her merchandise. The devil remonstrates, and Rome retires. Two Portuguese peasants now appear in the market: one is very anxious to sell his wife, and observes, that if he cannot sell her, he will give her away for nothing, as she is a wicked spendthrift. Amidst this kind of conversation a party of peasant women enter, one of whom, with considerable comic warmth, vents bitter complaints against her husband. She tells, with a humorous simplicity, that her ungrateful husband has robbed her garden of its fruits before they were ripe; that he never does any thing, but leads a sottish life, eating and drinking all day, &c. The man who has already been inveighing against his wife immediately recognises her, and says,--“That is my slippery helpmate.” During this succession of comic scenes the action does not advance. The devil at last opens his little stall and displays his stock of goods to the female peasants; but one of them, who is the most pious of the party, seems to suspect that all is not quite right with regard to the merchandise, and she exclaims--“Jesus! Jesus! true God and man!” The devil immediately takes to flight, and does not reappear; but the seraph again comes forward and mingles with the rustic groups. The throng continues to increase; other countrywomen with baskets on their heads arrive; and the market is stored with vegetables, poultry, and other articles of rural produce. The seraph offers Virtues for sale; but they find no purchasers. The peasant girls observe, that in their village money is more sought after than virtue, when a young man wants a wife. One of the party, however, says, that she wished to come to the market because it happened to fall on the festival of the mother of God; and because the Virgin does not sell her gifts of grace, but distributes them gratis. This observation crowns the theological morality of the piece, which terminates with a hymn of praise, in the popular style, in honour of the Holy Virgin.[290]

[290] Bouterwek.

* * * * *

POACHING.

A poor itinerant player, caught performing the part of a poacher, and being taken before the magistrates assembled at a quarter sessions for examination, one of them asked him what right he had to kill a hare? when he replied in the following ludicrous parody on Brutus’s speech to the Romans, in defence of the death of Cæsar:--

“Britons, hungry-men, and epicures! hear me for my cause; and be silent--that you may hear; believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe: censure me in your wisdom; and awake your senses that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of this hare, to him I say, that a player’s love for hare is no less than his. If, then, that friend demand why a player rose against a hare, this is my answer,--not that I loved hare less, but that I loved eating more. Had you rather this hare were living, and I had died starving--than that this hare were dead, that I might live a jolly fellow? As this hare was pretty, I weep for him; as he was nimble, I rejoice at it; as he was plump, I honour him; but, as he was eatable, I slew him. There are tears, for his beauty; joy, for his condition; honour, for his speed; and death, for his toothsomeness. Who is here so cruel, would see a starved man? If any, speak, for him have I offended. Who is here so silly, that would not take a tit bit? If any, speak, for him have I offended. Who is here so sleek, that does not love his belly? If any, speak, for him have I offended.”

“You have offended justice, sirrah,” cried one of the magistrates, out of all patience at this long and strange harangue.

“Then,” cried the culprit, guessing at the hungry feelings of the bench, “since justice is dissatisfied, it must needs have something to devour--Heaven forbid I should keep any gentleman from his dinner--so, if you please, I’ll wish your worships a good day, and a good appetite.”

* * * * *

HAPPY UNION.

Quin used to say, that of all the bans of marriage he ever heard, none gave him such pleasure as the union of delicate _Ann Chovy_ with good _John Dory_. This sentiment was worthy of such a disciple of Apicius.

S. S. S.

* * * * *

~Fine View.~

LEITH HILL, NEAR DORKING.

_Extracted from a letter from_ MR. DENNIS _to_ MR. SERJEANT, _near
seventy years ago_.

In a late journey which I took into the wild of Sussex, I passed over a hill, which showed me more transporting sights than ever I had seen before, either in England or Italy. The prospects which in Italy pleased me most were the Valdarno from the Apennines of Rome, and the Mediterranean from the mountain of Viterbo; of Rome at forty, and the Mediterranean at fifty miles distant from it; and that of the famous Campagna of Rome from Tivoli and Frescati, to the very foot of the mountain Viterbo, without any thing to intercept your sight.