  TAVERN-SIGNS.I’m amazed at the signs As I pass through the town. To see the odd mixture,— A magpye and crown, The whale and the crow, The razor and hen, The leg and seven stars, The axe and the bottle, The tun and the lute, The eagle and child, The shovel and boot.—British Apollo, 1710. The absurdities which tavern-signs present are often curious enough, but may in general be traced to that inveterate propensity which the vulgar of all countries have, to make havoc with every thing in the shape of a proper name. What a magpie could have to do with a crown, or a whale with a crow, or a hen with a razor, it is as difficult to conjecture as to trace the corruption of language in which the connection more probably originated. The sign of the leg and the seven stars was merely an orthographical deviation from the league and seven stars, or seven united provinces; and the axe and bottle was, doubtless, a transposition of the battle-axe, a most appropriate sign for warlike times. The tun and lute formed suitable emblems enough of the pleasures of wine and music. The eagle and child, too, had meaning, though no application; but when we come to the shovel and boot, nonsense again triumphs, and it is in vain that we look for any rational explanation of the affinity. The Swan-with-two-necks has long been an object of mystery to the curious. This mystery is solved by the alteration of a single letter. The sign, as it originally stood, was the swan with two nicks; the meaning of which we find thus explained in a communication made by the late Sir Joseph Banks to the The goat and compasses has been supposed to have its origin in the resemblance between the bounding of a goat and the expansion of a pair of compasses; but nothing can be more fanciful. The sign is of the days of the Commonwealth, when it was fashionable to give scriptural names to every thing and everybody, and when God-be-praised Barebones preferred drinking his tankard of ale at the God-encompasseth-us to anywhere else. The corruption from God-encompasseth-us to goat and compasses is obvious and natural enough. In Richard Flecknoe’s Enigmatical Characters, published 1665, speaking of the “fanatic reformers,” (the Puritans,) he observes, “As for the SIGNS, they have pretty well begun their reformation already, changing the sign of the salutation of the angel and our lady into the soldier and citizen, and the Katherine Wheel into the cat and wheel; so as there only wants then making the dragon to kill St. George, and the devil to tweak St. Dunstan by the nose, to make the reformation complete. Such ridiculous work they make of their reformation, and so zealous are they against all mirth and jollity, as they would pluck down the sign of the cat and fiddle too, if it durst but play so loud as they might hear it.” The bag of nails, at Chelsea, is claimed by the smiths and carpenters of the neighborhood as a house designed for their peculiar accommodation; but, had it not been for the corruption of the times, it would still have belonged to the bacchanals, who, in the time of Ben Jonson, used to take a holiday stroll to this delightful village. But the old inscription satyr and bacchanals is now converted into Satan and bag o’nails. The origin of the chequers, which is so common an emblem of public houses, has been the subject of much learned conjecture. One writer supposes that they were meant to represent that the game of draughts might be played there; another has been credibly informed that in the reign of Philip and Mary the then Earl of Arundel had a grant to license public-houses, and, part of the armorial bearings of that noble family being a chequer-board, the publican, to show that he had a license, put out that mark as part of his sign. But, unfortunately for both solutions, unfortunately for the honors of Arundel, Sir W. Hamilton presented, some time ago, to the Society of Antiquaries, a view of a street in Pompeii, in which we find that shops with the sign of the chequers were common among the Romans! The real origin of this emblem is still involved in obscurity. The wittiest, though certainly not the most genuine, explanation of it was that of the late George Selwyn, who used to wonder that antiquaries should be at any loss to discover why draughts were an appropriate emblem for drinking-houses. An annotator on Beloe’s Anecdotes of Literature says, “I remember, many years ago, passing through a court in Rosemary Lane, where I observed an ancient sign over the door of an ale-house, which was called The Four Alls. There was the figure of a king, and on a label, ‘I rule all;’ the figure of a priest, motto, ‘I pray for all;’ a soldier, ‘I fight for all;’ and a yeoman, ‘I pay all.’ About two years ago I passed through the same thoroughfare, and, looking up for my curious The Queer Door is corrupted from Coeur DorÉ (Golden Heart); the Pig and Whistle, from Peg and Wassail-Bowl; the Goat in the Golden Boots, from the Dutch Goed in der Gooden Boote (the god—Mercury—in the golden boots). Many signs are heraldic and represent armorial bearings. The White Heart was peculiar to Richard II.; the White Swan to Henry IV. and Edward III.; the Blue Boar to Richard III.; the Red Dragon to the Tudors; the Bull, the Falcon, and the Plume of Feathers to Edward IV.; the Swan and Antelope to Henry V.; the Greyhound and Green Dragon to Henry VII.; the Castle, the Spread Eagle, and the Globe were probably adopted from the arms of Spain, Germany, and Portugal, by inns which were the resort of merchants from those countries. Many commemorate historical events; others derive their names from some eminent and popular man. The Coach and Horses indicated post-houses; the Fox and Goose denoted the games played within; the Hare and Hounds, the vicinity of hunting-grounds. In the Middle Ages, a bush was always suspended in front of the door of a wine-shop,—whence the saying, “Good wine needs no bush.” Some of the mediÆval signs are still retained, as the Pilgrim, Cross-Keys, Seven Stars, &c. The following is a literal copy of the sign of a small public house in the village of Folkesworth, near Stilton, Hants. It contains as much poetry as perhaps the rustic Folkesworth folks are worth; and doubtless they think it (in the Stilton vernacular) “quite the cheese.” I . ham . a . cunen . fox You . see . ther . his No . harme . atched To . me . it . is . my . Mrs. Wish . to . place . me here . to . let . you . no he . sels . good . beere. The Rawlinson of the district has deciphered this inscription, and conjectures its meaning to be as follows:— I am a cunning fox, you see; There is no harm attached to me: It is my master’s wish to place me here, To let you know he sells good beer. In King Street, Norwich, at the sign of “The Waterman,” kept by a man who is a barber and over whose door is the pole, are these lines:— Roam not from pole to pole, But step in here; Where nought exceeds the shaving, But—the beer. This was originally an impromptu of Dean Swift, written at the request of his favorite barber. Over the door of a tippling-house in Frankford, Pa., is this:— In this Hive we’re all alive; Good liquor makes us funny; If you’re dry, step in and try The flavor of our honey. ON A TAVERN-SIGN NEAR CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND.Rest, traveller, rest; lo! Cooper’s ready hand Obedient brings “zwei glass” at thy command. Rest, traveller, rest, and banish thoughts of care. Drink to thy friends, and recommend them here. PUNISHMENT FOR TREASON.Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen, Only for saying he would make his son Heir to the Crown; meaning indeed his house, Which, by the sign thereof, was termed so.—Rich. III., Act iii. sc. 5. The Baker says, “I’ve the staff of life, And you’re a silly elf.” The Brewer replied, with artful pride, “Why this is life itself.” At the King’s Head Inn, Stutton, near Ipswich, is this address to wayworn travelers:— Good people, stop, and pray walk in; Here’s wine and brandy, rum and gin; And what is more, good purl and ale Are both sold here by old Nat Dale. This tap-room inscription is in a wayside tavern in Northumberland, England:— Here stop and spend a social hour In harmless mirth and fun; Let friendship reign, be just and kind, And evil speak of none. At the Red Lion Inn, Hollins Green, an English village, is this:— Call freely, Drink merrily, Pay honestly, Part quietly. These rules, my friends, will bring no sorrow; You pay to-day, I’ll trust to-morrow. In the county of Norfolk, Eng., is this singular inscription:—
On the sign-board of the Bull Inn at Buckland, near Dover:— The bull is tame, so fear him not, All the while you pay your shot; When money’s gone, and credit’s bad, It’s that which makes the bull run mad. Walk in, gentlemen; I trust you’ll find The dun cow’s milk is to your mind. On the Basingstoke road, near Reading, England:— This is the Whitley Grenadier, A noted house for famous beer. My friend, if you should chance to call, Beware and get not drunk withal; Let moderation be your guide, It answers well whene’er ’tis tried. Then use but not abuse strong beer, And don’t forget the Grenadier. The author of Tavern Anecdotes records the following:— Rhyming Host at Stratford. At the Swan Tavern, kept by Lound The best accommodation’s found— Wine, spirits, porter, bottled beer, You’ll find in high perfection here. If, in the garden with your lass, You feel inclined to take a glass, There tea and coffee, of the best, Provided is for every guest; Or, if disposed a pipe to smoke, To sing a song, or crack a joke, You may repair across the green, Where nought is heard, though much is seen; Then laugh, and drink, and smoke away, And but a moderate reckoning pay. BEER-JUG INSCRIPTION.Come, my old friend, and take a pot, But mark me what I say: Whilst thou drink’st thy neighbor’s health. Drink not thy own away. For it too often is the case, Whilst we sit o’er a pot, And while we drink our neighbor’s health, Our own is quite forgot. INSCRIPTIONS ON INN WINDOW-PANES.SHENSTONE’S, AT HENLEY.Whoe’er has travelled life’s dull round, Where’er his journeys may have been, May sigh to think he still has found His warmest welcome at an inn. A gentleman who stopped at an inn at Stockport, in 1634, left this record of his bad reception on a window of the inn:— If, traveller, good treatment be thy care, A comfortable bed, and wholesome fare, A modest bill, and a diverting host, Neat maid, and ready waiter,—quit this coast. If dirty doings please, at Stockport lie: The girls, O frowsy frights, here with their mistress vie. Yet Fynes Moryson, in his Itinerary, thus speaks of English inns in the olden time:— As soon as a passenger comes to an inne, the servants run to him, and one takes his horse and walkes him about till he be cool, then rubs him down, and gives him meat; another servant gives the passenger his private chamber and kindles his fire; the third pulls off his bootes and makes them cleane; then the host and hostess visit him, and if he will eate with the hoste or at a common table with the others, his meale will cost him sixpence, or in some places fourpence; but if he will eate in his chamber, he commands what meat he will, according to his appetite; yea, the kitchen is open to him to order the meat to be dressed as he likes beste. After having eaten what he pleases, he may with credit set by a part for next day’s breakfast. His bill will then be written for him, and should he object to any charge, the host is ready to alter it. “Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis!” ON A WINDOW-PANE OF THE HOTEL SANS SOUCI, BADEN-BADEN.Venez ici, sans souci. Vous Partirez d’ici sans six sous. THREE TRANSLATIONS WHICH FOLLOW.You come to this city plumed with felicity, You’ll flutter from this city plucked to mendicity. With plenty of tin, purse-proud you come in. You’ll go a sad ninkum from outgo of income! Not a bit pensive, you come here expensive. Soon you’ll go hence with a curse the expense. INSCRIPTIONS ON BELLS.Vivos voco—Mortuos plango—Fulgura frango. I call the living—I mourn the dead—I break the lightning. This brief and impressive announcement—the motto of Schiller’s ever-memorable Song of the Bell—was common to the church-bells of the Middle Ages, and may still be found on the bell of the great Minster of Schaffhausen, and on that of the church near Lucerne. Another and a usual one, which is, in fact, but an amplification of the first, is this Funera plango—Fulgura frango—Sabbato pango. Excito lentos—Dissipo ventos—Paco cruentos. I mourn at funerals—I break the lightning—I proclaim the Sabbath. I urge the tardy—I disperse the winds—I calm the turbulent. The following motto may still be seen on some of the bells that have swung in their steeples for centuries. It will be observed to entitle them to a sixfold efficacy. Men’s death I tell by doleful knell, Lightning and thunder I break asunder, On Sabbath all to church I call, The sleepy head I raise from bed, The winds so fierce I do disperse, Men’s cruel rage I do assuage. On the famous alarm-bell called Roland, in the belfry-tower of the once powerful city of Ghent, is engraved the subjoined inscription, in the old Walloon or Flemish dialect:— Mynen naem is Roland; als ik klep is er brand, and als ik luy is er victorie in het land. AnglicÉ. My name is Roland; when I toll there is fire, and when I ring there is victory in the land. On others may be found these inscriptions:— Deum verum laudo, plebem voco, clerum congrego, Defuncto ploro, pestum fugo, festa decoro. I praise the true God, call the people, convene the clergy, I mourn for the dead, drive away pestilence, and grace festivals. Gaudemus gaudentibus, Dolemus dolentibus. Let us rejoice with the joyful, and grieve with the sorrowful. INSCRIPTIONS ON THE BELLS OF ST. MICHAEL’S, COVENTRY, CAST IN 1774.I. Although I am both light and small, I will be heard above you all. II. If you have a judicious ear, You’ll own my voice is sweet and clear. III. Such wondrous power to music’s given, It elevates the soul to heaven. IV. While thus we join in cheerful sound, May love and loyalty abound. V. To honour both of God and king, Our voices shall in concert sing. VI. Music is a medicine to the mind. VII. Ye ringers all, that prize your health and happiness, Be sober, merry, wise, and you’ll the same possess. VIII. Ye people all that hear me ring, Be faithful to your God and king. IX. In wedlock’s bands all ye who join, With hands your hearts unite; So shall our tuneful tongues combine To laud the nuptial rite. X. I am and have been called the common bell, To ring, when fire breaks out, to tell. There is in the abbey church at Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, a fire-bell confined exclusively to alarms in case of conflagrations. The motto around the rim or carrel runs thus:— 1652. Lord, quench this furious flame; Arise, run, help, put out the same. On the largest of three bells placed by Edward III. in the Little Sanctuary, Westminster, are these words:— King Edward made me thirtie thousand weight and three; Take me down and wey me, and more you shall find me. The Great Tom of Oxford was cast after two failures, April 8, 1680, from the metal of an old bell, on which was the following curious inscription, whence its name:— In ThomÆ laude resono bim bom sine fraude. On a bell in Durham Cathedral is inscribed,— To call the folk to church in time, I chime. When mirth and pleasure’s on the wing, I ring. And when the body leaves the soul, I toll. On a bell at Lapley, in Staffordshire:— I will sound and resound to thee, O Lord, To call thy people to thy word. On a bell in Meivod Church, Montgomeryshire:— I to the church the living call, And to the grave do summon all. On Independence bell, Philadelphia, from Lev. xxv. 10:— Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof. In St. Helen’s Church, Worcester, England, is a chime of bells cast in the time of Queen Anne, with names and inscriptions commemorative of victories gained during her reign:— 1. Blenheim. First is my note, and Blenheim is my name; For Blenheim’s story will be first in fame. 2. Barcelona. Let me relate how Louis did bemoan His grandson Philip’s flight from Barcelon. Deluged in blood, I, Ramillies, advance Britannia’s glory on the fall of France. 4. Menin. Let Menin on my sides engraven be; And Flanders freed from Gallic slavery. 5. Turin. When in harmonious peal I roundly go, Think on Turin, and triumphs on the Po. 6. Eugene. With joy I hear illustrious Eugene’s name; Fav’rite of fortune and the boast of fame. 7. Marlborough. But I, for pride, the greater Marlborough bear; Terror of tyrants, and the soul of war. 8. Queen Anne. Th’ immortal praises of Queen Anne I sound, With union blest, and all these glories crowned. The inscriptions are all dated 1706, except that on the seventh, which is dated 1712. On one of eight bells in the church tower of Pilton, Devon, is a modern achievement in this kind of literature:— Recast by John Taylor and Son, Who tho best prize for church bells won At the Great Ex-hi-bi-ti-on In London, 1—8—5 and 1. In St. John’s Cathedral, Hong Kong:— I will send thee far hence unto the Gentiles. (Acts xxii. 21.) At Fotheringay, Northamptonshire:— Domini laudem, non verbo sed voce resonabo. At Hornby:— When I do ring, God’s praises sing; When I do toll, Pray heart and soul. I toll the funeral knell; I hail the festal day; The fleeting hour I tell; I summon all to pray. At Bolton:— My roaring sound doth warning give That men cannot here always live. Distich inscribed on a bell at Bergamoz, by Cardinal Orsini, Benedict XIII.:—
Similar in form is an inscription on Lindsey Court-house:—
On the clock of the town hall of Bala, North Wales, is the following inscription:— Here I stand both day and night, To tell the hours with all my might; Do thou example take by me, And serve thy God as I serve thee. FLY-LEAF INSCRIPTIONS IN BOOKS.The following lines, formerly popular among youthful scholars, may still be found in school-books:— This book is mine By right divine; And if it go astray, I’ll call you kind My desk to find And put it safe away. This book is mine,—that you may know, By letters two I will you show: The first is J, a letter bright; The next is S in all men’s sight. But if you still my name should miss, Look underneath, and here it is:— John Smith. I hope will have a generous mind, And bring it to the owner,—me, Whose name they’ll see page fifty-three. The curious warning subjoined—paradoxical in view of the improbability of any honest friend pilfering—has descended to our times from the days of black-letter printing:— Steal not this book, my honest friend, For fear the gallows be your end; For if you do, the Lord will say, Where is that book you stole away? Another often met with is this:— Hic liber est meus, Testis et est Deus; Si quis me quÆrit, Hic nomen erit. The two following admonitions are full of salutary advice to book-borrowers:— Neither blemish this book, or the leaves double down, Nor lend it to each idle friend in the town; Return it when read; or, if lost, please supply Another as good to the mind and the eye. With right and with reason you need but be friends, And each book in my study your pleasure attends. If thou art borrowed by a friend, Right welcome shall he be, To read, to study, not to lend, But to return to me. Not that imparted knowledge doth Diminish learning’s store; But books, I find, if often lent, Return to me no more. ? Read slowly, pause frequently, think seriously, keep clean, RETURN DULY, with the corners of the leaves not turned down. Of the warning and menacing kind are the following:— This book is one thing, My fist is another; Touch this one thing, You’ll sure feel the other. This little libellum, Per Bacchum per Jovem! I’ll kill him, I’ll fell him, In ventum illius I’ll stick my scalpellum, And teach him to steal My little libellum. Ne me prend pas; On te pendra. Gideon Snooks, Ejus liber. Si quis furetur; Per collum pendetur, Similis huic pauperi animali. Here follows a figure of an unfortunate individual suspended “in malam crucem.” Small is the wren, Black is the rook; Great is the sinner That steals this book. This is Thomas Jones’s book— You may just within it look; But you’d better not do more, For the Devil’s at the door, And will snatch at fingering hands; Look behind you—there he stands! The following macaronic is taken from a copy of the Companion to the Festivals and Fasts, 1717:— To the Borrower of this Book. Hic Liber est meus, Deny it who can, Samuel Showell, Jr., An honest man. In vico corvino [locale appended] I am to be found, Si non mortuus sum, And laid in the ground. At si non vivens, You will find an heir Qui librum recipiet; You need not to fear. Restore it, and then Ut quando mutuaris I may lend again. At si detineas, So let it be lost, Expectabo Argentum, As much as it cost (viz.: 5s.) Taken from an old copy-book: All you, my friends, who now expect to see A piece of writing, here performed by me, Cast but a smile on this my mean endeavor, I’ll strive to mend, and be obedient ever. On the fly-leaf of a Bible may sometimes be seen: Could we with ink the ocean fill, Were every stalk on earth a quill, And were the skies of parchment made, And every man a scribe by trade, To tell the love of God alone Would drain the ocean dry; Nor could the scroll contain the whole, Though stretched from sky to sky. The two following are very common in village schools:— This is Giles Wilkinson, his book; God give him grace therein to look; Nor yet to look, but understand That learning’s better than house and land; For when both house and land are spent, Then learning is most excellent. John Smith is my name, England is my nation, London is my dwelling-place, And Christ is my salvation, And when I’m dead and in the grave, And all my bones are rotten, When this you see, remember me, Though I am long forgotten. Take it,—’tis a gift of love That seeks thy good alone; Keep it for the giver’s sake, And read it for thy own. The early conductors of the press were in the habit of affixing to the end of the volumes they printed some device or couplet concerning the book, with the names of the printer and proof-reader added. The following example is from Andrew Bocard’s edition of The Pragmatic Sanction, Paris, 1507:— Stet liber, hic donec fluctus formica marinos Ebibat; et totum testudo perambulet orbem (May this volume continue in motion, And its pages each day be unfurled; Till an ant to the dregs drink the ocean, Or a tortoise has crawled round the world.) On the title-page of a book called Gentlemen, Look about You, is the following curious request:— Read this over if you’re wise, If you’re not, then read it twice: If a fool, and in the gall Of bitterness, read not at all. MOTTO ON A CLOCK.QuÆ lenta accedit, quam velox prÆterit hora! Ut capias, patiens esto, sed esto vigil! Slow comes the hour: its passing speed how great: Waiting to seize it,—vigilantly wait! WATCH-PAPER INSCRIPTION.Onward perpetually moving, These faithful hands are ever proving How quick the hours fly by; This monitory, pulse-like beating Seems constantly, methinks, repeating, Swift! swift! the moments fly. Reader, be ready,—for perhaps before These hands have made one revolution more, Life’s spring is snapt,—you die! The stealing steps of never-standing Time: With wisdom mark the moment as it flies; Think what a moment is to him who dies. Little monitor, impart Some instruction to the heart; Show the busy and the gay Life is hasting swift away. Follies cannot long endure, Life is short and death is sure. Happy those who wisely learn Truth from error to discern. Could but our tempers more like this machine, Not urged by passion, nor delayed by spleen, And true to Nature’s regulating power, By virtuous acts distinguish every hour; Then health and joy would follow as they ought The laws of motion, and the laws of thought; Sweet health to pass the present moment o’er, And everlasting joy when time shall be no more. SUN-DIAL INSCRIPTIONS.Sine sole sileo. (Without sunlight I give no information.) Scis horas; nescis horam. (You know the hours; you know not the hour [of death].) Afflictis lentÆ, celeres gaudentibus horÆ. (The hours pass slowly for the afflicted, rapidly for the joyous.) Vado e vegno giorno; Ma tu andrai senza ritorno. (I go and come every day; But thou shalt go without return.) May the dread book at our last trial, When open spread, be like this dial; May Heaven forbear to mark therein The hours made dark by deeds of sin; Those only in that record write Which virtue like the sun makes bright. If o’er the dial glides a shade, redeem The time, for lo! it passes like a dream; But if ’tis all a blank, then mark the loss Of hours unblest by shadows from the cross. INSCRIPTION OVER A SPRING.Whoe’er thou art that stays’st to quaff The streams that here from waters dim Arise to fill thy cup and laugh In sparkling beads about the brim, In all thy thoughts and words as pure As these sweet waters mayst thou be; To all thy friends as firm and sure, As prompt in all thy charity. INSCRIPTIONS ON AN ÆOLIAN HARP.AT THE ENDS.Fingent Æolio carmine nobilem. (Hor. iv. 3.) Partem aliquam, oh venti, divum referatis ad aures. (Virg. Buc. 3.) ON THE SIDE.Hail, heavenly harp, where Memnon’s skill is shown, That charm’st the ear with music all thy own! Which, though untouched, canst rapturous strains impart. Oh, rich of genuine nature, free from art! Such the wild warblings of the chirping throng, So simply sweet the untaught virgin’s song. Mr. Longfellow’s admirers will remember his beautiful little poem commencing:— I like that ancient Saxon phrase which calls The burial-ground God’s acre. This “Saxon phrase” is not obsolete. It may be seen, for instance, inscribed over the entrance to a modern cemetery at Basle— Gottes Acker. Over a gateway near the church of San Eusebio, Rome:— Tria sunt mirabilia; Trinus et unus, Deus et homo, Virgo et mater. Over the door of the house in which Selden was born, Salvington, Sussex:— Gratus, honesti, mihi; non claudar, inito sedeq’. Fur, abeas; non su’ facta soluta tibi. Thus paraphrased:— Thou’rt welcome, honest friend; walk in, make free; Thief, get thee gone; my doors are closed to thee. HOUSE INSCRIPTIONS.On the Town-house Wittenberg:— Ist’s Gottes Werk, so wird’s bestehen; Ist’s Menschens, so wird’s untergehen. (If God’s work, it will aye endure; If man’s, ’tis not a moment sure.) Over the gate of a Casino, near Maddaloni:— AMICIS— Et ne paucis pateat, Etiam fictis. (My gate stands open for my friends; But lest of these too few appear, Let him who to the name pretends Approach and find a welcome here.) On a west-of-England mansion:— Welcome to all through this wide-opening gate; None come too early, none depart too late. Fuller (Holy and Profane State) and Walton (Life of George Herbert) notice a verse engraved upon a mantelpiece in the Parsonage House built by George Herbert at his own expense. The faithful minister thus counsels his successor:— If thou dost find A house built to thy mind, Without thy cost, Serve thou the more God and the poor: My labor is not lost. The following is emblazoned around the banqueting hall of Bulwer’s ancestral home, Knebworth:— Read the Rede of the Old Roof Tree. Here be trust fast. Opinion free. Knightly Right Hand. Christian knee. Worth in all. Wit in some. Laughter open. Slander dumb. Hearth where rooted Friendships grow, Safe as Altar even to Foe. And the sparks that upwards go When the hearth flame dies below, If thy sap in them may be, Fear no winter, Old Roof Tree. Right fit a place is window glass To write the name of bonny lass; And if the reason you should speir, Why both alike are brittle geir, A wee thing dings a lozen lame— A wee thing spoils a maiden’s fame. Tourist’s wit on a window pane at Lodore:— When I see a man’s name Scratched upon the glass, I know he owns a diamond, And his father owns an ass. On a pane of the Hotel des Pays-Bas, Spa, Belgium:— 1793. I love but one, and only one; Oh, Damon, thou art he. Love thou but one and only one, And let that one be me. MEMORIALS.An English gentleman, who, in 1715, spent some time in prison, left the following memorial on the windows of his cell. On one pane of glass he wrote:— That which the world miscalls a jail, A private closet is to me; Whilst a good conscience is my bail, And innocence my liberty. On another square he wrote, Mutare vel timere sperno, and on a third pane, sed victa Catoni. A Mr. Barton, on retiring with a fortune made in the wool-trade, built a fair stone house at Holme, in Nottinghamshire, in the window of which was the following couplet,—an humble acknowledgment of the means whereby he had acquired his estate:— I thank God, and ever shall; It is the sheep hath paid for all. FRANCKE’S ENCOURAGING DISCOVERY.It is said that when Francke was engaged in the great work of erecting his world-known Orphan-House at Halle, for the means of which he looked to the Lord in importunate prayer from day to day, an apparently accidental circumstance made an abiding impression on him and those about him. A workman, in digging a part of the foundation, found a small silver coin, with the following inscription:— “Jehova, Conditor, Condita Coronide Coronet.” (May Jehovah, the builder, finish the building.) GOLDEN MOTTOES.
POSIES FROM WEDDING-RINGS.Portia. A quarrel, ho, already! What’s the matter? Gratiano. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring That she did give me: whose posy was For all the world like cutler’s poetry Upon a knife: Merchant of Venice, Act V. Hamlet. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?— Hamlet, Act III. sc. 2. Jacques. You are full of pretty answers: have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths’ wives, and conned them out of rings?— As You Like It, Act III. sc. 2. The following posies were transcribed by an indefatigable collector, from old wedding-rings, chiefly of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The orthography is, in most cases, altered:— Such loving hearts. Love and respect I do expect. No gift can show The love I owe. Let him never take a wife That will not love her as his life. In loving thee I love myself. A heart content Can ne’er repent. In God and thee Shall my joy be. Love thy chaste wife Beyond thy life. 1681. Love and pray Night and day. Great joy in thee Continually. My fond delight By day and night. Pray to love; Love to pray. 1647. In thee, my choice, I do rejoice. 1677. Body and mind In thee I find. Dear wife, thy rod Doth lead to God. God alone Made us two one. Eternally My love shall be. All I refuse, And thee I choose. Worship is due To God and you. Love and live happy. 1689. Joy day and night Be our delight. Divinely knit by Grace are we; Late two, now one; the pledge here see. 1657. Endless my love As this shall prove. Avoid all strife ’Twixt man and wife. Joyful love This ring doth prove. In thee, dear wife, I find new life. Of rapturous joy I am the toy. In thee I prove The joy of love. In loving wife Spend all thy life. 1697. In love abide Till death divide. In unity Let’s live and die. Happy in thee Hath God made me. Silence ends strife With man and wife. None can prevent The Lord’s intent. God did decree Our unity. I kiss the rod From thee and God. In love and joy Be our employ. Live and love; Love and live. God above Continue our love. True love will ne’er forget. Deceitful never. As gold is pure, So love is sure. Love, I like thee, Sweet, requite me. God sent her me, My wife to be. Live and die In constancy. My beloved is mine, And I am hers. Within my breast Thy heart doth rest. God above Increase our love. Be true to me That gives it thee. Both heart and hand At your command. My heart you have, And yours I crave. Christ and thee My comfort be. As God decreed, So we agreed. No force can move Affixed love. For a kiss Take this. The want of thee Is grief to me. I fancy none But thee alone. One word for all, I love and shall. Your sight, My delight. God’s blessing be On thee and me. I will be yours While breath endures. Love is sure Where faith is pure. Thy friend am I, An so will die. God’s appointment Is my contentment. Knit in one By Christ alone. My dearest Betty Is good and pretty. Sweetheart, I pray Do not say nay. Parting is pain While love doth remain. Hurt not that heart Whose joy thou art. Thine eyes so bright Are my delight. Take hand and heart, I’ll ne’er depart. If you consent, You’ll not repent. ’Tis in your will To save or kill. As long as life, Your loving wife. If you deny, Then sure I die. Thy friend am I, And so will die. Let me in thee Most happy be. God hath sent My heart’s content. You and I Will lovers die. Thy consent Is my content. All joy may be. In thee my love All joy I prove. Beyond this life Love me, dear wife. Love and joy Can never cloy. The pledge I prove Of mutual love. I love the rod And thee and God. Desire, like fire, Doth still inspire. My heart and I, Until I die. This ring doth bind Body and mind. Endless as this Shall be our bliss.—Thos. Bliss. 1719. I do rejoice In thee my choice. Love him in heart, Whose joy thou art. I change the life Of maid to wife. Endless my love For thee shall prove. Not Two, but One. Till life be gone. Numbers, vi. 24, 25, 26. In its circular continuity, the ring was accepted as a type of eternity, and, hence, the stability of affection. Constancy and Heaven are round, And in this the Emblem’s found. This is love, and worth commending, Still beginning, never ending. Or, as Herrick says,— And as this round Is nowhere found To flaw or else to sever, So let our love As endless prove, And pure as gold forever. LADY KATHERINE GREY’S WEDDING-RING.The ring received by this excellent woman, who was a sister of Lady Jane Grey, from her husband, the Earl of Hertford, at their marriage, consisted of five golden links, the four inner ones bearing the following lines, of the earl’s composition:— As circles five by art compact shewe but one ring in sight, So trust uniteth faithfull mindes with knott of secret might, Whose force to breake but greedie Death noe wight possesseth power, As time and sequels well shall prove. My ringe can say no more. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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