Chapter D: A. M (12)

Marot, christened Clement, the French poet, who is said, in a quotation from le Seigneur des Accords in the foregoing note, to have been imitated by Drusac, lived in the reign of Francis I., and was a Protestant. There is a portrait of him at page 161 of “Les Vrais Portraits des Hommes Illustres” of Théodore de Bèze, Geneva, 1581, whereto a short sketch of his life is attached; which says, that “par une admirable félicité d’esprit, _sans aucune cognoissance des langues_ ni des sciences, il surpassa tous les poëtes qui l’auoient dévancé.” He was twice banished on account of his religion; and when in exile translated one-third of the Psalms into French verse. “Mais au reste,” says Théodore, “ayant passé presque toute sa vie à la suite de cour, (où la piété et l’honēsteté n’ōt guères d’audiance,) il ne se soucia pas beaucoup de réformer sa vie peu Chrétienne, ains se gouuernoit à sa manière accoutumée mesmes en sa vieillesse, et mourut en l’âge de 60 ans à Turin, où il s’estoit retiré sous la faueur du Lieutenant du Roi.” He was a Quercinois, having been born at Cahors, in Quercy.

The following lines were written after his death by Jodelle, who was famed for these “vers rapportez.”

Quercy, la Cour, le Piedmont, l’Univers
Me fit, me tint, m’enterra, me cogneut,
Quercy mon los, la cour tout mon temps eut.
Piedmont mes os, et l’univers mes vers.

* * * * *

GUILDHALL.--Misson, in his “Mémoires et Observations faites par un Voyageur en Angleterre,” published anonymously at the Hague in 1698, under this head, accounts thus philologically for the name:--“Il est à croire que la grande salle étoit autrefois dorée, puisque le mot _de Guild_ ou _Gild-hall_, signifie SALLE DOREE.” To do him justice, however, after quoting so ridiculous a passage, I must annex his note, as follows:--“D’autres disent que _Guild_ est un ancien mot qui signifie _incorporé_: _Guildhall_; la salle des incorporez ou associez.”--p. 236.

* * * * *

Juliet was no doubt a delectable little creature, but, like most of the genus, she was but a flimsy metaphysician. “What’s in a name?” that depends now-a-days on the length or age of it. The question should be put to a Buckinghamshire meeting man, if one would desire to know the qualities of all the component parts of an Abraham or Absalom. In some parts of the country, people seem to think they have bilked the devil, and booked sure places in heaven for their children, if, at their christening, they get but a scripture name tacked to the urchins. “In proof whereof,” Esther, Aaron, and Shadrack Puddyfat, with master Moses Myrmidon, formed a blackberrying party that I fell in with a summer back near Botley, on the road between Chesham and Hemel Hempstead. At a farm-house in Bucks it is no uncommon sight for the twelve apostles to be seen tucking in greens and bacon, or for the tribes of Israel to be found drunk together in a pot-house. Some poor drunken-brained bigots would not accept even the free services of a ploughman, whose name was not known before the flood.

NOTE.--The names above seem so very ludicrous, that I have no doubt there will be many sceptics to the belief of their reality if this passage be printed; but I declare positively, on the word, honour, and faith of a man and a gentleman, that they are as true, real, and existent, as Thomas Tomkins, or any other the most usual and common place.

J. J. K.

* * * * *

WHIMSIES.

AN ESSAY ON THE UNDERSTANDING.

“Harry, I cannot think,” says Dick,
“What makes my _ancles_ grow so thick:”
“You do not recollect,” says Harry,
“How great _a calf_ they have to carry.”

* * * * *

“OLD WESTMINSTER QUIBBLES.”

_Toes._

A fellow did desire
To warm at a fire
His toes, before he went home;
But the man said “No,
If you put fire and _toe_
Together, you will burn the room.”

_B. C._

One did ask, why B
Was put before C,
And did much desire to know--
Why a man must _be_,
Before he can _see_,
And I think I have hit on it now.

_The Red Nose._

A Man did surmise,
That another man’s eyes
Were both of a different frame;
For if they had been _matches_,
Then, alas! poor wretches,
His nose would a set ’em in a flame.

* * * * *

“NEW WESTMINSTER QUIBBLES.”

_The Soldier._

“There is one soldier less,”
Exclaimed sister Bess,
As a funeral passed by the door;
Then said Mr. Brown,
“I’ll bet you a crown,
I’ll prove it is one soldier _mort_.”

_Scilicet._

Why every silly cit
Has pretensions to wit,
You may learn if you listen to my ditty:
The word _scilicet_
In law means _to wit_,
So citizens, by law, must be _witty_.

Vol. II.--52.

A young friend brings me from Ireland a couple of pipes, in common use among the labouring people in Dublin and Clonmel. Their shape and materials being wholly different from any in England, they are represented in the above engraving, which shows their exact size. The bowl part, formed of iron, like the socket of a candlestick, is inserted in a piece of mahogany carved, as here shown, in the shape of a violin, or a pair of bellows, or other whimsical form; and the mahogany is securely bound and ornamented with brass wire: to a small brass chain is attached a tin cover to the bowl. The tube is of dogwood, such as butchers’ skewers are made of, or of a similar hard wood; and, being movable, may be taken out for accommodation to the pocket, or renewal at pleasure. These pipes cost sixpence each.

The _dudeen_, or short pipe, the “little tube of magic power,” wherewith the Irish labourer amuses himself in England, is thus mentioned in a note on the “Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland,” by Mr. Crofton Croker:--“_Dudeen_ signifies a little stump of a pipe. Small tobacco-pipes, of an ancient form, are frequently found in Ireland on digging or ploughing up the ground, particularly in the vicinity of those circular intrenchments, called Danish forts, which were more probably the villages or settlements of the native Irish. These pipes are believed by the peasantry to belong to the Cluricaunes, and when discovered are broken, or otherwise treated with indignity, as a kind of retort for the tricks which their supposed owners had played off.” Mr. Croker subjoins a sketch of one of these pipes, and adds, that “In the Anthologia Hibernica, vol i. p. 352, (Dublin, 1793,) there is a print of one, which was found at Brannockstown, county Kildare, sticking between the teeth of a human skull; and it is accompanied by a paper, which, on the authority of Herodotus, (lib. i. sec. 36,) Strabo, (lib. vii. 296,) Pomponius Mela, (2,) and Solinus, (c. 15,) goes to prove that the northern nations of Europe were acquainted with tobacco, or an herb of similar properties, and that they smoked it through small tubes--of course, long before the existence of America was known.”

* * * * *

~Garrick Plays.~

No. XLV.

FACETIÆ.

1.

_Holding in Capite._

_First Gent._ ’Tis well known I am a Gentleman. My father was a man of
£500 a year, and he held something _in capite_ too.

_Second Gent._ So does my Lord something--

_Foolish Lord._ Nay, by my troth, what I hold _in capite_ is worth
little or nothing.

2.

_Fool’s Experience._

_Page._ He that’s first a scholar, and next in love, the year after is
either an arrant fool or a madman.

_Master._ How came your knavery by such experience?

_Page._ As fools do by news: somebody told me so, and I believe it.

3.

_Modern Sybarite._

----softly, ye villains!--the rogues of chairmen have trundled me over
some damn’d nutshell or other, that gave me such a jerk as has half
murder’d me.

4.

_Spare diet of Spaniards._

_Spaniard._ The air being thin and rarified generally provides us good
stomachs.

_Englishman._ Aye, and the earth little or nothing to satisfy ’em
with; I think a cabbage is a jewel among you.

_Span._ Why, truly a good cabbage is respected. But our people are
often very luxurious, they abound very often.

_Eng._ O no such matter, faith, Spaniard! ’death, if they get but a
piece of beef, they shall hang all the bones out, and write underneath
_Here hath been beef eaten_, as if ’twere a miracle. And if they get
but a lean hen, the feathers shall be spread before the door with
greater pride than we our carpets at some princely solemnity.

5.

_Foolish Form._

_Servant_ (_to my Lord Stately’s Gentleman Usher._) Sir, here’s your
Lord’s footman come to tell you, your Lord’s hat is blown out of his
hand.

_Lord W._ Why did not the footman take it up?

_Usher._ He durst not, my Lord; ’tis above him.

_Lord W._ Where? a’top of the chimney?

_Usher._ Above his office, my Lord.

_Lord W._ How does this fool, for want of solid greatness, swell with
empty ceremony, and fortify himself with outworks! That a man must dig
thro’ rubbish to come at an ass.

_English Friar._

6.

_Cast Books._

_Waiting maid._ I have a new Bible too; and when my Lady left her
Practice of Piety, she gave it me.

_Newcastle._

7.

_Good at guessing_

Nay, good Mr. Constable, you are e’en the luckiest at being wise that
ever I knew.

_Newcastle._

8.

_Essays at Essays._

1. O eternal blockhead, did you never write Essays?

2. I did essay to write Essays, but I cannot say I writ Essays.

_Newcastle._

9.

_Hard words._

Indiscerptibility, and Essential Spissitude: words which, though I am
no competent judge of, for want of languages, yet I fancy strongly
ought to mean nothing.

_Mrs. Afra Behn._

10.

_Scandals to Atheism._

---- a late learned Doctor; who, though himself no great assertor of a
Deity, yet was observed to be continually persuading this sort of men
[the rakehelly blockheaded Infidels about town] of the necessity and
truth of our religion; and being asked how he came to bestir himself
so much this way, made answer, that it was because their ignorance and
indiscreet debauch made them a Scandal to the Profession of Atheism.

_Behn._

11.

_Excuse for being afraid in a Storm._

_Master._ Courage! why what dost thou call courage? Hector himself
would not have exchanged his ten years’ siege for our ten days’ storm
at sea. A Storm! a hundred thousand fighting men are nothing to it;
cities sack’d by fire, nothing. ’Tis a resistless coward, that attacks
a man at disadvantage; an unaccountable magic, that first conjures
down a man’s courage, and then plays the devil over him; and, in fine,
it is a Storm!

_Mate._ Good lack, that it should be all these terrible things, and
yet that we should outlive it!

_Master._ No god-a-mercy to our courages tho’, I tell you that now;
but like an angry wench, when it had huffed and bluster’d itself
weary, it lay still again.

_Behn._

12.

_Dutch Gallantry_

_Mate._ What, beat a woman, Sir?

_Master._ ’Psha, all’s one for that; if I am provoked, anger will have
its effects upon whomsoe’er it light: so said Van Tromp, when he took
his Mistress a cuff on the ear for finding fault with an ill-fashioned
leg he made her. I liked his humour well.

_Behn._

13.

_Dutchman._

---- sitting at home in the chimney corner, cursing the face of Duke
de Alva upon the jugs, for laying an imposition on beer.

_Behn._

14.

_Rake at Church._

---- I shall know all, when I meet her in the chapel to-morrow. I am
resolved to venture thither, tho’ I am afraid the dogs will bark me
out again, and by that means let the congregation know how much I am a
stranger to the place.

_Durfey._

15.

_Lying Traveller_

You do not believe me then? the devil take me, if these home-bred
fellows can be saved: they neither know nor believe half the creation.

_Lacy._

16.

_English Beau, contrasted with a French one._

---- a true-bred English Beau has indeed the powder, the essence, the
toothpick, the snuff-box; and is as idle; but the fault is in the
flesh--he has not the motion, and looks stiff under all this. Now a
French Fop like a Poet, is born so, and would be known without
clothes; it is in his eyes, his nose, his fingers, his elbows, his
heels. They dance when they walk, and sing when they speak. We have
nothing in that perfection as abroad; and our cuckolds, as well as our
grapes, are but half ripened.

_Burnaby._

17.

_Fanciful Recipe, prescribed for sick Fancy._

The juice of a lemon that’s civil at seasons,
Twelve dancing capers, ten lunatic reasons;
Two dying notes of an ancient swan;
Three sighs, a thousand years kept, if you can;
Some scrapings of Gyges’s ring may pass,
With the skin of a shadow caught in a glass;
Six pennyworth of thoughts untold;
The jelly of a star, before it be cold;
One ounce of courtship from a country daughter;
A grain of wit, and a quart of laughter.--

Boil these on the fire of Zeal (with some beech-coals, lest the vessel
burst).--If you can get these ingredients, I will compound them for
you. Then, when the patient is perfectly recovered, she shall be
married in rich cloth of rainbow laced with sunbeams.

_Strode._

18.

_Beauties at Church._

Fair Women in Churches have as ill effect as fine Strangers in Grammar
schools: for tho’ the boys keep on the humdrum still, yet none of ’em
mind their lesson for looking about ’em.

_Fane._

19.

_Expedients._

I have observed the wisdom of these Moors: for some days since being
invited by one of the chief Bashaws to dinner, after meat, sitting by
a huge fire, and feeling his shins to burn, I requested him to pull
back his chair, but he very understandingly sent for three or four
masons, and removed the chimney.

_Brome._

20.

_Mayor of Queenborow, a Christian, giving orders for feasting Hengist, a Pagan King of Kent, who has invited himself to the Mayor’s table._

---- give charge the mutton come in all raw; the King of Kent is a
Pagan, and must be served so. And let those officers, that seldom or
never go to church, bring it in; it will be the better taken.

_Middleton._

21.

_Fat man’s device to get a dainty._

I have a privilege. I was at the tavern the other day; in the next
room I smelt hot venison. I sent but a drawer to tell the company,
“one in the house with a great belly longed for a corner,” and I had
half a pasty sent me immediately.

_Shirley._

22.

_Miser’s Servant._

_Friend._ Camelion, how now, have you turned away your master?

_Camelion._ No; I sold my place. As I was thinking to run away, comes
this fellow, and offers me a breakfast for my good will to speak to my
master for him. I took him at his word, and resigned my office, and
turned over my hunger to him immediately. Now I serve a man.

_Shirley._

23.

_Walking._

_Fine Lady._ I am glad I am come home, for I am even as weary with
this walking; for God’s sake, whereabouts does the pleasure of walking
lie? I swear I have often sought it till I was weary, and yet I could
ne’er find it.

_T. Killegrew._

24.

_Foolish Suitor._

_Alderman._ Save you, Sir.
_Suitor._ You do not think me damn’d, Sir, that you bestow
That salutation on me?
_Ald._ Good, Sir, no.
Whom would you speak with here?
_Suit._ Sir, my discourse
Points at one Alderman Covel.
_Ald._ I am the party.
_Suit._ I understand you have a daughter, is
Of most unknown perfections.
_Ald._ She is as Heaven made her--
_Suit._ She goes naked then;
The tailor has no hand in her.

C. L.

* * * * *

~Stories~

OF THE

~Craven Dales.~

No. III.

He had been in Yorkshire dale
Among the winding scars,
Where deep and low the hamlets lie,
Beneath a little patch of sky,
And little patch of stars.--WORDSWORTH.

* * * * *

_Proem._

In the summer of 1823 I was residing for a few days at a solitary inn amongst the hills of Craven. One afternoon I had planned an excursion to a neighbouring cave, but was prevented from going there by a heavy rain which had fallen during the whole of the day. I had no friends in the neighbourhood, and could not have procured at my inn any work worth the perusal. The library of my landlord was small, and the collection not remarkable for being well chosen; it consisted of Pamela, Baron Munchausen, Fox’s Martyrs, the Pilgrim’s Progress, and a few other publications of an equally edifying description. I should have been at a loss how to have spent the tedious hours, had I not had a companion. He was a stout, elderly man, a perfect stranger to me; and by his conversation showed himself possessed of a very considerable share of erudition: his language was correct, his remarks strong and forcible, and delivered in a manner energetic and pointed. While engaged in conversation, our ears were stunned by a number of village lads shouting and hallooing at the door of the inn. On inquiring of the landlord into the cause of this disturbance, we were informed that a poor woman, who was reputed to be a witch, had taken shelter at his house from the inclemency of the storm, and that some idle boys, on seeing her enter, were behaving in the rude manner already mentioned.

The landlord having left the room, I said to my companion, “So you have witches in Craven, sir; or, at least, those who pretend to be such. I thought that race of ignorant impostors had been long extinct, but am sorry to find the case is otherwise.”

The stranger looked at me, and said, “Do you then disbelieve the existence of witchcraft?”

“Most assuredly,” I replied.

“But you must confess that witchcraft _did_ exist?”

“I _do_; but think not its existing in the prophetical ages to be any evidence of its being permitted in the present.”

“But learned works have been written to prove the existence of it in late times--You are aware of the treatises of Glanvill and Sinclair?”

“True; and learned men have sometimes committed foolish actions; and certainly Glanvill and Sinclair, great as their talents undoubtedly were, showed no great wisdom in publishing their ridiculous effusions, which are nothing more than the overflowings of heated imaginations.”

My companion seeing I was not to be convinced by any arguments he could advance, but that, like the adder in holy writ, I was “deaf to the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely,” thus addressed me:--“I _was_ like you, sceptical on the subject of our present discourse; but the doubts I once entertained have long since vanished; and if you can attend patiently to a history I will relate, I think you will be convinced that witchcraft _does_ exist; or at least has existed in very modern times.”

The stranger then related the story of

THE WISE WOMAN OF LITTONDALE.

“In the year 17--, in a lonely gill, not far distant from Arncliffe, stood a solitary cottage: a more wretched habitation the imagination cannot picture. It contained a single apartment, inhabited by an old woman, called Bertha, who was throughout the valley accounted a wise woman, and a practiser of the ‘art that none may name.’ I was at that time very young, and unmarried; and, far from having any dread of her, would frequently talk to her, and was always glad when she called at my father’s house. She was tall, thin, and haggard; her eyes were large, and sunk deep in their sockets; and the hoarse masculine intonations of her voice were anything but pleasing. The reason I took such delight in the company of Bertha was this--she was possessed of much historical knowledge, and related events which had occurred two or three centuries ago, in a manner so minute and particular, that many a time I have been induced to believe she had been a spectatress of what she was relating. Bertha was undoubtedly of great age; but what that age was no one ever knew. I have frequently interrogated her on the subject, but always received an evasive answer to my inquiries.

“In the autumn, or rather in the latter end of the summer of 17--, I set out one evening to visit the cottage of the wise woman. I had never beheld the interior; and, led on by curiosity and mischief, was determined to see it. Having arrived at the cottage, I knocked at the gate. ‘Come in,’ said a voice, which I knew was Bertha’s. I entered; the old woman was seated on a three-legged stool, by a turf fire, surrounded by three black cats and an old sheep-dog. ‘Well,’ she exclaimed, ‘what brings you here? what can have induced you to pay a visit to old Bertha?’ I answered, ‘Be not offended; I have never before this evening viewed the interior of your cottage; and wishing to do so, have made this visit; I also wished to see you perform some of your _incantations_.’ I pronounced the last word ironically. Bertha observed it, and said, ‘Then you doubt my power, think me an impostor, and consider my incantations mere jugglery; you _may_ think otherwise; but sit down by my humble hearth, and in less than half an hour you shall observe such an instance of my power as I have never hitherto allowed mortal to witness.’ I obeyed, and approached the fire. I now gazed around me, and minutely viewed the apartment. Three stools, an old deal table, a few pans, three pictures of Merlin, Nostradamus, and Michael Scott, a caldron, and a sack, with the contents of which I was unacquainted, formed the whole stock of Bertha. The witch having sat by me a few minutes, rose, and said, ‘Now for our incantations; behold me, but interrupt me not.’ She then with chalk drew a circle on the floor, and in the midst of it placed a chafing-dish filled with burning embers; on this she fixed the caldron, which she had half filled with water.

“She then commanded me to take my station at the farther end of the circle, which I did accordingly. Bertha then opened the sack, and taking from it various ingredients, threw them into the ‘charmed pot.’ Amongst many other articles I noticed a skeleton head, bones of different sizes, and the dried carcasses of some small animals. My fancy involuntarily recurred to the witch in Ovid--

Semina, floresque, et succos in coquit acres;
Addidit et exceptas lunâ pernocte pruinas,
Et strigis infames ipsis cum carnibus alas,
Vivacisque jecur cervi; quibus insuper addit,
Ora caputque novem cornicis sæcula passæ.’

While thus employed, she continued muttering some words in an unknown language; all I remember hearing was the word _konig_. At length the water boiled, and the witch, presenting me with a glass, told me to look through it at the caldron. I did so, and observed a figure enveloped in the steam; at the first glance I knew not what to make of it, but I soon recognised the face of N----, a friend and intimate acquaintance: he was dressed in his usual mode, but seemed unwell, and pale. I was astonished, and trembled. The figure having disappeared, Bertha removed the caldron, and extinguished the fire. ‘_Now_,’ said she, ‘do you doubt my power? I have brought before you the form of a person who is some miles from this place; was there any deception in the appearance? I am no impostor, though you have hitherto regarded me as such.’ She ceased speaking: I hurried towards the door, and said, ‘Good night.’ ‘Stop,’ said Bertha, ‘I have not done with you; I will show you something more wonderful than the appearance of this evening: to-morrow, at midnight, go and stand upon Arncliffe bridge, and look at the water on the left side of it. Nothing will harm you; fear not.’

“‘And why should I go to Arncliffe bridge? What end can be answered by it? The place is lonely; I dread to be there at such an hour; may I have a companion?’

“‘No.’

“‘Why not?’

“‘Because the charm will be broken.’

“‘What charm?’

“‘I cannot tell.’

“‘You will not.’

“‘I will not give you any further information: obey me, nothing shall harm you.’

“‘Well, Bertha,’ I said, ‘you shall be obeyed. I believe you would do me no injury. I will repair to Arncliffe bridge to-morrow at midnight; good night.’”

I then left the cottage, and returned home. When I retired to rest I could not sleep; slumber fled my pillow, and with restless eyes I lay ruminating on the strange occurrences at the cottage, and on what I was to behold at Arncliffe bridge. Morning dawned, I arose unrefreshed and fatigued. During the day I was unable to attend to any business; my coming adventure entirely engrossed my mind. Night arrived, I repaired to Arncliffe bridge: never shall I forget the scene. It was a lovely night: the full orb’d moon was sailing peacefully through a clear blue cloudless sky, and its beams, like streaks of silvery lustre, were dancing on the waters of the Skirfare; the moonlight falling on the hills formed them into a variety of fantastic shapes; here one might behold the semblance of a ruined abbey, with towers and spires, and Anglo-Saxon and Gothic arches; at another place there seemed a castle frowning in feudal grandeur, with its buttresses, battlements, and parapets. The stillness which reigned around, broken only by the murmuring of the stream, the cottages scattered here and there along its banks, and the woods wearing an autumnal tinge, all united to compose a scene of calm and perfect beauty. I leaned against the left battlement of the bridge; I waited a quarter of an hour--half an hour--an hour--nothing appeared. I listened, all was silent; I looked around, I saw nothing. Surely, I inwardly ejaculated, I have mistaken the hour; no, it must be midnight; Bertha has deceived me, fool that I am, why have I obeyed the beldam? Thus I reasoned. The clock of the neighbouring church chimed--I counted the strokes, it was twelve o’clock; I _had_ mistaken the hour, and I resolved to stay a little longer on the bridge. I resumed my station, which I had quitted, and gazed on the stream. The river in that part runs in a clear still channel, and ‘all its music dies away.’ As I looked on the stream I heard a low moaning sound, and perceived the water violently troubled, without any apparent cause. The disturbance having continued a few minutes ceased, and the river became calm, and again flowed along in peacefulness. What could this mean? Whence came that low moaning sound? What caused the disturbance of the river? I asked myself these questions again and again, unable to give them any rational answer. With a slight indescribable kind of fear I bent my steps homewards. On turning a corner of the lane that led to my father’s house, a huge dog, apparently of the Newfoundland breed, crossed my path, and looked wistfully on me. ‘Poor fellow!’ I exclaimed, ‘hast thou lost thy master? come home with me, and I will use thee well till we find him.’ The dog followed me; but when I arrived at my place of abode, I looked for it, but saw no traces of it, and I conjectured it had found its master.

“On the following morning I again repaired to the cottage of the witch, and found her, as on the former occasion, seated by the fire. ‘Well, Bertha,’ I said, ‘I have obeyed you; I was yesterday at midnight on Arncliffe bridge.’

“‘And of what sight were you a witness?’

“‘I saw nothing except a slight disturbance of the stream.’

“‘I know,’ she said, ‘you saw a disturbance of the water, but did you behold nothing more?’

“‘Nothing.’

“‘Nothing! your memory fails you.’

“‘I forgot, Bertha; as I was proceeding home, I met a Newfoundland dog, which I suppose belonged to some traveller.’

“‘That dog,’ answered Bertha, ‘never belonged to mortal; no human being is his master. The dog you saw was Bargest; you may, perhaps, have heard of him.’

“‘I have frequently heard tales of Bargest, but I never credited them. If the legends of my native hills be true, a death may be expected to follow his appearance.’

“‘You are right, and a death will follow his last night’s appearance.’

“‘Whose death?’

“‘Not yours.’

“As Bertha refused to make any further communication, I left her. In less than three hours after I quitted her I was informed that my friend N----, whose figure I had seen enveloped in the mist of the caldron, had that morning committed suicide, by drowning himself at Arncliffe bridge, in the very spot where I beheld the disturbance of the stream!”

Such was the story of my companion; the tale amused me, but by no means increased my belief in witchcraft. I told the narrator so, and we again entered into a serious discussion, which continued till the inn clock struck seven, when the stranger left me, saying, that he could not stay any longer, as he had a distance of ten miles to travel that evening along a very lonely road.

The belief of witchcraft is still very prevalent in Craven; and there are now residing in different parts wise men and wise women, whom the country people consult when any property is stolen or lost, as well as for the purpose of fortune-telling. These impostors pretend generally to practise divination by the crystal, as in the tale--a mode of deception which Moncrieff has very ingeniously ridiculed in his “Tom and Jerry.” Witches and wizards are not so common as they were a few years ago amongst us. The spread of education, by means of National and Sunday Schools, goes a great way to destroy superstition. Few witches were better known in Craven than Kilnsay Nan, who died a few years ago. This old hag travelled with a Guinea pig in her breast, which she pretended solved questions, and used at times to open a witchcraft shop in Bag’s-alley, Skipton: her stock of spells was not very large, for it only consisted of her Guinea pig, and about half a pack of dirty cards.

Littondale, the romantic valley which forms the scene of the above tale, is at the extremity of the parish of Burnsal, where Wharfdale forks off into two great branches, one whereof retains the name of Wharfdale to the source of the river; and the other, which is watered by the Skirfare, (sometimes called the Litton and Litton Bech,) is called Littondale. The ancient name was Amerdale; and by that designation Wordsworth alludes to it in his “White Doe,”

“The deep fork of Amerdale.”

The whole of the dale is in the parish of Arncliffe; so called, according to my great authority in Craven matters, Dr. Whitaker, from Єaꞃn, an eagle, and clyꝼꝼ, a rock; i. e. the eagle’s rock; “as it afforded many secure retreats for that bird in its ridges of perpendicular limestone.” The western side of the valley extends to Pennigent; on the skirts of which mountain are many ancient places of interment, called “Giants’ Graves,” thought to be Danish.

During the last summer I took a ride up Littondale, principally with a view of inspecting Arncliffe church, on the venerable tower of which I had frequently gazed at a distance. Alas! it is the only venerable thing about the church, all the rest of which has been rebuilt in a most paltry and insignificant style--not an ornament about it, inside or outside: as Dr. Whitaker truly says, “it has been rebuilt with all the attention to economy, and all the neglect, both of modern elegance and ancient form, which characterises the religious edifices of the present day.” It is indeed, as the same historian observes, “a perfect specimen” of a “plain, oblong, ill-constructed building, without aisles, choir, column, battlements, or buttresses; the roof and wainscotting of deal, the covering of slate; the walls running down with wet, and the whole resembling a modern conventicle, which this year may serve as a chapel, and the next as a cockpit.” The remarks that Arncliffe church leads the doctor to make ought to be _thundered_ in the ears of every “beautifier” from Cornwall to Berwick upon Tweed:--

“Awakened by the remonstrances of their ecclesiastical superior, a parish discovers that, by long neglect, the roof of their church is half rotten, the lead full of cracks, the pews falling down, the windows broken, the mullions decayed, the walls damp and mouldy. Here it is well if the next discovery be not the _value_ of the lead. No matter whether this covering have or have not given an air of dignity and venerable peculiarity to the church for centuries. It will save a parish assessment; and blue slate will harmonize very prettily with the adjoining cotton-mill! The work of renovation proceeds--the stone tracery of the windows, which had long shed their dim religious light, is displaced, and with it all the armorial achievements of antiquity, the written memorials of benefactors, the rich tints and glowing drapery of saints and angels--but to console our eyes for the losses, the smart luminous modern sash is introduced; and if this be only pointed at top, all is well; for all is--still _Gothic_![510] Next are condemned the massy oaken stalls, many of them capable of repairs, many of them wanting none: these are replaced by narrow slender deal pews, admirably contrived to cramp the tall, and break down under the bulky. Next the fluted wood work of the roof, with all its carved enrichments, is plastered over. It looked dull and nourished cobwebs! Lastly, the screens and lattices, which, from a period antecedent to the Reformation, had spread their light and perforated surfaces from arch to arch, are sawn away; and, in the true spirit of modern equality, one undistinguishing blank is substituted for separations which are yet _canonical_, and to distinctions which _ought to be revered_.”

In Littondale is the celebrated cave Doukerbottom Hole: the road leading to it is steep and difficult to travel for one unused to hilly countries; but the tourist will receive an ample recompense for the badness of the road, by the splendid views obtained from all parts of it of Whernside and the neighbouring hills. It is some years since I saw Doukerbottom Cave; and at this distance of time I fear to attempt a description of its wonders; but I remember that the entrance is steep and rather dangerous; the first chamber very spacious and lofty, and the roof starred with beautiful stalactites formed by the dripping of the limestone; that then the cavern becomes narrower and lower, so much so, that you have to stoop, and that at the end the ear is stunned by a waterfall, which discharges itself into some still lower cave. I remember, too, that I visited it in company with an amiable dissenting minister, and that we were highly amused at the jokes and tales of our one-eyed guide, Mr. Proctor, of Kilnsay. I have just been inquiring after that worthy and eccentric old fellow, and find that he is dead. I am sorry for it; and if my reverend friend should see this article, I doubt not but he will lament with me, that poor old Proctor is gone. For many years he had been guide to Doukerbottom Cave and Whernside.

In Littondale is a ridge of rock, called Tenant’s Ride, from one of the Tenant family having galloped along it while hunting. A dangerous feat truly, but not so daring as is generally supposed; for I am given to understand the ridge is seven yards wide, and perfectly level. There are fine waterfalls in the valley. I trust that a time will come when Littondale will be more frequented than at present.

T. Q. M.

_December, 1827._

[510] Rylstone chapel has been “beautified” in this way.

* * * * *

HAGBUSH-LANE

From desire to afford the destroyers of Corrall’s cottage time to reflect and make reparation for the injury they had inflicted on the old man and his wife; and wishing to abstain from all appearance of strife-making, the topic has remained till now untouched.

On the 28th of November Mr. S., as the agent of a respectable clergyman whose sympathy had been excited by the statements of the _Table Book_, called on me to make some inquiries into the case, and I invited him to accompany me to Corrall’s shed. We proceeded by a stage to the “Old Mother Red Cap,” Camden-town, and walked from thence along the New Road, leading to Holloway, till we came to the spot at the western corner of Hagbush-lane, on the left-hand side of the road. We had journeyed for nothing--the shed had disappeared from the clay swamp whereon it stood. Along the dreary line of road, and the adjacent meadows, rendered cheerless by alternate frosts and rains, there was not a human being within sight; and we were at least a mile from any place where inquiry could be made, with a chance of success, respecting the fugitives. As they might have retired into the lane for better shelter during the winter, we made our way across the quaggy entrance as well as we could, and I soon recognised the little winding grove, so delightful and lover-like a walk in days of vernal sunshine. Its aspect, now, was gloomy and forbidding. The disrobed trees looked black, like funeral mutes mourning the death of summer, and wept cold drops upon our faces. As we wound our slippery way we perceived moving figures in the distance of the dim vista, and soon came up to a comfortless man and woman, a poor couple, huddling over a small smouldering fire of twigs and leaves. They told us that Corrall and his wife had taken down their shed and moved three weeks before, and were gone to live in some of the new buildings in White-conduit fields. The destitute appearance of our informants in this lonely place induced inquiry respecting themselves. The man was a London labourer out of employment, and, for two days, they had been seeking it in the country without success. Because they were able to work, parish-officers would not relieve them; and they were without a home and without food. They had walked and sauntered during the two nights, for want of a place to sleep in, and occasionally lighted a fire for a little warmth--

“The world was not their friend, nor the world’s law.”

We felt this, and Mr. S. and myself contributed a trifle to help them to a supper and a bed for the night. It was more, by all its amount, than they could have got in that forlorn place. They cheerfully undertook to show us to Corrall’s present residence, and set forward with us. Before we got out of Hagbush-lane it was dark, but we could perceive that the site of Corrall’s cottage and ruined garden was occupied by heaps of gas-manure, belonging to the opulent landowner, whose labourers destroyed the poor man’s residence and his growing stock of winter vegetables.

----“A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yon’ justice rails upon yon’ simple thief. Hark in thine ear: change places; and handy dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief?----

“Through tatter’d cloaths small vices do appear;
Robes and furr’d gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks:
Arm it in rags, a pigmy’s straw doth pierce it.”

We found Corrall and his wife and child at No. 3, Bishop’s-place, Copenhagen-street. The overseers would have taken them into the workhouse, but the old man and his wife refused, because, according to the workhouse rules, had they entered, they would have been separated. In “The Form of Solemnization of Matrimony,” it is enjoined, after the joining of hands, “Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder;” and though this prescription is of the highest order of law, yet it is constantly violated by parochial authority. Corrall is sixty-nine years old, and his wife’s lungs appear diseased. Were they together in the poor-house they would be as well circumstanced as they can ever hope or wish; but, this not being allowed, they purpose endeavouring to pick up a living by selling ready dressed meat and small beer to labouring people. Their child, a girl about seven years of age, seems destined to a vagabond and lawless life, unless means can be devised to take her off the old people’s hands, and put her to school. On leaving them I gave the wife five shillings, which a correspondent sent for their use:[511] and Mr. S. left his address, that, when they get settled, they may apply to him as the almoner of the benevolent clergyman, on whose behalf he accompanied me to witness their situation.----

This notice will terminate all remark on Hagbush-lane: but I reiterate, that since it ceased to be used as the common highway from the north of England into London, it became a green lane, affording lovely walks to lovers of rural scenery, which lawless encroachments have despoiled, and only a few spots of its former beauty remain. It is not “waste” of the manors through which it passes, but belongs to the crown; and if the Commissioners of Woods and Forests survey and inquire, they will doubtless claim and possess themselves of the whole, and appropriate it by sale to the public service. True it is, that on one or two occasions manor homages have been called, and persons colourably admitted to certain parcels; but the land so disposed of, a homage could not legally admit claimants into possession of; nor could an entry on the court rolls confer a legal title. Indeed the court rolls themselves will, at least in one instance, show that the steward has doubted his lord’s right; and the futility of such a title has seemed so obvious, that some who retain portions of Hagbush-lane actually decline admission through the manor-court, and hold their possessions by open seizure, deeming such a holding as legal, to all intents and purposes, as any that the lord of the manor can give. Such possessors are lords in their own right--a right unknown to the law of England--founded on mere force; which, were it exercised on the personalties of passengers, would infallibly subject successful claimants to the inconvenience of taking either a long voyage to New South Wales, or, perhaps, a short walk without the walls of Newgate, there to receive the highest reward the sheriff’s substitute can bestow.

*

[511] I am sorry I cannot remember the initials to this gentleman’s
letter, which has been accidentally mislaid.

* * * * *

~Discoveries~

OF THE

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.

No. XXXV.

ANCIENT CHEMISTRY, &c.

_Distillation._--It has been questioned whether the ancients were acquainted with this art, but a passage of Dioscorides not only indicates the practice, but shows that the name of its principal instrument, the alembic, was derived from the Greek language. Pliny gives the same explanation, as Dioscorides does, of the manner of extracting quicksilver from cinnabar by distillation. And Seneca describes an instrument exactly resembling the alembic. Hippocrates even describes the process of distillation. He talks of vapours from the boiling fluid, which meeting with resistance stop and condense, till they fall in drops. Zosimus of Panopolis, an Egyptian city, desires his students to furnish themselves with alembics, gives them directions how to use them, describes them, and presents drawings of such as best deserve to be employed in practice.

_Alcalis and Acids._--Of the substances promiscuously termed lixivial salt, sal alcali, rock-salt, &c., Aristotle speaks, when he says that in Umbria the burnt ashes of rushes and reeds, boiled in water, yield a great quantity of salt. Theophrastus observes the same. Varro relates of dwellers on the borders of the Rhine, who having neither sea nor pit salt, supply themselves by means of the saline cinders of burnt plants. Pliny speaks of ashes as impregnated with salts, and in particular of the nitrous ashes of burnt oak; adding, that these salts are used in medicine, and that a dose of lixivial ashes is an excellent remedy. Hippocrates, Celsus, Dioscorides, and especially Galen, often recommend the medical use of sal alcali. To the mixture of acids and alcali, Plato ascribed fermentation. Solomon seems to have known this effect of them, when he speaks of “vinegar upon nitre.”

_Cleopatra’s Pearl._--A convincing proof of the ability of the ancients in chemistry is the experiment with which Cleopatra entertained Marc Antony, in dissolving before him, in a kind of vinegar, a pearl of very great value, (above 45,450_l._ sterling.) At present we know not of any “vinegar” that can produce this effect; but the fact is well attested. Probably the queen added something to the vinegar, omitted by the historian. The aid of Dioscorides, surnamed Phacas, who was her physician, might have enabled her thus to gain her wager with Marc Antony, that she would exceed him in the splendour and costliness of her entertainment. But Cleopatra herself was a chemical adept, as appears from some of her performances still in the libraries of Paris, Venice, and the Vatican. And Pliny informs us of the emperor Caius, that by means of fire he extracted some gold from orpiment.

_Malleability of Glass._--The method of rendering glass ductile, which is to us a secret, was assuredly a process well known to the ancients. Some still doubt of it, as others have of the burning glasses of Archimedes. Because forsooth they do not know how it could be effected, they will not admit the fact, notwithstanding the exact accounts we have of it, till somebody again recovers this lost or neglected secret, as Kircher and Buffon did that of Archimedes’s mirrors. Pliny says, the flexibility of glass was discovered in the time of Tiberius; but that the emperor fearing lest gold and silver, those most precious metals, should thereby fall in their value, so as to become contemptible, ordered the residence, workhouse, and tools of the ingenious artisan to be destroyed, and thus strangled the art in its infancy. Petronius is more diffuse. He says, that in the time of Tiberius there was an artificer who made vessels of glass, which were in their composition and fabric as strong and durable as silver or gold; and that being introduced into the presence of the emperor, he presented him with a vase of this kind, such as he thought worthy of his acceptance. Meeting with the praise his invention deserved, and finding his present so favourably received, he threw the vase with such violence upon the floor, that had it been of brass it must have been injured by the blow; he took it up again whole, but dimpled a little, and immediately repaired it with a hammer. While in expectation of ample recompense for his ingenuity, the emperor asked him whether any body else was acquainted with this method of preparing glass, and being assured that no other was, the tyrant ordered his head to be immediately struck off; lest gold and silver, added he, should become as base as dirt. Dion Cassius, on this head, confirms the attestations of Pliny and Petronius. Ibn Abd Alhokim speaks of malleable glass as a thing known in the flourishing times of Egypt. Greaves, in his work on Pyramids, mentions him as a celebrated chronologist among the Arabians, and cites from him that “Saurid built in the western pyramid thirty treasuries, filled with store of riches and utensils, and with signatures made of precious stones, and with instruments of iron and vessels of earth, and with arms which rust not, and with glass which might be bended, and yet not broken, &c.” There is, however, a modern chemical composition, formed of silver dissolved in acid spirits, and which is called _cornu lunæ_, or horned moon, a transparent body, easily put into fusion, and very like horn or glass, and which will bear the hammer. Borrichius, a Danish physician of the seventeenth century, describes an experiment of his own, by which he obtained a pliant and malleable salt: he gives the receipt, and concludes from thence, that as glass for the most part is only a mixture of salt and sand, and as the salt may be rendered ductile, glass may be made malleable: he even imagines that the Roman artificer, spoken of by Pliny and Petronius, may have successfully used antimony as the principal ingredient in the composition of his vase. Descartes supposed it possible to impart malleability to glass, and Morhoff assures us that Boyle was of the same opinion.

_Painting on Glass._--This art, so far as it depends upon chemistry, was carried formerly to high perfection. Of this we have striking instances in the windows of ancient churches, where paintings present themselves in the most vivid colours, without detracting from the transparency of the glass. Boerhave and others observe, that we have lost the secret to such a degree, that there are scarcely any hopes of recovering it. Late experiments go far towards a successful restoration of this art.

_Democritus._--This eminent man, who was a native of Abdera in Thrace, flourished upwards of four centuries before the Christian æra. For the sake of acquiring wisdom he travelled into Egypt, and abode with the priests of the country. He may be deemed the father of experimental philosophy. It is affirmed that he extracted the juice of every simple, and that there was not a quality belonging to the mineral or vegetable kingdoms that escaped his notice. Seneca says, that he was the inventor of reverberating furnaces, the first who gave a softness to ivory, and imitated nature in her production of precious stones, particularly the emerald.

_Gunpowder._--Virgil and his commentator Servius, Hyginus, Eustathius, La Cerda, Valerius Flaccus, and many other authors, speak in such a manner of Salmoneus’s attempts to imitate thunder, as suggest to us that he used a composition of the nature of gunpowder. He was so expert in mechanics, that he formed machines which imitated the noise of thunder, and the writers of fable, whose surprise in this respect may be compared to that of the Mexicans when they first beheld the fire-arms of the Spaniards, give out that Jupiter, incensed at the audacity of this prince, slew him with lightning. It is much more natural to suppose that this unfortunate prince, as the inventor of gunpowder, gave rise to these fables, by having accidentally fallen a victim to his own experiments. Dion and Joannes Antiochenus report of the emperor Caligula, that he imitated thunder and lightning by means of machines, which at the same time emitted stones. Themistius relates, that the Brachmans encountered one another with thunder and lightning, which they had the art of launching from on high at a considerable distance. Agathias reports of Anthemius Traliensis, that having fallen out with his neighbour, Zeno the rhetorician, he set fire to his house with thunder and lightning. Philostrates, speaking of the Indian sages, says, that when they were attacked by their enemies they did not leave their walls to fight them, but repelled and put them to flight by thunder and lightning. In another place he alleges that Hercules and Bacchus attempting to assail them in a fort where they were entrenched, were so roughly received by reiterated strokes of thunder and lightning, launched upon them from on high by the besieged, that they were obliged to retire. The effects ascribed to these engines could scarcely be brought about but by gunpowder. In Julius Africanus there is a receipt for an ingenious composition to be thrown upon an enemy, very nearly resembling that of gunpowder. But that the ancients were acquainted with it seems proved beyond doubt, by a clear and positive passage of an author called Marcus Græcus, whose work in manuscript is in the Royal Library at Paris, entitled “Liber Ignium.” The author, describing several ways of encountering an enemy, by launching fire upon him, among others gives the following receipt:--Mix together one pound of live sulphur, two of charcoal of willow, and six of saltpetre; reduce them to a very fine powder in a marble mortar. He directs a certain quantity of this to be put into a long, narrow, and well-compacted cover, and so discharged into the air. Here we have the description of a rocket. The cover with which thunder is imitated he represents as short, thick, but half-filled, and strongly bound with packthread, which is exactly the form of a cracker. He then treats of different methods of preparing the match, and how one squib may set fire to another in the air, by having it enclosed within it. In short, he speaks as clearly of the composition and effects of gunpowder as any body in our times could do. This author is spoken of by Mesue, an Arabian physician, who flourished in the beginning of the ninth century. There is reason to believe that he is the same of whom Galen speaks.

GENERATION.