Pressing in Church.

On the morning of Easter Sunday, 1596, during the reign of queen Elizabeth, the lord mayor and aldermen of London received the royal command to raise a thousand men with the utmost expedition; wherefore they repaired with their deputies, constables, and other officers, to the churches, and having caused the doors to be shut, took the people during divine service from their worship, till the number was completed, and having armed them, the men, so raised and equipped, were marched the same night for Dover, in order to their embarkation for France; but in the mean time, Elizabeth having received advice of the reduction of Calais by the Spaniards, they were countermanded, and returned to the city in about a week after their departure.[109]

Easter Day Customs
At Twickenham and Paddington.

According to Mr. Lysons, “There was an ancient custom at Twickenham, of dividing two great cakes in the church upon Easter-day among the young people; but it being looked upon as a superstitious relic, it was ordered by parliament, 1645, that the parishioners should forbear that custom, and, instead thereof, buy loaves of bread for the poor of the parish with the money that should have bought the cakes. It appears that the sum of £1. per annum is still charged upon the vicarage for the purpose of buying penny loaves for poor children on the Thursday after Easter. Within the memory of man they were thrown from the church-steeple to be scrambled for; a custom which prevailed also, some time ago, at Paddington, and is not yet totally abolished.” A correspondent imagines that the Paddington custom of throwing bread from the church-steeple, which exists also in other parishes, was derived from largesses bestowed on the poor by the Romish clergy on occasion of the festival, and that it has been continued since the Reformation, and, therefore, since the institution of poor rates, without due regard to its original object.

Biddenden Custom.

Since the former sheet was printed, an article occurs to the editor in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” which it seems proper to notice. The writer there states, that “Biddenden is a parish of great extent, as most parishes in the weald of Kent are;” that this part of the country is called the weald, “from the growth of large timber, oak particularly;” that the town of Biddenden is about five miles equi-distant from three several market towns, Cranbrook, Smarden, and Tenterden; and is distant about fifteen miles from Maidstone. On the same authority, is now added that it does not furnish any antique inscriptions, nor does the weald in general yield the inquirer any thing antique or invaluable to repay his search. In the reign of queen Elizabeth, John Mayne, esq. endowed a good house and garden with 20l. per annum, for a free grammar school, which owing to the salary being fixed at that amount by the founder, is neither eligible to persons qualified under the regulations, nor is it capable of being increased. The visitation of the school, was formerly in the archbishop of Canterbury, but is so no longer, and the schoolmaster is appointed by the lord. The archbishop is patron of the rectory, which, in the reign of Henry VIII., was valued so high as 35l. The fair here is on the 8th of November. Mr. Urban’s correspondent noticing “the two maided-sisters who grew together from the waist downwards,” refers to accounts of similar wonders, and waggishly ends his list by directing to the “Memoirs of Scriblerus, by A. Pope,” as an authority corroborative of the apocryphal “Biddenden Maids.”

Paste Eggs.

A correspondent, T. A., mentions this custom in Cheshire: “Children go round the village and beg eggs for their Easter dinner; they accompany it by a short song, which I am sorry I am unable to present to you, but the burthen of it is addressed to the farmer’s dame, and asking ‘an egg, bacon, cheese, or an apple, or any good thing that will make us merry,’ ends with

In Cumberland and Westmorland, and other parts of the north of England, boys beg, on Easter eve, eggs to play with, and beggars ask for them to eat. These eggs are hardened by boiling, and tinged with the juice of herbs, broom-flowers, &c. The eggs being thus prepared, the boys go out and play with them in the fields; rolling them up and down, like bowls, upon the ground, or throwing them up, like balls, into the air.[110]

Sugar Cupping
In the Peak of Derbyshire.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Tideswell, Derbyshire, March 31, 1826.

Sir,—The pleasure and instruction I have derived from the perusal of your interesting miscellany, induce me to offer to your notice a custom in this neighbourhood denominated Sugar-cupping, which, like similar remnants of the “olden time,” is gradually running into disuse.

Last Sunday, being Easter-day, I walked to the “Dropping Tor,” the rendezvous of the “sugar-cuppers,” but, owing to the extreme inclemency of the weather, no one was there, nor was it, I believe, once visited during the day. From frequent inquiry of the oldest persons in the neighbourhood, I can learn nothing but that, on Easter Sunday, they were used, when children, to go to the “Dropping Tor,” with a cup in one pocket and a quarter of a pound of sugar in the other, and having caught in their cups as much water as was desired from the droppings of the spring, they dissolved the sugar in it, and drank it. The natural consequences resulting from the congregation of a quantity of “young men and maidens” followed, and they returned home. I was anxious to discover some jargon repeated by the youthful pilgrims, as an invocation to the saint of the spring, or otherwise; but I could not collect any thing of the kind. I conjecture this custom to be peculiar to this part. If you, or any of your correspondents, can furnish more satisfactory information respecting it, some of your readers will not regret I have troubled you with the hint.

With respect, I am,
Your obedient servant,
A Peakril.

Further notice of this usage at “the Peak,” will be acceptable to the editor, who is neither acquainted with the practice nor its origin. At some wells it is customary, on certain days, for persons to strew flowers, or hang garlands on the brink. Accounts of this nature, especially if accompanied by a drawing of the place, are very desirable. We have hitherto had no water customs, yet springs were very early objects of veneration. These remains of ancient respect will be duly respected when communicated.

Easter Day at Rome.

On this day the pope himself goes in grand procession to the cathedral of St. Peter, and assists at the high mass. The church is lined with the guarda nobile, in their splendid uniforms of gold and scarlet, and nodding plumes of white ostrich feathers, and the Swiss guards, with their polished cuirasses and steel helmets. The great centre aisle is kept clear by a double wall of armed men, for the grand procession, the approach of which is proclaimed by the sound of trumpet from the farther end of the church. Priests advance, loaded with still augmenting magnificence, as they ascend to the higher orders. Cloth of gold, and embroidery of gold and silver, and crimson velvet, and mantles of spotted ermine, and flowing trains, and attendant train-bearers, and mitres and crucifixes glittering with jewels, and priests and patriarchs, and bishops and cardinals, dazzle the eye, and fill the whole length of St. Peter’s. Lastly, comes the pope, in his crimson chair of state, borne on the shoulders of twenty palfrenieri, arrayed in robes of white, and wearing the tiara, or triple crown of the conjoined Trinity, with a canopy of cloth of silver floating over his head; preceded by two men, carrying enormous fans, composed of large plumes of ostrich feathers, mounted on long gilded wands. He stops to pay his adorations to the miraculous Madonna in her chapel, about half-way up; and this duty, which he never omits, being performed, he is slowly borne past the high altar, liberally giving his benediction with the twirl of the three fingers as he passes.

He is then set down upon a magnificent stool, in front of the altar, on which he kneels, and his crown being taken off, and the cardinals taking off their little red caps, and all kneeling in a row, he assumes the attitude of praying. Having remained a few minutes, he is taken to a chair prepared for him, to the right of the throne. There he reads from a book, and is again taken to the altar, on which his tiara has been placed; and, bareheaded, he repeats—or as, by courtesy, it is called, sings—a small part of the service, throws up clouds of incense, and is removed to the crimson-canopied throne. High mass is celebrated by a cardinal and two bishops, at which he assists. During the service, the Italians seem to consider it quite as much of a pageant as foreigners, but neither a new nor an interesting one; they either walk about, and talk, or interchange pinches of snuff with each other, exactly as if it had been a place of amusement, until the tinkling of a little bell, which announces the elevation of the host, changes the scene. Every knee is now bent to the earth, and every voice hushed; the reversed arms of the military ring with an instantaneous clang on the marble pavement, as they sink on the ground, and all is still as death. This does not last above two minutes till the host is swallowed. Thus begins and ends the only part that bears even the smallest outward aspect of religion. The military now pour out of St. Peter’s, and form an extensive ring before its spacious front, behind which the horse guards are drawn up, and an immense number of carriages, filled with splendidly dressed women, and thousands of people on foot, are assembled. Yet the multitude almost shrunk into insignificance in the vast area of the piazza; and neither piety nor curiosity collect sufficient numbers to fill it. The tops of the colonnades all round, however, are thronged with spectators; and it is a curious sight to see a mixture of all ranks and nations,—from the coronetted heads of kings, to the poor cripple who crawls along the pavement,—assembled together to await the blessing of their fellow mortal. Not the least picturesque figures among the throng are the contadini, who, in every variety of curious costume, flock in from their distant mountain villages, to receive the blessing of the holy father, and whose bright and eager countenances, shaded by their long dark hair, turn to the balcony where the pope is to appear. At length the two white ostrich-feather fans, the forerunners of his approach, are seen; and he is borne forward on his throne, above the shoulders of the cardinals and bishops, who fill the balcony. After an audible prayer he arises, and, elevating his hands to heaven, invokes a solemn benediction upon the multitude, and the people committed to his charge. Every head uncovers; the soldiers, and many of the spectators, kneel on the pavement to receive the blessing. It is given with impressive solemnity, but with little of gesture or parade. Immediately the thundering of cannon from the castle of St. Angelo, and the peal of bells from St. Peter’s, proclaim the joyful tidings to the skies. The pope is borne out, and the people rise from their knees.[111]

Greek Easter.

The “Picture of Greece in 1825,” by Messrs. Emerson and Humphreys, and count Pecchio, contains some particulars of the celebration of the Greek church. They say,

“To-day being the festival of Easter, Napoli presented a novel appearance, viz. a clean one. This feast as the most important in the Greek church, is observed with particular rejoicings and respect. Lent having ceased, the ovens were crowded with the preparations for banquetting. Yesterday every street was reeking with the blood of lambs and goats; and to-day, every house was fragrant with odours of pies and baked meats; all the inhabitants, in festival array, were hurrying along to pay their visits and receive their congratulations; every one, as he met his friend, saluted him with a kiss on each side of his face, and repeated the words ???st?? a?est?—‘Christ is risen.’ The day was spent in rejoicings in every quarter; the guns were fired from the batteries, and every moment the echoes of the Palamede were replying to the incessant reports of the pistols and trophaics of the soldiery. On these occasions, the Greeks (whether from laziness to extract the ball, or for the purpose of making a louder report, I know not,) always discharge their arms with a bullet: frequent accidents are the consequence. To-day, one poor fellow was shot dead in his window, and a second severely wounded by one of these random shots. In the evening, a grand ceremony took place in the square: all the members of the government, after attending divine service in the church of St. George, met opposite the residence of the executive body; the legislative being the most numerous, took their places in a line, and the executive passing along them from right to left, kissing commenced with great vigour, the latter body embracing the former with all fervour and affection. Amongst such an intriguing factious senate as the Greek legislation, it requires little calculation to discern that the greater portion of these salutations were Judas’s kisses.”

Turkish Easter.

The journals of 1824, contain the following extract, from a private letter, dated Tangiers, in Africa:—“The day after my arrival I was present at the celebration of this country’s Easter, a religious ceremony which greatly resembles our Easter, and is so called.—At break of day, twenty salutes of cannon announce the festival. At this signal, the pacha proceeds to a great plain ranged outside the city, where he is received by all the troops of the garrison, ranged under arms. An unfortunate ram is laid upon an altar there; the pacha approaches it, and plunges a knife into its throat; a Jew then seizes the bleeding animal, hoists it on his shoulders, and runs off with it to the mosque. If the animal still lives at the moment he arrives there, which very seldom fails to occur, the year will be a good one: if the contrary happens, great lamentations and groanings are made—the year will be bad. As soon as the victim is dead, a great carnage begins. Every Moor sacrifices, according to his means, one or more sheep, and this in the open street; the blood streams down on all sides; men and women imbrue themselves in it as much as they please; they cry, sing, dance, and endeavour to manifest the joy that animates them in a thousand forms. As soon as night appears, the town resounds with discharges of musketry, and it is not till the end of eight days that this charming festival concludes.”

Prophecy Concerning Easter.

For the Every-Day Book.

Notwithstanding the flood of information which has been poured over the country during the last half century, superstition, at once the child and mother of ignorance, still holds no inconsiderable sway over the minds of men. It is true, that the days of ghosts and apparitions are nearly over, but futurity is as tempting as ever, and the seventh son of a seventh son is still potent enough to charm away the money and bewilder the senses of the credulous, and Nixon’s and Mother Shipton’s prophecies still find believers. The coincidences by which these legendary predictions are sometimes fulfilled, are often curious. The present year may be said to witness the accomplishment of one. It has been said—

Meaning thereby, that when the festival of Easter falls near to Lady-day, (the 25th of March,) this country is threatened with some calamity. In the year 1818, Easter-day happened on the 22d of March, and in the November of that year, queen Charlotte died. In 1826, Easter-day happening on the 26th of March, distress in the commercial world may be regarded as a fulfilment of the prediction. Spanish history affords a curious instance of this kind. It is related, that Peter and John de Carvajal, who were condemned for murder, (A. D. 1312,) on circumstantial evidence, and that very frivolous, to be thrown from the summit of a rock, Ferdinand IV., then king of Spain, could by no means be prevailed upon to grant their pardon. As they were leading to execution, they invoked God to witness their innocence, and appealed to his tribunal, to which they summoned the king to appear in thirty days’ time. He laughed at the summons; nevertheless, some days after, he fell sick, and went to a place called Alcaudet to divert himself and recover his health, and shake off the remembrance of the summons if he could. Accordingly, the thirtieth day being come, he found himself much better, and after showing a great deal of mirth and cheerfulness on that occasion with his courtiers, and ridiculing the illusion, retired to rest, but was found dead in his bed the next morning. (See Turquet’s general History of Spain 1612, p. 458, cited in Dr. Grey’s notes to Hudibras, part iii. canto 1. lines 209, 210.)

The same author (Dr. Grey,) quotes from Dr. James Young, (Sidrophel vapulans, p. 29,) that Cardan, a celebrated astrologer lost his life to save his credit; for having predicted the time of his own death, he starved himself to verify it: or else being sure of his art, he took this to be his fatal day, and by those apprehensions made it so. The prophecy of George Wishart, the Scottish martyr, respecting the death of cardinal Beatoun, is a striking feature in a catalogue of coincidences. In such light may be cited the stories of the predicted death of the duke of Buckingham, in the time of Charles I., that of lord Lyttleton in later days, and many others.

Lord Bacon, who, on many points illuminated the sixteenth with the light of the nineteenth century, after referring in his chapter on prophecies (see his Essays) to the fulfilment of many remarkable fulfilments, delivers his opinion on that point in the following words:—“My judgment is, that they ought all to be despised, and ought to serve but for winter talk by the fireside. Though when I say despised, I mean for belief.——That that hath given them grace, and some credit consisteth in these things. 1st. that men mark when they hit, and never when they miss; as they do, also of dreams. 2d. that probable conjectures and obscure traditions many times turn themselves into prophecies: while the nature of man which coveteth divination, thinks it no peril to foretell that, which indeed they do but collect.——The 3d. and last (which is the great one) is, that almost all them, being infinite in number, have been impostures, and by idle and crafty brains, merely contrived and feigned after the event passed.”

J. W. H.

Easter Day.

The editor is favoured with a hint, which, from respect to the authority whence it proceeds, is communicated below in its own language.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Harley street, March 22, 1826.

Sir,—Before I slip from town for the holidays, let me observe that it may be useful, and more useful perhaps than you imagine, to many of your readers, if you were to mention the earliest day whereon Easter can occur: for, as not only movable feasts, but law terms, and circuits of judges, and the Easter recess of parliament, depend on this festival, it influences a vast portion of public business, and of the every-day concerns of a great number of individuals in the early season of the year.

The earliest possible day whereon Easter can happen, in any year, is the 22d of March. It fell on that day in 1818, and cannot happen on that day till the year 2285.

The latest possible day whereon Easter can happen, is the 25th of April.

We can have no squabble this year concerning the true time of Easter. The result of the papers on that subject in the first volume of your excellent publication, vindicated the time fixed for its celebration, in this country, upon those principles which infallibly regulate the period.

In common with all I am acquainted with, who have the pleasure of being acquainted with your Every-Day Book, I wish you and your work the largest possible success. I am, &c.

Alpha.

P.S. It occurs to me that you may not be immediately able to authenticate my statement; and, therefore, I subscribe my name for your private satisfaction.

—— ———.

Easter King.

As the emperor, Charles V., was passing through a small village in Arragon, on Easter-day, he was met by a peasant, who had been chosen the paschal, or Easter king of his neighbourhood, according to the custom of his country, and who said to him very gravely, “Sir, it is I that am king.” “Much good may it do you, my friend,” replied the emperor, “you have chosen an exceedingly troublesome employment.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 43·95.

March 27.

Easter Monday.

This is the day for choosing churchwardens in the different parishes, and for merry-making afterwards.

From the “Mirror of the Months.”

Now, at last, the Easter week is arrived, and the poor have for once in the year the best of it,—setting all things, but their own sovereign will, at a wise defiance. The journeyman who works on Easter Monday should lose his caste, and be sent to the Coventry of mechanics, wherever that may be. In fact, it cannot happen. On Easter Monday ranks change places; Jobson is as good as sir John; the “rude mechanical” is “monarch of all he surveys” from the summit of Greenwich-hill, and when he thinks fit to say “it is our royal pleasure to be drunk!” who shall dispute the proposition? Not I, for one. When our English mechanics accuse their betters of oppressing them, the said betters should reverse the old appeal, and refer from Philip sober to Philip drunk; and then nothing more could be said. But now, they have no betters, even in their own notion of the matter. And in the name of all that is transitory, envy them not their brief supremacy! It will be over before the end of the week, and they will be as eager to return to their labour as they now are to escape from it; for the only thing that an Englishman, whether high or low, cannot endure patiently for a week together, is, unmingled amusement. At this time, however, he is determined to try. Accordingly, on Easter Monday all the narrow lanes and blind alleys of our metropolis pour forth their dingy denizens into the suburban fields and villages, in search of the said amusement, which is plentifully provided for them by another class, even less enviable than the one on whose patronage they depend; for of all callings, the most melancholy is that of purveyor of pleasure to the poor.

During the Monday our determined holiday-maker, as in duty bound, contrives, by the aid of a little or not a little artificial stimulus, to be happy in a tolerably exemplary manner. On the Tuesday, he fancies himself happy to-day, because he felt himself so yesterday. On the Wednesday he cannot tell what has come to him, but every ten minutes he wishes himself at home, where he never goes but to sleep. On Thursday he finds out the secret, that he is heartily sick of doing nothing; but is ashamed to confess it; and then what is the use of going to work before his money is spent? On Friday he swears that he is a fool for throwing away the greatest part of his quarter’s savings without having any thing to show for it, and gets gloriously drunk with the rest to prove his words; passing the pleasantest night of all the week in a watchhouse. And on Saturday, after thanking “his worship” for his good advice, of which he does not remember a word, he comes to the wise determination, that, after all, there is nothing like working all day long in silence, and at night spending his earnings and his breath in beer and politics! So much for the Easter week of a London holiday-maker.

But there is a sport belonging to Easter Monday which is not confined to the lower classes, and which fun forbid that I should pass over silently. If the reader has not, during his boyhood, performed the exploit of riding to the turn-out of the stag on Epping-forest—following the hounds all day long at a respectful distance—returning home in the evening with the loss of nothing but his hat, his hunting whip, and his horse, not to mention a portion of his nether person—and finishing the day by joining the lady mayoress’s ball at the Mansion-house; if the reader has not done all this when a boy, I will not tantalize him by expatiating on the superiority of those who have. And if he has done it, I need not tell him that he has no cause to envy his friend who escaped with a flesh wound from the fight of Waterloo; for there is not a pin to choose between them.

Epping Hunt.

In 1226, king Henry III. confirmed to the citizens of London, free warren, or liberty to hunt a circuit about their city, in the warren of Staines, &c.; and in ancient times the lord mayor, aldermen, and corporation, attended by a due number of their constituents, availed themselves of this right of chace “in solemn guise.” From newspaper reports, it appears that the office of “common hunt,” attached to the mayoralty, is in danger of desuetude. The Epping hunt seems to have lost the lord mayor and his brethren in their corporate capacity, and the annual sport to have become a farcical show.

A description of the Epping hunt of Easter Monday, 1826, by one “Simon Youngbuck,” in the Morning Herald, is the latest report, if it be not the truest; but of that the editor of the Every-Day Book cannot judge, for he was not there to see: he contents himself with picking out the points; should any one be dissatisfied with the “hunting of that day,” as it will be here presented, he has only to sit down, in good earnest, to a plain matter-of-fact detail of all the circumstances from his own knowledge, accompanied by such citations as will show the origin and former state of the usage, and such a detail, so accompanied, will be inserted—

On the authority aforesaid, and that, without the introduction of any term not in the Herald, be it known then, that before, and at the commencement of the hunt aforesaid, it was a cold, dry, and dusty morning, and that the huntsmen of the east were all abroad by nine o’clock, trotting, fair and softly, down the road, on great nine-hand skyscrapers, nimble daisy-cutting nags, flowing-tailed chargers, and ponies no bigger than the learned one at Astley’s; some were in job-coaches, at two guineas a-day; some in three-bodied nondescripts, some in gigs, some in cabs, some in drags, some in short stages, and some in long stages; while some on no stages at all, footed the road, smothered by dust driven by a black, bleak north-easter full in the teeth. Every gentleman was arrayed after his own particular taste, in blue, brown, or black—in dress-coats, long coats, short coats, frock coats, great coats, and no-coats;—in drab-slacks and slippers;—in gray-tights, and black-spurred Wellingtons;—in nankeen bomb-balloons;—in city-white cotton-cord unmentionables, with jockey toppers, and in Russian-drill down-belows, as a memento of the late czar. The ladies all wore a goose-skin under-dress, in compliment to the north-easter.

At that far-famed spot, the brow above Fairmead bottom, by twelve o’clock, there were not less than three thousand merry lieges then and there assembled. It was a beautiful set-out. Fair dames “in purple and in pall,” reposed in vehicles of all sorts, sizes, and conditions, whilst seven or eight hundred mounted members of the hunt wound in and out “in restless ecstasy,” chatting and laughing with the fair, sometimes rising in their stirrups to look out for the long-coming cart of the stag, “whilst, with off heel assiduously aside,” they “provoked the caper which they seemed to hide.” The green-sward was covered with ever-moving crowds on foot, and the pollard oaks which skirt the bottom on either side were filled with men and boys.

But where the deuce is the stag all this while? One o’clock, and no stag. Two o’clock, and no stag!—a circumstance easily accounted for by those who are in the secret, and the secret is this. There are buttocks of boiled beef and fat hams, and beer and brandy in abundance, at the Roebuck public-house low down in the forest; and ditto at the Baldfaced Stag, on the top of the hill; and ditto at the Coach and Horses, at Woodford Wells; and ditto at the Castle, at Woodford; and ditto at the Eagle, at Snaresbrook; and if the stag had been brought out before the beef, beer, bacon, and brandy, were eaten and drank, where would have been the use of providing so many good things? So they carted the stag from public-house to public-house, and showed him at threepence a head to those ladies and gentlemen who never saw such a thing before, and the showing and carting induced a consumption of eatables and drinkables, an achievement which was helped by a band of music in every house, playing hungry tunes to help the appetite; and then, when the eatables and drinkables were gone, and paid for, they turned out the stag.

Precisely at half-past two o’clock, the stag-cart was seen coming over the hill by the Baldfaced Stag, and hundreds of horsemen and gig-men rushed gallantly forward to meet and escort it to the top of Fairmead bottom, amidst such whooping and hallooing, as made all the forest echo again; and would have done Carl Maria Von Weber’s heart good to hear. And then, when the cart stopped and was turned tail about, the horsemen drew up in long lines, forming an avenue wide enough for the stag to run down. For a moment, all was deep, silent, breathless anxiety; and the doors of the cart were thrown open, and out popped a strapping four-year-old red buck, fat as a porker, with a chaplet of flowers round his neck, a girth of divers coloured ribbons, and a long blue and pink streamer depending from the summit of his branching horns. He was received, on his alighting, with a shout that seemed to shake heaven’s concave, and took it very graciously, looking round him with great dignity as he stalked slowly and delicately forward, down the avenue prepared for him; and occasionally shrinking from side to side, as some supervalorous cockney made a cut at him with his whip. Presently, he caught a glimpse of the hounds and the huntsmen, waiting for him at the bottom, and in an instant off he bounded, sideways, through the rank, knocking down and trampling all who crowded the path he chose to take; and dashing at once into the cover, he was out of sight before a man could say “Jack Robinson!” Then might be seen, gentlemen running about without their horses, and horses galloping about without their gentlemen; and hats out of number brushed off their owners’ heads by the rude branches of the trees; and every body asking which way the stag was gone, and nobody knowing any thing about him; and ladies beseeching gentlemen not to be too venturesome; and gentlemen gasping for breath at the thoughts of what they were determined to venture; and myriads of people on foot running hither and thither in search of little eminences to look from; and yet nothing at all to be seen, though more than enough to be heard; for every man, and every woman too, made as loud a noise as possible. Meanwhile the stag, followed by the keepers and about six couple of hounds, took away through the covers towards Woodford. Finding himself too near the haunts of his enemy, man, he there turned back, sweeping down the bottom for a mile or two, and away up the enclosures towards Chingford; where he was caught nobody knows how, for every body returned to town, except those who stopped to regale afresh, and recount the glorious perils of the day. Thus ended the Easter Hunt of 1826.

Minerva.

The Minervalia was a Roman festival in March, commencing on the 19th of the month, and lasting for five days. The first day was spent in devotions to the goddess; the rest in offering sacrifices, seeing the gladiators fight, acting tragedies, and reciting witticisms for prizes. It conferred a vacation on scholars who now, carried schooling money, or presents, called Minerval, to their masters.

According to Cicero there were five Minervas.

1. Minerva, the mother of Apollo.

2. Minerva, the offspring of the Nile, of whom there was a statue with this inscription:—“I am all that was, is, and is to come; and my veil no mortal hath yet removed.”

3. Minerva, who sprung armed from Jupiter’s brain.

4. Minerva, the daughter of Jupiter and Corypha, whose father Oceanus invented four-wheeled chariots.

5. Minerva, the daughter of Pallantis, who fled from her father, and is, therefore, represented with wings on her feet, in the same manner as Mercury.

The second Minerva, of Egypt, is imagined to have been the most ancient. The Phoenicians also had a Minerva, the daughter of Saturn, and the inventress of arts and arms. From one of these two, the Greeks derived their Minerva.

Minerva was worshipped by the Athenians before the age of Cecrops, in whose time Athens was founded, and its name taken from Minerva, whom the Greek called ?????. It was proposed to call the city either by her name or that of Neptune, and as each had partizans, and the women had votes equal to the men, Cecrops called all the citizens together both men and women; the suffrages were collected; and it was found that all the women had voted for Minerva, and all the men for Neptune; but the women exceeding the men by one voice, Athens was called after Minerva. A temple was dedicated to her in the city, with her statue in gold and ivory, thirty-nine feet high, executed by Phydias.

Mr. Matthews at Home, 1826.

It would be as difficult for most persons, who think Mr. Matthews acts easily, to act as he does, as it would be difficult to make such persons comprehend, that his ease is the result of labour, and that his present performance is the result of greater labour than his exhibitions of former years. An examination of the process by which he has attained the extraordinary ability to “command success,” would be a fatiguing inquiry to most readers, though a very curious one to some. He has been called a “mimic;” this is derogation from his real powers, which not only can represent the face, but penetrate the intellect. An expert swimmer is not always a successful diver: Mr. Matthews is both. His faculty of observation “surpasses show.” He leaves the features he contemplates, enters into the mind, becomes joint tenant of its hereditaments and appurtenances with the owner, and describes its secret chambers and closets. This faculty obtained lord Chesterfield his fame, and enabled him to persuade the judgment; but he never succeeded by his voice or pen in raising the passions, like Mr. Matthews, who, in that respect, is above the nobleman. The cause of this superiority is, that Mr. Matthews is the creature of feeling—of excitation and depression. This assertion is made without the slightest personal knowledge or even sight of him off the stage; it is grounded on a generalized view of some points in human nature. If Mr. Matthews were not the slave of temperament, he never could have pictured the Frenchman at the Post Office, nor the gaming Yorkshireman. These are prominences seized by his whole audience, on whom, however, his most delicate touches of character are lost. His high finish of the Irish beggar woman with her “poor child,” was never detected by the laughers at their trading duett of “Sweet Home!” The exquisite pathos of the crathur’s story was lost. To please a large assemblage the points must be broad. Mr. Matthews’s countenance of his host drawing the cork is an excellence that discovers itself, and the entire affair of the dinner is “pleasure made easy” to the meanest capacity. The spouting child who sings the “Bacchanal Song” in “Der FreischÜtz” from whence the engraving is taken, is another “palpable hit,” but amazingly increased in force to some of the many who heard it sung by Phillips. The “tipsy toss” of that actor’s head, his rollocking look, his stamps in its chorus, and the altogetherness of his style in that single song, were worth the entirety of the drama—yet he was seldom encored. To conclude with Mr. Matthews, it is merely requisite to affirm that his “At Home” in the year 1826, evinces rarer talent than the merit of a higher order which he unquestionably possesses. He is an adept at adaptation beyond compeer.

Coleshill Custom.

They have an ancient custom at Coleshill, in the county of Warwick, that if the young men of the town can catch a hare, and bring it to the parson of the parish before ten o’clock on Easter Monday, the parson is bound to give them a calve’s head, and a hundred eggs for their breakfast, and a groat in money.[112]

Riding the Black Lad.

An account of an ancient usage still maintained under this name at Ashton-under-Lyne, will be found in the annexed letter.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Ashton-under-Lyne, March, 1826.

Sir,

A singular custom prevails at this town on Easter Monday. Every year on that day a rude figure of a man made of an old suit of clothes stuffed with rags, hay, &c. is carried on a horse through all the streets. The people who attend it call at every public-house, for the purpose of begging liquor for its thirsty attendants, who are always numerous. During its progress the figure is shot at from all parts. When the journey is finished, it is tied to the market cross, and the shooting is continued till it is set on fire, and falls to the ground. The populace then commence tearing the effigy in pieces, trampling it in mud and water, and throwing it in every direction. This riot and confusion are increased by help of a reservoir of water being let off, which runs down the streets, and not unfrequently persons obtain large quantities of hay, rags, &c. independent of that which falls from the effigy. The greatest heroes at this time are of the coarsest nature.

The origin of this custom is of so ancient a nature that it admits of no real explanation: some assert that it is intended as a mark of respect to an ancient family—others deem it a disrespect. Dr. Hibbert considers it to have the same meaning as the gool-riding in Scotland, established for the purpose of exterminating weed from corn, on pain of forfeiting a wether sheep for every stock of gool found growing in a farmer’s corn. Gool is the yellow flower called the corn Marygold.

It is further supposed, that this custom originated with one of the Assheton’s, who possessed a considerable landed property in this part of Lancashire. He was vice-chancellor to Henry VI., who exercised great severity on his own lands, and established the gool or guld riding. He is said to have made his appearance on Easter Monday, clad in black armour, and on horseback, followed by a numerous train for the purpose of claiming the penalties arising from the neglect of farmers clearing their corn of the “carr gulds.” The tenants looked upon this visit with horror, and tradition has still perpetuated the prayer that was offered for a deliverance from his power:—

It is alleged that, on one of his visits on Easter Monday, he was shot as he was riding down the principal street, and that the tenants took no trouble to find out the murderer, but entered into a subscription, the interest of which was to make an effigy of disgrace to his memory. At the present day, however, the origin is never thought of. The money is now derived from publicans whose interest it is to keep up the custom. An old steel helmet was used some years ago, but it is now no more; a tin one is used instead.

This custom is applied to another purpose. The occupation of the last couple married in the old year are represented on the effigy. If a tailor, the shears hang dangling by his side; if a draper, the cloth yard, and so on. The effigy then at the usual time visits the happy couple’s door, and unless the bearers are fed in a handsome manner, the dividing gentlemen are not easily got rid of. Some authors state that it is the first couple in the new year; but this is incorrect, as there is always great pressing for marrying on new year’s day, in order to be sufficiently early in the year.

Such is the custom of Blake Lad Monday—or Riding the Black Lad, a custom which thousands annually witness, and numbers come from great distances to see. It is the most thronged, and the most foolish, day the Ashtonians can boast of.

C. C.——g. M. R. C. S. E.

It is observed by the historian of “Manchester and Salford,” that the most prevalent of several traditions, as to the origin of this custom, is, that it is kept up to perpetuate the disgraceful actions of sir Ralph Ashton, who in the year 1483, as vice-constable of the kingdom, exercised great severity in this part of the country. From a sum issued out of the court to defray the expense of the effigy, and from a suit of armour, which till of late it usually rode in, together with other traditional particulars, there is another account of the custom. According to this, in the reign of Edward III., at the battle of Neville’s Cross, near Durham, his queen, with the earl of Northumberland as general, gained a complete victory over the Scots, under David, king of Scotland, and in this battle one Thomas Ashton of Ashton-under-Lyne, of whom no other particulars are known, served in the queen’s army, rode through the ranks of the enemy, and bore away the royal standard from the Scottish king’s tent. For this act of heroism, Edward III. knighted him; he became sir Thomas Ashton, of Ashton-under-Lyne; and to commemorate his valour, he instituted the custom above described, and left ten shillings yearly (since reduced to five) to support it, with his own suit of black velvet, and a coat of mail, the helmet of which yet remains.”[113] It will be observed in our correspondent’s account, that the helmet has at last disappeared.

“Old Vinegar,”
and
“Hard Metal Spoons.”

William Conway, who cried “hard metal spoons to sell or change,” is mentioned by Mr. J. T. Smith, as “a man whose cry is well-known to the inhabitants of London and its environs;” but since Mr. Smith wrote, the “cry” of Conway has ceased from the metropolis, and from the remembrance of all, save a few surviving observers of the manners in humble life that give character to the times. He is noticed here because he introduces another individual connected with the history of the season. Adopting Mr. Smith’s language, we must speak of Conway as though his “cry” were still with us. “This industrious man, who has eleven walks in and about London, never had a day’s illness, nor has once slept out of his own bed; and let the weather be what it may, he trudges on, and only takes his rest on Sundays. He walks, on an average, twenty-five miles a day; and this he has done for nearly forty-four years. His shoes are made from old boots, and a pair will last him about six weeks. In his walks he has frequently found small pieces of money, but never more than a one pound note. He recollects a windmill standing near Moorfields, and well remembers Old Vinegar.”[114] Without this notice of Conway, we should not have known “Old Vinegar,” who made the rings for the boxers in Moorfields, beating the shins of the spectators, and who, after he had arranged the circle, would cry out “mind your pockets all round.” He provided sticks for the cudgel players, whose sports commenced on Easter Monday. At that time the “Bridewell boys” joined in the pastime, and enlivened the day by their skill in athletic exercises.

Wetting the Block.

For the Every-Day Book.

The first Monday in March being the time when shoemakers in the country cease from working by candlelight, it used to be customary for them to meet together in the evening for the purpose of wetting the block. On these occasions the master either provided a supper for his men, or made them a present of money or drink; the rest of the expense was defrayed by subscriptions among themselves, and sometimes by donations from customers. After the supper was ended, the block candlestick was placed in the midst, the shop candle was lighted, and all the glasses being filled, the oldest hand in the shop poured the contents of his glass over the candle to extinguish it: the rest then drank the contents of theirs standing, and gave three cheers. The meeting was usually kept to a late hour.

This account of the custom is from personal observation, made many years ago, in various parts of Hampshire, Berkshire, and the adjoining counties. It is now growing into disuse, which I think is not to be regretted; for, as it is mostly a very drunken usage, the sooner it is sobered, or becomes altogether obsolete the better.

A Shoemaker.

N.B. In some places this custom took place on Easter Monday.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 45·32.

March 28.

Easter Tuesday.

Formerly, “in the Easter holidays, was the Clarke’s-ale for his private benefit, and the solace of the neighbourhood.”[115] Our ancestors were abundant drinkers; they had their “bride-ales,” “church-ales,” and other sort of ales, and their feats of potation were so great as to be surprising to their posterity; the remainder of whom, in good time, shall be more generally informed of these regular drinking bouts. “Easter-ale” was not always over with Easter week. Excessive fasting begat excessive feasting, and there was no feast in old times without excessive drinking. A morning head-ache from the contents of the tankard was cured by “a hair of the same dog,”—a phrase well understood by hard-drinkers, signifying that madness from drinking was to be cured by the madness of drinking again. It is in common use with drinkers of punch.

Some of the days in this month seem

The genial breezes animate declining life, and waft “visions of glory” to those who are about to travel the journey of existence on their own account. In the following lines, which, from the “Lady’s Scrap Book,” whence they were extracted, appear to have been communicated to her on this day, by a worthy old gentleman “of the old school,” there is a touch of satirical good humour, that may heighten cheerfulness.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 45·70.

March 29.

March Mornings.

For the Every-Day Book.

There are frequently mornings in March, when a lover of nature may enjoy, in a stroll, sensations not to be exceeded, or, perhaps, equalled by any thing which the full glory of summer can awaken:—mornings, which tempt us to cast the memory of winter, or the fear of its recurrence out of our thoughts. The air is mild and balmy, with, now and then, a cool gush by no means unpleasant, but, on the contrary, contributing towards that cheering and peculiar feeling which we experience only in spring. The sky is clear, the sun flings abroad not only a gladdening splendour, but an almost summer glow. The world seems suddenly aroused to hope and enjoyment. The fields are assuming a vernal greenness,—the buds are swelling in the hedges,—the banks are displaying amidst the brown remains of last year’s vegetation, the luxuriant weeds of this. There are arums, ground-ivy, chervil, the glaucous leaves, and burnished flowers of the pilewort,

and many another fresh and early burst of greenery. All unexpectedly too, in some embowered lane, you are arrested by the delicious odour of violets—those sweetest of Flora’s children, which have furnished so many pretty allusions to the poets, and which are not yet exhausted; they are like true friends, we do not know half their sweetness till they have felt the sunshine of our kindness; and again, they are like the pleasures of our childhood, the earliest and the most beautiful. Now, however, they are to be seen in all their glory—blue and white—modestly peering through their thickly clustering leaves. The lark is carolling in the blue fields of air; the blackbird and thrush are again shouting and replying to each other from the tops of the highest trees. As you pass cottages, they have caught the happy infection. There are windows thrown open, and doors standing a-jar. The inhabitants are in their gardens, some cleaning away rubbish, some turning up the light and fresh-smelling soil amongst the tufts of snowdrops and rows of glowing yellow crocuses, which every where abound; and the children, ten to one, are busy peeping into the first bird’s-nest of the season—the hedge-sparrow’s, with its four blue eggs, snugly, but unwisely, built in the pile of old pea-rods.

In the fields the labourers are plashing and trimming the hedges, and in all directions are teams at plough. You smell the wholesome, and we may truly say, aromatic soil, as it is turned up to the sun, brown and rich, the whole country over. It is delightful as you pass along deep hollow lanes, or are hidden in copses, to hear the tinkling gears of the horses, and the clear voices of the lads calling to them. It is not less pleasant to catch the busy caw of the rookery, and the first meek cry of the young lambs. The hares are hopping about the fields, the excitement of the season overcoming their habitual timidity. The bees are revelling in the yellow catkins of the sallow. The woods, though yet unadorned with their leafy garniture, are beautiful to look on. They seem flushed with life. Their boughs are of a clear and glossy lead colour, and the tree-tops are rich with the vigorous hues of brown, red, and purple; and if you plunge into their solitudes, there are symptoms of revivification under your feet, the springing mercury, and green blades of the blue-bells—and perhaps, above you, the early nest of the missel-thrush perched between the boughs of a young oak, to tinge your thoughts with the anticipation of summer.

These are mornings not to be neglected by the lover of nature; and if not neglected, then, not to be forgotten, for they will stir the springs of memory, and make us live over again times and seasons, in which we cannot, for the pleasure and the purity of our spirits, live too much.

Nottingham.

W. H.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 45·12.

March 30.

Kitty Fisher.

On the 30th of March, 1759, this celebrated female issued a singular advertisement through the “Public Advertiser,” which shows her sensitiveness to public opinion. She afterwards became duchess of Bolton.

TO ERR is a blemish entailed upon mortality, and indiscretion seldom or never escapes without censure, the more heavy, as the character is more remarkable; and doubled, nay trebled, by the world, if that character is marked by success: then malice shoots against it all her stings, and the snakes of envy are let loose. To the humane and generous heart then must the injured appeal, and certain relief will be found in impartial honour. Miss Fisher is forced to sue to that jurisdiction to protect her from the baseness of little scribblers, and scurvy malevolence. She has been abused in public papers, exposed in print shops, and, to wind up the whole, some wretches, mean, ignorant, and venal, would impose upon the public by daring to publish her memoirs. She hopes to prevent the success of their endeavours, by declaring that nothing of that sort has the slightest foundation in truth.

C. Fisher.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 44·67.

March 31.

John Hampden.

This celebrated man wrote a letter to sir John Elliott, on this day, in the year 1631, which is deposited in the British Museum.[116] At its date, which was long before “the troubles of England,” wherein he bore a distinguished part, it appears that he was absorbed by constant avocation, and attention to the business of others. The letter has been obligingly transcribed and communicated by our kind correspondent, T. A. It is curious from its style and sentiments, and is here printed, because it has not before been published. The commencing and concluding words are given fac-simile, from the original. It is addressed thus,

To my honoured and
deare friend Sr.
John Elliott at
his lodging in
the Tower.

Tis well for mee that letters cannot blush, else you would easily reade mee guilty. I am ashamed of so long a silence and know not how to excuse it, for as nothing but businesse can speake for mee, of w^ch kinde I have many advocates, so can I not tell how to call any businesse greater than holding an affectionate correspondence with so excellent a friend. My only confidence is I pleade at a barr of loue, where absolutions are much more frequent then censures. Sure I ame that conscience of neglect doth not accuse mee; though euidence of fact doth. I would add more but y^e entertainment of a straunger friend calls upon mee, and one other unsuitable occasion hold mee excused: therefore, deare friend, and if you vouchsafe mee a letter, lett mee begg of you to teach mee some thrift of time; that I may imploy more in yo^r service who will ever bee