William Hone

A Sketch.

Man loves knowledge, and the beams of Truth
More welcome touch his understanding’s eye.
Than all the blandishments of sound his ear,
Than all of taste his tongue.

Akenside.

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A LOVER OF ART TO HIS SON.

My dear Alfred,

Could you see my heart you would know my anxious feelings for your progress in study. If I could express myself in words of fire I would burn in lessons upon your mind, that would inflame it to ardent desire, and thorough conviction, of attaining success.

[II-131,
II-132]

Our talented friend, who permits you the use of his collection of models and casts, and does you the honour to instruct you by his judgment, assures me that your outlines evince an excellent conception of form. To be able to make a true outline of a natural form, is to achieve the first great step in drawing.

You remember my dissatisfaction towards some engravings of hands and feet that were given you by the person who would have continued to instruct you, if I had not been dissatisfied. The hands in these prints were beautifully finished, but their form was incorrect; the feet were not representations of any thing in nature; and yet these deformities were placed before you to begin with. If I had not taught you from your infancy the value and use of sincerity, and the folly and mischief of falsehood, you might have been at this time a liar, and become a depraved and vicious character; instead of being, as you are, an upright and honest youth, and becoming, as I hope you will, a virtuous and honourable man. Had you continued the copying of engraved lies of the limbs, your drawings would have been misrepresentations of the human figure. You will discover my meaning if you consider an old precept, “Never begin any thing without considering the end thereof.”

Your affectionate father,
*

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Garrick Plays.
No. XXVIII.

[From the “Devil’s Law Case,” a Tragi-Comedy, by John Webster, 1623.]

Clergy-comfort.

I must talk to you, like a Divine, of patience.—

I have heard some talk of it very much, and many
Times to their auditors’ impatience; but I pray,
What practice do they make on’t in their lives?
They are too full of choler with living honest,—
And some of them not only impatient
Of their own slightest injuries, but stark mad
At one another’s preferment.

Sepulture.

Two Bellmen, a Capuchin; Romelio, and others.

Cap. For pity’s sake, you that have tears to shed,
Sigh a soft requiem, and let fall a bead,
For two unfortunate Nobles,[293] whose sad fate
Leaves them both dead and excommunicate.
No churchman’s pray’r to comfort their last groans
No sacred seed of earth to hide their bones;
But as their fury wrought them out of breath,
The Canon speaks them guilty of their own death.
Rom. Denied Christian burial! I pray, what does that?
Or the dead lazy march in the funeral?
Or the flattery in the epitaph?—which shows
More sluttish far than all the spiders’ webs,
Shall ever grow upon it: what do these
Add to our well-being after death?
Cap. Not a scruple.
Rom. Very well then—
I have a certain meditation,
(If I can think of,) somewhat to this purpose;—
I’ll say it to you, while my mother there
Numbers her beads.—
“You that dwell near these graves and vaults,
Which oft do hide physicians’ faults,
Note what a small room does suffice
To express men’s goods: their vanities
Would fill more volume in small hand,
Than all the evidence of Church Land.
Funerals hide men in civil wearing,
And are to the Drapers a good hearing;
Make th’ Heralds laugh in their black rayment;
And all die Worthies, die with payment
To th’ Altar offerings: tho’ their fame,
And all the charity of their name,
’Tween heav’n and this, yield no more light
Than rotten trees, which shine in th’ night.
O look the last Act be best in th’ Play,
And then rest gentle bones! yet pray,
That when by the Precise you’re view’d,
A supersedeas be not sued;
To remove you to a place more airy,
That in your stead they may keep chary
Stockfish, or seacoal; for the abuses
Of sacrilege have turn’d graves to vilder uses.
How then can any monument say,
Here rest these bones to the Last Day;
When Time, swift both of foot and feather,
May bear them the Sexton knows not whither?—
What care I then, tho’ my last sleep
Be in the desart, or in the deep;
No lamp, nor taper, day and night,
To give my charnel chargeable light?
I have there like quantity of ground;
And at the last day I shall be found.”[294]

Immature Death.

Contarino’s dead.

O that he should die so soon!

Why, I pray, tell me:
Is not the shortest fever best? and are not
Bad plays the worse for their length?

[II-133,
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Guilty preferment.

I have a plot, shall breed,
Out of the death of these two noblemen;
Th’ advancement of our house—

Oh take heed
A grave is a rotten foundation.

Mischiefs

——— are like the visits of Franciscan friars,
They never come to prey upon us single.

Last Love strongest.

— as we love our youngest children best,
So the last fruit of our affection,
Wherever we bestow it, is most strong,
Most violent, most irresistible;
Since ’tis indeed our latest harvest home,
Last merryment ’fore winter; and we Widows,
As men report of our best picture-makers,
We love the Piece we are in hand with better.
Than all the excellent work we have done before.

Mother’s anger.

Leonora. Ha, my Son!
I’ll be a fury to him; like an Amazon lady,
I’d cut off this right pap that gave him suck,
To shoot him dead. I’ll no more tender him,
Than had a wolf stol’n to my teat in th’ night,
And robb’d me of my milk.

Distraction from guilt.

Leonora (sola). Ha, ha! What say you?
I do talk to somewhat methinks; it may be.
My Evil Genius.—Do not the bells ring?
I’ve a strange noise in my head. Oh, fly in
Come, age, and wither me into the malice
Of those that have been happy; let me have
One property for more than the devil of hell;
Let me envy the pleasure of youth heartily;
Let me in this life fear no kind of ill,
That have no good to hope for. Let me sink,
Where neither man nor memory may find me. (falls to the ground).
Confessor (entering). You are well employ’d, I hope; the best pillow in th’ world
For this your contemplation is the earth
And the best object, Heaven.
Leonora. I am whispering
To a dead friend——

Obstacles.

Let those, that would oppose this union,
Grow ne’er so subtle, and entangle themselves
In their own work, like spiders; while we two
Haste to our noble wishes; and presume,
The hindrance of it will breed more delight,—
As black copartaments shews gold more bright.

Falling out.

To draw the Picture of Unkindness truly
Is, to express two that have dearly loved
And fal’n at variance.

---

[From the “Bride,” a Comedy, by Thomas Nabbs, 1640.]

Antiquities.

Horten, a Collector. His friend.

Friend. You are learned in Antiquities?
Horten. A little, Sir.
I should affect them more, were not tradition
One of the best assurances to show
They are the things we think them. What more proofs,
Except perhaps a little circumstance,
Have we for this or that to be a piece
Of Delphos’ ruins? or the marble statues,
Made Athens glorious when she was supposed
To have more images of men than men?
A weather-beaten stone, with an inscription
That is not legible but thro’ an optic,
Tells us its age; that in some Sibyl’s cave
Three thousand years ago it was an altar,
Tis satisfaction to our curiosity,
But ought not to necessitate belief.—
For Antiquity,
I do not store up any under Grecian;
Your Roman antiques are but modern toys
Compared to them. Besides they are so counterfeit
With mouldings, tis scarce possible to find
Any but copies.
Friend. Yet you are confident
Of yours, that are of more doubt.
Horten. Others from their easiness
May credit what they please. My trial’s such
Of any thing I doubt, all the impostors,
That ever made Antiquity ridiculous,
Cannot deceive me. If I light upon
Ought that’s above my skill, I have recourse
To those, whose judgment at the second view
(If not the first) will tell me what Philosopher’s
That eye-less; nose-less, mouth-less Statue is,
And who the workman was; tho’ since his death
Thousands of years have been revolved.

Accidents to frustrate Purpose.

How various are the events that may depend
Upon one action, yet the end proposed
Not follow the intention! accidents
Will interpose themselves; like those rash men,
That thrust into a throng, occasioned
By some tumultuous difference, where perhaps
Their busy curiosity begets
New quarrels with new issues.

C. L.

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[293] Slain in a duel.[294] Webster was parish-clerk at St. Andrew’s, Holborn. The anxious recurrence to church-matters; sacrilege; tomb-stones; with the frequent introduction of dirges; in this, and his other tragedies, may be traced to his professional sympathies.

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[II-135,
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NATURAL CURIOSITIES OF DERBYSHIRE.

Further Extracts from the Journal of a Tourist.[295]

For the Table Book.

June 1, 1827.

Visited Chatsworth, the princely residence of the duke of Devonshire, three miles to the north-east of Bakewell. As soon as the summit of the neighbouring hill is attained, the house and park lie immediately in front in a beautiful valley, watered by the Derwent. An addition is making to the main building, which is large, but not very handsome in its architectural design; on approaching it, I passed over an elegant stone bridge, close to which is an island whereon a fictitious fortress is built. The views on all sides are strikingly fine, and of great variety; hills and dales, mountains and woods, water and verdant pasture lands. It requires “a poet’s lip, or a painter’s eye,” to adequately depict the beauties of this enchanting place. Perhaps no estate in the kingdom furnishes choicer objects for the pencil. I do not think, however, that the grounds in the immediate vicinity of the mansion are so well disposed, or the scenery so rich, nor does the interior offer such magnificent works of art, as at Blenheim. There is much sculpture, of various degrees of merit, distributed about the apartments; but the collection is in its infancy, and a splendid gallery is in progress for its reception. The finest production of the chisel is Canova’s statue of Napoleon’s mother; its natural grace and ease, with the fine flowings of the drapery, and the grave placidity of the countenance, are solemnly majestic—she looks the mother of Napoleon. Among the other great attractions here, are a bust of Petrarch’s Laura, another of his present majesty, by Chantrey; and a portrait of his majesty by sir Thomas Lawrence.

The next day I continued my route towards Matlock Bath—as beautiful a ride as I ever took. The road follows the Wye for six miles in a vale, past the aged towers of Haddon Hall, and the scenery presents every interesting feature that can be coveted by the most enthusiastic lover of nature;—rugged and beetling crags, gently sloping hills, extensive woods, rich meadows and fertile vallies, form the composition of the views. Handsome villas, farm-houses, and neat cottages—living pictures of scarcely minor interest—embellish and diversify the natural beauties of the delightful scene.

At the end of the six miles, the road turns over a bridge across the Wye, leading through the dale (Matlock) to the Bath. The river here rolls darkly along, its progress swifter and its depth greater; the same rocky barrier that encloses all the dales in this county uplifting its huge masses of rocks on either side. The margin of the river is thickly studded with large trees, close copse-woods clothe the slopes at the bottom, and ascend part of the cliffs’ sides—wild shrubs branch from the clefts above, whence innumerable jackdaws whirl their flights, and make incessant monotonous noise. About a mile before reaching Matlock Bath is a mountain called the High-Tor, its bare and jagged head rising far above the adjoining rocks. I was informed that it contains a fine natural grotto, but the river was too deep to wade, and I missed the sight.

On rounding a point, the shining white buildings of the Bath appear along the foot and some distance up the side of a steep lofty hill, called the “Heights of Abraham.” The greater part of the village is situated in the valley, but a second may be said to be beneath it, through which the river flows: its banks are thickly planted with groves of trees, and winding paths have been made throughout these delightful haunts, for the pleasure of the visitors. The cliffs rise opposite majestically perpendicular, and as finely picturesque as any I saw in Derbyshire. The “Heights of Abraham” are at least a quarter of a mile above the highest of the houses. A zigzag road through a shrubbery leads to the celebrated natural cavern near the summit—an immense recess, as grand as Peak’s Hole, but far more beautiful; for its sides are formed of a variety of spars of surprising brilliancy. To mineralogists it is the most interesting resort in England; and here collectors, prosecuting their discoveries, think themselves happy, although deprived of the light of heaven for whole days together. The whole of this immense mountain is one sparkling mass of various spars and ores.

Ascending this steep road on horseback, I found the views, through the shrubs, of the village and valley beneath, the river, and the surrounding mountains, inconceivably grand. High-Tor was on the left, and Wild-Cat-Tor on the right—beyond which the Wye, gleaming in the sun’s [II-137,
II-138] rays, wound sinuously along the verdant vale, till it was so diminished by the distance as to seem like a bent wire of shining silver, and was lost to sight by the intervention of a far-off mountain.

Of all places this seems to present the greatest inducements to the temporary visitant; and to anglers it is the ne plus ultra of piscatorial recreation.

After a day’s enjoyment of this charming spot, I went forward, but the threatening appearance of the weather induced me to sojourn at a small public-house in one of the smaller dales. Heavy clouds arose, and the rain obscured the distant hills; running along their summits, having the appearance of thick fog. The weather clearing, I walked out, and surveyed the curious old limestone built “hostel,” with the sign of “A Trout,” scarcely decipherable from age. Some anglers, whom the heavy shower had driven for shelter under the cliffs, again appeared, and threw their artificial temptations on the surface of a stream flowing from the mountain at the back of the little inn. Its water turned singularly constructed machinery for crushing the lead ore, washed down from a neighbouring large mine. Immense fragments of rock, by falling betwixt two iron wheels, with teeth fitted closely together, are pounded to atoms. A number of men, women, and children, were busy shovelling it into sieves set in motion by the machine, and it separated itself by its own weight from the stone or spar that contained it.

Determined by my curiosity to descend into the mine, I procured a miner to accompany me; and following the stream for a short distance, reached a small hut near the entrance, where I clothed myself completely in miner’s apparel, consisting of a stout woollen cap, under a large, slouched, coarse beaver hat, thick trowsers, and a fustian jacket, with “clods,” or miner’s shoes. At the mouth of the mine we seated ourselves opposite to each other in a narrow mining cart, shaped from the bottom like a wedge, attached to a train of others of similar make, used for conveying the ore from the interior. Having been first furnished with a light each, we proceeded, drawn by two horses, at a rapid pace, along a very narrow passage or level, cut through the limestone rock, keeping our arms within the sledge, to prevent their being jammed against the sides, which in many places struck the cars very forcibly. In this manner, with frequent alarming jolts, we arrived at a shaft, or descent, into the mine. We got out of our vehicles and descended by means of ladders, of five fathoms in length, having landing places at the bottom of each. The vein of the lead ore was two hundred fathoms deep. We therefore descended forty ladders, till we found ourselves at the commencement of another passage similar to the first. All the way down there was a tremendous and deafening noise of the rushing of water through pipes close to the ear, caused by the action of a large steam-engine. The ladders and sides of the rock were covered with a dark slimy mud. We walked the whole length, several hundred yards, along the second level, knee deep in water, till we reached the spot, or vein, that the workmen were engaged on. They were labouring in a very deep pit; their lights discovered them to us at the bottom. Into this chasm I was lowered by a wheel, with a rope round my body; and having broken off a piece of lead ore with a pickaxe, I was withdrawn by the same means. Another set of labourers were procuring ore by the process of blasting the rock with gunpowder—I fired one of the fusees, and retiring to a distant shelter, awaited the explosion in anxious alarm; its reverberating shock was awfully grand and loud. My ascent was dreadfully fatiguing from the confined atmosphere; and I was not a little rejoiced when I could inhale the refreshing air, and hail the cheering light of day.

E. J. H.

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[295] See p. 12.

August.
THE FRUIT MARKETS OF LONDON AND PARIS IN THIS MONTH.

A gentleman, one of a deputation for inquiring into the state of foreign horticulture, visited the Paris fruit and vegetable market in the month of August, 1821, and having seen Covent Garden market nearly a fortnight earlier, under peculiar circumstances, was enabled to form an estimate of their comparative excellencies.

The coronation of George IV. on the 19th of July had caused a glut of fruit in the London market, such as had never been remembered, and large quantities of the fruit, which had not met with the expected demand, remained on hand.

In regard to Pine-apples, Mr. Isaac Andrews of Lambeth alone cut sixty ripe fruit on the occasion, and many hundreds, remarkable for size and flavour, came from [II-139,
II-140] distant parts of the country. One from lord Cawdor’s weighed 10 lbs.; and, after being exhibited at a meeting of the London Horticultural Society, was sent to the Royal Banquet. Pine-apples are not to be got at Paris. When they are wanted at grand entertainments, they are generally procured from Covent Garden market by means of the government messengers who are constantly passing between the two capitals. From our possessing coals, and from our gardeners being well versed in the modes of raising fruit under glass, it is probable that we shall always maintain a superiority in the production of this delicious article for the dessert.

The quantity of ripe Grapes exhibited for sale in Covent Garden market from the middle to the end of July, in the year alluded to, would, if told, surpass the belief of Parisian cultivators; more especially when it is added, that the kinds were chiefly the Black Hamburgh, the white muscat of Alexandria, and the Frontignacs. Andrews also took the lead in the grape department; insomuch that while very good Black Hamburgh grapes, from different parts of the country, were selling, during the crowded state of the capital, at 4s. per lb., his bunches currently obtained 6s. 6d. per lb. Their excellence consisted chiefly in the berries having been well thinned and thoroughly ripened. On the 29th of July great quantities of grapes, remarkable for size and excellence, still remained in the market, and were selling at 3s. and 3s. 6d. a pound. At Paris ripe grapes are not to be procured, at this season of the year, for any sum. On the 14th of August, prince Leopold, then on his way to Italy, dined with the English ambassador, when a splendid dessert was desirable; but ripe grapes could not be found at Paris. A price equal to 12s. sterling per lb. was paid for some unripe bunches, merely to make a show, for they were wholly unfit for table use. On the 21st of the same month the duke of Wellington being expected to arrive to dinner, another search for ripe grapes was instituted throughout Paris, but in vain. In short, the English market is well supplied with fine grapes from the middle of June till the middle of November; but, from being raised under glass, they are necessarily high priced; while the Paris market offers a copious supply of the table Chasselas, from the middle of September to the middle of March, at very cheap rates,—from 12 to 20 sous, or 6d. to 8d. per pound; the coarse vineyard grapes being only 1d. a pound.

The Bigarreau or graffion Cherry was still very abundant in Covent Garden market, and also the black or Dutch guigne: at Paris, however, even the late cherries had almost ceased to appear in the market.

In the London market the only good Pear was the large English Jargonelle (or Épargne.) The Windsor pear was on the stalls, but not ripe. The Green chisel, (hÂtiveau,) and the skinless, (poire sans peau,) were almost the only others I could see. The Paris market excelled, being well supplied with fine summer pears. The Ognolet or summer archduke, was pretty common: it is named ognolet, from growing in clusters on the tree like bunches of onions. The large Blanquet, and the long-stalked blanquet, (the latter a very small fruit,) were also common. The Epargne, or Grosse cuisse Madame, was plentiful. A fruit resembling it, called Poire des deux tÊtes, was likewise abundant: it was large, sweet, and juicy, quite ripe, but without much flavour. The Epine-rose, (Caillot or Cayeout,) a very flat pear; the Musk-orange, which is of a yellow colour only; the Red orange, which has the true orange hue; and the Robine, or Royal d’ÉtÉ, were all plentiful. The small early Rousselet was exceedingly common and cheap, being produced abundantly on old standards in all country-places. Towards the end of August, the Cassolette, a small pear of good flavour, and the Rousselet de Rheims, made their appearance; and the PoirÉ d’Angleterre (À beurrÉ) began to be called through the streets in every quarter of the city.

Apples were more plentiful at London than at Paris. The Dutch Codlin and the Carlisle Codlin were abundant; and the Jenneting, the Summer Pearmain, and the Hawthorndean, were not wanting. At Paris very few apples appeared. The Summer Calville, a small conical dark-red fruit, and the Pigeonnet, were the only kinds I remember to have seen.

Plums were more plentiful and in greater variety at the MarchÉ des Innocens than at Covent Garden. At Paris, the Reine Claude, of excellent quality and quite ripe, was sold at the rate of two sous, or one penny, a dozen; while the same plum (green-gage) cost a penny each in London, though in an unripe state. The next in excellence at Paris was the Prune royale, of good size, and covered with the richest bloom. The Jaune-hÂtive, the drap d’or, the Mirabelle, the Musk-damson or Malta plum, were common; likewise the PrÉcoce [II-141,
II-142] de Tours, remarkable for its peculiar dark hue; and a deep violet-coloured plum, called Prune noire de Montreuil. The Blue Perdrigon was just coming in. At Covent Garden the Primordian, or jaune-hÂtive, and the morocco or early damask, were the only ripe plums to be seen.

Apricots were much more plentiful at the Innocens than at Covent Garden. The common apricot, the Portugal and the Angoumois, which much resemble each other, were frequent; these were small, of brisk flavour. The Abricot-pÊche, however, not only excelled the others in size, but in quality, holding that superiority among the Parisian apricots which the Moorpark does among the English; and it appeared in considerable abundance. At London only the Roman and Moorpark were to be found, and the latter was not yet ripe.

In Peaches the French market most decidedly surpassed the English. The quantity of this fruit presented for sale toward the middle of August appeared surprisingly great. It was chiefly from Montreuil, and in general in the most perfect state. Although ripe, scarcely a single fruit had suffered the slightest injury from the attacks of insects. This fact affords satisfactory proof that the plastered walls, being smooth and easily cleaned, are unfavourable to the breeding and lodging of such insects as often infest our rougher fruit-walls. The fine state of the fruit also shows the uncommon care which must be bestowed by the industrious inhabitants of Montreuil to prevent its receiving bruises in the gathering or carriage. The principal kinds in the market were the small Mignonne; the large Mignonne, with some of the excellent subvariety called Belle Bauce; the yellow Alberge; the Bellegarde or Gallande; the Malta or Italian peach; the red Madeleine or De Courson; and the Early Purple.

Melons appeared in great profusion at Paris. In the MarchÉ des Innocens and MarchÉ St. HonorÉ the kinds were rather select, chiefly different varieties of Canteloup. These were not sold at so cheap a rate as might have been expected; ripe and well-flavoured canteloups costing 2, 3, or 4 francs each. But in almost every street the marchands de melons presented themselves; some occupying stalls, some moving about with brouettes or long wheel-barrows, and others with hampers on their backs, supported on crochets. In general those sold in the streets were much cheaper, (perhaps not more than half the price of the others,) but of coarse quality, such as would scarcely be thought fit for use in England. The fruit is frequently long kept; and in the heats of August the odour exhaled from the melon-stalls was sickening and offensive. The kinds were chiefly the following: the Maraicher, a large netted melon, so called from being cultivated in the marais or sale-gardens; the Melon de Honfleur, of great size, often weighing from 20 to 30 lbs.; and the Coulombier, a coarse fruit, raised chiefly at the village of that name. These were almost the only sorts of melon sold in Paris, till our countryman Blaikie, about forty-five years ago, introduced the Rock Canteloup and Early Romana. It may be noticed, that melons of all kinds, even the best canteloups, are here raised in the open ground, with the aid of hand-glasses only, to protect the young plants in the early part of the season. In Covent Garden market a great many small melons, chiefly of the green-fleshed and white-fleshed varieties, appeared; but they were uniformly high-priced, though not proportionally dearer than the Parisian canteloups, considering that they had all been raised on hot-beds under glass-frames.

Mulberries were much more plentiful at Paris than at London.

At Paris, fresh or recent Figs were, at this time, very common and very cheap; it was indeed the height of the fig-season, and they daily arrived in great quantities from Argenteuil. The round white fig seems to be the only kind cultivated; at least it was the only kind that came to market. No fresh figs can be expected in Covent Garden till the end of August, and then only small parcels. To make amends the London market was supplied with fine Gooseberries in profusion, while not one of good quality was to be seen at Paris. The same thing may be said of Raspberries and Currants, which are in a great measure neglected in France, or used only by confectioners. The Parisians have never seen these fruits in perfection; and it is therefore no wonder that, in the midst of a profuse supply of peaches, reine claudes, figs, and pears, they should be overlooked. There exists a strong prejudice against the gooseberry, which prevents the Parisians from giving the improved kinds a fair trial: they have no idea that it is possible that gooseberries should form an excellent article of the dessert; they think of them only as fit for making tarts, or sauce for mackerel![296]

[II-143,
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The Lee Penny.

This curious piece of antiquity is a stone of a dark red colour and triangular shape, in size about half an inch each side, set in a piece of silver coin; which, though much defaced, by some letters still remaining, is supposed to be a shilling of Edward I., the cross being very plain, as it is on his shillings. It is affirmed, by tradition, to have been in the Lee family since the year 1320 odd; that is, a little after the death of king Robert Bruce, who having ordered his heart to be carried to the Holy Land for burial, one of the noble family of Douglass was sent with it, and is said to have got the crowned heart in his arms from that circumstance. On the other hand, it is alleged that the person who carried the heart was Simon Locard, of Lee, who about that time borrowed a large sum of money from sir William de Lendsay, prior of Air, for which he granted a bond of annuity of ten pounds of silver, during the life of the said sir William de Lendsay, out of his lands of Lee and Cartland. The original bond, dated 1323, and witnessed by the principal nobility of the country, is among the family papers. The sum, which was a great one in those days, is thought to have been borrowed for that expedition; and, on the authority of the story, of his being the person who carried the royal heart, it is affirmed, that he changed his name to “Lockheart;” or, as it is sometimes spelled, “Lockhart,” and obtained a heart within a lock for part of his arms, with the motto, “corda serata pando.”

It is said that this Simon Lockhart having taken a Saracen prince, or chief, prisoner, his wife came to ransom him; and, on counting out the money or jewels, the stone in question fell out of her purse, and she hastily snatched it up, which Simon Lockhart observing, insisted on having it, or retaining his prisoner. Upon this the Saracen lady gave it him, and told him of its many virtues, namely, that it cured all diseases in cattle, and the bite of a mad dog both in man and beast.

To effect these wonders the stone is dipped in water, which is given to diseased cattle to drink, and to a person who has been bitten; and the wound, or part infected, is washed with the water. There are no words used in the dipping of the stone, nor any money taken by the servants without incurring the owner’s displeasure. People come from all parts of Scotland, and even from Yorkshire, to get the water in which the stone is dipped, to give their cattle, especially when ill of the murrain and black-leg.

Many years ago, a complaint was made to the ecclesiastical courts against the laird of Lee, then sir James Lockhart, for using witchcraft: a copy of their act is hereto annexed. There is no date; but from the orthography, and James being the name of the laird of Lee, it must at least have been in the seventeenth century.

Copy of an Act of the Synod and Assembly.

“Apud Glasgow, the 25 Octobr.
“Synod. Sess. 2.

“Quhilk dye, amongest the referries of the brethren of the ministrie of Lanerk, it was propondit to the Synode, that Gawen Hammiltonne of Raplocke had preferit an complaint before them against Sir James Lockart of Lie, anent the superstitious vsing of an stene set in selver for the curing of diseased cattell, qlk, the said Gawen affirmit, coud not be lawfully vsed, and that they had differit to give ony decisionne therein, till the advice of the Assemblie might be had concerning the same. The Assemblie having inquirit of the maner of vsing thereof, and particularlie vnderstoode, by examinationne of the said Laird of Lie, and otherwise, that the custome is onlie to cast the stene in sume water, and give the diseasit cattil thereof to drink, and qt the sam is dene wtout vsing onie words, such as charmers and sorcerers vse in their unlawfull practisess; and considering that in nature they are mony thinges seen to work strange effects, q^rof no humane witt can give a reason, it having pleasit God to give vnto stones and herbes special virtues for the healing of mony infirmities in man and beast,—advises the brethren to surcease thir proces, as q’rin they perceive no ground of offence; and admonishes the said Laird of Lie, in the vsing of the said stone, to tak [II-145,
II-146] heed that it be vsit heirafter wt the least scandal that possiblie maye bie.

“Extract out of the books of the Assemblie helden at Glasgow, and subscribed be thair clerk, at thair comand.

“M. Robert Young,
“Clerk to the Assemblie at Glasgow.”

When the plague was last at Newcastle, the inhabitants are said to have sent for the Lee Penny, and given a bond for a large sum in trust for the loan; and that they thought it did so much good, that they offered to pay the money, and keep the Lee Penny, but the owner would not part with it. A copy of this bond is alleged to have been among the family papers, but supposed to have been spoiled, with many more, by rain getting into the charter-room, during a long minority, and no family residing at Lee.

A remarkable cure is alleged to have been performed about a century ago, on a lady Baird, of Sauchtonhall, near Edinburgh, “who, having been bit by a mad dog, was come the length of a hydrophobia; upon which, having sent to beg the Lee Penny might be sent to her house, she used it for some weeks, drinking and bathing in the water it was dipped in, and was quite recovered.”[297]

Good reasons are assigned for rejecting the story of Locard having been the bearer of the heart of Robert Bruce; and there are some ludicrous instances of wonderful cures performed in the north of England on credulous people, by virtue of water wherein the Lee Penny was reputed to have been dipped, and yet neither the water nor the Lee Penny had crossed the Tweed.

For the Table Book.

THE DEVIL’S PUNCH-BOWL.[298]

You,—Mr. Editor,—Have journeyed from London to Portsmouth, and must recollect Hindhead—you will, therefore, sympathize with me:—the luxury of riding round the rim of the Devil’s Punch-Bowl is over! Some few years back the road, on one side, was totally undefended against casualties of any description—overturning the coach into the bowl (some three or four hundred yards deep)—the bolting of a horse—or any other delightful mishap which could hurl you to the bottom—all is over! They—(the improvers of roads, but destroyers of an awful yet pleasing picture,)—have cut a new road about fifty or sixty feet below the former, and raised a bank, four feet high, round the edge, so that an accident is almost impossible, and no such chance as a roll to the bottom will again occur! The new road is somewhat shorter than the old—the effect completely spoiled—the stone to perpetuate the murder of the sailor unheeded[299]—the gibbet unseen—and nothing left to balance the loss of these pleasing memorials, but less labour to the horses, and a few minutes of time saved in the distance! Eighteen years since, the usual stoppage, and “Now, gentlemen, if you’ll have the goodness to alight, and walk up, you’ll oblige,” took place. At the present time you are galloped round, and have scarcely time to admire the much-spoken-of spot.

The last time I passed the place, on the Independent, when conversing on the subject, our coachee, Robert (or Bob, as he delights to be called) Nicholas, related an anecdote of an occurrence to himself, and which tells much of the fear in which passing the Devil’s Punch-Bowl was once held. You shall have it, as nearly as I can recollect it:—

An elderly lady, with two or three younger ones, and servants, engaged the coach to London, but with a special agreement, that the party should walk round the said bowl,—“As we understand, it is next to a miracle to go along that horrid place in safety.” On the journey, each change of horses was accompanied by an inquiry, how far was the dreaded place? a satisfactory answer was, of course, generally given. When, at length, the coach arrived at the stone-memorial, one-third round the place, the coachman alighted, and pretended to be making some trifling alterations to the harness: his lady-passenger, looking complacently into the vast dell beneath her, inquired its name. “Higgin-bottom, ma’am.”—“What a delightful but singular looking spot!” was the rejoinder. The coach then drove on. On its arrival at the next stage, Road-lane, the anxious inquiry, “How far off, sir?” was again repeated. “We’re passed, ma’am.”—“Passed it!—in safety!—bless me!—where was it?”—“Where I stopped, and you asked the [II-147,
II-148] name of that deep dell-that was the Devil’s Punch-Bowl—Higgin-bottom’s the right name.” The delighted passenger rewarded the coachman for his innocent deception, and promised always, on that road, to travel under his guardianship.

——I have spoken of a stone erected on the Bowl, and if, in this “airy nothing,” I do not occupy too much space that, undoubtedly, could be better filled, a brief recollection of the fact may close this notice of the Devil’s Punch-Bowl:—

An unfortunate sailor, with a trifle in his pocket, on the way to Portsmouth, fell in, at Esher, with three others, then strangers, and, with characteristic generosity, treated them on their mutual way. The party were seen at the Red Lion, Road-lane, together, which they left, and journeyed forward. On Hindhead they murdered their companion—stripped the body, and rolled it down the Devil’s Punch-Bowl. Two men, who had observed the party at the Red Lion, and who were returning home, not long after, on arriving at the spot, observed something which appeared like a dead sheep; one descended, and was shocked to find a murdered man, and recognised the sailor: conjecturing who were his destroyers, they followed in haste. On arriving at Sheet, the villains were overtaken, when in the act of disposing of their victim’s apparel. They were apprehended, and shortly afterwards hung and gibbeted near the spot. When at the place of execution one of them observed, he only wished to commit one murder more, and that should be on Faulkner, the constable, who apprehended him!—The following is (or was) the inscription on the stone; and many a kind “Poor fellow!” has been breathed as the melancholy tale has ended.

This Stone
Was erected in detestation of a barbarous
Murder,
Committed near this Spot
On an
Unknown Sailor,
By Edward Lonogan, Michael Casey, and
James Marshall,
September 24, 1786.

Gen. ix. 6.

“Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his
blood be shed.”

R. N. P.

P. S.—Since writing as above, a mutilation of the Sailor’s stone is noticed in a Portsmouth paper by the following advertisement:—

Ten Guineas Reward.

Whereas some evil-disposed person or persons did, in the night of Tuesday, the 17th instant, maliciously BREAK, DEFACE, and INJURE the STONE lately put up at Hindhead, by the Trustees of the Lower District of the Sheetbridge Turnpike Road, to perpetuate the memory of a murder committed there, in the place of one removed by John Hawkins, Esq.

Whoever will give information of the offender or offenders shall on his, her, or their conviction receive a Reward of Ten Guineas, which will be paid by Mr. James Howard, the Surveyor of the said Road.

Witley, 26th July, 1827.

NOTE.

“You, Mr. Editor,” says my pleasant correspondent R. N. P., “you, Mr. Editor, have journeyed from London to Portsmouth, and must recollect Hindhead—the luxury of riding round the rim of the Devil’s Punch-Bowl—the stone to perpetuate the memory of the sailor—the gibbet, &c.” Ah me! I travel little beyond books and imagination; my personal journeys are only gyration-like portions of a circle, scarcely of larger circumference than that allowed to a tethered dumb animal. If now and then, in either of the four seasons, I exceed this boundary, it is only for a few miles into one of the four counties—to a woodland height, a green dell, or beside a still flowing water—to enjoy the features of nature in loneliness and quiet—the sight of “every green thing” in a glorious noontide, the twilight, and the coming and going of the stars:—on a sunless day, the vapours of the sky dissolving into thin air, the flitting and sailing of the clouds, the ingatherings of night, and the thick darkness.

No, Mr. R. N. P., no sir, I am very little of a traveller, I have not seen any of the things you pleasure me by telling of in your vividly written letter. I know no gibbet of the murderer of a sailor, except one of the “men in chains” below Greenwich—whom I saw last Whitsuntide two-years through the pensioners’ telescopes from the Observatory[300]—was a slayer of his messmate; nor though I have heard and read of the Devil’s Punch-Bowl, have I been much nearer its “rim” than the gibbet of Jerry Abershaw at Wimbledon Common.

Abershaw was the last of the great highwaymen who, when people carried money [II-149,
II-150] about them, robbed every night, and sometimes in the open day, on Bagshot, Wimbledon, Finchley, and other commons, and high roads, in the neighbourhood of London. Some of these highwaymen of the “old school” lived in the wretched purlieus of Saffron-hill, and would mount and “take the road” in the afternoon from the end of Field-lane, at Holborn-bridge, as openly as travellers setting out from an inn. On the order in council, in 1797, which prohibited the Bank from paying in specie, gold went out, and bank-notes came in; and as these were easily concealed, and when stolen were difficult to pass, the business of “the highway” fell off, and highwaymen gradually became extinct. Jerry Abershaw was the most noted, because he was the most desperate, and most feared of these marauders. He was a reckless desperado who, pistol in hand, would literally have “your money, or your life;” and perhaps both. He was as famous in his day as Sixteen-string-Jack, or the Flying Highwayman. He shot several persons; his trial excited as much interest as Thurtell’s; and the concourse of people at his execution was innumerable. It was in the height of summer; and the following Sunday being fine, London seemed a deserted city; for hundreds of thousands went to see Abershaw hanging in chains. His fame will outlast his gibbet, which I suppose has been down years ago. The papers tell us, that the duke of Clarence, as Lord High Admiral, ordered down the pirates’ gibbets from the river-side. These were the last “men in chains” in the vicinage of the metropolis.

*

July, 1827.

JERRY ABERSHAW
AND
THE MEN IN CHAINS.

Townsend, the Bow-street officer’s interesting examination before the police committee of the House of Commons in June, 1816, contains some curious particulars respecting Abershaw, the pirates, “the dangers of the road” and “hanging matters,” toward the close of the last century.

Q. The activity of the officers of Bow-street has infinitely increased of late years?

A. No doubt about it; and there is one thing which appears to me most extraordinary, when I remember, in very likely a week, there should be from ten to fifteen highway robberies. We have not had a man committed for a highway robbery lately; I speak of persons on horseback. Formerly there were two, three, or four highwaymen, some on Hounslow Heath, some on Wimbledon Common, some on Finchley Common, some on the Romford Road. I have actually come to Bow-street in the morning, and while I have been leaning over the desk, had three or four people come in and say, ‘I was robbed by two highwaymen in such a place;’ ‘I was robbed by a single highwayman in such a place.’ People travel now safely, by means of the horse-patrol that sir Richard Ford planned. Where are there highway robberies now? As I was observing to the chancellor, as I was up at his house on the Corn Bill: he said, ‘Townsend, I knew you very well so many years ago.’ I said, ‘Yes, my lord; I remember your coming first to the bar, first in your plain gown, and then as king’s counsel, and now chancellor. Now your lordship sits as chancellor, and directs the executions on the recorder’s report; but where are the highway robberies now?’ and his lordship said, ‘Yes, I am astonished.’ There are no footpad robberies or road robberies now but merely jostling you in the streets. They used to be ready to pop at a man as soon as he let down his glass.

Q. You remember the case of Abershaw?

A. Yes; I had him tucked up where he was; it was through me. I never left a court of justice without having discharged my own feeling as much in favour of the unhappy criminal as I did on the part of the prosecution; and I once applied to Mr. Justice Buller to save two men out of three who were convicted; and on my application we argued a good deal about it. I said, ‘My lord, I have no motive but my duty; the jury have pronounced them guilty. I have heard your lordship pronounce sentence of death, and I have now informed you of the different dispositions of the three men. If you choose to execute them all I have nothing to say about it; but was I you, in the room of being the officer, and you were to tell me what Townsend has told you, I should think it would be a justification of you to respite those two unhappy men, and hang that one who has been convicted three times before.’ The other men never had been convicted before, and the other had been three times convicted; and he very [II-151,
II-152] properly did. And how are judges or justices to know how many times a man has been convicted but by the information of the officer in whose duty and department it is to keep a register of old offenders. The magistrate sits up there, he knows nothing of it till the party is brought before him; he cannot.

Q. Do you think any advantages arise from a man being put on a gibbet after his execution?

A. Yes, I was always of that opinion; and I recommended sir William Scott to hang the two men that are hanging down the river. I will state my reason. We will take for granted, that those men were hanged as this morning, for the murder of those revenue officers—they are by law dissected; the sentence is, that afterwards, the body is to go to the surgeons for dissection; there is an end of it—it dies. But look at this: there are a couple of men now hanging near the Thames, where all the sailors must come up; and one says to the other, ‘Pray what are those two poor fellows there for?’—‘Why,’ says another, ‘I will go and ask.’ They ask. ‘Why, those two men are hung and gibbeted for murdering his majesty’s revenue officers.’ And so the thing is kept alive. If it was not for this, people would die, and nobody would know any thing of it. In Abershaw’s case I said to the sheriff, ‘The only difficulty in hanging this fellow, upon this place, is its being so near lord Spencer’s house.’ But we went down, and pointed out a particular place; he was hung at the particular pitch of the hill where he used to do the work. If there was a person ever went to see that man hanging, I am sure there was a hundred thousand. I received information that they meant to cut him down. I said to sir Richard Ford, ‘I will counteract this; in order to have it done right, I will go and sit up all night, and have eight or ten officers at a distance, for I shall nail these fellows;’ for I talked cant language to him. However, we had the officers there, but nobody ever came, or else, being so close to Kent-street, they would have come down and sawed the gibbet, and taken it all away, for Kent-street was a very desperate place, though it is not so now. Lord chief justice Eyre once went the Home Circuit; he began at Hertford, and finished at Kingston. Crimes were so desperate, that in his charge to the grand jury at Hertford, he finished—‘Now, gentlemen of the jury, you have heard my opinion as to the enormity of the offences committed; be careful what bills you find, for whatever bills you find, if the parties are convicted before me, if they are convicted for capital offences, I have made up my mind, as I go through the circuit, to execute every one.’ He did so—he never saved man or woman—and a singular circumstance occurred, that stands upon record fresh in my mind. There were seven people convicted for a robbery in Kent-street; for calling in a pedlar, and after robbing the man, he jumped out of window. There were four men and three women concerned; they were all convicted, and all hanged in Kent-street, opposite the door; and, I think, on Kennington Common eight more, making fifteen:—all that were convicted were hung.

Q. Do you think, from your long observation, that the morals and manners of the lower people in the metropolis are better or worse than formerly?

A. I am decidedly of opinion, that, with respect to the present time, and the early part of my time, such as 1781, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7, where there is one person convicted now—I may say, I am positively convinced—there were five then. We never had an execution wherein we did not grace that unfortunate gibbet (at the Old Bailey) with ten, twelve, to thirteen, sixteen, and twenty; and forty I once saw, at twice; I have them all down at home. I remember in 1783, when sergeant Adair was recorder, there were forty hung at two executions. The unfortunate people themselves laugh at it now; they call it ‘a bagatelle.’ I was conversing with an old offender some years ago, who has now quite changed his life; and he said, ‘Why, sir, where there is one hung now, there were five when I was young;’ and I said, ‘Yes, you are right in your calculation, and you are very lucky that you were spared so long, and have lived to be a better man.’ I agree with George Barrington—whom I brought from Newcastle—and however great lord chief baron Eyre’s speech was to him, after he had answered him, it came to this climax: ‘Now,’ says he, ‘Townsend, you heard what the chief baron said to me; a fine flowery speech, was it not?’ ‘Yes:’ ‘But he did not answer the question I put to him.’ Now how could he? After all that the chief baron said to him after he was acquitted—giving him advice—this word was every thing: says he, ‘My lord, I have paid great attention to what you have been stating to me, after my acquittal: I return my sincere thanks to the jury for their goodness: but your lordship says, you lament very much that a man of my abilities should not turn my abilities to a better [II-153,
II-154] use. Now, my lord, I have only this reply to make: I am ready to go into any service, to work for my labour, if your lordship will but find me a master.’ Why, what was the reply to that? ‘Gaoler, take the prisoner away.’ Why who would employ him? It is really farcical. I have heard magistrates say, ‘Young man, really I am very sorry for you; you are much to be pitied; you should turn your talents to a better account; and you should really leave off this bad course of life.’ Yes, that is better said than done; for where is there any body to take these wretches? They have said to me; ‘Sir, we do not thieve from disposition; but we thieve because we cannot get employment: our character is damned, and nobody will have us:’ and so it is; there is no question about it.

REMARKABLE EPITAPHS.

S. S. S.

KING HENRY II.
Described by Giraldus Cambrensis,
Who accompanied him (as he afterwards did King John) into Ireland, A. D. 1172.

Henry II., king of England, was of a very good colour, but somewhat red; his head great and round, his eyes were fiery, red, and grim, and his face very high coloured; his voice or speech was shaking, quivering, or trembling; his neck short, his breast broad and big; strong armed; his body was gross, and his belly somewhat big, which came to him rather by nature than by any gross feeding or surfeiting; for his diet was very temperate, and to say the truth, thought to be more spare than comely, or for the state of a prince; and yet to abate his grossness, and to remedy this fault of nature, he did, as it were, punish his body with continual exercise, and keep a continual war with himself. For in the times of his wars, which were for the most part continual to him, he had little or no rest at all; and in times of peace he would not grant unto himself any peace at all, nor take any rest: for then did he give himself wholly unto hunting; and to follow the same, he would very early every morning be on horseback, and then go into the woods, sometimes into the forests, and sometimes into the hills and fields, and so would he spend the whole day until night. In the evening when he came home, he would never, or very seldom, sit either before or after supper; for though he were never so weary, yet still would he be walking and going. And, forasmuch as it is very profitable for every man in his lifetime that he do not take too much of any one thing, for medicine itself, which is appointed for man’s help and remedy, is not absolutely perfect and good to be always used, even so it befell and happened to this prince; for, partly by his excessive travels, and partly by divers bruises in his body, his legs and feet were swollen and sore. And, though he had no disease at all, yet age itself was a breaking sufficient unto him. He was of a reasonable stature, which happened to none of his sons; for his two eldest sons were somewhat higher, and his two younger were somewhat lower and less than he was. If he were in a good mood, and not angry, then would he be very pleasant and eloquent: he was also (which was a thing very rare in those days) very well learned; he was also very affable, gentle, and courteous; and besides, so pitiful, that when he [II-155,
II-156] had overcome his enemy, yet would he be overcome with pity towards him. In war he was most valiant, and in peace he was as provident and circumspect. And in the wars, mistrusting and doubting of the end and event thereof, he would (as Terence writeth) try all the ways and means he could devise, rather than wage the battle. If he lost any of his men in the fight, he would marvellously lament his death, and seem to pity him more being dead, than he did regard or account of him being alive; more bewailing the dead, than favouring the living.

In times of distress no man was more courteous; and when all things were safe, no man more cruel. Against the stubborn and unruly, no man more sharp, yet to the humble no man more gentle; hard towards his own men and household, but liberal to strangers; bountiful abroad, but sparing at home; whom he once hated, he would never or very hardly love; and whom he once loved, he would not lightly be out with him, or forsake him. He had great pleasure and delight in hawking and hunting:—would to God he had been as well bent and disposed unto good devotion![301]

It was said, that after the displeasure grown between the king and his sons, by the means and through the enticing of the queen their mother, he never was accounted to keep his word and promise, but, without any regard or care, was a common breaker thereof. And true it is, that, of a certain natural disposition, he was light and inconstant of his word; and if the matter were brought to a narrow strait or pinch, he would not stick rather to cover his word, than to deny his deed. And for this cause, in all his doings, he was very provident and circumspect, and a very upright and severe minister of justice, although he did therein grieve and make his friends to smart. His answers, for the most part, were perverse and froward. And, albeit, for profit and lucre all things are set to sale, and do bring great gains, as well to the clergy as the laity, yet they are no better to a man’s heirs and executors, than were the riches of Gehasi, whose greedy doings turned himself to utter ruin and destruction.

He was a great peace-maker, and careful keeper thereof himself; a liberal alms-giver, and a special benefactor to the Holy Land; he loved humility, abhorred pride, and much oppressed his nobility. The hungry he refreshed, the rich he regarded not. The humble he would exalt, but the mighty he disdained. He usurped much upon the holy church; and of a certain kind of zeal, but not according to knowledge, he did intermingle and conjoin profane with holy things; for why? He would be all in all himself. He was the child of the holy mother church, and by her advanced to the sceptre of his kingdom; and yet he either dissembled or utterly forgot the same; for he was slack always in coming to the church unto the divine service, and at the time thereof he would be busied and occupied rather with councils and in conference about the affairs of his commonwealth, than in devotion and prayer. The livelihoods belonging to any spiritual promotion, he would, in time of their vacation, confiscate to his own treasury, and assume that to himself which was due unto Christ. When any new troubles or wars did grow, or come upon him, then would he lavish and pour out all that ever he had in store or treasury, and liberally bestow that upon a soldier, which ought to have been given unto the priest. He had a very prudent and forecasting wit, and thereby foreseeing what things might or were like to ensue, he would accordingly order or dispose either for the performance or for the prevention thereof; notwithstanding which, many times the event happened to the contrary, and he was disappointed of his expectation: and commonly there happened no ill unto him, but he would foretell thereof to his friends and familiars.

He was a marvellous natural father to his children, and loved them tenderly in their childhood and young years; but they being grown to some age and ripeness, he was as a father-in-law, and could scarcely brook any of them. And, notwithstanding they were very handsome, comely, and noble gentlemen, yet, whether it were that he would not have them prosper too fast, or whether they had evil deserved of him, he hated them; and it was full much against his will that they should be his successors, or heirs to any part of his inheritance. And such is the prosperity of man, that as it cannot be perpetual, no more can it be perfect and assured: for why?—such was the secret malice of fortune against this king, that where he should have received much comfort, there had he most sorrow; where quietness and safety—there unquietness and peril; where peace—there enmity; where courtesy—there ingratitude; where rest—there trouble. And [II-157,
II-158] whether this happened by the means of their marriages, or for the punishment of the father’s sins, certain it is, there was no good agreement, neither between the father and the sons, nor yet among the sons themselves.

But at length, when all his enemies and the disturbers of the common peace were suppressed, and his brethren, his sons, and all others his adversaries, as well at home as abroad, were reconciled; then all things happened and befell unto him (though it were long first) after and according to his own will and mind. And would to God he had likewise reconciled himself unto God, and by amendment of his life, had in the end also procured his favour and mercy! Besides this, which I had almost forgotten, he was of such a memory, that if he had seen and known a man, he would not forget him: neither yet whatsoever he had heard, would he be unmindful thereof. And hereof was it, that he had so ready a memory of histories which he had read, and a knowledge and a manner of experience in all things. To conclude, if he had been chosen of God, and been obsequious and careful to live in his fear and after his laws, he had excelled all the princes of the world; for in the gifts of nature, no one man was to be compared unto him.[302]

[301] Giraldus here alludes to his quarrel with Thomas À Becket.[302] Extracted (from lord Mountmorris’s History of the Irish Parliament, vol. i. page 33, et infra) by “The Veiled Spirit.”