  Next him September marched eke on foot;
Yet was he heavy laden with the spoyle
Of harvest’s riches, which he made his boot,
And him enriched with bounty of the soyle;
In his one hand, as fit for harvest’s toyle,
He held a knife-hook; and in th’ other hand
A paire of weights, with which he did assoyle
Both more and lesse, where it in doubt did stand,
And equal gave to each as justice duly scanned.
[1147, 1148] This is the ninth month of the year: anciently it was the seventh, as its name imports, which is compounded of septem, seven, and imber, a shower of rain, from the rainy season usually commencing at this period of the year. Our Saxon ancestors called this month “Gerst-monat, for that barley which that moneth commonly yeelded was antiently called gerst, the name of barley being given unto it by reason of the drinke therewith made, called beere, and from beerlegh it come to be berlegh, and from berleg to barley. So in like manner beereheym, to wit, the overdecking or covering of beere, came to be called berham, and afterwards barme, having since gotten I wot not how many names besids.—This excellent and healthsome liquor, beere, antiently also called ael, as of the Danes it yet is (beere and ale being in effect all one,) was first of the Germans invented, and brought in use.”[268] Mr. Leigh Hunt notices, that Spenser takes advantage of the exuberance of harvest, and the sign of the zodiac, libra, in this month, to read another lesson on justice. “This is the month,” Mr. Hunt continues, “of the migration of birds, of the finished harvest, of nut-gathering, of cyder and perry-making, and, towards the conclusion, of the change of colour in trees. The swallows and many other soft-billed birds that feed on insects, disappear for the warmer climates, leaving only a few stragglers behind, probably from weakness or sickness, who hide themselves in caverns and other sheltered places, and occasionally appear upon warm days. The remainder of harvest is got in; and no sooner is this done, than the husbandman ploughs up his land again, and prepares it for the winter grain. The oaks and beeches shed their nuts, which in the forest that still remain, particularly the New Forest in Hampshire, furnish a luxurious repast for the swine, who feast of an evening in as pompous a manner as any alderman, to the sound of the herdsman’s horn. But the acorn must not be undervalued because it is food for swine, nor thought only robustly of, because it furnishes our ships with timber. It is also one of the most beautiful objects of its species, protruding its glossy green nut from its rough and sober-coloured cup, and dropping it in a most elegant manner beside the sunny and jagged leaf. We have seen a few of them, with their stems in water, make a handsome ornament to a mantle-piece, in this season of departing flowers.—The few additional flowers this month are cornflowers, Guernsey-lilies, starwort, and saffron, a species of crocus, which is cultivated in separate grounds. The stamens of this flower are pulled, and dried into flat square cakes for medicinal purposes. It was formerly much esteemed in cookery. The clown in the Winter’s Tale, reckoning up what he is to buy for the sheepshearing feast, mentions ‘saffron to colour the warden-pies.’ The fresh trees and shrubs in flower are bramble, chaste-tree, laurustinus, ivy, wild honeysuckle, spirea, and arbutus, or strawberry-tree, a favourite of Virgil, which, like the garden of Alcinous, in Homer, produces flower and fruit at once. Hardy annuals, intended to flower in the spring, should now be sown; annuals of curious sorts, from which seed is to be raised, should be sheltered till ripened; and auriculas in pots, which were shifted last month, moderately watered. The stone-curlew clamours at the beginning of this month, wood-owls hoot, the ring-ouzel reappears, the saffron butterfly is seen, hares congregate; and, at the end of it, the woodlark, thrush, and blackbird, are heard.” Mr. Hunt further observes that, September, though its mornings and evenings are apt to be chill and foggy, and therefore not wholesome to those who either do not, or cannot, guard against them, is generally a serene and pleasant month, partaking of the warmth of summer and the vigour of autumn. But its noblest feature is a certain festive abundance for the supply of all the creation. There is grain for men, birds, and horses, hay for the cattle, loads of fruit on the trees, and swarms of fish in the ocean. If the soft-billed birds which feed on insects miss their usual supply, they find it in the southern countries, and leave one’s sympathy to be pleased with an idea, that repasts apparently more harmless are alone offered to the creation upon our temperate soil. The feast, as the philosophic poet says on a higher occasion— [1149, 1150] The feast is such as earth, the general mother,
Pours from her fairest bosom, when she smiles
In the embrace of Autumn. To each other
As some fond parent fondly reconciles
Her warring children, she their wrath beguiles
With their own sustenance; they, relenting, weep.
Such is this festival, which from their isles,
And continents, and winds, and oceans deep,
All shapes may throng to share, that fly, or walk, or creep.
Shelley.
September 1. St. Giles, Abbot, 7th Cent. Twelve Brothers, Martyrs, A. D. 258. St. Lupus, or Leu, Abp. A. D. 623. St. Firminus II., Bp. of Amiens, A. D. 347. St. Giles. This saint is in the church of England calendar. He was born at Athens, and came into France in 715, having first disposed of his patrimony to charitable uses. After living two years with CÆsarius, bishop of Arles, he commenced hermit, and so continued till he was made abbot of an abbey at Nismes, which the king built for his sake. He died in 750.[269] St. Giles is the patron of beggars. Going to church in his youth, he gave his coat to a sick beggar who asked alms of him, the mendicant was clothed, and the garment miraculously cured his disorder. He was also the patron of cripples. After he had retired to a cave in a solitary desert, the French king was hunting near his thicket, and Giles was wounded by an arrow from a huntsman’s bow while at prayers; whereupon being found unmoved from his position, the king fell at his feet, craved his pardon, and gave orders for the cure of his wound, but this the saint would not permit, because he desired to suffer pain and increase his merits thereby, and so he remained a cripple, and received reverence from the king whom he counselled to build a monastery; and the king did so, and Giles became abbot thereof, “and led the life of an angel incarnate,” and converted the king.[270] It is related of him that he raised the dead son of a prince to life, and made a lame man walk: our church of St. Giles, Cripplegate, is dedicated to him. It is further told, that at Rome he cast two doors of cypress into the Tiber, and recommended them to heavenly guidance, and on his return to France found them at the gates of his monastery, and set them up as the doors of his own church. These are some only of the marvels gravely told of him, “many wytnisse that they herde the company of aungelles berynge the soule of hym into heven.”[271]
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Great Sedum. Sedum Telephium.
Dedicated to St. Giles.
September 2. St. Stephen, king of Hungary, A. D. 1038. St. Justus, Abp. of Lyons, A. D. 390. St. William, Bp. of Roschild, A. D. 1067. B. Margaret, 13th Cent. London Burnt, 1666. The “Great Fire” of London is denoted as above in our almanacs on this day. It broke out at Pudding-lane and ended at Pie-corner. The monument on Fish-street-hill to commemorate the calamity, bears the following inscription on the north side:— “In the year of Christ, 1666, the 2d day of September, eastward from hence, at the distance of 202 feet, the height of this column, a terrible fire broke out about midnight; which, driven on by a strong wind, not only wasted the adjacent parts, but also very remote places, with incredible noise and fury. It consumed eighty-nine churches, the city gates, Guildhall, many public structures, hospitals, schools, libraries, a vast number of stately edifices, 13,200 dwelling-houses, and 430 streets, of the twenty-six wards it utterly destroyed fifteen, and left eight others shattered and half burnt. The ruins of the city were 436 acres, from the Tower by the Thames side to the Temple church, and from the north-east along the City-wall to Holborn-bridge. To the estates and fortunes of the citizens it was merciless, but to their lives very favourable, that it might in all things resemble the conflagration of the world. The destruction [1151, 1152] was sudden; for in a small space of time the city was seen most flourishing, and reduced to nothing. Three days after, when this fatal fire had baffled all human counsels and endeavours, in the opinion of all, it stopped, as it were, by a command from heaven, and was on every side extinguished. But papistical malice, which perpetrated such mischiefs, is not yet restrained.” A line, beginning on the west side, contains the following words; on James II. coming to the crown, they were erased, but restored under William III.:— “This pillar was set up in perpetual remembrance of the most dreadful burning of this protestant city, begun and carried on by the treachery and malice of the popish faction, in the beginning of September, in the year of our Lord, 1666, in order to the carrying on their horrid plot for extirpating the protestant religion, and old English liberty, and introducing popery and slavery.” The south side is thus inscribed:—“Charles the Second, son of Charles the Martyr, king of Great Britain, France and Ireland, defender of the faith, a most gracious prince, commiserating the deplorable state of things, whilst the ruins were yet smoaking, provided for the comfort of his citizens, and the ornament of his city; remitted their taxes, and referred the petitions of the magistrates and inhabitants to the parliament; who immediately passed an act, that public works should be restored to greater beauty, with public money, to be raised by an imposition on coals; that churches, and the cathedral of St. Paul’s, should be rebuilt from their foundations, with all magnificence; that the bridges, gates, and prisons should be new made, the sewers cleansed, the streets made straight and regular, such as were steep levelled, and those too narrow made wider, markets and shambles removed to separate places. They also enacted, that every house should be built with party walls, and all in front raised of an equal height, and those walls all of square stone or brick; and that no man should delay building beyond the space of seven years.” An estimate of the value of property consumed by the fire amounted to ten millions six hundred and eighty-nine thousand pounds, wherein was included the value of St. Paul’s cathedral, which was set down at nearly one-fifth of the total. The occasion of the conflagration was the subject of parliamentary investigation. It is imputed to the Roman Catholics, but a dispassionate consideration of all the circumstances by impartial men tends to acquit them of the crime, and most persons at this time believe that— ———“London’s column pointing to the skies,
Like a tall bully, rears its head and lies.”
Thomas Vincent, a non-conformist minister, who was ejected from the living of St. Mary Magdalen, in Milk-street, and during the great plague remained in the city, and preached regularly to the great comfort of the inhabitants under the affliction of the raging pestilence, was an eye-witness of the subsequent conflagration. He wrote “God’s terrible Judgments in the City by Plague and Fire,” and has left a circumstantial relation in that work of the progress made by the flames, and their effects on the people. Vincent’s Narrative. It was the 2d of September, 1666, that the anger of the Lord was kindled against London, and the fire began: it began in a baker’s house, in Pudding-lane, by Fish-street-hill; and now the Lord is making London like a fiery oven in the time of his anger, and in his wrath doth devour and swallow up our habitations. It was in the depth and dead of the night, when most doors and fences were locked up in the city, that the fire doth break forth and appear abroad; and, like a mighty giant refreshed with wine, doth awake and arm itself, quickly gathers strength, when it had made havoc of some houses; rusheth down the hill towards the bridge; crosseth Thames-street, invadeth Magnus church, at the bridge foot; and, though that church were so great, yet it was not a sufficient barricado against this conqueror; but, having scaled and taken this fort, it shooteth flames with so much the greater advantage into all places round about; and a great building of houses upon the bridge is quickly thrown to the ground: then the conqueror, being stayed in his course at the bridge, marcheth back to the city again, and runs along with great noise and violence through Thames-street, westward; where, having such combustible matter in its teeth, and such a fierce wind upon its back, it prevails with little resistance, unto the astonishment of the beholders. [1153, 1154] Fire! fire! fire! doth resound the streets; many citizens start out of their sleep, look out of their windows; some dress themselves and run to the place. The lord mayor of the city comes with his officers; a confusion there is; counsel is taken away; and London, so famous for wisdom and dexterity, can now find neither brains nor hands to prevent its ruin. The hand of God was in it; the decree was come forth; London must now fall, and who could prevent it? No wonder, when so many pillars are removed, if the building tumbles; the prayers, tears, and faith, which sometimes London hath had, might have quenched the violence of the fire; might have opened heaven for rain, and driven back the wind: but now the fire gets mastery, and burns dreadfully. That night most of the Londoners had taken their last sleep in their houses; they little thought it would be so when they went into their beds; they did not in the least suspect, when the doors of their ears were unlocked, and the casement of their eyes were opened in the morning, to hear of such an enemy invading the city, and that they should see him, with such fury, enter the doors of their houses, break into every room, and look out of their casements with such a threatening countenance. That which made the ruin the more dismal, was, that it was begun on the Lord’s-day morning: never was there the like sabbath in London; some churches were in flames that day; and God seems to come down, and to preach himself in them, as he did in Mount Sinai, when the mount burned with fire; such warm preaching those churches never had; such lightning dreadful sermons never were before delivered in London. In other churches ministers were preaching their farewell sermons, and people were hearing with quaking and astonishment: instead of a holy rest which christians have taken on this day, there is a tumultuous hurrying about the streets towards the place that burned, and more tumultuous hurrying upon the spirits of those that sat still, and had only the notice of the ear of the quick and strange spreading of the fire. Now the train-bands are up in arms watching at every quarter for outlandish-men, because of the general fear and jealousies, and rumours, that fire-balls were thrown into houses by several of them to help on and provoke the too furious flames. Now goods are hastily removed from the lower parts of the city; and the body of the people begin to retire, and draw upwards, as the people did from the tabernacles of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, when the earth did cleave asunder and swallow them up: or rather as Lot drew out from his house in Sodom before it was consumed by fire from heaven. Yet some hopes were retained on the Lord’s-day that the fire would be extinguished, especially by them who lived in the remote parts; they could scarcely imagine that the fire a mile off should be able to reach their houses. But the evening draws on, and now the fire is more visible and dreadful: instead of the black curtains of the night, which used to be spread over the city, now the curtains are yellow; the smoke that arose from the burning parts seemed like so much flame in the night, which being blown upon the other parts by the wind, the whole city, at some distance, seemed to be on fire. Now hopes begin to sink, and a general consternation seizeth upon the spirits of people; little sleep is taken in London this night; the amazement which the eye and ear doth effect upon the spirit, doth either dry up or drive away the vapour which used to bind up the senses. Some are at work to quench the fire with water; others endeavour to stop its course, by pulling down of houses; but all to no purpose: if it be a little allayed, or beaten down, or put to a stand in some places, it is but a very little while; it quickly recruits, and recovers its force; it leaps and mounts, and makes the more furious onset, drives back its opposers, snatcheth their weapons out of their hands, seizeth upon the water-houses and engines, burns them, spoils them, and makes them unfit for service. On the Lord’s-day night the fire had run as far as Garlick-hithe, in Thames-street, and had crept up into Cannon-street, and levelled it with the ground; and still is making forward by the water-side, and upward to the brow of the hill, on which the city was built. On Monday, (the 3d) Gracechurch-street is all in flames, with Lombard-street, on the left hand, and part of Fenchurch-street, on the right, the fire working (though not so fast) against the wind that way: before it were pleasant and stately houses, behind it ruinous and desolate heaps. The burning then was in fashion [1155, 1156] of a bow, a dreadful bow it was, such as mine eyes never before had seen; a bow which had God’s arrow in it, with a flaming point: it was a shining bow; not like that in the cloud, which brings water with it; and withal signified God’s covenant not to destroy the world any more with water: but it was a bow which had fire in it, which signified God’s anger, and his intention to destroy London with fire. Now the flames break in upon Cornhill, that large and spacious street, and quickly cross the way by the train of wood that lay in the streets untaken away, which had been pulled down from houses to prevent its spreading: and so they lick the whole street as they go: they mount up to the top of the highest houses; they descend down to the bottom of the lowest vaults and cellars; and march along on both sides of the way, with such a roaring noise, as never was heard in the city of London; no stately building so great as to resist their fury: the Royal Exchange itself, the glory of the merchants, is now invaded with much violence; and when once the fire was entered, how quickly did it run round the galleries, filling them with flames; then came down stairs, compasseth the walks, giving forth flaming volleys, and filleth the court with sheets of fire: by-and-by down fall all the kings upon their faces, and the greatest part of the stone-building after them, (the founder’s statue only remaining,) with such a noise as was dreadful and astonishing. Then, then the city did shake indeed; and the inhabitants did tremble, and flew away in great amazement from their houses, lest the flames should devour them; rattle, rattle, rattle, was the noise which the fire struck upon the ear round about, as if there had been a thousand iron chariots beating upon the stones: and if you opened your eye to the opening of the streets, where the fire was come, you might see, in some places, whole streets at once in flames, that issued forth as if they had been so many great forges, from the opposite windows, which folding together, were united into one great flame throughout the whole street; and then you might see the houses tumble, tumble, tumble, from one end of the street to the other, with a great crash, leaving the foundations open to the view of the heavens. Now fearfulness and terror doth surprise the citizens of London; confusion and astonishment doth fall upon them at this unheard-of, unthought-of, judgment. It would have grieved the heart of an unconcerned person to see the rueful looks, the pale cheeks, the tears trickling down from the eyes, (where the greatness of sorrow and amazement could give leave for such a vent,) the smiting of the breast, the wringing of the hands; to hear the sighs and groans, the doleful and weeping speeches of the distressed citizens, when they were bringing forth their wives, (some from their child-bed,) and their little ones (some from their sickbed,) out of their houses, and sending them into the country, or somewhere into the fields with their goods. Now the hopes of London are gone, their heart is sunk; now there is a general remove in the city, and that in a greater hurry than before the plague, their goods being in greater danger by the fire than their persons were by the sickness. Scarcely are some returned, but they must remove again, and, not as before, now without any more hopes of ever returning and living in those houses any more. Now carts, and drays, and coaches, and horses, as many as could have entrance into the city, were loaden, and any money is given for help; 5l. 10l. 20l. 30l. for a cart, to bear forth into the fields some choice things, which were ready to be consumed; and some of the carmen had the conscience to accept of the highest price, which the citizens did then offer in their extremity; I am mistaken if such money do not burn worse than the fire out of which it was raked. Now casks of wine, and oil, and other commodities, are tumbled along, and the owners shove as much of their goods as they can towards the gate: every one now becomes a porter to himself, and scarcely a back either of man or woman, that hath strength, but had a burden on it in the streets: it was very sad to see such throngs of poor citizens coming in and going forth from the unburnt parts, heavy laden with some pieces of their goods, but more heavy laden with weighty grief and sorry of heart, so that it is wonderful they did not quite sink under these burdens. Monday night was a dreadful night: when the wings of the night had shadowed the light of the heavenly bodies, there was no darkness of night in London, for the fire shines now round about with a fearful blaze, which yieldeth such light in the streets, as it had been the sun at noon-day. [1157, 1158] Now the fire having wrought backward strangely against the wind, to Billingsgate, &c., along Thames-street, eastward, runs up the hill to Tower-street, and having marched on from Gracechurch-street, making further progress in Fenchurch-street, and having spread its wing beyond Queenhithe, in Thames-street, westward, mounts up from the water-side, through Dowgate, and Old Fish-street, into Watling-street: but the great fury of the fire was in the broader streets; in the midst of the night it was come down Cornhill, and laid it in the dust, and runs along by the Stocks, and there meets with another fire, which came down Threadneedle-street; a little further with another, which came up from Wallbrook; a little further with another, which comes up from Bucklersbury; and, all these four, joining together, break into one great flame at the corner of Cheapside, with such a dazzling light, and burning heat, and roaring noise, by the fall of so many houses together, that was very amazing; and though it were something stopt in its swift course at Mercers’-chapel, yet with great force in a while it conquers the place, and burns through it; and then, with great rage, proceedeth forward in Cheapside. On Tuesday (the 4th) was the fire burning up the very bowels of London; Cheapside is all in a light, (fire in a few hours time,) many fires meeting there, as in the centre; from Soper-lane, Bow-lane, Bread-street, Friday-street, and Old Change, the fire comes up almost together, and breaks furiously into the Broad-street, and most of that side of the way was together in flames, a dreadful spectacle; and then, partly by the fire which came down by Mercers’-chapel, partly by the fall of the houses cross the way, the other side is quickly kindled, and doth not stand long after it. Now the fire gets into Blackfriars, and so continues its course by the water, and makes up towards Paul’s church, on that side, and Cheapside fire besets the great building on this side, and the church, though all of stone outward, though naked of houses about it, and though so high above all buildings in the city, yet, within a while, doth yield to the violent assaults of the conquering flames, and strangely takes fire at the top: now the lead melts and runs down, as if it had been snow before the sun; and the great beams and massy stones with a great noise fall on the pavement, and break through into Faith church underneath; now great flakes of stone scale and peel off strangely from the side of the walls; the conqueror having got this high fort, darts its flames round about. Now Paternoster-row, Newgate-market, the Old Bailey, and Ludgate-hill, have submitted themselves to the devouring fire, which with wonderful speed rusheth down the hill into Fleet-street. Now Cheapside fire marcheth along Ironmonger-lane, Old Jewry, Lawrence-lane, Milk-street, Wood-street, Gutter-lane, Foster-lane. Now it runs along Lothbury, Cateaton-street, &c. From Newgate-market, it assaults Christchurch, and conquers that great building, and burns through Martin’s-lane towards Aldersgate, and all about so furiously, as if it would not leave a house standing upon the ground. Now horrible flakes of fire mount up the sky, and the yellow smoke of London ascendeth up towards heaven, like the smoke of a great furnace; a smoke so great, as darkened the sun at noonday: (if at any time the sun peeped forth, it looked red like blood:) the cloud of smoke was so great, that travellers did ride at noonday, some miles together, in the shadow thereof, though there were no other cloud beside to be seen in the sky. And if Monday night was dreadful, Tuesday night was more dreadful, when far the greatest part of the city was consumed: many thousands who on Saturday had houses convenient in the city, both for themselves, and to entertain others, now have not where to lay their head; and the fields are the only receptacle which they can find for themselves and their goods; most of the late inhabitants of London lie all night in the open air, with no other canopy over them but that of the heavens: the fire is still making towards them, and threateneth the suburbs; it was amazing to see how it had spread itself several times in compass; and, amongst other things that night, the sight of Guildhall was a fearful spectacle, which stood the whole body of it together in view, for several hours together, after the fire had taken it, without flames, (I suppose because the timber was such solid oak,) in a bright shining coal, as if it had been a palace of gold, or a great building of burnished brass. On Wednesday morning, (the 5th) when people expected that the suburbs would be burnt, as well as the city, and with speed were preparing their flight, as well [1159, 1160] as they could, with their luggage into the countries, and neighbouring villages, then the Lord hath pity on poor London; his bowels began to relent; his heart is turned within him, and he stays his rough wind in the day of the east wind; his fury begins to be allayed; he hath a remnant of people in London, and there shall a remnant of houses escape: the wind now is husht; the commission of the fire is withdrawing, and it burns so gently, even where it meets with no opposition, that it was not hard to be quenched, in many places, with a few hands: now the citizens begin to gather a little heart, and encouragement in their endeavours to quench the fire. A check it had at Leadenhall by that great building; a stop it had in Bishopsgate-street, Fenchurch-street, Lime-street, Mark-lane, and towards the Tower; one means, under God, was the blowing up of houses with gunpowder. Now it is stayed in Lothbury, Broad-street, Coleman-street; towards the gates it burnt, but not with any great violence; at the Temple also it is stayed, and in Holborn, where it had got no great footing; and when once the fire was got under, it was kept under, and on Thursday the flames were extinguished. But on Wednesday night, when the people, late of London, now of the fields, hoped to get a little rest on the ground, where they had spread their beds, a more dreadful fear falls upon them than they had before, through a rumour that the French were coming armed against them to cut their throats, and spoil them of what they had saved out of the fire: they were now naked and weak, and in ill condition to defend themselves, and the hearts, especially of the females, do quake and tremble, and are ready to die within them; yet many citizens, having lost their houses, and almost all that they had, are fired with rage and fury: and they begin to stir up themselves like lions, or like bears bereaved of their whelps, and now “Arm! Arm!” doth resound the fields and suburbs with a dreadful voice. We may guess at the distress and perplexity of the people this night, which was something alleviated when the falseness of the alarm was perceived. The ruins of the city were 396 acres; [viz. 333 acres within the walls, and 63 in the liberties of the city,] of the six and twenty wards, it utterly destroyed fifteen, and left eight others shattered, and half burnt; and it consumed 400 streets, 13,200 dwelling-houses, eighty-nine churches, [besides chapels,] four of the city gates, Guildhall, many public structures, hospitals, schools, libraries, and a vast number of stately edifices.
The preceding relation by Thomas Vincent, with the philosophic Evelyn’s, will acquaint the reader with as much as can here be told of the most direful visitations the metropolis ever suffered. Evelyn’s account is in his “Diary,” or “Memoirs” of himself, a manuscript which is known to have been preserved from probable destruction by Mr. Upcott. John Evelyn’s Narrative. Sept. 2, 1666. This fatal night, about ten, began that deplorable fire near Fish-streete in London. Sept. 3. The fire continuing, after dinner I took coach with my wife and sonn, and went to the Bankside in Southwark, where we beheld that dismal spectacle, the whole citty in dreadful flames neare the water side; all the houses from the bridge, all Thames-street, and upwards towards Cheapeside downe to the Three Cranes, were now consum’d. The fire having continu’d all this night (if I may call that night which was as light as day for ten miles round about, after a dreadful manner,) when conspiring with a fierce eastern wind in a very drie season: I went on foote to the same place, and saw the whole south part of the citty burning from Cheapeside to the Thames, and all along Cornehill, (for it kindl’d back against the wind as well as forward,) Tower-streete, Fenchurch-streete, Gracious-streete, and so along to Bainard’s-castle, and was now taking hold of St. Paule’s church, to which the scaffolds contributed exceedingly. The conflagration was so universal, and the people so astonish’d, that from the beginning, I know not by what despondency or fate, they hardly stirr’d to quench it, so that there was nothing heard or seene but crying out and lamentation, running about like distracted creatures, without at all attempting to save even their goods, such a strange consternation there was upon them, so as it burned both in breadth and length, the churches, publiq halls, exchange, hospitals, monuments, and ornaments, leaping after a prodigious manner from house to house and streete to streete, at greate distances one from the other, for the heate with a long set of faire and [1161, 1162] warme weather, had even ignited the air, and prepar’d the materials to conceive the fire which devour’d after an incredible manner, houses, furniture, and every thing. Here we saw the Thames cover’d with goods floating, all the barges and boates laden with what some had time and courage to save, as, on the other, the carts, &c. carrying out to the fields, which for many miles were strew’d with moveables of all sorts, and tents erecting to shelter both people and what goods they could get away. Oh, the miserable and calamitous spectacle! such as haply the world had not seene the like since the foundation of it, nor to be outdone till the universal conflagration. All the skie was of a fiery aspect, like the top of a burning oven, the light seene above forty miles round about for many nights. God grant my eyes may never behold the like, now seeing above 10,000 houses all in one flame; the noise and cracking and thunder of the impetuous flames, the shrieking of women and children, the hurry of people, the fall of towers, houses, and churches, was like an hideous storme, and the aire all about so hot and inflam’d that at last one was not able to approach it, so that they were forc’d to stand still and let the flames burn on, which they did for neere two miles in length and one in breadth. The clouds of smoke were dismall, and reach’d upon computation neer fifty miles in length. Thus I left it this afternoone burning, a resemblance of Sodom, or the last day. London was, but is no more! Sept. 4. The burning still rages, and it was now gotten as far as the Inner Temple, all Fleete-streete, the Old Bailey, Ludgate-hill, Warwick-lane, Newgate, Paul’s Chain, Watling-streete, now flaming, and most of it reduc’d to ashes; the stones of Paules flew like granados, the melting lead running downe the streetes in a streame, and the very pavements glowing with fiery rednesse, so as no horse nor man was able to tread on them, and the demolition had stopp’d all the passages, so that no help could be applied. The eastern wind still more impetuously drove the flames forward. Nothing but the Almighty power of God was able to stop them, for vaine was the help of man. Sept. 5. It crossed towards Whitehall; Oh, the confusion there was then at that court! it pleased his majesty to command me among the rest to looke after the quenching of Fetter-lane end, to preserve if possible that part of Holborn, while the rest of the gentlemen tooke their several posts (for now they began to bestir themselves, and not till now, who hitherto had stood as men intoxicated, with their hands acrosse), and began to consider that nothing was likely to put a stop but the blowing up of so many houses as might make a wider gap than any had yet ben made by the ordinary method of pulling them down with engines; this some stout seamen propos’d early enough to have sav’d neare the whole citty, but this some tenacious and avaritious men, aldermen, &c. would not permit, because their houses must have been of the first. It was therefore now commanded to be practic’d, and my concern being particularly for the hospital of St. Bartholomew neere Smithfield, where I had many wounded and sick men, made me the more diligent to promote it, nor was my care for the Savoy lesse. It now pleas’d God by abating the wind, and by the industry of the people, infusing a new spirit into them, that the fury of it began sensibly to abate about noone, so as it came no farther than the Temple westward, nor than the entrance of Smithfield north; but continu’d all this day and night so impetuous towards Cripplegate and the Tower, as made us all despaire: it also broke out againe in the Temple, but the courage of the multitude persisting, and many houses being blown up, such gaps and desolations were soone made, as with the former three days’ consumption, the back fire did not so vehemently urge upon the rest as formerly. There was yet no standing neere the burning and glowing ruines by neere a furlong’s space. The poore inhabitants were dispers’d about St. George’s Fields, and Moorefields, as far as Highgate, and severall miles in circle, some under tents, some under miserable huts and hovells, many without a rag or any necessary utensills, bed or board, who from delicatenesse, riches, and easy accommodations in stately and well furnish’d houses, were now reduc’d to extreamest misery and poverty. In this calamitous condition I return’d with a sad heart to my house, blessing and adoring the mercy of God to me and mine, who in the midst of all this ruine was like Lot, in my little Zoar, Safe and sound. Sept. 7. I went this morning on foote [1163, 1164] from Whitehall as far as London Bridge, thro’ the late Fleete-streete, Ludgate-hill, by St. Paules, Cheapeside, Exchange, Bishopsgate, Aldersgate, and out to Moorefields, thence thro’ Cornehille, &c. with extraordinary difficulty, clambering over heaps of yet smoking rubbish, and frequently mistaking where I was. The ground under my feete was so hot, that it even burnt the soles of my shoes. In the mean time his majesty got to the Tower by water to demolish the houses about the graff, which being built intirely about it, had they taken fire and attack’d the White Tower where the magazine of powder lay, would undoubtedly not only have beaten downe and destroy’d all the bridge, but sunke and torne the vessells in the river, and render’d the demolition beyond all expression for several miles about the countrey. At my return I was infinitely concern’d to find that goodly church St. Paules now a sad ruine, and that beautifull portico (for structure comparable to any in Europe, as not long before repair’d by the king,) now rent in pieces, flakes of vast stone split asunder, and nothing remaining intire but the inscription in the architrave, shewing by whom it was built, which had not one letter of it defac’d. It was astonishing to see what immense stones the heat had in a manner calcin’d, so that all the ornaments, columns, freezes, and projectures of massie Portland stone flew off, even to the very roofe, where a sheet of lead covering a great space was totally mealted; the ruines of the vaulted roofe falling broke into St. Faith’s, which being fill’d with the magazines of bookes belonging to the stationers, and carried thither for safety, they were all consum’d, burning for a weeke following. It is also observable that the lead over the altar at the east end was untouch’d, and among the divers monuments, the body of one bishop remain’d intire. Thus lay in ashes that most venerable church, one of the most antient pieces of early piety in the christian world, besides neere one hundred more. The lead, yron worke, bells, plate, &c. mealted; the exquisitely wrought Mercers’-chapell, the sumptuous Exchange, the august fabriq of Christ church, all the rest of the companies halls, sumptuous buildings, arches, all in dust; the fountaines dried up and ruin’d whilst the very waters remain’d boiling; the vorrago’s of subterranean cellars, wells, and dungeons, formerly warehouses, still burning in stench and dark clouds of smoke, so that in five or six miles traversing about I did not see one load of timber unconsum’d, nor many stones but what were calcin’d white as snow. The people who now walk’d about the ruines appear’d like men in a dismal desart, or rather in some great citty laid waste by a cruel enemy; to which was added the stench that came from some poore creatures bodies, beds, &c. Sir Tho. Gresham’s statue, tho’ fallen from its nich in the Royal Exchange, remain’d intire, when all those of the kings since the conquest were broken to pieces, also the standard in Cornehill, and Q. Elizabeth’s effigies, with some armes on Ludgate, continued with but little detriment, whilst the vast yron chaines of the cittie streetes, hinges, bars and gates of prisons, were many of them mealted and reduced to cinders by the vehement heate. I was not able to passe through any of the narrow streetes, but kept the widest, the ground and aire, smoake and fiery vapour, continu’d so intense that my haire was almost sing’d, and my feete unsufferably surheated. The bie lanes and narrower streetes were quite fill’d up with rubbish, nor could one have knowne where he was, but by the ruines of some church or hall, that had some remarkable tower or pinnacle remaining. I then went towards Islington and Highgate, where one might have seene 200,000 people of all ranks and degrees dispers’d and lying along by their heapes of what they could save from the fire, deploring their losse, and tho’ ready to perish for hunger and destitution, yet not asking one penny for relief, which to me appear’d a stranger sight than any I had yet beheld. His majesty and council indeede tooke all imaginable care for their reliefe by proclamation for the country to come in and refresh them with provisions. In the midst of all this calamity and confusion, there was, I know not how, an alarme begun, that the French and Dutch, with whom we were now in hostility, were not onely landed, but even entering the citty. There was in truth some days before greate suspicion of those two nations joyning; and now, that they had been the occasion of firing the towne. This report did so terrifie, that on a suddaine there was such an uproare and tumult that they ran from their goods, and, taking what weapons they could come at, they could not be stopp’d from falling on some of [1165, 1166] those nations whom they casually met, without sense or reason. The clamour and peril grew so excessive, that it made the whole court amaz’d, and they did with infinite paines and greate difficulty reduce and appease the people, sending troopes of soldiers and guards to cause them to retire into the fields againe, where they were watch’d all this night. I left them pretty quiet, and came home sufficiently weary and broken. Their spirits thus a little calmed, and the affright abated, they now began to repaire into the suburbs about the citty, where such as had friends or opportunity got shelter.
The essential particulars of Evelyn’s narrative being ended, it may be observed that a discontinued periodical miscellany notices at the end of “Littleton’s Dictionary,” an inscription for the monument (on Fish-street-hill), wherein this very learned scholar proposes a name for it, in a word which extends through seven degrees of longitude. It is designed to commemorate the names of the seven lord mayors of London, under whose respective mayoralties the monument was begun, continued, and completed:— Quam non un aliqua ac simplici voce, uti istam quondam Duilianam;
Sed, ut vero eam Nomine indigites, Vocabulo constructiliter Heptastego.
Fordo—Watermanno—Hansono—Hookero
Vinero—Sheldono—Davisianam
Appellites oportebit. Well might Adam Littleton call this an heptastic vocable, rather than a word.[272]
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Golden Rod. Solidago virgaurea.
Dedicated to St. Margaret. [272] AthÆneum.
September 3. St. Simeon Stylites, the younger, A. D. 592. St. Remaclus, Bp. of Maestricht, A. D. 664. St. Mansuet, first Bp. of Toul, in Lorrain, A. D. 375. St. Macrisius, first Bp. of Connor, in Ireland, A. D. 513. Proclamation of
Bartholomew Fair. This is the only Fair now held within the city of London, and, as introductory to an account of this annual scene, it is necessary to notice that it has been the custom from time immemorial for one of the four attorneys of the lord mayor’s court, who may happen to be what is termed the attorney in waiting, (and which duty in respect of proclaiming the Fair for the last seven years has devolved upon Mr. Carter,) to accompany the lord mayor in his state carriage from the Mansion-house to Smithfield, on the day whereon the Fair is proclaimed, which is on the 3d of September, unless Sunday should fall on that day. The proclamation is read at the gate leading into Cloth-fair by the lord mayor’s attorney, and repeated after him by a sheriff’s officer, in the presence of the lord mayor and sheriffs, and also of the aldermen, (if they attend, but who, though summoned for that purpose, seldom appear.) The procession afterwards proceeds round Smithfield, and returns to the Mansion-house, where, in the afternoon, the gentlemen of his lordship’s household dine together at the sword-bearer’s table, and thus the ceremony is concluded. It was also the custom of the procession to stop at Newgate to drink to the governor’s health, but this practice was discontinued in the second mayoralty of Mr. Alderman Wood. The following is a copy of the proclamation from the parchment-roll now used:— “Form of the Proclamation of Bartholomew Fair made at the Great Gate going into the Cloth Fair, Smithfield. “Oyez, 3 times. “The Right Honourable [John Garratt] Lord Mayor of the City of London, and his right Worshipful Brethren the Aldermen of the said City, streightly charge and command, on the behalf of our Sovereign Lord the King, That all manner of Persons of whatsoever Estate, Degree, or Condition they be, having recourse to this Fair, keep the Peace of our said Sovereign Lord the King. “That no manner of Persons shall make any Congregation, Conventicles, or Affrays, by the which the same peace may be broken or disturbed, upon pain of Imprisonment, and Fine, to be made after the discretion of the Lord Mayor and Aldermen. “Also, that all manner of Sellers of [1167, 1168] Wine, Ale, or Beer, sell by measures ensealed, as by Gallon, Pottle, Quart and Pint, upon pain that will fall thereof. “And, that no person sell any Bread, but it be good and wholesome for Man’s Body, upon pain that will fall thereof. “And, that no manner of Cook, Pye-baker, nor Huckster, sell, nor put to sale, any manner of Victual, except it be good and wholesome for Man’s Body, upon pain that will fall thereof. “And, that no manner of Person buy nor sell, but with true weights and measures, sealed according to the Statute, in that behalf made, upon pain that will fall thereof. “And, that no manner of person or persons take upon him, or them, within this Fair, to make any manner of arrest, attachment, summons, or execution; except it be done by the Officers of this City, thereunto assigned, upon pain that will fall thereof. “And, that no person or persons whatsoever, within the limits and bounds of this Fair, presume to break the Lord’s day in selling, shewing, or offering to Sale, or in buying, or in offering to buy, any Commodities whatsoever; or in sitting tippling, or drinking in any Tavern, Inn, Alehouse, Tipling House or Cook house; or in doing any other thing that may tend to the breach thereof, upon the pain and penalties contained in several Acts of Parliament, which will be severely inflicted upon the Breakers thereof. “And, finally, that what person soever find themselves aggrieved, injured, or wronged, by any manner of Person in this Fair, that they come with their Plaints before the Stewards in this Fair assigned to hear and determine Pleas, and they will minister to all parties, Justice, according to the Laws of this Land, and the Customs of this City. God save the King. “It is ordered that this Fair do finally close on [Wednesday] next. “N. B. This Fair continues 3 days, exclusive of the day of Proclamation.”
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Fleabane. Inula dysenterica.
Dedicated to St. Simeon Stylites Jun.
September 4. Sts. Marcellus and Valerian, A. D. 179. Translation of St. Cuthbert. St. Ida, Widow, 9th Cent. St. Rosalia, A. D. 1160. St. Rosa of Viterbo, A. D. 1252. St. Ultan, Irish Bp. A. D. 655. Bartholomew Fair. This day in the year, 1825, being Sunday, Bartholomew Fair was wholly suspended. Yet many thousands of persons walking for recreation, repaired to Smithfield and viewed its appearance. The city officers most strictly enforced observance of the day: one keeper of a gingerbread-stall who plied for custom, and refractorily persisted, was taken into custody, and held in prison, till he could be carried before a magistrate on the following day, when he was fined for his offence.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Sapwort. Saponaria officinalis.
Dedicated to St. Rosalia.
September 5. St. Laurence Justinian, first Patriarch of Venice, A. D. 1455. St. Bertin, Abbot, A. D. 709. St. Alto, Abbot, 8th Cent. Bartholomew Fair. 1825. On this day, Monday the 5th, the Fair was resumed, when the editor of the Every-Day Book accurately surveyed it throughout. From his notes made on the spot he reports the following particulars of what he there observed. VISIT TO
Bartholomew Fair. At ten o’clock this morning I entered Smithfield from Giltspur-street. [Mem. This way towards Smithfield was anciently called Gilt Spurre, or Knight-Riders Street, because of the knights, who in quality of their honour wore gilt spurs, and who, with others, rode that way to the tournaments, justings, and other feats of arms used in Smithfield.[273]] On this day there were small uncovered stalls, from the Skinner-street corner of Giltspur-street, beginning with the beginning of the churchyard, along the whole length of the churchyard. On the opposite side of Giltspur-street there were like stalls, uncovered, from Newgate-street corner, in front of the Compter-prison, in Giltspur-street. At these stalls were [1169, 1170] sold oysters, fruit, inferior kinds of cheap toys, common gingerbread, small wicker-baskets, and other articles of trifling value. They seemed to be mere casual standings, taken up by petty dealers, and chapmen in small ware, who lacked means to purchase room, and furnish out a tempting display. Their stalls were set out from the channel into the roadway. One man occupied upwards of twenty feet of the road lengthwise, with discontinued wood-cut pamphlets, formerly published weekly at twopence, which he spread out on the ground, and sold at a halfpenny each in great quantities; he also had large folio bible prints, at a halfpenny each, and prints from magazines at four a penny. The fronts of these standings were towards the passengers in the carriage-way. They terminated, as before observed, with the northern ends of St. Sepulchre’s churchyard on one side, and the Compter on the other. Then, with occasional distances of three or four feet for footways, from the road to the pavement, began lines of covered stalls, with their open fronts opposite the fronts of the house, and close to the curb stone, and their enclosed backs in the road. On the St. Sepulchre’s side, they extended to Cock-lane, from Cock-lane to the house of Mr. Blacket, clothier and mercer, at the Smithfield corner of Giltspur-street; then, turning the corner of his house into Smithfield, they continued to Hosier-lane, and from thence all along the west side of Smithfield to the Cow-lane corner, where, on that side, they terminated at that corner, in a line with the opposite corner leading to St. John-street, where the line was resumed, and ran thitherward to Smithfield-bars, and there on the west side ended. Crossing over to the east side, and returning south, these covered stalls commenced opposite to their termination on the west, and ran towards Smithfield, turning into which they ran westerly towards the pig-market, and from thence to Long-lane; from Long-lane, they ran along the east side of Smithfield to the great gate of Cloth-fair, and so from Duke-street, went on the south side, to the great front gate of Bartholomew-hospital, and from thence to the carriage entrance of the hospital, from whence they were continued along Giltspur-street to the Compter, where they joined the uncovered stalls before described. These covered stalls, thus surrounding Smithfield, belonged to dealers in gingerbread, toys, hardware, garters, pocket-books, trinkets, and articles of all prices, from a halfpenny to a half sovereign. The gingerbread stalls varied in size, and were conspicuously fine, from the dutch gold on their different shaped ware. The largest stalls were the toy-sellers’; some of these had a frontage of five and twenty feet, and many of eighteen. The usual frontage of the stalls was eight, ten, and twelve feet; they were six feet six inches, or seven feet, high in front, and from four feet six inches, to five feet, in height at the back, and all formed of canvass, tightly stretched across light poles and railing; the canvass roofings declined pent-house-ways to the backs, which were enclosed by canvass to the ground. The fronts, as before mentioned, were entirely open to the thronging passengers, for whom a clear way was preserved on the pavements between the fronts of the stalls and the fronts of the houses, all of which necessarily had their shutters up and their doors closed. The shows of all kinds had their fronts towards the area of Smithfield, and their backs close against the backs of the stalls, without any passage between them in any part. There not being any shows or booths, save as thus described, the area of Smithfield was entirely open. Thus, any one standing in the carriage-way might see all the shows at one view. They surrounded and bounded Smithfield entirely, except on the north side, which small part alone was without shows, for they were limited to the other three sides; namely, Cloth-fair side, Bartholomew-hospital side, and Hosier-lane side. Against the pens in the centre, there were not any shows, but the space between the pens and the shows quite free for spectators, and persons making their way to the exhibitions. Yet, although no coach, cart, or vehicle of any kind, was permitted to pass, this immense unobstructed carriage-way was so thronged, as to be wholly impassable. Officers were stationed at the entrance of Giltspur-street, Hosier-lane, and Duke-street, to prevent carriages and horsemen from entering. The only ways by which they were allowed ingress to Smithfield at all, were through Cow-lane, Chick-lane, Smithfield-bars, and Long-lane; and then they were to go on, and pass without stopping, through one or other of these entrances, and without turning into the body of the Fair, wherein were the shows. [1171, 1172] Thus the extent of carriage-way was bounded from Cow-lane to Long-lane, in a right line, nor were carriages or horses suffered to stand or linger, but the riders or drivers were compelled to go about their business, if business they had, or to alight for their pleasure, and enter the Fair, if they came thither in search of pleasure. So was order so far preserved; and the city officers, to whom was committed the power of enforcing it, exercised their duty rigorously, and properly; because, to their credit, they swerved not from their instructions, and did not give just cause of offence to any whom the regulations displeased. The sheep-pens occupying the area of Smithfield, heretofore the great public cookery at Fair times, was this day resorted to by boys and others in expectation of steaming abundance; nor were they disappointed. The pens immediately contiguous to the passage through them from Bartholomew-hospital-gate towards Smithfield-bars, were not, as of old, decked out and denominated, as they were within recollection, with boughs and inscriptions tempting hungry errand boys, sweeps, scavengers, dustmen, drovers, and bullock-hankers to the “princely pleasures” within the “Brighton Pavilion,” the “Royal Eating Room,” “Fair Rosamond’s Bower,” the “New London Tavern,” and the “Imperial Hotel:” these names were not:—nor were there any denominations; but there was sound, and smell, and sight, from sausages almost as large as thumbs, fried in miniature dripping-pans by old women, over fires in saucepans; and there were oysters, which were called “fine and fat,” because their shells were as large as tea saucers. Cloths were spread on tables or planks, with plates, knives and forks, pepper and salt, and, above all, those alluring condiments to persons of the rank described, mustard and vinegar. Here they came in crowds; each selecting his table-d’-hote, dined handsomely for threepence, and sumptuously for fourpence. The purveyors seemed aware of the growing demand for cleanliness of appearance, and whatever might be the quality of the viands, they were served up in a more decent way than many of the consumers were evidently accustomed to. Some of them seemed appalled by being in “good company,” and handled their knives and forks in a manner which bespoke the embarrassment of “dining in public” with such implements. My object in going to Bartholomew Fair was to observe its present state, and record it as I witnessed it in the Every-Day Book. I therefore first took a perambulatory view of the exterior, from Giltspur-street, and keeping to the left, went completely round Smithfield, on the pavement, till I returned to the same spot; from thence I ventured “to take the road” in the same direction, examined the promising show-cloths and inscriptions on each show, and shall now describe or mention every show in the Fair. It may be more interesting to read some years hence than now. Feeling that our ancestors have slenderly acquainted us with what was done here in their time, and presuming that our posterity may cultivate the “wisdom of looking backward” in some degree, as we do with the higher wisdom of “looking forward,” I write as regards Bartholomew Fair, rather to amuse the future, than to inform the present, generation. Show I. This was the first show, and stood at the corner of Hosier-lane. The inscription outside, painted in black letters, a little more than an inch in height, on a piece of white linen, was as follows:— “Murder of Mr. Weare, and Probert’s cottage.—The Execution of William Probert. “A View to be seen here of the Visit of Queen Sheba to King Soloman on the Throne.—Daniel in the Den of Lions.—St. Paul’s Conversion.—The Tower of Babel.—The Greenland Whale-Fishery.—The Battle of Waterloo.—A View of the City of Dublin.—Coronation of George IV.” This was what is commonly, but erroneously called a puppet-show; it consisted of scenes rudely painted, successively let down by strings pulled by the showman; and was viewed through eye-glasses of magnifying power, the spectators standing on the ground. A green curtain from a projecting rod was drawn round them while viewing. “Only a penny—only a penny,” cried the showman; I paid my penny, and saw the first and the meanest show in the Fair. Show II. “Only a penny—only a penny, walk up—pray walk up.” So called out a man with a loud voice, on an elevated stage, while a long drum and hurdy-gurdy played away; I complied with the invitation, [1173, 1174] and went in to see what the show-cloths described, “Miss Hipson, the Middlesex Wonder; the Largest Child in the Kingdom, when young the Handsomest Child in the World.—The Persian Giant.—The Fair Circassian with Silver Hair.—The Female Dwarf, Two Feet, Eleven Inches high.—Two Wild Indians from the Malay Islands in the East,” and other wonders. One of these “Wild Indians” had figured outside the show, in the posture represented in the engraving; in that position he was sketched by an artist who accompanied me into the show, and who there drew the “little lady” and the “gigantic child,” Miss Hipson. Miss Hipson; the female Dwarf; and the Malay. When a company had collected, they were shown from the floor of a caravan on wheels, one side whereof was taken out, and replaced by a curtain, which was either drawn to, or thrown back as occasion required. After the audience had dispersed, I was permitted by the proprietor of the show, Nicholas Maughan, of Ipswich, Suffolk, to go “behind the curtain,” where the artist completed his sketches, while I entered into conversation with the persons exhibited. Miss Hipson, only twelve years of age, is remarkably gigantic, or rather corpulent, for her age, pretty, well-behaved, and well-informed; she weighed sixteen stone a few months before, and has since increased in size; she has ten brothers and sisters, nowise remarkable in appearance: her father, who is dead, was a bargeman at Brentford. The name of the “little lady” is Lydia Walpole, she was born at Addiscombe, near Yarmouth, and is sociable, agreeable, and intelligent. The fair Circassian is of pleasing countenance and manners. The Persian giant is a good-natured, tall, stately negro. The two Malays could not speak English, except, however, three words, “drop o’ rum,” which they repeated with great glee. One of them, with long hair reaching below the waist, exhibited the posture of drawing a bow; Mr. Maughan described them as being passionate, and showed me a severe wound on his finger which the little one, in the engraving, had given him by biting, while he endeavoured to part him and his countryman, during a quarrel a few days ago. A “female giant” was one of the attractions to this exhibition, but she could not be shown for illness: Miss Hipson described her to be a very good young woman. There was an appearance of ease and [1175, 1176] good condition, with content of mind, in the persons composing this show, which induced me to put several questions to them, and I gathered that I was not mistaken in my conjecture. They described themselves as being very comfortable, and that they were taken great care of, and well treated by the proprietor, Mr. Maughan, and his partner in the show. The “little lady” had a thorough good character from Miss Hipson as an affectionate creature; and it seems the females obtained exercise by rising early, and being carried into the country in a post-chaise, where they walked and thus maintained their health. This was to me the most pleasing show in the Fair. Show III. The inscription outside was, Ball’s Theatre. Here I saw a man who balanced chairs on his chin, and holding a knife in his mouth, balanced a sword on the edge of the knife; he then put a pewter plate on the hilt of the sword horizontally, and so balanced the sword with the plate on the edge of the knife as before, the plate having previously received a rotary motion, which it communicated to the sword and was preserved during the balancing. He then balanced the sword and plate in like manner, with a crown-piece placed edgewise between the point of the sword and the knife, and afterwards with two crown-pieces, and then with a key. These feats were accompanied by the grimaces of a clown, and succeeded by children tumbling, and a female who danced a hornpipe. A learned horse found out a lady in the company who wished to be married; a gentleman who preferred a quart of beer to going to church to hear a good sermon; a lady who liked to lie abed in the morning; and made other discoveries which he was requested to undertake by his master in language not only “offensive to ears polite,” but to common decency. The admission to this show was a penny. Show IV. Atkin’s Menagerie. This inscription was in lamps on one of the largest shows in the fair. The display of show-cloths representing some of the animals exhibited within, reached about forty feet in heighth, and extended probably the same width. The admission was sixpence. As a curiosity, and because it is a singularly descriptive list, the printed bill of the show is subjoined. “MORE WONDERS IN
ATKINS’S ROYAL MENAGERIE. “Under the Patronage of HIS MAJESTY. “Wonderful Phenomenon in Nature! The singular and hitherto deemed impossible occurrence of a LION and TIGRESS cohabiting and producing young, has actually taken place in this menagerie, at Windsor. The tigress, on Wednesday, the 27th of October last, produced three fine cubs; one of them strongly resembles the tigress; the other two are of a lighter colour, but striped. Mr. Atkins had the honour (through the kind intervention of the marquis of Conyngham,) of exhibiting the lion-tigers to his majesty, on the first of November, 1824, at the Royal Lodge, Windsor Great Park, when his majesty was pleased to observe, they were the greatest curiosity of the beast creation he ever witnessed. “The royal striped Bengal Tigress has again whelped three fine cubs, (April 22,) two males and one female: the males are white, but striped; the female resembles the tigress, and singular to observe, she fondles them with all the care of an attentive mother. The sire of the young cubs is the noble male lion. This remarkable instance of subdued temper and association of animals to permit the keeper to enter their den, and introduce their young to the spectators, is the greatest phenomenon in natural philosophy. “That truly singular and wonderful animal, the AUROCHOS. Words can only convey but a very confused idea of this animal’s shape, for there are few so remarkably formed. Its head is furnished with two large horns, growing from the forehead, in a form peculiar to no other animal; from the nostrils to the forehead, is a stiff tuft of hair, and underneath the jaw to the neck is a similar brush of hair, and between the fore legs is hair growing about a foot and a half long. The mane is like that of a horse, white, tinged with black, with a beautiful long flowing white tail; the eye remarkably keen, and as large as the eye of the elephant: colour of the animal, dark chesnut; the appearance of the head, in some degree similar to the buffalo, and in some part formed [1177, 1178] like the goat, the hoof being divided; such is the general outline of this quadruped, which seems to partake of several species. This beautiful animal was brought over by captain White, from the south of Africa, and landed in England, September 20, 1823, and is the same animal so frequently mistaken by travellers for the unicorn: further to describe its peculiarities would occupy too much space in a handbill. The only one in England. “That colossal animal, the wonderful performing Elephant, Upwards of ten feet high!!—Five tons weight!! His consumption of hay, corn, straw, carrots, water, &c., exceeds 800lbs. daily. The elephant, the human race excepted, is the most respectable of animals. In size, he surpasses all other terrestrial creatures, and by far exceeds any other travelling animal in England. He has ivory tusks, four feet long, one standing out on each side of his trunk. His trunk serves him instead of hands and arms, with which he can lift up and seize the smallest as well as the largest objects. He alone drags machines which six horses cannot move. To his prodigious strength, he adds courage, prudence, and an exact obedience. He remembers favours as long as injuries: in short, the sagacity and knowledge of this extraordinary animal are beyond any thing human imagination can possibly suggest. He will lie down and get up at the word of command, notwithstanding the many fabulous tales of their having no joints in their legs. He will take a sixpence from the floor, and place it in a box he has in the caravan; bolt and unbolt a door; take his keeper’s hat off, and replace it; and by the command of his keeper will perform so many wonderful tricks, that he will not only astonish and entertain the audience, but justly prove himself the half-reasoning beast. He is the only elephant now travelling. “A full grown LION and LIONESS, with four cubs, produced December 12, 1824, at Cheltenham. “Male Bengal Tiger. Next to the lion, the tiger is the most tremendous of the carnivorous class; and whilst he possesses all the bad qualities of the former, seems to be a stranger to the good ones: to pride, to strength, to courage, the lion adds greatness, and sometimes, perhaps, clemency; while the tiger, without provocation, is fierce—without necessity, is cruel. Instead of instinct, he hath nothing but a uniform rage, a blind fury, so blind, indeed, so undistinguishing, that he frequently devours his own progeny; and if the tigress offers to defend them, he tears in pieces the dam herself. “The Onagra, a native of the Levant, the eastern parts of Asia, and the northern parts of Africa. This race differs from the zebra by the size of the body, (which is larger,) slenderness of the legs, and lustre of the hair. The only one now alive in England. “Two Zebras, one full grown, the other in its infant state, in which it seems as if the works of art had been combined with those of nature in this wonderful production. In symmetry of shape, and beauty of colour, it is the most elegant of all quadrupeds ever presented; uniting the graceful figure of a horse, with the fleetness of a stag: beautifully striped with regular lines, black and white. “A Nepaul Bison, only twenty-four inches high. “Panther, or spotted tiger of Buenos Ayres, the only one travelling. “A pair of rattle-tail Porcupines. “Striped untameable HyÆna, or tiger wolf. “An elegant Leopard, the handsomest marked animal ever seen. “Spotted Laughing HyÆna, the same kind of animal described never to be tamed; but singular to observe, it is perfectly tame, and its attachment to a dog in the same den is very remarkable. “The spotted Cavy. “Pair of Jackalls. “Pair of interesting Sledge Dogs, brought over by captain Parry from one of the northern expeditions: they are used by the Esquimaux to draw the sledges on the ice, which they accomplish with great velocity. “A pair of Rackoons, from North America. “The Oggouta, from Java. “A pair of Jennetts, or wild cats. “The Coatimondi, or ant-eater. “A pair of those extraordinary and rare birds, PELICANS of the wilderness. The only two alive in the three kingdoms.—These birds have been represented on all crests and coats of arms, to cut their breasts open with the points of their bills, and feed their young with their own blood, and are justly allowed by all authors to [1179, 1180] be the greatest curiosity of the feathered tribe. “Ardea Dubia, or adjutant of Bengal, gigantic emew, or LinnÆus’s southern ostrich. The peculiar characteristics that distinguish this bird from the rest of the feathered tribe;—it comes from Brazil, in the new continent; it stands from eight to nine feet high when full grown; it is too large to fly, but is capable of out-running the fleetest horses of Arabia; what is still more singular, every quill produces two feathers. The only one travelling. “A pair of rapacious Condor-Minors, from the interior of South America, the largest birds of flight in the world when full grown; it is the same kind of bird the Indians have asserted to carry off a deer or young calf in their talons, and two of them are sufficient to destroy a buffalo, and the wings are as much as eighteen feet across. “The great Horned Owl of Bohemia. Several species of gold and silver pheasants, of the most splendid plumage, from China and Peru. Yellow-crested cockatoo. Scarlet and buff macaws.—Admittance to see the whole menagerie, 1s.—Children, 6d.—Open from ten in the forenoon till feeding-time, half-past-nine, 2s.” Here ends Atkins’s bill; which was plentifully stuck against the outside, and the people “tumbled up” in crowds, to the sound of clarionets, trombones, and a long drum, played by eight performers in scarlet beef-eater coats, with wild-skin caps, who sat fronting the crowd, while a stentorian showman called out “don’t be deceived; the great performing elephant—the only lion and tigress in one den that are to be seen in the Fair, or the proprietor will forfeit a thousand guineas! Walk in! walk in!” I paid my sixpence, and certainly the idea of the exhibition raised by the invitation and the programme, was in no respect overcharged. The “menagerie” was thoroughly clean, and the condition of the assembled animals, told that they were well taken care of. The elephant, with his head through the bars of his cage, whisked his proboscis diligently in search of eatables from the spectators, who supplied him with fruit or biscuits, or handed him halfpence, which he uniformly conveyed by his trunk to a retailer of gingerbread, and got the money’s-worth in return. Then he unbolted the door to let in his keeper, and bolted it after him; took up a sixpence with his trunk, lifted the lid of a little box fixed against the wall and deposited it within it, and some time afterwards relifted the lid, and taking out the sixpence with a single motion, returned it to the keeper; he knelt down when told, fired off a blunderbuss, took off the keeper’s hat, and afterwards replaced it on his head with as fitting propriety as the man’s own hand could have done; in short, he was perfectly docile, and performed various feats that justified the reputation of his species for high understanding. The keeper showed every animal in an intelligent manner, and answered the questions of the company readily and with civility. His conduct was rewarded by a good parcel of halfpence, when his hat went round with a hope, that “the ladies and gentlemen would not forget the keeper before he showed the lion and the tigress.” The latter was a beautiful young animal, with two playful cubs about the size of bull-dogs, but without the least fierceness. When the man entered the den, they frolicked and climbed about him like kittens; he took them up in his arms, bolted them in a back apartment, and after playing with the tigress a little, threw back a partition which separated her den from the lion’s, and then took the lion by the beard. This was a noble animal; he was couching, and being inclined to take his rest, only answered the keeper’s command to rise, by extending his whole length, and playfully putting up one of his magnificent paws, as a cat does when in a good humour. The man then took a short whip, and after a smart lash or two upon his back, the lion rose with a yawn, and fixed his eye on his keeper with a look that seemed to say—“Well, I suppose I must humour you.” The man then sat down at the back of the den, with his back against the partition, and after some ordering and coaxing, the tigress sat on his right hand, and the lion on his left, and, all three being thus seated, he threw his arms round their necks, played with their noses, and laid their heads in his lap. He arose and the animals with him; the lion stood in a fine majestic position, but the tigress reared, and putting one foot over his shoulder, and patting him with the other, as if she had been frolicking with one of her cubs, he was obliged to check her playfulness. Then by coaxing, and pushing him about, he caused the [1181, 1182] lion to sit down, and while in that position opened the animal’s ponderous jaws with his hands, and thrust his face down into the lion’s throat, wherein he shouted, and there held his head nearly a minute. After this he held up a common hoop for the tigress to leap through, and she did it frequently. The lion seemed more difficult to move to this sport. He did not appear to be excited by command or entreaty; at last, however, he went through the hoop, and having been once roused, repeated the action several times; the hoop was scarcely two feet in diameter. The exhibition of these two animals concluded by the lion lying down on his side, when the keeper stretched himself to his whole length upon him, and then calling to the tigress she jumped upon the man, extended herself with her paws upon his shoulders, placed her face sideways upon his, and the whole three lay quiescent till the keeper suddenly slipped himself off the lion’s side, with the tigress on him, and the trio gambolled and rolled about on the floor of the den, like playful children on the floor of a nursery. Of the beasts there is not room to say more, than that their number was surprising, considering that they formed a better selected collection, and showed in higher condition from cleanliness and good feeding, than any assemblage I ever saw. Their variety and beauty, with the usual accessory of monkeys, made a splendid picture. The birds were equally admirable, especially the pelicans, and the emew. This sixpenny “show” would have furnished a dozen sixpenny “shows,” at least, to a “Bartlemy Fair” twenty years ago. Show V. This was a mare with seven feet, in a small temporary stable in the passage-way from the road to the foot-pavement, opposite the George Inn, and adjoining to the next show: the admission to this “sight” was threepence. The following is a copy of the printed bill:— “To Sportsmen and Naturalists.—Now exhibiting, one of the greatest living natural curiosities in the world; namely, a thorough-bred chesnut MARE, with seven legs! four years of age, perfectly sound, free from blemish, and shod on six of her feet. She is very fleet in her paces, being descended from that famous horse Julius CÆsar, out of a thorough-bred race mare descended from Eclipse, and is remarkably docile and temperate. She is the property of Mr. T. Checketts, of Belgrave-hall, Leicestershire, and will be exhibited for a few days as above.” This mare was well worth seeing. Each of her hind legs, besides its natural and well-formed foot, had another growing out from the fetlock joint: one of these additions was nearly the size of the natural foot; the third and least grew from the same joint of the fore-leg. Mr. Andrews, the proprietor, said, that they grew slowly, and that the new hoofs were, at first, very soft, and exuded during the process of growth. This individual, besides his notoriety from the possession of this extraordinary mare, attained further distinction by having prosecuted to conviction, at the Warwick assizes, in August, 1825, a person named Andrews, for swindling. He complained bitterly of the serious expense he had incurred in bringing the depredator to justice; his own costs, he said, amounted to the sum of one hundred and seventy pounds. Show VI. Richardson’s Theatre. The outside of this show was in height upwards of thirty feet, and occupied one hundred feet in width. The platform on the outside was very elevated; the back of it was lined with green baize, and festooned with deeply-fringed crimson curtains, except at two places where the money-takers sat, which were wide and roomy projections, fitted up like gothic shrine-work, with columns and pinnacles. There were fifteen hundred variegated illumination-lamps disposed over various parts of this platform, some of them depending from the top in the shape of chandeliers and lustres, and others in wreaths and festoons. A band of ten performers in scarlet dresses, similar to those worn by beef-eaters, continually played on clarionets, violins, trombones, and the long drum; while the performers paraded in their gayest “properties” before the gazing multitude. Audiences rapidly ascended on each performance being over, and paying their money to the receivers in their gothic seats, had tickets in return; which, being taken at the doors, admitted them to descend into the “theatre.” The following “bill of the play” was obtained at the doors upon being requested:— [1183, 1184] ? Change of Performance each Day. RICHARDSON’S
THEATRE.
This Day will be performed, an entire New
Melo-Drama, called the
WANDERING
OUTLAW,
Or, the Hour of Retribution. Gustavus, Elector of Saxony, Mr. Wright.
Orsina, Baron of Holstein, Mr. Cooper.
Ulric and Albert, Vassals to Orsina,
Messrs. Grove and Moore.
St. Clair, the Wandering Outlaw, Mr. Smith.
Rinalda, the Accusing Spirit, Mr. Darling.
Monks, Vassals, Hunters, &c.
Rosabella, Wife to the Outlaw, Mrs. Smith.
Nuns and Ladies.
The Piece concludes with the Death of Orsina, and the Appearance of the
ACCUSING SPIRIT.
The Entertainments to conclude with a New
Comic Harlequinade, with New Scenery,
Tricks, Dresses, and Decorations, called, HARLEQUIN
FAUSTUS! OR, THE
DEVIL WILL HAVE HIS OWN.
Luciferno, Mr. Thomas. DÆmon Amozor, afterwards Pantaloon, Mr. Wilkinson.—DÆmon Ziokos, afterwards Clown, Mr. Hayward.—Violencello Player, Mr. Hartem.—Baker, Mr. Thompson.—Landlord, Mr. Wilkins.—Fisherman, Mr. Rae.—Doctor Faustus, afterwards Harlequin, Mr. Salter. Adelada, afterwards Columbine, Miss Wilmot.
Attendant DÆmons, Sprites, Fairies, Ballad
Singers, Flower Girls, &c. &c.
The Pantomime will finish with
A SPLENDID PANORAMA,
Painted by the First Artists.
BOXES, 2s. PIT, 1s. GALLERY, 6d.
The theatre was about one hundred feet long, and thirty feet wide, hung all round with green baize, and crimson festoons. “Ginger beer, apples, nuts, and a bill of the play,” were cried; the charge for a bill to a person not provided with one was “a penny.” The seats were rows of planks, rising gradually from the ground at the end, and facing the stage, without any distinction of “boxes, pit, or gallery.” The stage was elevated, and there was a painted proscenium like that in a regular theatre, with a green curtain, and the king’s arms above, and an orchestra lined with crimson cloth, and five violin-players in military dresses. Between the orchestra and the bottom row of seats, was a large space, which, after the seats were filled, and greatly to the discomfiture of the lower seat-holders, was nearly occupied by spectators. There were at least a thousand persons present. The curtain drew up and presented the “Wandering Outlaw,” with a forest scene and a cottage; the next scene was a castle; the third was another scene in the forest. The second act commenced with a scene of an old church and a market-place. The second scene was a prison, and a ghost appeared to the tune of the “evening hymn.” The third scene was the castle that formed the second scene in the first act, and the performance was here enlivened by a murder. The fourth scene was rocks, with a cascade, and there was a procession to an unexecuted execution; for a ghost appeared, and saved the “Wandering Outlaw” from a fierce-looking headsman, and the piece ended. Then a plump little woman sung, “He loves and he rides away,” and the curtain drew up to “Harlequin Faustus,” wherein, after columbine and a clown, the most flaming character was the devil, with a red face and hands, in a red Spanish mantle and vest, red “continuations,” stockings and shoes ditto to follow, a red Spanish hat and plume above, and a red “brass bugle horn.” As soon as the fate of “Faustus” was concluded, the sound of a gong announced the happy event, and these performances were, in a quarter of an hour, repeated to another equally intelligent and brilliant audience. Show VII. ONLY A PENNY.
There never was such times, indeed! Nero
The largest Lion in the Fair for a Hundred Guineas! These inscriptions, with figured show-cloths, were in front of a really good exhibition [1185, 1186] of a fine lion, with leopards, and various other “beasts of the forest.” They were mostly docile and in good condition. One of the leopards was carried by his keeper a pick-a-back. Such a show for “only a penny” was astonishing. Show VIII. “SAMWELL’S COMPANY.” Another penny show: “The Wonderful Children on the Tight Rope, and Dancing Horse. Only a Penny!” I paid my penny to the money-taker, a slender “fine lady,” with three feathers in a “jewelled turban,” and a dress of blue and white muslin and silver; and withinside I saw the “fat, contented, easy” proprietor, who was arrayed in corresponding magnificence. If he loved leanness, it was in his “better half,” for himself had none of it. Obesity had disqualified him for activity, and therefore in his immensely tight and large satin jacket, he was, as much as possible, the active commander of his active performers. He superintended the dancing of a young female on the tight rope. Then he announced, “A little boy will dance a hornpipe on the rope,” and he ordered his “band” inside to play; this was obeyed without difficulty, for it merely consisted of one man, who blew a hornpipe tune on a Pan’s-pipe; while it went on, the “little boy” danced on the tight rope; so far it was a hornpipe dance and no farther. “The little boy will stand on his head on the rope,” said the manager, and the little boy stood on his head accordingly. Then another female danced on the slack-wire; and after her came a horse, not a “dancing horse,” but a “learned” horse, quite as learned as the horse at Ball’s theatre, in Show III. There was enough for “a penny.” Show IX. “CLARKE FROM ASTLEY’S.” This was a large show, with the back against the side of “Samwell’s Company,” and its front in a line with Hosier-lane, and therefore looking towards Smithfield-bars. Large placards were pasted at the side, with these words, “Clarke’s from Astley’s, Lighted with Real Gas, In and Outside.” The admission to this show was sixpence. The platform outside was at least ten feet high, and spacious above, and here there was plenty of light. The interior was very large, and lighted by only a single hoop, about two feet six inches in diameter, with little jets of gas about an inch and a half apart. A large circle or ride was formed on the ground. The entertainment commenced by a man dancing on the tight-rope. The rope was removed, and a light bay horse was mounted by a female in trowsers, with a pink gown fully frilled, flounced, and ribboned, with the shoulders in large puffs. While the horse circled the ring at full speed, she danced upon him, and skipped with a hoop like a skipping-rope; she performed other dexterous feats, and concluded by dancing on the saddle with a flag in each hand, while the horse flew round the ring with great velocity. These and the subsequent performances were enlivened by tunes from a clarionet and horn, and jokes from a clown, who, when she had concluded, said to an attendant, “Now, John, take the horse off, and whatever you do, rub him well down with a cabbage.” Then a man rode and danced on another horse, a very fine animal, and leaped from him three times over garters, placed at a considerable height and width apart, alighting on the horse’s back while he was going round. This rider was remarkably dexterous. In conclusion, the clown got up and rode with many antic tricks, till, on the sudden, an apparently drunken fellow rushed from the audience into the ring, and began to pull the clown from the horse. The manager interfered, and the people cried—“Turn him out;” but the man persisted, and the clown getting off, offered to help him up, and threw him over the horse’s back to the ground. At length the intruder was seated, with his face to the tail, though he gradually assumed a proper position; and riding as a man thoroughly intoxicated would ride, fell off; he then threw off his hat and great coat, and threw off his waistcoat, and then an under-waistcoat, and a third, and a fourth, and more than a dozen waistcoats. Upon taking off the last, his trowsers fell down and he appeared in his shirt; whereupon he crouched, and drawing his shirt off in a twinkling, appeared in a handsome fancy dress, leaped into the saddle of the horse, rode standing with great grace, received great applause, made his bow, and so the performance concluded. This show was the last in the line on the west side of Smithfield. Show X. The line of shows on the east of Smithfield, commencing at Long-lane, began with “The Indian Woman—Chinese Lady and [1187, 1188] Dwarf,” &c. A clown outside cried, “Be assured they’re alive—only one penny each.” The crowd was great, and the shows to be seen were many, I therefore did not go in. Show XI. On the outside was inscribed, “To be seen alive! The Prodigies of Nature!—The Wild Indian Woman and Child, with her Nurse from her own country.—The Silver-haired Lady and Dwarf. Only a Penny.”—The showmaster made a speech: “Ladies and gentlemen, before I show you the wonderful prodigies of nature, let me introduce you to the wonderful works of art;” and then he drew a curtain, where some wax-work figures stood. “This,” said he, “ladies and gentlemen, is the famous old Mother Shipton; and here is the unfortunate Jane Shore, the beautiful mistress of king Edward the Second; next to her is his majesty king George the Fourth of most glorious memory; and this is queen Elizabeth in all her glory; then here you have the princess Amelia, the daughter of his late majesty, who is dead; this is Mary, queen of Scots, who had her head cut off; and this is O’Bryen, the famous Irish giant; this man, here, is Thornton, who was tried for the murder of Mary Ashford; and this is the exact resemblance of Othello, the moor of Venice, who was a jealous husband, and depend upon it every man who is jealous of his wife, will be as black as that negro. Now, ladies and gentlemen, the two next are a wonderful couple, John and Margaret Scott, natives of Dunkeld, in Scotland; they lived about ninety years ago; John Scott was a hundred and five years old when he died, and Margaret lived to be a hundred and twelve; and what is more remarkable, there is not a soul living can say he ever heard them quarrel.” Here he closed the curtain, and while undrawing another, continued thus: “Having shown you the dead, I have now to exhibit to you two of the most extraordinary wonders of the living; this,” said he, “is the widow of a New Zealand Chief, and this is the little old woman of Bagdad; she is thirty inches high, twenty-two years of age, and a native of Boston, in Lincolnshire.” Each of these living subjects was quite as wonderful as the waxen ones: the exhibition, which lasted about five minutes, was ended by courteous thanks for the “approbation of the ladies and gentlemen present,” and an evident desire to hurry them off, lest they might be more curious than his own curiosities. Show XII. “Only a penny” was the price of admission to “The Black Wild Indian Woman.—The White Indian Youth—and the Welsh Dwarf.—All Alive!” There was this further announcement on the outside, “The Young American will Perform after the Manner of the French Jugglers at Vauxhall Gardens, with Balls, Rings, Daggers,” &c. When the “Welsh dwarf” came on he was represented to be Mr. William Phillips, of Denbigh, fifteen years of age. The “white Indian youth” was an Esquimaux, and the exhibitor assured the visitors upon his veracity, that “the black wild Indian woman” was “a court lady of the island of Madagascar.” The exhibitor himself was “the young American,” an intelligent and clever youth in a loose striped jacket or frock tied round the middle. He commenced his performances by throwing up three balls, which he kept constantly in the air, as he afterwards did four, and then five, with great dexterity, using his hands, shoulders, and elbows, apparently with equal ease. He afterwards threw up three rings, each about four inches in diameter, and then four, which he kept in motion with similar success. To end his performance he produced three knives, which, by throwing up and down, he contrived to preserve in the air altogether. These feats forcibly reminded me of the Anglo-Saxon Glee-man, who “threw three balls and three knives alternately in the air, and caught them, one by one, as they fell; returning them again in regular rotation.”[274] The young American’s dress and knives were very similar to the Glee-man’s, as Strutt has figured them from a MS. in the Cotton collection. This youth’s was one of the best exhibitions in the Fair, perhaps the very best. The admission it will be remembered was “only a penny.” Show XIII. The inscriptions and paintings on the outside of this show were, “The White [1189, 1190] Negro, who was rescued from her Black Parents by the bravery of a British Officer—the only White Negro Girl Alive.—The Great Giantess and Dwarf.—Six Curiosities Alive!—only a Penny to see them All Alive!” While waiting a few minutes till the place filled, I had leisure to observe that one side of the place was covered by a criminal attempt to represent a tread-mill, in oil colours, and the operators at work upon it, superintended by gaolers, &c. On the other side were live monkies in cages; an old bear in a jacket, and sundry other animals. Underneath the wheels of the machine, other living creatures were moving about, and these turned out to be the poor neglected children of the showman and his wife. The miserable condition of these infants, who were puddling in the mud, while their parents outside were turning a bit of music, and squalling and bawling with all their might, “walk in—only a penny,” to get spectators of the objects that were as yet concealed on their “proud eminence,” the caravan, by a thin curtain, raised a gloom in the mind. I was in a reverie concerning these beings when the curtain was withdrawn, and there stood confessed to sight, she whom the showman called “the tall lady,” and “the white negro, the greatest curiosity ever seen—the first that has been exhibited since the reign of George the Second—look at her head and hair, ladies and gentlemen, and feel it; there’s no deception, it’s like ropes of wool.” There certainly was not any deception. The girl herself, who had the flat nose, thick lips, and peculiarly shaped scull of the negro, stooped to have her head examined, and being close to her I felt it. Her hair, if it could be called hair, was of a dirtyish flaxen hue; it hung in ropes, of a clothy texture, the thickness of a quill, and from four to six inches in length. Her skin was the colour of an European’s. Afterwards stepped forth a little personage about three feet high, in a military dress, with top boots, who strutted his tiny legs, and held his head aloft with not less importance than the proudest general officer could assume upon his promotion to the rank of field-martial. Mr. Samuel Williams, whose versatile and able pencil has frequently enriched this work, visited the Fair after me, and was equally struck by his appearance. He favours me with the subjoined engraving of this Little Man. I took my leave of this show pondering on “the different ends our fates assign,” but the jostling of a crowd in Smithfield, and the clash of instruments, were not favourable to musing, and I walked into the next. Show XIV. BROWN’S GRAND TROOP, FROM PARIS. This was “only a penny” exhibition, notwithstanding that it elevated the king’s arms, and bore a fine-sounding name. The performance began by a clown going round and whipping a ring; that is, making a circular space amongst the spectators with a whip in his hand to force the refractory. This being effected, a conjurer walked up to a table and executed several tricks with cups and balls; giving a boy beer to drink out of a funnel, making him blow through it to show that it was empty, and afterwards applying it to each of the boy’s ears, from whence, through the funnel, the beer appeared to reflow, and poured on the ground. Afterwards girls danced on the single and double slack wire, and a melancholy looking clown, among other things, said they were “as clever as the barber and blacksmith who shaved magpies at twopence a dozen.” The show concluded with a learned horse. [1191, 1192] Show XV. Another, and a very good menagerie—the admission “only a penny!” It was “George Ballard’s Caravan,” with “The Lioness that attacked the Exeter mail.—The great Lion.—Royal Tiger.—Large White Bear.—Tiger Owls,” with monkies, and other animals, the usual accessories to the interior of a menagerie. The chief attraction was “the Lioness.” Her attack on the Exeter Mail was on a Sunday evening, in the year 1816. The coach had arrived at Winterslow-hut, seven miles on the London side of Salisbury. In a most extraordinary manner, at the moment when the coachman pulled up to deliver his bags, one of the leaders was suddenly seized by some ferocious animal. This produced a great confusion and alarm; two passengers who were inside the mail got out, ran into the house, and locked themselves up in a room above stairs; the horses kicked and plunged violently, and it was with difficulty the coachman could prevent the carriage from being overturned. It was soon perceived by the coachman and guard, by the light of the lamps, that the animal which had seized the horse was a huge lioness. A large mastiff dog came up and attacked her fiercely, on which she quitted the horse and turned upon him. The dog fled, but was pursued and killed by the lioness, within forty yards of the place. It appears that the beast had escaped from its caravan which was standing on the road side with others belonging to the proprietors of the menagerie, on their way to Salisbury Fair. An alarm being given, the keepers pursued and hunted the lioness into a hovel under a granary, which served for keeping agricultural implements. About half-past eight they had secured her so effectually, by barricading the place, as to prevent her escape. The horse, when first attacked, fought with great spirit, and if at liberty, would probably have beaten down his antagonist with his fore feet, but in plunging he embarrassed himself in the harness. The lioness attacked him in the front, and springing at his throat, fastened the talons of her fore feet on each side of his neck, close to the head, while the talons of her hind feet were forced into his chest. In this situation she hung, while the blood was seen flowing as if a vein had been opened by a fleam. He was a capital horse, the off-leader, the best in the set. The expressions of agony in his tears and moans were most pitious and affecting. A fresh horse having been procured, the mail drove on, after having been detained three quarters of an hour. As the mail drew up it stood exactly abreast of the caravan from which the lioness made the assault. The coachman at first proposed to alight and stab the lioness with a knife, but was prevented by the remonstrance of the guard; who observed, that he would expose himself to certain destruction, as the animal if attacked would naturally turn upon him and tear him to pieces. The prudence of the advice was clearly proved by the fate of the dog. It was the engagement between him and the lioness that afforded time for the keepers to rally. After she had disengaged herself from the horse, she did not seem to be in any immediate hurry to move; for, whether she had carried off with her, as prey, the dog she had killed, or from some other cause, she continued growling and howling in so loud a tone, as to be heard for nearly half a mile. All had called out loudly to the guard to despatch her with his blunderbuss, which he appeared disposed to do, but the owner cried out to him, “For God’s sake do not kill her—she cost me 500l., and she will be as quiet as a lamb if not irritated.” This arrested his hand, and he did not fire. She was afterwards easily enticed by the keepers, and placed in her usual confinement. The collection of animals in Ballard’s menagerie is altogether highly interesting, but it seems impossible that the proprietor could exhibit them for “only a penny” in any other place than “Bartholomew Fair,” where the people assemble in great multitudes, and the shows are thronged the whole day. Show XVI. “Exhibition of Real Wonders.” This announcement, designed to astonish, was inscribed over the show with the usual notice, “Only a Penny!”—the “Wonders of the Deep!” the “Prodigies of the Age!” and “the Learned Pig!” in large letters. The printed bill is a curiosity:— To be Seen in a Commodious Pavilion in
this Place.
REAL WONDERS!
SEE AND BELIEVE. [1193, 1194] mermaid Have you seen
THE BEAUTIFUL DOLPHIN,
The Performing Pig & the Mermaid? If not, pray do! as the exhibition contains more variety than any other in England. Those ladies and gentlemen who may be pleased to honour it with a visit will be truly gratified. TOBY,
The Swinish Philosopher, and Ladies’ Fortune
Teller. That beautiful animal appears to be endowed with the natural sense of the human being. He is in colour the most beautiful of his race; in symmetry the most perfect; in temper the most docile; and far exceeds any thing yet seen for his intelligent performances. He is beyond all conception: he has a perfect knowledge of the alphabet, understands arithmetic, and will spell and cast accounts, tell the points of the globe, the dice-box, the hour by any person’s watch, &c. The Real Head of
MAHOWRA,
THE CANNIBAL CHIEF. At the same time, the public will have an opportunity of seeing what was exhibited so long in London, under the title of THE MERMAID:
The wonder of the deep! not a fac-simile
or copy, but the same curiosity.
Admission Moderate. ? Open from Eleven in the Morning till
Nine in the Evening. The great “prodigies” of this show were the “performing pig,” and the performing show-woman. She drew forth the learning of the “swinish philosopher” admirably. He told his letters, and “got into spelling” with his nose; and could do a sum of two figures “in addition.” Then, at her desire, he routed out those of the company who were in love, or addicted to indulgence; and peremptorily grunted, that a “round, fat, oily”-faced personage at my elbow, “loved good eating, and a pipe, and a jug of good ale, better than the sight of the Living Skeleton!” The beautiful dolphin was a fish-skin stuffed. The mermaid was the last manufactured imposture of that name, exhibited for half-a-crown in Piccadilly, about a year before. The real head of Mahowra, the cannibal chief, was a skull that might have been some English clod-pole’s, with a dried skin over it, and bewigged; but it looked sufficiently terrific, when the lady show-woman put the candle in at the neck, and the flame illuminated the yellow integument over the holes where eyes, nose, and a tongue had been. There was enough for “a penny!” Show XVII. Another “Only a penny!” with pictures “large as life” on the show-cloths outside of the “living wonders within,” and the following inscription:— ALL ALIVE!
No False Paintings!
THE WILD INDIAN,
THE
GIANT BOY,
And the
DWARF FAMILY,
Never here before,
TO BE SEEN ALIVE! Mr. Thomas Day was the reputed father of the dwarf family, and exhibited himself as small enough for a great wonder; as he was. He was also proprietor of the show; and said he was thirty-five years of age, and only thirty-five inches high. He fittingly descanted on the living personages in whom he had a vested interest. There was a boy six years old, only twenty-seven inches high. The Wild Indian was a civil-looking man of colour. The Giant Boy, William Wilkinson Whitehead, was fourteen years of age on the 26th of March last, stood five feet two inches high, measured five feet round the body, twenty-seven inches across the [1195, 1196] shoulders, twenty inches round the arm, twenty-four inches round the calf, thirty-one inches round the thigh, and weighed twenty-two stone. His father and mother were “travelling merchants” of Manchester; he was born at Glasgow during one of their journies, and was as fine a youth as I ever saw, handsomely formed, of fair complexion, an intelligent countenance, active in motion, and of sensible speech. He was lightly dressed in plaid to show his limbs, with a bonnet of the same. The artist with me sketched his appearance exactly as we saw him, and as the present engraving now represents him; it is a good likeness of his features, as well as of his form. Show XVIII. “Holden’s Glass Working and Blowing.” This was the last show on the east-side of Smithfield. It was limited to a single caravan; having seen exhibitions of the same kind, and the evening getting late, I declined entering, though “Only a penny!” Show XIX. This was the first show on the south-side of Smithfield. It stood, therefore, with its side towards Cloth-fair, and the back towards the corner of Duke-street. [1197, 1198] The admission was “Only a penny!” and the paintings flared on the show-cloths with this inscription, “They’re all Alive Inside! Be assured They’re All Alive!—The Yorkshire Giantess.—Waterloo Giant.—Indian Chief.—Only a Penny!” An overgrown girl was the Yorkshire Giantess. A large man with a tail, and his hair frizzed and powdered, aided by a sort of uniform coat and a plaid rocquelaire, made the Waterloo Giant. The abdication of such an Indian Chief as this, in favour of Bartholomew Fair, was probably forced upon him by his tribe. Show XX. The “Greatest of all Wonders!—Giantess and Two Dwarfs.—Only a Penny!” They were painted on the show-cloths quite as little, and quite as large, as life. The dwarfs inside were dwarfish, and the “Somerset girl, taller than any man in England,” (for so said the show-cloth,) arose from a chair, wherein she was seated, to the height of six feet nine inches and three quarters, with, “ladies and gentlemen, your most obedient.” She was good looking and affable, and obliged the “ladies and gentlemen” by taking off her tight fitting slipper and handing it round. It was of such dimension, that the largest man present could have put his booted foot into it. She said that her name was Elizabeth Stock, and that she was only sixteen years old. Show XXI. CHAPPELL—PIKE. This was a very large show, without any show-cloths or other announcement outside to intimate the performances, except a clown and several male and female performers, who strutted the platform in their exhibiting dresses, and in dignified silence; but the clown grimaced, and, assisted by others, bawled “Only a penny,” till the place filled, and then the show commenced. There was slack-rope dancing, tumbling, and other representations as at Ball’s theatre, but better executed. Show XXII. WOMBWELL. The back of this man’s menagerie abutted on the side of the last show, and ran the remaining length of the north-side of Smithfield, with the front looking towards Giltspur-street; at that entrance into the Fair it was the first show. This front was entirely covered by painted show-cloths representing the animals, with the proprietor’s name in immense letters above, and the words “The Conquering Lion” very conspicuous. There were other show-cloths along the whole length of the side, surmounted by this inscription, stretching out in one line of large capital letters, “Nero and Wallace; the same Lions that fought at Warwick.” One of the front show-cloths represented one of the fights; a lion stood up with a dog in his mouth, cranched between his grinders; the blood ran from his jaws; his left leg stood upon another dog squelched by his weight. A third dog was in the act of flying at him ferociously, and one, wounded and bleeding, was fearfully retreating. There were seven other show-cloths on this front, with the words “Nero and Wallace” between them. One of these show-cloths, whereon the monarch of the forest was painted, was inscribed, “Nero, the Great Lion, from Caffraria!” The printed bill described the whole collection to be in “fine order.” Sixpence was the entrance money demanded, which having paid, I entered the show early in the afternoon, although it is now mentioned last, in conformity to its position in the Fair. I had experienced some inconvenience, and witnessed some irregularities incident to a mixed multitude filling so large a space as Smithfield; yet no disorder without, was equal to the disorder within Wombwell’s. There was no passage at the end, through which persons might make their way out: perhaps this was part of the proprietor’s policy, for he might imagine that the universal disgust that prevailed in London, while he was manifesting his brutal cupidity at Warwick, had not subsided; and that it was necessary his show-place here should appear to fill well on the first day of the Fair, lest a report of general indifference to it, should induce many persons to forego the gratification of their curiosity, in accommodation to the natural and right feeling that induced a determination not to enter the exhibition of a man who had freely submitted his animals to be tortured. Be that as it may, his show, when I saw it, was a shameful scene. There was no person in attendance to exhibit or point out the animals. They were arranged on one side only, and [1199, 1200] I made my way with difficulty towards the end, where a loutish fellow with a broomstick, stood against one of the dens, from whom I could only obtain this information, that it was not his business to show the beasts, and that the showman would begin at a proper time. I patiently waited, expecting some announcement of this person’s arrival; but no intimation of it was given; at length I discovered over the heads of the unconscious crowd around, that the showman, who was evidently under the influence of drink, had already made his way one third along the show. With great difficulty I forced myself through the sweltering press somewhat nearer to him, and managed to get opposite Nero’s den, which he had by that time reached and clambered into, and into which he invited any of the spectators who chose to pay him sixpence each, as many of them did, for the sake of saying that they had been in the den with the noble animal, that Wombwell, his master, had exposed to be baited by bull-dogs. The man was as greedy of gain as his master, and therefore without the least regard to those who wished for general information concerning the different animals, he maintained his post as long as there was a prospect of getting the sixpences. Pressure and heat were now so excessive, that I was compelled to struggle my way, as many others did, towards the door at the front end, for the sake of getting into the air. Unquestionably I should not have entered Wombwell’s, but for the purpose of describing his exhibition in common with others. As I had failed in obtaining the information I sought, and could not get a printed bill when I entered, I re-ascended to endeavour for one again; here I saw Wombwell, to whom I civilly stated the great inconvenience within, which a little alteration would have obviated; he affected to know nothing about it, refused to be convinced, and exhibited himself, to my judgment of him, with an understanding and feelings perverted by avarice. He is undersized in mind as well as form, “a weazen, sharp-faced man,” with a skin reddened by more than natural spirits, and he speaks in a voice and language that accord with his feelings and propensities. His bill mentions, “A remarkably fine tigress in the same den with a noble British lion!!” I looked for this companionship in his menagerie, without being able to discover it. Here ends my account of the various shows in the Fair. In passing the stalls, the following bill was slipped into my hand, by a man stationed to give them away. SERIOUS NOTICE,
IN PERFECT CONFIDENCE. The following extraordinary comic performances at
Sadler’s Wells, Can only be given during the present week; the proprietors, therefore, most respectfully inform that fascinating sex, so properly distinguished by the appropriate appellation of THE FAIR! And all those well inclined gentlemen who are happy enough to protect them, that the amusements will consist of a romantic tale, of mysterious horror and broad grin, never acted, called the ENCHANTED
GIRDLES;
OR,
WINKI THE WITCH,
And the Ladies of Samarcand. A most whimsical burletta, which sends people home perfectly exhausted from uninterrupted risibility, called THE LAWYER, THE JEW,
AND
THE YORKSHIREMAN. With, by request of 75 distinguished families, and a party of 5, that never-to-be-sufficiently-praised pantomime, called Magic in Two Colours;
OR,
FAIRY BLUE & FAIRY RED:
Or, Harlequin and the Marble Rock. It would be perfectly superfluous for any man in his senses to attempt any thing more than the mere announcement in recommendation of the above unparalleled representations, so attractive in themselves as to threaten a complete monopoly of the qualities of the magnet; and though the proprietors were to talk nonsense for an hour, they could not assert a more important truth than that they possess [1201, 1202] The only Wells from which you may draw
WINE,
THREE SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE
A full Quart. Those whose important avocations prevent their coming at the commencement, will be admitted for
HALF-PRICE, AT HALF-PAST EIGHT Ladies and gentlemen who are not judges of the superior entertainments announced, are respectfully requested to bring as many as possible with them who are. N.B. A full Moon during the Week.
This bill is here inserted as a curious specimen of the method adopted to draw an audience to the superior entertainments of a pleasant little summer theatre, which, to its credit, discourages the nuisances that annoy every parent who takes his family to the boxes at the other theatres.
Before mentioning other particulars concerning the Fair here described, I present a lively representation of it in former times.
Bartholomew Fair in 1614. “O, rare Ben Jonson!” To him we are indebted for the only picture of Smithfield at “Barthol’me’-tide” in his time. In his play of “Bartholomew Fair,” we have John Littlewit, a proctor “o’ the Archdeacon’s-court,” and “one of the pretty wits o’ Paul’s” persuading his wife, Win-the-fight, to go to the Fair. He says “I have an affair i’ the Fair, Win, a puppet-play of mine own making.—I writ for the motion-man.” She tells him that her mother, dame Purecraft, will never consent; whereupon he says, “Tut, we’ll have a device, a dainty one: long to eat of a pig, sweet Win, i’ the Fair; do you see? i’ the heart o’ the Fair; not at Pye-corner. Your mother will do any thing to satisfie your longing.” Upon this hint, Win prevails with her mother, to consult Zeal-of-the-land Busy, a Banbury man “of a most lunatick conscience and spleen;” who is of opinion that pig “is a meat, and a meat that is nourishing, and may be eaten; very exceeding well eaten; but in the Fair, and as a Bartholmew pig, it cannot be eaten; for the very calling it a Bartholmew pig, and to eat it so, is a spice of idolatry.” After much deliberation, however, he allows that so that the offence “be shadowed, as it were, it may be eaten, and in the Fair, I take it—in a booth.” He says “there may be a good use made of it too, now I think on’t, by the public eating of swine’s flesh, to profess our hate and loathing of Judaism;” and therefore he goes with them. In the Fair a quarrel falls out between Lanthorn Leatherhead, “a hobby-horse seller,” and Joan Trash, “a gingerbread woman.” “Leatherhead. Do you hear, sister Trash, lady o’ the basket? sit farther with your gingerbread progeny there, and hinder not the prospect of my shop, or I’ll ha’ it proclaimed i’ the Fair, what stuff they are made on. “Trash. Why, what stuff are they made on, brother Leatherhead? nothing but what’s wholesome, I assure you. “Leatherhead. Yes; stale bread, rotten eggs, musty ginger, and dead honey, you know. “Trash. Thou too proud pedlar, do thy worst: I defy thee, I, and thy stable of hobby-horses. I pay for my ground, as well as thou dost, and thou wrongs’t me, for all thou art parcel-poet, and an ingineer. I’ll find a friend shall right me, and make a ballad of thee, and thy cattle all over. Are you puft up with the pride of your wares? your arsedine? “Leatherhead. Go too, old Joan, I’ll talk with you anon; and take you down too—I’ll ha’ you i’ the Pie-pouldres.” They drop their abuse and pursue their vocation. Leatherhead calls, “What do you lack? what is’t you buy? what do you lack? rattles, drums, halberts, horses, babies o’ the best? fiddles o’ the finest?” Trash cries, “Buy my gingerbread, gilt gingerbread!” A “costard-monger” bawls out, “Buy any pears, pears! fine, very fine pears!” Nightingale, another character, sings, “Hey, now the Fair’s a filling
O, for a tune to startle
The birds o’ the booths, here billing
Yearly with old Saint Barthle!
The drunkards they are wading, [1203, 1204]
The punks and chapmen trading,
Who’ld see the Fair without his lading?
Buy my ballads! new ballads!”
Ursula, “a pig-woman,” laments her vocation:—“Who would wear out their youth and prime thus, in roasting of pigs, that had any cooler occupation? I am all fire and fat; I shall e’en melt away—a poor vex’d thing I am; I feel myself dropping already as fast as I can: two stone of sewet a-day is my proportion: I can but hold life and soul together.” Then she soliloquizes concerning Mooncalf, her tapster, and her other vocations: “How can I hope that ever he’ll discharge his place of trust, tapster, a man of reckoning under me, that remembers nothing I say to him? but look to’t, sirrah, you were best; threepence a pipe-full I will ha’ made of all my whole half pound of tobacco, and a quarter of a pound of colts-foot, mixt with it too, to eech it out. Then six-and-twenty shillings a barrel I will advance o’ my beer, and fifty shillings a hundred o’ my bottle ale; I ha’ told you the ways how to raise it. (a knock.) Look who’s there, sirrah! five shillings a pig is my price at least; if it be a sow-pig sixpence more.” Jordan Knockhum, “a horse-courser and a ranger of Turnbull,” calls for “a fresh bottle of ale, and a pipe of tobacco.” Passengers enter, and Leatherhead says, “What do you lack, gentlemen? Maid, see a fine hobby-horse for your young master.” A corn-cutter cries, “Ha’ you any corns i’ your feet and toes?” Then “a tinder-box man” calls, “Buy a mouse-trap, a mouse-trap, or a tormentor for a flea!” Trash cries, “Buy some gingerbread!” Nightingale bawls, “Ballads, ballads, fine new ballads!” Leatherhead repeats, “What do you lack, gentlemen, what is’t you lack? a fine horse? a lion? a bull? a bear? a dog? or a cat? an excellent fine Bartholmew bird? or an instrument? what is’t you lack?” The pig-woman quarrels with her guests and falls foul on her tapster: “In, you rogue, and wipe the pigs, and mend the fire, that they fall not; or I’ll both baste and wast you till your eyes drop out, like ’em.” Knockhum says to the female passengers, “Gentlewomen, the weather’s hot! whither walk you? Have a care o’ your fine velvet caps, the Fair is dusty. Take a sweet delicate booth, with boughs, here, i’ the way, and cool yourselves i’ the shade; you and your friends. The best pig and bottle ale i’ the Fair, sir, old Urs’la is cook; there, you may read; the pig’s head speaks it.” Knockhum adds, that she roasted her pigs “with fire o’ juniper, and rosemary branches.” Littlewit, the proctor, and his wife, Win-the-fight, with her mother, dame Purecroft, and Zeal-of-the-land enter. Busy Knockhum suggests to Ursula that they are customers of the right sort, “In, and set a couple o’ pigs o’ the board, and half a dozen of the bygist bottles afore ’em—two to a pig, away!” In another scene Leatherhead cries, “Fine purses, pouches, pincases, pipes; what is’t you lack? a pair o’ smiths to wake you i’ the morning? or a fine whistling bird?” Bartholomew Cokes, a silly “esquire of Harrow,” stops at Leatherhead’s to purchase: “Those six horses, friend, I’ll have; and the three Jews trumps; and a half a dozen o’ birds; and that drum; and your smiths (I like that device o’ your smiths,)—and four halberts; and, let me see, that fine painted great lady, and her three women for state, I’ll have. A set of those violins I would buy too, for a delicate young noise I have i’ the country, that are every one a size less than another, just like your fiddles.” Trash invites him to buy her gingerbread, and he turns to her basket, whereupon Leatherhead says, “Is this well, Goody Joan, to interrupt my market in the midst, and call away my customers? Can you answer this at the Pie-pouldres?” whereto Trash replies, “Why, if his master-ship have a mind to buy, I hope my ware lies as open as anothers; I may shew my ware as well as you yours.” Nightingale begins to sing, “My masters and friends, and good people draw near.”
Cokes hears this, and says, “Ballads! hark, hark! pray thee, fellow, stay a little! What ballads hast thou? let me see, let me see myself—How dost thou call it? ‘A Caveat against Cut-purses!’—a good jest, i’ faith; I would fain see that demon, your cut-purse, you talk of.” He then shows his purse boastingly, and inquires, “Ballad-man, do any cut-purses haunt hereabout? pray thee raise me one or two: begin and shew me one.” Nightingale answers, “Sir, this is a spell against ’em, spick and span new: and ’tis made as ’twere in mine own person, and I sing it in mine own defence. But ’twill cost a penny alone if you buy it.” [1205, 1206] Cokes replies, “No matter for the price; thou dost not know me I see, I am an odd Bartholmew.” The ballad has “pictures,” and Nightingale tells him, “It was intended, sir, as if a purse should chance to be cut in my presence, now; I may be blameless though; as by the sequel will more plainly appear.” He adds, it is “to the tune of ‘Paggington’s Pound,’ sir,” and he finally sings— A Caveat against Cut-purses. My masters, and friends, and good people draw near,
And look to your purses, for that I do say;
And though little money, in them you do bear,
It cost more to get, than to lose in a day,
You oft’ have been told,
Both the young and the old,
And bidden beware of the cut-purse so bold.
Then if you take heed not, free me from the curse,
Who both give you warning, for, and the cut-purse.
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse.
It hath been upbraided to men of my trade,
That oftentimes we are the cause of this crime:
Alack, and for pity, why should it be said?
As if they regarded or places, or time.
Examples have been
Of some that were seen
In Westminster-hall, yea, the pleaders between;
Then why should the judges be free from this curse
More than my poor self, for cutting the purse?
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse.
At Worc’ter ’tis known well, and even i’ the jail,
A knight of good worship did there shew his face
Against the foul sinners in zeal for to rail,
And lost, ipso facto, his purse in the place.
Nay, once from the seat
Of judgment so great,
A judge there did lose a fair pouch of velvet;
O, Lord for thy mercy, how wicked, or worse,
Are those that so venture their necks for a purse.
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
Than live to be hanged for stealing a purse.
At plays, and at sermons, and at the sessions,
’Tis daily their practice such booty to make;
Yea, under the gallows, at executions,
They stick not the stare-abouts’ purses to take.
Nay, one without grace,
At a better place,
At court, and in Christmas, before the king’s face.
Alack! then, for pity, must I bear the curse,
That only belongs to the cunning cut-purse.
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
Than live to be hanged for stealing a purse.
But O, you vile nation of cut-purses all,
Relent, and repent, and amend, and be sound,
And know that you ought not by honest men’s fall, [1207, 1208]
Advance your own fortunes to die above ground.
And though you go gay
In silks as you may,
It is not the highway to heaven (as they say.)
Repent then, repent you, for better, for worse;
And kiss not the gallows for cutting a purse.
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse.
While Nightingale sings this ballad, a fellow tickles Cokes’s ear with a straw, to make him withdraw his hand from his pocket, and privately robs him of his purse, which, at the end of the song, he secretly conveys to the ballad-singer; who, notwithstanding his “Caveat against Cut-purses,” is their principal confederate, and, in that quality, becomes the unsuspected depository of the plunder. Littlewit tells his wife, Win, of the great hog, and of a bull with five legs, in the Fair. Zeal-of-the-land loudly declaims against the Fair, and against Trash’s commodities:—“Hence with thy basket of popery, thy nest of images, and whole legend of ginger-work.” He rails against “the prophane pipes, the tinkling timbrels;” and Adam Overdoo, a reforming justice of peace, one of “the court of Pie-powders,” who wears a disguise for the better observation of disorder, gets into the stocks himself. Then “a western man, that’s come to wrestle before my lord mayor anon,” gets drunk, and is cried by “the clerk o’ the market all the Fair over here, for my lord’s service.” Zeal-of-the-land Busy, too, is put with others into the stocks, and being asked, “what are you, sir?” he answers, “One that rejoiceth in his affliction, and sitteth here to prophesy the destruction of fairs and may-games, wakes and whitsun-ales, and doth sigh and groan for the reformation of these abuses.” During a scuffle, the keepers of the stocks leave them open, and those who are confined withdraw their legs and walk away. From a speech by Leatherhead, preparatory to exhibiting his “motion,” or puppet-show, we become acquainted with the subjects, and the manner of the performance. He says, “Out with the sign of our invention, in the name of wit; all the fowl i’ the Fair, I mean all the dirt in Smithfield, will be thrown at our banner to-day, if the matter does not please the people. O! the motions that I, Lanthorn Leatherhead, have given light to, i’ my time, since my master, Pod, died! Jerusalem was a stately thing; and so was Nineveh and The City of Norwich, and Sodom and Gomorrah; with the Rising o’ the Prentices, and pulling down the houses there upon Shrove-Tuesday; but the Gunpowder Plot, there was a get-penny! I have presented that to an eighteen or twenty pence audience nine times in an afternoon. Look to your gathering there, good master Filcher—and when there come any gentlefolks take twopence a-piece.” He has a bill of his motion which reads thus: “The Ancient Modern History of Hero and Leander, otherwise called, the Touchstone of True Love, with as true a Trial of Friendship between Damon and Pythias, two faithful Friends o’ the Bank-side.” This was the motion written by Littlewit. Cokes arrives, and inquires, “What do we pay for coming in, fellow?” Filcher answers, “Twopence, sir.” “Cokes. What manner of matter is this, Mr. Littlewit? What kind of actors ha’ you? are they good actors? “Littlewit. Pretty youths, sir, all children both old and young, here’s the master of ’em, Master Lantern, that gives light to the business. “Cokes. In good time, sir, I would fain see ’em; I would be glad to drink with the young company; which is the tiring-house? “Leatherhead. Troth, sir, our tiring-house is somewhat little; we are but beginners yet, pray pardon us; you cannot go upright in’t. “Cokes. No? not now my hat is off? what would you have done with me, if you had had me feather and all, as I was once to-day? Ha’ you none of your pretty impudent boys now, to bring stools, fill tobacco, fetch ale, and beg money, as they have at other houses? let me see some o’ your actors. “Littlewit. Shew him ’em, shew him ’em. Master Lantern; this is a gentleman that is a favourer of the quality. [Leatherhead brings the puppets out in a basket.][1209, 1210] “Cokes. What! do they live in baskets? “Leatherhead. They do lie in a basket, sir: they are o’ the small players. “Cokes. These be players minor indeed. Do you call these players? “Leatherhead. They are actors, sir, and as good as any, none dispraised, for dumb shows: Indeed I am the mouth of ’em all.—This is he that acts young Leander, sir; and this is lovely Hero; this, with the beard, Damon; and this, pretty Pythias: this is the ghost of king Dionysius, in the habit of a scrivener: as you shall see anon, at large. “Cokes. But do you play it according to the printed book? I have read that. “Leatherhead. By no means, sir. “Cokes. No? How then? “Leatherhead. A better way, sir; that is too learned and poetical for our audience: what do they know what Hellespont is? guilty of true love’s blood? or what Abydos is? or the other Sestos height?—No; I have entreated master Littlewit to take a little pains to reduce it to a more familiar strain for our people. “Littlewit. I have only made it a little easy and modern for the times, sir, that’s all: as for the Hellespont, I imagine our Thames here; and then Leander, I make a dyer’s son about Puddle-wharf; and Hero, a wench o’ the Bank-side, who going over one morning to Old Fish-street, Leander spies her land at Trig’s-stairs, and falls in love with her: now do I introduce Cupid, having metamorphosed himself into a drawer, and he strikes Hero in love with a pint of sherry.” While “Cokes is handling the puppets” the doorkeepers call out “Twopence a-piece, gentlemen; an excellent motion.” Other visitors enter and take their seats, and Cokes, while waiting with some of his acquaintance, employs the time at the “game of vapours, which is nonsense; every man to oppose the last man that spoke, whether it concerned him or no.” The audience become impatient, and one calls out, “Do you hear puppet-master, these are tedious vapours; when begin you?” Filcher, Leatherhead’s man, with the other doorkeepers, continue to bawl, “Twopence a-piece, sir; the best motion in the Fair.” Meanwhile the company talk, and one relates that he has already seen in the Fair, the eagle; the black wolf; the bull with five legs, which “was a calf at Uxbridge Fair two years agone;” the dogs that dance the morrice; and “the hare o’ the taber.”
Ben Jonson’s mention of the hare that beat the tabor at Bartholomew Fair in his time, is noticed by the indefatigable and accurate Strutt; who gives the following representation of the feat itself, which he affirms, when he copied it from a drawing in the Harleian collection, (6563,) to have been upwards of four hundred years old.
For an idea of Leatherhead’s motion take as follows: it commences thus:— Leatherhead.
Gentiles, that no longer your expectations may wander,
Behold our chief actor, amorous Leander;
With a great deal of cloth, lapp’d about him like a scarf,
For he yet serves his father, a dyer at Puddle-wharf.
Which place we’ll make bold with to call it our Abidus,
As the Bank-side is our Sestos; and let it not be denied us
Now as he is beating, to make the dye take the fuller,
Who chances to come by, but fair Hero in a sculler;
And seeing Leander’s naked leg, and goodly calf,
Cast at him from the boat a sheep’s eye and an half,
Now she is landed, and the sculler come back,
By and by you shall see what Leander doth lack.
Puppet Leander. Cole, Cole, old Cole.[1211, 1212]
Leatherhead. That is the sculler’s name without controul.
Pup. Leander. Cole, Cole, I say, Cole.
Leatherhead. We do hear you.
Pup. Leander. Old Cole.
Leatherhead. Old Cole? is the dyer turn’d collier?—
Pup. Leander. Why Cole, I say, Cole.
Leatherhead. It’s the sculler you need.
Pup. Leander. Aye, and be hang’d.
Leatherhead. Be hang’d! look you yonder,
Old Cole, you must go hang with master Leander.
Puppet Cole. Where is he?
Puppet Leander. Here Cole. What fairest of fairs
Was that fare that thou landest but now at Trig’s-stairs?
Puppet Cole. It is lovely Hero.
Puppet Leander. Nero?
Puppet Cole. No, Hero.
Leatherhead. It is Hero
Of the Bank-side, he saith, to tell you truth, without erring,
Is come over into Fish-street to eat some fresh herring.
Leander says no more but as fast as he can,
Gets on all his best clothes, and will after to the swan.
In this way Leatherhead proceeds with his motion; he relates part of the story himself, in a ribald manner, and making the puppets quarrel, “the puppet Cole strikes him over the pate.” He performs Damon and Pythias in the same way, and renders the “gallimaufry” more ridiculous, by a battle between the puppets in Hero and Leander, and those of Damon and Pythias. Zeal-of-the-land Busy interferes with the puppet Dionysius, who had been raised up by Leatherhead— “Not like a monarch but the master of a school,
In a scrivener’s furr’d gown which shows he is no fool;
For, therein he hath wit enough to keep himself warm:
O Damon! he cries, and Pythias what harm
Hath poor Dionysius done you in his grave,
That after his death, you should fall out thus and rave,” &c.
Zeal-of-the-land contends that Dionysius hath not a “lawful calling.” That puppet retorts by saying he hath; and inquires—“What say you to the feather makers i’ the Fryers, with their peruques and their puffs, their fans and their huffs? what say you? Is a bugle-maker a lawful calling? or the confect-makers? such as you have there? or your French fashioner? Is a puppet worse than these?”—Whereto Zeal-of-the-land answers—“Yes, and my main argument against you is, that you are an abomination; for the male among you putteth on the apparel of the female, and the female of the male.” The puppet Dionysius triumphantly replies, “You lie, you lie, you lie abominably. It’s your old stale argument against the players; but it will not hold against the puppets: for we have neither male nor female amongst us.” Upon this point, which persons versed in dramatic history are familiar with, Zeal-of-the-land says, “I am confuted, the cause hath failed me—I am changed, and will become a beholder.”
These selections which are here carefully brought together may, so far as they extend, be regarded as a picture of Bartholomew Fair in 1614, when Jonson wrote his comedy for representation before king James I. We learn too from this play that there was a tooth-drawer, and “a jugler with a well educated ape, to come over the chain for the king of England, and back again for the prince, and to sit still on his hind quarters for the pope and the king of Spain;” that there was a whipping-post in the Fair, and that Smithfield was dirty and stinking. Beside particulars, which a mere historiographer of the scene would have recorded, there are some that are essentially illustrative of popular manners, which no other than an imaginative mind would have seized, and only a poet penned.
A little digression may be requisite in explanation of the term arsedine, used by Trash to Leatherhead in Jonson’s play; the denomination costermonger; [1213, 1214] the tune Paggington’s-pound; and the Pie-pouldres, or Pie Powder Court. Arsedine. This is also called arsadine, and sometimes orsden, and is said to be a colour. Mr. Archdeacon Nares says, that according to Mr. Lysons, in his “Environs of London,” and Mr. Gifford in his note on this passage, it means orpiment or yellow arsenic. The archdeacon in giving these two authorities, calls the word a “vulgar corruption” of “arsenic:” but arsenic yields red, as well as yellow orpiment, and both these colours are used in the getting up of shows. Possibly it is an Anglo-Saxon word for certain pigments, obtained from minerals and metals: the ore o?e or o?a is pure Saxon, and pluralizes ores; to die in the sense of dying, or colouring, is derived from the Saxon Ðea? or Ðeah. The conjecture may be worth a thought perhaps, for dramatic exhibitions were in use when the Anglo-Saxon was used. Costermonger. This is a corruption of costard-monger; Ben Jonson uses it both ways, and it is noticed of his costermonger by Mr. Archdeacon Nares, that “he cries only pears.” That gentleman rightly defines a costard-monger, or coster-monger, to be “a seller of apples;” he adds, “one generally who kept a stall.” He says of costard, that, “as a species of apple, it is enumerated with others, but it must have been a very common sort, as it gave a name to the dealers in apples.” In this supposition Mr. Nares is correct; for it was not only a very common sort, but perhaps, after the crab, it was our oldest sort: there were three kinds of it, the white, red, and grey costard. That the costard-monger, according to Mr. Nares, “generally kept a stall;” “and that they were general fruit-sellers,” he unluckily has not corroborated by an authority; although from his constant desire to be accurate, and his general accuracy, the assertions are to be regarded with respect. Randle Holme gives this figure of Holme, in his heraldic language, says of this representation, “He beareth gules a man passant, his shirt or shift turned up to his shoulder, breeches and hose azure, cap and shoes sable, bearing on his back a bread basket full of fruits and herbs, and a staff in his left hand, or. This may be termed either a huxter or a gardiner, having his fruits and herbs on his back from the market. This was a fit crest for the company of Fruiterers or Huxters.” This man is a costard-monger in Mr. Archdeacon Nares’s view of the term; for doubtless the huckster pitched his load in the market and sold it there; yet Holme does not give him that denomination, as he would have done if he had so regarded him; he merely calls him “the hutler or huxter.” Packington’s Pound. Concerning the air of this old song, “Hawkins’s History of Music” may be consulted. The tune may also be found in the “Beggar’s Opera,” adapted to the words—“The gamesters united in friendship are found.”[275] Court of Pie Powder. This is the lowest, and at the same time the most expeditious, court of justice known to the law of England. It is a court of record incident to every fair and market; its jurisdiction extends to administer justice for all commercial injuries done in that very fair or market, and not in any preceding one; and to every fair and market, the steward of him who owns the toll is the judge. The injury, therefore, must be done, complained of, and redressed, within the compass of one and the same day, unless the fair continues longer. It has cognizance of all matters of contract that can possibly arise within the precinct of that fair or market; and the plaintiff must make oath that the cause of an action arose there. This court seems to have arisen from the necessity of doing justice expeditiously, among persons resorting from distant places to a fair or market, without leaving them to the remedy of an inferior court, which might not be able to serve its process, or execute its judgments on both, or perhaps either of the parties; and therefore without such a court as this, the complaint must necessarily have resorted to, in the first instance, some superior judicature. It is said to be called the [1215, 1216] court of pie-poudre, curia pedis pulverizati, from the dusty feet of the suitors; or, as sir Edward Coke says, because justice is there done as speedily as dust can fall from the feet: but Blackstone, who says thus much of this court, inclines to the opinion of Daines Barrington, who derives it from pied puldreaux, (a pedlar, in old French,) and says, it signifies, therefore, the court of such petty chapmen as resort to fairs or markets. Courts similar to pie-powder courts were usual both with Greeks and Romans, who introduced fairs into Germany and the north.[276] The Pedlar. This is his figure from Randle Holme, who describes him thus:—“He beareth argent, a crate carrier, with a crate upon his back, or; cloathed in russed, with a staffe in his left hand; hat and shoes sable.” He observes, that “this is also termed a pedlar and his pack,” and he carefully notes that the difference between a porter and a pedlar consists in this, that “the porter’s pack reacheth over his head and so answerable below; but the pedlar’s is a small truss, bundle, or fardel, not exceeding the middle of his head as in this figure.” Every reader of Shakspeare knows the word “fardel:”— ———“Who would fardels bear
To groan and sweat under a weary life,” &c.
Fardel means a burden, or bundle, or pack, and so Holme has called the pedlar’s pack. The word is well known in that sense to those acquainted with our earlier language. An Act of common council of the first of August, 1554, against “Abuses offered to Pauls,” recites, that the inhabitants of London, and others, were accustomed to make their common carriage of “fardels of stuffe, and other grosse wares and things thorow the cathedrall church of Saint Pauls,” and prohibits the abuse. There is an old book entitled, “a Fardel of Fancies;” that is, a variety of fancies fardelled or packed together in a bundle or burthen. “Fancies” was a name for pleasant ballads, or poetical effusions;—and hence, because Orlando “hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind,” she calls him a “fancy monger.” The Porter. It is to be noted too, that a porter is clearly described by Holme. “He beareth vert, a porter carrying of a pack, argent, corked, sable; cloathed in tawney, cap and shoes sable. This is the badge and cognizance of all porters and carriers of burthens;” but that there may be no mistake, he adds, “they have ever a leather girdle about them, with a strong rope of two or three fouldings hanging thereat, which they have in readiness to bind the burdens to their backs whensoever called thereunto.” The Porter’s Knot, now used, did not exist in Randle Holme’s time. This subsequent invention consists of a strong fillet to encircle the head, attached to a curiously stuffed cushion of the width of the shoulders, whereon it rests, and is of height sufficient to bear thereon a box, or heavy load of any kind, which, by means of this knot, is carried on the head and shoulders; the weight thereof being borne equally by the various powers of the body capable of sustaining pressure, no muscles are distressed, but the whole are brought to the porter’s service in his labour of carrying.
“Bartholomew Faire,” a rare quarto tract printed in 1641, under that title states, that “Bartholomew Faire begins on the twenty-fourth day of August, and is then of so vast an extent, that it is contained in no lesse than four several parishes, namely, Christ Church, Great and Little St. Bartholomewes, and St. Sepulchres. Hither resort people of all sorts and conditions. Christ Church cloisters are now hung full of pictures. It is remarkable and worth your observation to beholde and heare the strange sights and confused noise in the Faire. Here, a knave in a foole’s coate, with a trumpet [1217, 1218] sounding, or on a drumme beating, invites you to see his puppets: there, a rogue like a wild woodman, or in an antick shape like an Incubus, desires your company to view his motion: on the other side, Hocus Pocus, with three yards of tape, or ribbin, in’s hand, shewing his art of legerdemaine, to the admiration and astonishment of a company of cockoloaches. Amongst these, you shall see a gray Goose-cap, (as wise as the rest,) with a what do ye lacke in his mouth, stand in his boothe, shaking a rattle, or scraping on a fiddle, with which children are so taken, that they presentlie cry out for these fopperies: and all these together make such a distracted noise, that you would thinck Babell were not comparable to it. Here there are also your gamesters in action: some turning of a whimsey, others throwing for pewter, who can quickly dissolve a round shilling into a three halfepeny saucer. Long-lane at this time looks very faire, and puts out her best cloaths, with the wrong side outward, so turn’d for their better turning off: and Cloth Faire is now in great request: well fare the ale-houses therein, yet better may a man fare, (but at a dearer rate,) in the pig-market, alias Pasty-Nooke, or Pye-Corner, where pigges are al houres of the day on the stalls piping hot, and would cry, (if they could speak,) ‘come eate me.’” Pye Corner. This is the place wherein Ben Jonson’s Littlewit, the proctor, willed that his wife Win-the-fight should not eat Bartholomew pig:—“Long to eat of a pig, sweet Win, i’ the Fair; do you see? i’ the heart o’ the Fair; not at, Pye-corner.” “Pye-corner was so called” says Dr. (James) Howel, “of such a sign, sometimes a fair Inne, for receipt of travellers, but now devided into tenements.” It was at Pye-corner as observed before, that the Fire of London ended: the houses that escaped were taken down in October, 1809, and upon their site other dwelling-houses have been erected, together with an engine-house, belonging to the Hope Fire Assurance company,[277] where it stands at present (in 1825). It was estimated in the year 1732, that “the number of sucking pigs then annually consumed in this city, (of London) amounted to fifty-two thousand[278].” Roast Pig. “A flower—cropped in its prime.” Elia, author of the incomparable volume of “Essays,” published “under that name,” by Messrs. Taylor and Hessey, indulges in a “Dissertation upon Roast Pig.” He cites a Chinese MS. to establish its origin, when flesh was eaten uncooked, and affirms that “the period is not obscurely hinted at by the great Confucius, in the second chapter of his ‘Mundane Mutations,’ where he designates a kind of golden age by the term Cho-fang, literally the cooks’ holiday.” He premises “broiling to be the elder brother of roasting,” and relates on the authority of the aforesaid MS. that “roast pig” “was accidentally discovered in the manner following”—viz. “The swine-herd, Ho-ti, having gone out into the woods one morning, as his manner was, to collect mast for his hogs, left his cottage in the care of his eldest son Bo-bo, a great lubberly boy, who, being fond of playing with fire, as younkers of his age commonly are, let some sparks escape into a bundle of straw, which, kindling quickly, spread the conflagration over every part of their poor mansion, till it was reduced to ashes. Together with the cottage (a sorry antediluvian makeshift of a building, you may think it), what was of much more importance, a fine litter of new-farrowed pigs, no less than nine in number, perished. China pigs have been esteemed a luxury all over the east from the remotest periods that we read of. Bo-bo was in the utmost consternation, as you may think, not so much for the sake of the tenement, which his father and he could easily build up again with a few dry branches, and the labour of an hour or two, at any time, as for the loss of the pigs. While he was thinking what he should say to his father, and wringing his hands over the smoking remnants of one of those untimely sufferers, an odour assailed his nostrils, unlike any scent which he had before experienced. What could it proceed from?—not from the burnt cottage—he had smelt that smell before—indeed this was by no means the first accident of the kind which had occurred through the negligence of this unlucky young fire-brand. Much less did it resemble that of any known herb, weed, or flower. A premonitory moistening at the same time overflowed his nether lip. He knew not what to [1219, 1220] think. He next stooped down to feel the pig, if there were any signs of life in it. He burnt his fingers, and to cool them he applied them in his booby fashion to his mouth. Some of the crums of the scorched skin had come away with his fingers, and for the first time in his life (in the world’s life indeed, for before him no man had known it), he tasted—crackling! Again he felt and fumbled at the pig. It did not burn him so much now, still he licked his fingers from a sort of habit. The truth at length broke into his slow understanding, that it was the pig that smelt so, and the pig that tasted so delicious; and, surrendering himself up to the newborn pleasure, he fell to tearing up whole handfuls of the scorched skin with the flesh next it, and was cramming it down his throat in his beastly fashion, when his sire entered amid the smoking rafters, armed with a retributory cudgel, and finding how affairs stood, began to rain blows upon the young rogue’s shoulders as thick as hailstones, which Bo-bo heeded not any more than if they had been flies. The tickling pleasure, which he experienced in his lower regions, had rendered him quite callous to any inconveniences he might feel in those remote quarters. His father might lay on, but he could not beat him from his pig.” Bo-bo in the afternoon, regardless of his father’s wrath, and with his “scent wonderfully sharpened since morning, soon raked out another pig, and fairly rending it asunder, thrust the lesser half by main force into the fists of Ho-ti, still shouting out, ‘Eat, eat, eat, the burnt pig, father; only taste—O Lord!’—with such like barbarous ejaculations, cramming all the while as if he would choke.” The narrative relates, that “Ho-ti trembled every joint while he grasped the abominable thing, wavering whether he should not put his son to death for an unnatural young monster, when the crackling scorching his fingers, as it had done his son’s, and applying the same remedy to them, he in his turn tasted some of its flavour, which, make what sour mouths he would for a pretence, proved not altogether displeasing to him. In conclusion, (for the manuscript here is a little tedious,) both father and son fairly set down to the mess, and never left off till they had despatched all that remained of the little. “Bo-bo was strictly enjoined not to let the secret escape, for the neighbours would certainly have stoned them for a couple of abominable wretches, who could think of improving upon the good meat which God had sent them. Nevertheless, strange stories got about. It was observed that Ho-ti’s cottage was burnt down now more frequently than ever. Nothing but fires from this time forward. Some would break out in broad day, others in the night-time. As often as the sow farrowed, so sure was the house of Ho-ti to be in a blaze; and Ho-ti himself, which was the more remarkable, instead of chastising his son, seemed to grow more indulgent to him than ever. At length they were watched, the terrible mystery discovered, and father and son summoned to take their trial at Pekin, then an inconsiderable assize town. Evidence was given, the obnoxious food itself produced in court, and verdict about to be pronounced, when the foreman of the jury begged that some of the burnt pig, of which the culprits stood accused, might be handed into the box. He handled it, and they all handled it, and burning their fingers, as Bo-bo and his father had done before them, and nature prompting to each of them the same remedy, against the face of all the facts, and the clearest charge which judge had ever given,—to the surprise of the whole court, townsfolk, strangers, reporters, and all present—without leaving the box, or any manner of consultation whatever, they brought in a simultaneous verdict of Not Guilty. “The judge, who was a shrewd fellow, winked at the manifest iniquity of the decision; and, when the court was dismissed, went privily, and bought up all the pigs that could be had for love or money. In a few days his lordship’s town house was observed to be on fire. The thing took wing, and now there was nothing to be seen but fires in every direction. Fuel and pigs grew enormously dear all over the district. The insurance offices one and all shut up shop. People built slighter and slighter every day, until it was feared that the very science of architecture would in no long time be lost to the world. Thus this custom of firing houses continued, till in process of time, says my manuscript, a sage arose, like our Locke, who made a discovery, that the flesh of swine, or indeed of any other animal, might be cooked (burnt, as they called it,) without the necessity of consuming a whole house to dress it. They first began the rude form of a gridiron. [1221, 1222] Roasting by the string, or spit, came in a century or two later, I forget in whose dynasty. By such slow degrees, concludes the manuscript, do the most useful, and seemingly the most obvious arts, make their way among mankind.” Elia maintains, that of all the delicacies in the whole eatable world, “roast pig” is the most delicate.—“I speak,” he says, “not of your grown porkers—things between pig and pork—those hobbydehoys—but a young and tender suckling—under a moon old—guiltless as yet of the sty,” with “his voice as yet not broken, but something between a childish treble and a grumble—the mild forerunner, or prÆludium, of a grunt. “He must be roasted. I am not ignorant that our ancestors ate them seethed, or boiled—but what a sacrifice of the exterior tegument! “There is no flavour comparable, I will contend, to that of the crisp, tawny, well-watched, not over-roasted crackling, as it is well called—the very teeth are invited to their share of the pleasure at this banquet in overcoming the coy, brittle resistance—with the adhesive oleaginous—O call it not fat—but an indefinable sweetness growing up to it—the tender blossoming of fat—fat cropped in the bud—taken in the shoot—in the first innocence—the cream and quintessence of the child-pig’s yet pure food—the lean, no lean, but a kind of animal manna—or, rather fat and lean (if it must be so) so blended and running into each other, that both together make but one ambrosial result, or common substance. “Behold him while he is doing—it seemeth rather a refreshing warmth, than a scorching heat, that he is so passive to. How equally he twirleth round the string!—Now he is just done. To see the extreme sensibility of that tender age, he hath wept out his pretty eyes—radiant jellies—shooting stars. “See him in the dish, his second cradle, how meek he lieth!—wouldst thou have had this innocent grow up to the grossness and indocility which too often accompany maturer swinehood? Ten to one he would have proved a glutton, a sloven, an obstinate, disagreeable animal—wallowing in all manner of filthy conversation—from these sins he is happily snatched away— Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade,
Death came with timely care—
his memory is odoriferous—no clown curseth, while his stomach half rejecteth, the rank bacon—no coalheaver bolteth him in reeking sausages—he hath a fair sepulchre in the grateful stomach of the judicious epicure—and for such a tomb might be content to die.” Elia further allegeth of “pig,” that “the strong man may batten on him, and the weakling refuseth not his mild juices. He is—good throughout. No part of him is better or worse than another. He helpeth, as far as his little means extend, all around. He is the least envious of banquets. He is all neighbours’ fare.” “I am one of those,” continueth Elia, “who freely and ungrudgingly impart a share of the good things of this life which fall to their lot (few as mine are in this kind) to a friend. I protest, I take as great an interest in my friend’s pleasures, his relishes, and proper satisfactions, as in mine own. ‘Presents,’ I often say, ‘endear absents.’ Hares, pheasants, partridges, snipes, barn-door chickens (those ‘tame villatic fowl’), capons, plovers, brawn, barrels of oysters, I dispense as freely as I receive them. I love to taste them, as it were, upon the tongue of my friend. But a stop must be put somewhere. One would not, like Lear, ‘give every thing.’ I make my stand upon pig.*** “I remember an hypothesis, argued upon by the young students, when I was at St. Omer’s, and maintained with much learning and pleasantry on both sides, ‘Whether, supposing that the flavour of a pig who obtained his death by whipping (per flagellationem extremam) superadded a pleasure upon the palate of a man more intense than any possible suffering we can conceive in the animal, is man justified in using that method of putting the animal to death?’ I forget the decision. “His sauce should be considered. Decidedly, a few bread crums, done up with his liver and brains, and a dash of mild sage. But banish, dear Mrs. Cook, I beseech you, the whole onion tribe. Barbacue your whole hogs to your palate, steep them in shallots, stuff them out with plantations of the rank and guilty garlic; you cannot poison them, or make them stronger than they are—but consider, he is a weakling—a flower.”
[1223, 1224] Part of Bartholomew Fair, 1721. The two engravings whereon the reader now looks, are from a very curious scenic print of this Fair, as represented on an old fan, recently published by Mr. Setchel, of King-street, Covent-garden. The letter-press account subjoined to Mr. Setchel’s print says, that “about the year 1721, when the present interesting [1225, 1226] view of this popular Fair was taken, the drama was considered of some importance, and a series of minor, although regular, pieces, were acted in its various booths. At Lee and Harper’s, the ‘Siege of Berthulia’ is performing, in which is introduced the tragedy of ‘Holophernes.’” Mr. Setchel’s account further represents, that “Persons of rank were also its occasional visitors, and the figure on the right (with the star) is also supposed to be that of sir Robert Walpole, then prime minister. Fawkes, the famous conjuror, forms a conspicuous feature, and is the only portrait of him known to exist.” Another Part in the same Fair. There is however, another portrait of Fawkes, the conjuror: it is a sheet, engraved by Sutton Nichols, representing him in the midst of his performances. Hogarth’s frontispiece to a scarce tract on “Taste,” wherein he bespatters Burlington-gate, [1227, 1228] further tends to perpetuate Fawkes’s fame, by an inscription announcing his celebrated feats. It is recorded, too, in the first volume of the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” that on the 15th of February, 1731, the Algerine ambassadors went to see Mr. Fawkes, who, at their request, showed them a prospect of Algiers, “and raised up an apple-tree, which bore ripe apples in less than a minute’s time, which several of the company tasted of.” This was one of his last performances, for, in the same volume, his name is in the list of “Deaths,” on the 25th of May, that year, thus: “Mr. Fawkes, noted for his dexterity of hand, said to die worth 10,000l.” The newspapers of the period relate, that “he had honestly acquired” it, by his “dexterity,” and add, that it was “no more than he really deserved for his great ingenuity, by which he had surpassed all that ever pretended to that art. It will be observed from the show-cloth of the tumblers, that Fawkes was also a “famous posture-master:— The tumbler whirls the flip-flap round,
With sommersets he shakes the ground;
The cord beneath the dancer springs;
Aloft in air the vaulter swings,
Distorted now, now prone depends,
Now through his twisted arms descends;
The crowd in wonder and delight,
With clapping hands applaud the sight.
Gay. On the platform of Lee and Harper’s show, with “Judith and Holophernes,” in Mr. Setchel’s print, which is handsomely coloured in the manner of the fan, the clown, behind the trumpeter, is dressed in black. The lady who represents Judith, as she is painted on the show-cloth, is herself on the platform, with feathers on her head; the middle feather is blue, the others red. She wears a laced stomacher, white hanging sleeves with rosettes, and a crimson petticoat with white rosettes in triangles, and suitably flounced. Holophernes, in a rich robe lined with crimson and edged with gold lace, wears light brown buskins, the colour of untanned leather; Harlequin, instead of the little flat three-corner flexible cap, wherein he appears at our present theatres, has a round beaver of the same light colour. Two females entering at the door below are, apparently, a lady and her maid; the first is in green, and wears a cap with lappets falling behind, and white laced ruffles; the other, with a fan in her hand, is in a tawny gown, striped with red, and cuffs of the same; the lady and gentleman in mourning are evidently about to follow them. From hence we see the costume of the quality, and that at that time Bartholomew Fair was honoured with such visitors. The boy picking the gentleman’s pocket is removed from another part of Mr. Setchel’s print, which could not be included in the present engraving, to show that the artist had not forgotten to represent that the picking of pockets succeeded to the cutting of purses. The person in black, whose gaze the baker, or man with the apron, is directing with his finger, looks wonderfully like old Tom Hearne. Indeed, this fan-print is exceedingly curious, and indispensable to every “illustrator of Pennant,” and collector of manners. In that print to the right of Lee and Harper’s is another show, with “Rope-dancing is here,” on a show-cloth, representing a female with a pole on the tight-rope; a stout middle-aged man, in a green coat, and leather breeches, walks the platform and blows a trumpet; the door below is kept by a woman, and the figures on the printed posting-bills against the boards exhibit a man on the tight-rope, and two slack-ropes; a figure is seated and swinging on one rope, and on the other a man swings by the hams, with his head downward: the bills state this to be “At the great booth over against the hospital-gate in Smithfield.” Near to where the hospital-gate may be supposed to stand is a cook, or landlord, at the door of a house, with “Right Redstreak Cyder, at per quart,” on the jamb; on the other jamb, a skittle is painted standing on a ball, and an inscription “Sketle ground;” above his head, on a red portcullis-work, is the sign of a punch-bowl and ladle, inscribed “Fine punch;” at the window-way of the house hang two Bartholomew “pigs with curly tails,” and a side of large pork. There is an “up and down,” or swing, of massive wood-work, with two children in three of the boxes, and one empty box waiting for another pair. Then there is a spacious sausage-stall; a toy-stall, kept by a female, with bows, halberts, rattles, long whistles, dolls, and other knick-knackeries: a little boy in a cocked hat is in possession of a large halbert, and his older sister is looking wistfully at a Chinese doll on the counter; a showman exhibits the “Siege of Gibraltar” to two [1229, 1230] girls looking through the glasses. These are part of the amusements which are alluded to, in the inscription on the print now describing, as “not unlike those of our day, except in the articles of Hollands and gin, with which the lower orders were then accustomed to indulge, unfettered by licence or excise.” A man with tubs of “Right Hollands Geneva, and Anniseed,” having a cock in each, is serving a bearded beggar with a wooden-leg to a glass, much nearer to the capacity of half a pint, than one of “three outs” of the present day; while a woman, with a pipe in one hand, holds up a full spirit-measure, of at least half a pint, to her own share; there is toping from a barrel of “Geneva” at another stall; and the postures of a couple of oyster-women denote that the uncivil provocative has raised the retort uncourteous. The visit of sir Robert Walpole to this scene might have suggested to him, that his licence and excise scheme, afterwards so unpopular, though ultimately carried, would aid a reformation of manners.
Lady Holland’s Mob. On the night before the day whereon the lord mayor proclaims the Fair, a riotous assemblage of persons heretofore disturbed Smithfield and its environs, under the denomination of “Lady Holland’s mob.” This multitude, composed of the most degraded characters of the metropolis, was accustomed to knock at the doors and ring the bells, with loud shouting and vociferation; and they often committed gross outrages on persons and property. The year 1822, was the last year wherein they appeared in any alarming force, and then the inmates of the houses they assailed, or before which they paraded, were aroused and kept in terror by their violence. In Skinner-street, especially, they rioted undisturbed until between three and four in the morning: at one period that morning their number was not less than five thousand, but it varied as parties went off, or came in, to and from the assault of other places. Their force was so overwhelming, that the patrol and watchmen feared to interfere, and the riot continued till they had exhausted their fury. It has been supposed that this mob first arose, and has been continued, in celebration of a verdict obtained by a Mr. Holland, which freed the Fair from toll; but this is erroneous. “Lady Holland’s mob” may be traced so far back as the times of the commonwealth, when the ruling powers made considerable efforts to suppress the Fair altogether; and when, without going into particulars to corroborate the conjecture, it may be presumed that the populace determined to support what they called their “charter,” under the colour of the “Holland” interest, in opposition to the civic authorities. The scene of uproar always commenced in Cloth-fair, and the present existence of an annual custom there, throws some light on the matter. At “the Hand and Shears,” a public-house in that place, it is the usage, at this time, for tailors to assemble the night before the Fair is proclaimed by the lord mayor. They appoint a chairman, and exactly as the clock strikes twelve, he and his companions, each with a pair of shears in his hand, leave the house, and, in the open street of Cloth-fair, the chairman makes a speech and proclaims “Bartholomew Fair.” As soon as he concludes, every tailor holds up and snaps his shears with a shout, and they retire, shears in hand, snapping and shouting, to the “Hand and Shears,” from whence they came forth; but the mob, who await without, to witness the ceremony, immediately upon its being ended, run out into Smithfield, and being joined by others there shout again. This second assemblage and shouting is called “the mob proclaiming the Fair;” and so begins the annual mob, called “Lady Holland’s mob.” Since 1822, the great body have confined their noise to Smithfield itself, and their number and disorder annually decrease. ORIGIN
OF
Bartholomew Fair. About the year 1102, in the reign of Henry I., the priory, hospital, and church of St. Bartholomew, in Smithfield, were founded by one Rahere, a minstrel of the king, and “a pleasant witted gentleman.” It seems that Rahere was determined to this pious work in a fit of sickness, during a pilgrimage he made to Rome agreeably to the fashion of the times, when St. Bartholomew appeared to him, and required him to undertake the work and perform it in Smithfield.[279] Before that time Smithfield, [1231, 1232] or the greater part of it, was called “the Elms,” because it was covered with elm trees; “since the which time,” saith Stow, “building there hath so increased that now remaineth not one tree growing.” Smithfield derives its name from its being “a plain or smooth field.”[280] Regarding Rahere’s occupation as a minstrel, it may be observed, that minstrels were reciters of poems, story tellers, performers upon musical instruments, and sometimes jugglers and buffoons. Rahere “ofte hawnted the kyng’s palice, and amo’ge the noyse-full presse of that tumultuous courte, enforsed hymselfe with jolite and carnal suavite: ther yn spectaclis, yn metys, yn playes, and other courtely mokkys, and trifyllis intrudyng, he lede forth the besynesse of alle the day.”[281] It is related of a person in this capacity, that he was employed by a king as a story teller, on purpose to lull him to sleep every night; and that the king’s requiring him to tell longer stories, the romancer began one of so great length, that he himself fell asleep in the midst of it.[282] Racine, the French poet, was scarcely higher employed when he was engaged in reading Louis XIV. to sleep with “Plutarch’s Lives:” to such a king the narratives of the philosophical biographer were fables. Rahere was the first prior of his monastery. There was a remarkable visitation of it by Boniface, archbishop of Canterbury, who being received with a procession in a solemn manner, said he did not require that honour, but came to visit them; whereto the canons answered, that to submit to the visitation of any other than their own prelate, the bishop of London, would be in contempt of his authority; whereupon the archbishop conceiving great offence, struck the sub-prior in the face, and “raging, with oathes not to bee recited, hee rent in peeces the rich cope of the sub-prior, and trode it under his feete, and thrust him against a pillar of the chancell, with such violence that hee had almost killed him.” Then the canons dragged off the archbishop with so great force that they threw him backwards, and thus perceived that he was armed, and prepared to fight; and the archbishop’s followers falling upon the canons, beat and tore them, and trod them under foot; who thereupon ran bleeding with complaints of the violence to the bishop of London, who sent four of them to the king at Westminster, but he would neither hear nor see them. In the mean time, the city was in an uproar, and the people would “have hewed the archbishop into small peeces,” if he had not secretly withdrawn to Lambeth, from whence he went over to the king, “with a great complaint against the canons, whereas himself was guilty.”[283] How the affair ended does not appear. Stow says, that “to this priory king Henry the second granted the priviledge of a Faire to bee kept yeerly at Bartholomew-tide, for three daies, to wit, the eve, the day, and the next morrow, to the which the clothiers of England, and drapers of London repaired, and had their boothes and standings within the church-yard of this priory, closed in with wals and gates locked every night, and watched for safety of mens goods and wares; a court of piepowders was daily during the Faire holden, for debts and contracts. But,” continues Stow, “notwithstanding all proclamations of the prince, and also the act of parliament, in place of booths within this church-yard (only letten out in the Faire time, and closed up all the yeere after) bee many large houses builded, and the north wall towards Long-lane taken downe, a number of tenements are there erected, for such as will give great rents. The forrainers,” he adds, “were licensed for three days, the freemen so long as they would, which was sixe or seven daies.” This was the origin of Bartholomew Fair, over which the charter of Henry II. gave the mayor and aldermen criminal jurisdiction during its continuance. Bolton was the last prior of this house, to which he added many buildings, and built “the manor of Canonbury, at Islington, which belonged to the canons.” In 1554, on the dissolution of the religious houses, Henry VIII., in consideration of 1064l. 11s. 3d. granted to Richard Rich, knt. attorney-general, and chancellor of the court of augmentations of the revenues of the crown, the dissolved monastery or priory of St. Bartholomew, and the Close with the messuages and buildings therein appertaining to the monastery. He also granted to the said Richard Rich, knt. and to the inhabitants of the parish of St. [1233, 1234] Bartholomew, and the church of St. Bartholomew, all the void ground eighty seven feet in length, and sixty in breadth, adjoining the church westward, for a church-yard. In the first year of Edward VI. that king confirmed the grant to sir Richard Rich, who was created lord Rich, and appointed lord chancellor of England; but under Mary the ejected monks were restored to the priory, where they remained till the accession of queen Elizabeth, who renewed the grant to lord Rich and his heirs; and lord Rich took up his residence in Cloth-fair. The lord Rich ultimately became earl of Warwick and Holland, and the property regularly descended to the present lord Kensington, through William Edwards, who was son of the lady Elizabeth Rich, and created, in 1776, baron of Kensington of the kingdom of Ireland. Henry VIII. having in this way disposed of the priory and church of St. Bartholomew, he gave the hospital, with certain messuages and appurtenances, to the city of London. When connected with the priory, it had been governed by a master, brethren, and eight sisters. On the 13th of January, 1546, the bishop of Rochester (Holbetch,) preaching at Paul’s-cross, declared the gift of St. Bartholomew’s hospital to the citizens “for relieving of the poore;” and thereupon the inhabitants of the city were called together in their parish churches, where sir Richard Dobbs the lord mayor, the several aldermen, and other principal citizens, showing the great good of taking the poor from their miserable habitations, and providing for them in hospitals abroad, men were moved liberally to contribute what they would towards such hospitals, and so weekly, towards their maintenance for a time, until they were fully endowed; and in July 1552 the reparation of the St. Bartholomew’s hospital commenced, and it was endowed and furnished at the charges of the citizens.[284] The number of the poor and sick to be maintained therein, was limited under the foundation of Henry VIII. to one hundred; but, at this time, several thousands of persons who need surgical aid are annually received and relieved, under the management of the most eminent surgeons of our age.
Smithfield, whereon the Fair was held, was likewise a market-place for cattle, hay, straw, and other necessary provisions; and also, saith Stow, “it hath been a place for honourable justs and triumphs, by reason it was unpaid.” After it had ceased to be a place of recreative exercise with the gentry, loose serving men and quarrelsome persons resorted thither, and made uproars; and thus becoming the rendezvous of bullies and bravoes, it obtained the name of “Ruffians’-hall.” The “sword and buckler” were at that time in use, and a serving-man carried a buckler, or shield, at his back, which hung by the hilt or pommel of his sword hanging before him.[285] Fellows of this sort who hectored and blustered were called “Swash-bucklers,” from the noise they made with the “sword and buckler” to frighten an antagonist: “a bully,” or fellow all noise and no courage, was called a “swasher.”[286] With the disuse of pageants, the necessity for Smithfield remaining a “soft ground” ceased; and, accordingly, as “it was continually subject to the iniquity of weather, and being a place of such goodly extendure, deserved to be much better respected, it pleased the king’s majesty, (James I.) with the advice of his honourable lords of the counsell, to write graciously to the lord maior and the aldermen his brethren, that Smithfield might be sufficiently paved, which would bee the onely meanes, whereby to have it kept in far cleaner condition: And” says Stow, “as no motion (to any good end and intent) can be made to the city, but they as gladly embrace and willingly pursue it; even so this honourable motion found as acceptable entertainment, and it was very speedily proceeded withall. Some voluntary contribution in the severall parishes (what each man willingly would give) was bestowed on the worke; but, (indeed,) hardly deserving any report. Notwithstanding, on the fourth day of February, in An. 1614, the city began the intended labour, and before Bartholomew-tide then next ensuing, to the credit and honour of the city for ever, it was fully finished, and Bartholomew Faire there kept, without breaking any of the paved ground, but the boothes discreetly ordered, to stand fast upon the pavement. The citizens charge thereof (as I have been credibly told by Master Arthur Strangwaies,) [1235, 1236] amounting well neere to sixteene hundred pounds.” This improvement, it will be remembered, was effected in the year wherein Ben Jonson’s “Bartholomew Fair” was written.
In “The Order observed by the lord maior, the aldermen, and sheriffes for their meetings, and wearing of their apparell throughout the whole yeere,” it is ordained, That “On Bartholomew Eve for the Fayre in Smithfield:— “The aldermen meete the lord maior and the sheriffes at the Guildhall chappel, at two of the clocke after dinner, having on their violet gownes lined, and their horses, but without their cloakes, and there they heare evening prayer. Which being done, they mount on their horses, and riding to Newgate, passe forth of the gate. Then entring into the Cloth-fayre, there they make a proclamation, which proclamation being ended, they ride thorow the Cloth-fayre, and so returne backe againe thorow the church-yard of great Saint Bartholomewes to Aldersgate: and then ride home againe to the lord maior’s house.” In the same collection of ordinances:— “On Bartholomew Day for the Wrastling. “So many aldermen as doe dine with the lord maior, and the sheriffes, are apparelled in their scarlet gownes lined; and after dinner, their horses are brought to them where they dined. And those aldermen which dine with the sheriffes, ride with them to the lord maior’s house for accompanying him to the wrastlings. When as the wrastling is done, they mount their horses, and ride backe againe thorow the Fayre, and so in at Aldersgate, and then home againe to the lord maior’s house.” “The Shooting Day. “The next day, (if it be not Sunday,) is appointed for the shooting, and the service performed as upon Bartholomew-day; but if it bee Sunday, the Sabbath-day, it is referred to the Munday then following.” Ben Jonson’s mention, in his “Bartholomew Fair,” of “the western man who is come to wrestle before the lord mayor anon,” is clearly of one who came up to the annual wrestling on Bartholomew’s-day. Concerning this “annual wrastling,” it is further noticed by Stow in another place, that about the feast of St. Bartholomew, wrestling was exhibited before the lord mayor and aldermen, at Skinnerswell near Clerkenwell, where they had a large tent for their accommodation. He speaks of it as having been a practice “of old time;” and affirms that “divers days were spent in the pastime, and that the officers of the citie, namely the sheriffes, serjeants, and yeomen, the porters of the king’s beame, or weigh-house, (now no such men,” says Stow,) “and other of the citie were challengers of all men in the suburbs, to wrestle for games appointed: and on other days, before the said mayor, aldermen, and sheriffes, in Fensbury-field, to shoot the standard, broad arrow, and flight, for games. But now of late yeeres,” Stow adds, “the wrestling is only practiced on Bartholomew-day in the afternoone, and the shooting some three or foure days after, in one afternoone and no more.” Finally, the old chronicler laments, that “by the means of closing in of common grounds, our archers, for want of roome to shoot abroad creepe into bowling-alleys, and ordinarie dicing houses, neerer home, where they have roome enough to hazzard their money at unlawful games, and there I leave them to take their pleasures.” Another narrator tells of the wrestlers before the lord mayor, aldermen, &c. on Bartholomew’s-day that they wrestled “two at a time;” he says “the conquerors are rewarded by them by money thrown from the tent; after this a parcel of wild rabbits are turned loose in the crowd, and hunted by boys with great noise, at which the mayor and aldermen do much besport themselves.”[287]
It was on St. Bartholomew’s-eve that the London scholars held logical disputations about the principles of grammar. “I myself,” says Stow, “have yeerely seen the scholars of divers grammar-schools, repaire unto the churchyard of St. Bartholomew, the priory in Smithfield, where, upon a banke boorded about under a tree, some one scholler hath stepped up, and there hath opposed and answered, till he were by some better scholler overcome and put downe; and then the overcommer taking the place, did like as the first; and in the end, the best opposers and answerers had rewards.” [1237, 1238] These disputations ceased at the suppression of the priory, but were revived, though, “only for a yeare or waine,” under Edward VI., where the best scholars received bows, and arrows of silver, for their prizes.
The Bartholomew Fair of 1655, is the subject of An Ancient Song of Bartholomew Fair. In fifty-five, may I never thrive,
If I tell you any more than is true,
To London che came, hearing of the fame
Of a Fair they call Bartholomew.
In houses of boards, men walk upon cords,
As easie as squirrels crack filberds;
But the cut-purses they do lite, and rub away,
But those we suppose to be ill birds.
For a penny you may zee a fine puppet play,
And for two-pence a rare piece of art;
And a penny a cann, I dare swear a man,
May put zix of ’em into a quart.
Their zights are so rich, is able to bewitch
The heart of a very fine man-a;
Here’s patient Grizel here, and Fair Rosamond there,
And the history of Susanna.
At Pye-corner end, mark well, my good friend,
’Tis a very fine dirty place;
Where there’s more arrows and bows, the Lord above knows,
Than was handl’d at Chivy Chase.
Then at Smithfield Bars, betwixt the ground and the stars,
There’s a place they call Shoemaker Row,
Where that you may buy shoes every day,
Or go barefoot all the year I tro’.[288]
In 1699, Ned Ward relates his visit to the Fair:— “We ordered the coachman to set us down at the Hospital-gate, near which we went into a convenient house to smoke a pipe, and overlook the follies of the innumerable throng, whose impatient desires of seeing Merry Andrew’s grimaces, had led them ancle deep into filth and nastiness.—The first objects, when we were seated at the window that lay within our observation, were the quality of the Fair, strutting round their balconies in their tinsey robes, and golden leather buckskins, expressing such pride in their buffoonery stateliness, that I could but reasonably believe they were as much elevated with the thought of their fortnight’s pageantry, as ever Alexander was with the thought of a new conquest looking with great contempt from their slit deal thrones, upon the admiring mobility gazing in the dirt at our ostentatious heroes, and their most supercilious doxies, who looked as aukward and ungainly in their gorgeous accoutrements, as an alderman’s lady in her stiffen-bodied gown upon a lord mayor’s festival.”[289]
At the Fair of 1701, there was exhibited a tiger which had been taught to pluck a fowl’s feathers from its body. In the reign of queen Anne the following curious bill relates part of the entertainment at one of the shows:— “By her majesty’s permission, at Heatly’s booth, over against the Cross Daggers, next to Mr. Miller’s booth, [1239, 1240] during the time of Bartholomew Fair, will be presented a little opera, called The Old Creation of the World new Revived, with the addition of the glorious battle obtained over the French and Spaniards by his grace the duke of Marlborough. The contents are these, 1. The creation of Adam and Eve. 2. The intrigues of Lucifer in the garden of Eden. 3. Adam and Eve driven out of Paradise. 4. Cain going to plow; Abel driving sheep. 5. Cain killeth his brother Abel. 6. Abraham offereth up his son Isaac. 7. Three wise men of the east, guided by a star, come and worship Christ. 8. Joseph and Mary flee away by night upon an ass. 9. King Herod’s cruelty; his men’s spears laden with children. 10. Rich Dives invites his friends, and orders his porter to keep the beggars from his gate. 11. Poor Lazarus comes a begging at rich Dives’ gate, the dogs lick his sores. 12. The good angel and Death contend for Lazarus’s life. 13. Rich Dives is taken sick, and dieth; he is buried in great solemnity. 14. Rich Dives in hell, and Lazarus in Abraham’s bosom, seen in a most glorious object, all in machines descending in a throne, guarded with multitudes of angels; with the breaking of the clouds, discovering the palace of the sun, in double and treble prospects, to the admiration of all the spectators. Likewise several rich and large figures, which dance jiggs, sarabands, anticks, and country dances, between every act; compleated with the merry humours of Sir Jno. Spendall and Punchinello, with several other things never exposed. Performed by Matt. Heatly. Vivat Regina.” A writer in the “Secret Mercury,” of September 9, 1702, says, “Wednesday, September 3, having padlocked my pockets, and trimmed myself with Hudibras from head to foot, I set out about six for Bartholomew Fair; and having thrown away substantial silver for visionary theatrical entertainment, I made myself ready for the farce; but I had scarce composed myself, when bolts me into the pit a bully beau, &c. The curtain drew, and discovered a nation of beauish machines; their motions were so starched, that I began to question whether I had mistaken myself, and Dogget’s booth for a puppet-show. As I was debating the matter, they advanced towards the front of the stage, and making a halt, began a singing so miserably, that I was forced to tune my own whistle in romance ere my brains were set straight again. All the secret I could for my life discover in the whole grotesque, was the consistency of drift of the piece, which I could never demonstrate to this hour. At last, all the childish parade shrunk off the stage by matter and motion, and enter a hobletehoy of a dance, and Dogget, in old woman’s petticoats and red waistcoat, as like Progue Cock as ever man saw; it would have made a stoic split his lungs, if he had seen the temporary harlot sing and weep both at once; a true emblem of a woman’s tears. When these Christmas carols were over, enter a wooden horse; now I concluded we should have the ballad of Troy-town, but I was disappointed in the scene, for a dancing-master comes in, begins complimenting the horse, and fetching me three or four run-bars with his arm, (as if he would have mortified the ox at one blow,) takes a frolic upon the back of it, and translates himself into cavalry at one bound; all I could clap was the patience of the beast. However, having played upon him about half a quarter, the conqueror was pursued with such a clangor from the crusted clutches of the mob in the sixpenny place, that for five minutes together I was tossed on this dilemma, that either a man had not five senses, or I was no man. The stage was now overrun with nothing but merry-andrews and pickle-herrings. This mountebank scene was removed at last, and I was full of expectations that the successor would be pills, pots of balsam, and orvietan; but, alas, they were half empirics, and therefore exeunt omnes.” We learn something of the excesses at the Fair from “The Observator,” of August 21, 1703:—“Does this market of lewdness tend to any thing else but the ruin of the bodies, souls, and estates of the young men and women of the city of London, who here meet with all the temptations to destruction? The lotteries, to ruin their estates; the drolls, comedies, interludes, and farces, to poison their minds, &c. and in the cloisters what strange medley of lewdness has that place not long since afforded! Lords and ladies, aldermen and their wives, ’squires and fiddlers, citizens and rope-dancers, jack-puddings and lawyers, mistresses and maids, masters and ’prentices! This is not an ark, like Noah’s which received the clean and unclean; only the unclean beasts enter this ark, and such as have the devil’s livery on their backs.” [1241, 1242] An advertisement in “The Postman,” of August 19, 1703, by “Barnes and Finley,” invites the reader to “see my lady Mary perform such curious steps on the dancing-rope,” &c. &c. Lady Mary is noticed in “Heraclitus Ridens,” No. 7. “Look upon the old gentleman; his eyes are fixed upon my lady Mary: Cupid has shot him as dead as a robin. Poor Heraclitus! he has cried away all his moisture, and is such a dotard to entertain himself with a prospect of what is meat for his betters; wake him out of his lethargy, and tell him the young noblemen and senators will take it amiss if a man of his years makes pretensions to what is more than a match for their youth. Those roguish eyes have brought her more admirers than ever Jenny Bolton had.” Lady Mary was the daughter of noble parents, inhabitants of Florence, who immured her in a nunnery; but she accidentally saw a merry-andrew, with whom she formed a clandestine intercourse; an elopement followed, and finally, he taught her his infamous tricks, which she exhibited for his profit, till vice had made her his own, as Heraclitus proves. The catastrophe of “the lady Mary” was dreadful: her husband, impatient of delays or impediments to profit, either permitted or commanded her to exhibit on the rope, when her situation required compassionate consideration; she fell never to rise again, nor to open her eyes on her untimely infant, which perished in a few minutes after her. In 1715, Dawks’s “News Letter,” says, “on Wednesday, Bartholomew Fair began, to which we hear, the greatest number of black cattle was brought, that was ever known.—There is one great playhouse erected in the middle of Smithfield for the king’s players.—The booth is the largest that was ever built.” Actors of celebrity performed in the Fair at that time, and in many succeeding years. A recent writer, evidently well acquainted with the manners of the period, introduces us to a character mentioned in a former sheet. “In the midst of all, the public attention was attracted to a tall, well-made, and handsome-looking man, who was dressed in a very fashionable suit of white, trimmed with gold lace, a laced ruffled shirt, rolled white silk stockings, a white apron, and a large cocked hat, formed of gingerbread, fringed and garnished with Dutch gold. He carried on his arm a basket filled with gingerbread cakes, one of which he held up in the air; while the other hand was stuck with an easy and fashionable manner into his bosom. For this singular vendor of confectionary every one made way, and numbers followed in his train, shouting after him, ‘there goes Tiddy Doll!’ the name by which that remarkable character was known. He himself did not pass silently through the crowd, but as he went along, he poured forth a multiplicity of praises of his ware, occasionally enlivened by that song which first procured him his name.” This was at the Fair of the year 1740 concerning which the same illustrator thus continues: “The multitude behind was impelled violently forwards, a broad blaze of red light, issuing from a score of flambeaux, streamed into the air; several voices were loudly shouting, ‘room there for prince George! make way for the prince!’ and there was that long sweep heard to pass over the ground, which indicates the approach of a grand and ceremonious train. Presently the pressure became much greater, the voices louder, the light stronger, and as the train came onward, it might be seen that it consisted, firstly, of a party of yeomen of the guards clearing the way; then several more of them bearing flambeaux, and flanking the procession; while in the midst of all appeared a tall, fair, and handsome young man, having something of a plump foreign visage, seemingly about four and thirty years of age, dressed in a ruby-coloured frock coat, very richly guarded with gold lace, and having his long flowing hair curiously curled over his forehead and at the sides, and finished with a very large bag and courtly queue behind. The air of dignity with which he walked, the blue ribbon, and star and garter with which he was decorated, the small three-cornered silk court hat which he wore, whilst all around him were uncovered; the numerous suite, as well of gentlemen as of guards, which marshalled him along, the obsequious attention of a short stout person, who by his flourishing manner seemed to be a player,—all these particulars indicated that the amiable Frederick, prince of Wales was visiting Bartholomew Fair by torchlight, and that manager Rich was introducing his royal guest to all the entertainments of the place. However strange this circumstance may appear to the present generation, yet it is nevertheless strictly true; for about 1740, when the drolls in Smithfield were extended to [1243, 1244] three weeks and a month, it was not considered as derogatory to persons of the first rank and fashion, to partake in the broad humour and theatrical amusements of the place. It should also be remembered, that many an eminent performer of the last century, unfolded his abilities in a booth; and that it was once considered, as an important and excellent preparative to their treading the boards of a theatre-royal.” One of the players is thus represented as informing a spectator concerning the occupation of an itinerant actor:—“I will, as we say, take you behind the scenes. First then, a valuable actor must sleep in the pit, and wake early to sweep the theatre, and throw fresh sawdust into the boxes; he must shake out the dresses, and wind up and dust the motion-jacks; he must teach the dull ones how to act, rout up the idlers from the straw, and redeem those that happen to get into the watch-house. Then, sir, when the Fair begins, he should sometimes walk about the stage grandly, and show his dress: sometimes he should dance with his fellows; sometimes he should sing; sometimes he should blow the trumpet; sometimes he should laugh and joke with the crowd, and give them a kind of a touch-and-go speech, which keep them merry, and makes them come in. Then, sir, he should sometimes cover his state robe with a great coat, and go into the crowd, and shout opposite his own booth, like a stranger who is struck with its magnificence: by the way, sir, that’s a good trick, I never knew it fail to make an audience; and then he has only to steal away, mount his stage, and strut, and dance, and sing, and trumpet, and roar over again.”[290]
An advertisement in the “London Gazette” of April the 13th, 1682, shows under what authority showmen and similar persons “labour in their vocation:”— “Whereas Mr. John Clarke, of London, bookseller, did rent of Charles Killigrew, Esq. the licensing of all ballad-singers for five years; which time is expired at Lady-day next. These are, therefore, to give notice to all ballad-singers, that they take out licences at the office of the revels, at Whitehall, for singing and selling of ballads, and small books, according to an ancient custom. And all persons concerned are hereby desired to take notice of, and to suppress all mountebanks, rope-dancers, prize-players, ballad-singers, and such as make show of motions and strange sights, that have not a licence in red and black letters, under the hand and seal of the said Charles Killigrew, Esq. master of the revels to his majesty;” and in particular it requires them to suppress two, one of them being “Thomas Teats mountebank,” who have no licence “that they may be proceeded against according to law.” The late John Charles Crowle, Esq. who bequeathed his illustrated copy of “Pennant’s London” to the British Museum, which he valued at 5000l. was master of the revels. In that quality he claimed a seat in any part of the theatres, and being opposed by the manager of the little theatre in the Haymarket, maintained his right. He was also trumpet-major of England, to whom every one who blows a trumpet publicly (excepting those of the theatres-royal) must pay a certain sum, and therefore the office has jurisdiction of all the merry-andrews and jack-puddings of every Fair throughout England. The office of master of the revels was created under Henry VIII. in 1546. The identical seal of the office used under five sovereigns, was engraved on wood, and is in the possession of Francis Douce, Esq. F.S.A., who permitted impressions of it to be inserted first by Mr. Chalmers in his “Apology for the believers in the Shakspeare MSS.,” and next by Mr. J. T. Smith, of the British Museum, in his “Ancient Topography of London:” the legend on it is “Sigill: Offic: Jocor: Mascar: et Revell: Dnis. Reg.” Mr. Chalmers’s work also contains the “arms of the revels.”[291]
Mr. J. T. Smith was informed by Mr. Thomas Batrich, an ancient barber of Drury-lane, that Mr. Garrick shortly after his marriage conducted Mrs. Garrick to Yates and Shuter’s booth; Garrick being rudely pushed called upon his bill-sticker, old Palmer, who had been engaged to receive the money at the entrance of the booth, for protection. Palmer, though a very strong man, professed himself sorry he could not serve him in Smithfield; alleging that few people there knew Garrick off the stage. One of the merry-andrews [1245, 1246] who attended on the quack doctors was so much superior to the rest of his profession for wit and gesture, that he was noticed by all ranks of people. Between the seasons he sold gingerbread nuts about Covent-garden, and was the most polite and quiet vendor of the article in London; for to keep up his value at fairs, where he had a guinea a day for his performance besides presents from the multitude, he would never laugh or notice a joke when a dealer in nuts.
Mr. Edward Oram, who died at Hampstead in his seventy-third year, and was buried at Hendon, was intimate with Hogarth in his youth, and introduced him, soon after he left his master, to the proprietors of Drury-lane theatre, where he and Oram painted scenes conjointly, for several years, and were employed by a famous woman, who kept a droll in Bartholomew Fair to paint a splendid set of scenes. The agreement particularly specified that the scenes were to be gilt; but instead of leaf gold being used, they were covered in the usual way with Dutch metal: the mistress of the drolls declared the contract to be broken, and refused to pay for the scenes.[292]
Without going into a history of Bartholomew Fair, it may be remarked that in 1778 it was attended by a foreigner, who exhibited serpents that danced on silk ropes to the sound of music. In 1782, the late Mrs. Baker, proprietor of the Rochester theatre, brought here her company of comedians as “show-folk.” In four successive years, from 1779 to 1780, Mr. Hall of the City-road, eminent for his skill in the preservation of deceased animals, exhibited at the Fair his fine collection of stuffed birds and beasts, which he exhibited for many years before and afterwards at his own house. To obtain notice to it in Smithfield, he engaged sir Jeffery Dunstan to give his imitations in crying “old wigs;” but the mob were no admirers of “still life:” at Hall’s last visit they drew his fine zebra round the Fair; from thenceforth sir Jeffery’s imitations ceased to draw, and Hall came no more. The exhibitions of living animals at this Fair have been always attractive. Hither came the “illustrious” Pidcock, with his wild beasts, and to him succeeded the “not less illustrious” Polito. Hither also came the formerly famous, and still well-remembered Astley, with his “equestrian troop,” and his learned horse. These feats were the admiration of never-ceasing audiences, and to him succeeded Saunders with like success. Puppet Shows. Flockton was the last eminent “motion-master” at Bartholomew Fair. He was himself a good performer, and about 1790 his wooden puppets were in high vogue. He brought them every year till his death, which happened at Peckham, where he resided in a respectable way, upon a handsome competence realized by their exhibition at this and the principal fairs in the country. Flockton’s “Punch” was a very superior one to the present street show. He had trained a Newfoundland dog to fight his puppet, representing the devil, whom he always conquered in due time, and then ran away with him. A puppet-show, or play performed by puppets, was anciently called a “motion;” and sometimes, in common talk, a single puppet was called “a motion.” These were very favourite spectacles. In the times of the papacy, the priests at Witney, in Oxfordshire, annually exhibited a show of The Resurrection, &c. by garnishing out certain small puppets representing the persons of Christ, Mary, and others. Amongst them, one in the character of a waking watchman, espying Christ to arise, made a continual noise, like the sound caused by the meeting of two sticks, and was therefore commonly called Jack Snacker of Wytney. Lambarde, when a child, saw a like puppet in St. Paul’s cathedral, London, at the feast of Whitsuntide; where the descent of the Holy Ghost was performed by a white pigeon being let fly out of a hole in the midst of the roof of the great aisle, with a long censer, which descending from the same place almost to the ground, was swung up and down at such a length, that it reached with one sweep almost to the west-gate of the church, and with the other to the choir stairs, breathing out over the whole church and the assembled multitude a most pleasant perfume, from the sweet things that burnt within it. Lambarde says, that they everywhere used the like dumb-shows, to furnish sundry parts of the church service with spectacles [1247, 1248] of the nativity, passion, and ascension. There may be added to the particulars of a former exhibition, a puppet-showman’s bill at the British Museum, which announces scriptural subjects in the reign of Anne, as follows: “At Crawley’s booth, over against the Crown Tavern, in Smithfield, during the time of Bartholomew Fair, will be presented a little opera, called the Old Creation of the World, yet newly revived; with the addition of Noah’s Flood; also several fountains playing water during the time of the play. The last scene does present Noah and his family coming out of the ark, with all the beasts two by two, and all the fowls of the air seen in a prospect sitting upon trees; likewise over the ark is seen the sun rising in a glorious manner: moreover a multitude of angels will be seen in a double rank which presents a double prospect, one for the sun, the other for a palace, where will be seen six angels ringing of bells. Likewise machines descend from above, double and treble, with Dives rising out of hell, and Lazarus seen in Abraham’s bosom, besides several figures dancing jigs, sarabands, and country dances, to the admiration of the spectators; with the merry conceits of Squire Punch, and Sir John Spendall.” These “motions” or puppet-shows were fashionable at this period in other places, and among fashionable people. In the “Tatler” of May 14, 1709, there is an account of a puppet-show in a letter from Bath, describing the rivalry of Prudentia and Florimel, two ladies at that watering-place. Florimel bespoke the play of “Alexander the Great,” to be acted by the company of strollers on Thursday evening, and the letter-writer accepted the lady’s invitation to be of her party; but he says, “Prudentia had counterplotted us, and had bespoke on the same evening, the puppet-show of the Creation of the World. She had engaged every body to be there; and to turn our leader into ridicule, had secretly let them know that the puppet Eve was made the most like Florimel that ever was seen. On Thursday morning the puppet-drummer, with Adam and Eve, and several others that lived before the flood, passed through the streets on horseback to invite us all to the pastime; and Mr. Mayor was so wise as to prefer these innocent people, the puppets, who he said were to represent christians, before the wicked players who were to show Alexander an heathen philosopher. When we came to Noah’s flood in the show, Punch and his wife were introduced dancing in the ark. Old Mrs. Petulant desired both her daughters to mind the moral; then whispered to Mrs. Mayoress, ’this is very proper for young people to see,’ Punch at the end of the play made Madame Prudentia a bow, and was very civil to the whole company, making bows till his buttons touched the ground.” Sir Richard Steele in the “Spectator” of March 16, 1711, intimates that Powell, the puppet-showman, exhibited religious subjects with his puppets, under the little piazza in Covent-garden; and talks of “his next opera of Susannah, or Innocence Betrayed, which will be exhibited next week with a pair of new elders.” It is observed in a small pamphlet,[293] that “music forms one of the grand attractions of the Fair, and a number of itinerant musicians meet with constant employment at this time.” A band at the west-end of the town, well known for playing on winter evenings before the Spring-garden coffee-house, and opposite Wigley’s great exhibition-room, consisted of a double drum, a Dutch organ, the tambourine, violin pipes, and the Turkish jingle, used in the army. This band was generally hired at one of the first booths in the Fair; but the universal noise arising from so many other discordant instruments, with the cry of “show them in! just going to begin!” prevented their being attended to. The pamphlet referred to mentions the performances by a family of tumblers, who went about with a large caravan, and attended all the Fairs near town; and that at the beginning of the last century, Clarke and Higgins made themselves famous for their wonderful exertions in this way. They would extend the body into all deformed shapes, stand upon one leg, and extend the other in a perpendicular line, half a yard above the head. The tumblers of the present day do not attempt such wonderful exploits, but they put their bodies into a variety of singular postures, and leap with remarkable facility. Lane was a celebrated performer at this Fair, and had several pupils who succeeded him in practising the grand and sublime art of legerdemain, and various [1249, 1250] tricks with cards and balls. The secrets of fortune were disclosed; unmarried damsels were told when and to whom they were to be married; and the widow when she should strip herself of her weeds, and enter anew into matrimony; knives were run through the hand without producing blood; knives and forks swallowed as of easy digestion; and fire and sparks proceeded out of a man’s mouth as from a blacksmith’s forge. During Bartholomew Fair there were swings without number, besides round-abouts and up-and-downs. In the latter, the “young gentleman,” with his fair partner, were elated by the undulating motion, or rather vertical rotation of the machine; and while thus in motion, could survey the busy scene around, and hear its roar. The effect cannot be described which a stranger experienced upon entering Smithfield, and beholding the immense number of these vehicles, which appeared as if soaring into the clouds. Then too, about the year 1815, a well-known eccentric character might be seen with plum-pudding on a board, which he sold in slices. He possessed as much drollery as any mountebank in the Fair, and had as various characteristic traits of oddity. He always walked without his hat, and his hair powdered and tied a la queue, in a neat dress, with a clean apron: his voice, strong and forcible, made many a humorous appeal in behalf of his pudding, large quantities of which he dealt out for “ready money,” and provoked a deal of mirth by his pleasantry. George Alexander Stevens be-rhymes the Fair in his day thus:— Here were, first of all, crowds against other crowds driving
Like wind and tide meeting, each contrary striving;
Shrill fiddling, sharp fighting, and shouting and shrieking,
Fifes, trumpets, drums, bagpipes, and barrow girls squeaking—
“Come my rare round and sound, here’s choice of fine ware!”
Though all was not sound sold at Bartelmew Fair.
Here were drolls, hornpipe-dancing, and showing of postures,
With frying black puddings, and opening of oysters;
With salt-boxes, solos, and galley folks squalling,
The tap-house guests roaring, and mouth-pieces bawling.
Here’s “Punch’s whole play of the gunpowder plot,”
“Wild beasts all alive,” and “peas pudding all hot.”
“Fine sausages” fried, and “the Black on the wire,”
“The whole court of France,” and “nice pig at the fire.”
Here’s the up-and-downs, “who’ll take a seat in the chair?”
Tho’ there’s more up-and-downs than at Bartelmew Fair.
Here’s “Whittington’s cat,” and “the tall dromedary,”
“The chaise without horses,” and “queen of Hungary.”
Here’s the merry-go-rounds, “Come who rides, come who rides, sir,”
Wine, beer, ale, and cakes, fire eating besides, sir,
The fam’d “learned dog,” that can tell all his letters,
And some men, as scholars, are not much his betters.
Before the commencement of the last century, Bartholomew Fair had become an intolerable nuisance, and the lord mayor and aldermen, to abate its depravity, issued a prohibition on the 25th of June, 1700, against its lotteries and interludes. Subsequent feints of resistance were made to its shows, music, and other exhibitions, without further advantage than occasional cessation of gross violations against the public peace. In sir Samuel Fludyer’s mayoralty, interludes were prohibited by a resolution of the court of aldermen. This resolution has been annually put forth, and annually broken by the court itself. When alderman Bull filled the civic chair, he determined to carry the resolution into effect, and so far accomplished his purpose as not to allow any booths to be erected; but want of firmness in his predecessors had inspirited the mob, and they broke the windows of the houses in Smithfield. Alderman Sawbridge in his mayoralty was equally determined against shows, and the mob was equally determined for them; he persisted, and they committed similar excesses. Yet we find that in the year 1743, the resolution had been complied with. The city would not permit booths to be erected, and “the Fair terminated in a more peaceable manner [1251, 1252] than it had done in the memory of man.”[294] This quiet, however, was only temporary, for on the 23rd of August, 1749, a gallery in Phillips’s booth broke down, and four persons were killed; a silversmith, a plasterer, a woman, and a child, and many others were dangerously bruised; one of the maimed had his leg cut off the next morning.[295] This accident seems to have aroused the citizens: on the 10th of July, 1750, a petition was presented to the lord mayor and court of aldermen, signed by above one hundred graziers, salesmen, and inhabitants in and near Smithfield, against erecting booths for exhibiting shows and entertainments there, during Bartholomew Fair, as not only annoying to them in their callings, but as giving the profligate and abandoned opportunity to debauch the innocent, defraud the unwary, and endanger the public peace.[296] On the 17th of July, 1798, the court of common council referred it to the committee of city lands, to consider the necessity and expediency of abolishing Bartholomew Fair: in the course of the previous debate it was proposed to shorten the period to one day, but this was objected to on the ground that the immense crowd from all parts of the metropolis would endanger life.[297] In September, 1825, Mr. Alderman Joshua Jonathan Smith, previous to entering on an examination of forty-five prisoners charged with felonies, misdemeanours, assaults, &c. committed in Smithfield during the Fair of that year, stated, that its ancient limits had been extended into several adjoining streets beyond Smithfield; he said he had particularly noticed this infringement in St. John-street, Clerkenwell on the north side, and nearly half-way down the Old Bailey, on the south; and he was determined, with the aid of his coadjutors, to take such further steps as would in future “lessen the criminal extension which had arisen, if not abolish the degrading scene altogether.”[298] At other periods besides these, there were loud complaints against Bartholomew Fair; and as in 1825, the corporation of London appears seriously to have been engaged in considering the nuisance, its end may be contemplated as near at hand. It is to the credit of the civic authorities, that though shows and interludes were permitted, the Fair of that year was more orderly than any other within memory. Yet even these regulations are inefficient to the maintenance of the reputation the city ought to hold in the estimation of other corporations. The Fair was instituted for the sale of cloth, cattle, and other necessary commodities: as these have, for many years past, wholly disappeared from it, the use of the Fair has wholly ceased; its abuse alone remains, and that abuse can only be destroyed by the utter extinction of the Fair. To do this is not to “interfere with the amusements of the people,” for the people of the metropolis do not require such amusements; they are beyond the power of deriving recreation from them. The well-being of their apprentices and servants, and the young and the illiterate, require protection from the vicious contamination of an annual scene of debauchery, which contributes nothing to the city funds, and nothing to the city’s character but a shameful stain.
Bartholomew Fair must and will be put down. It is for this reason that so much has been said of its former and present state. No person of respectability now visits it, but as a curious spectator of an annual congregation of ignorance and depravity.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Mushroom. Agaricus Campestris.
Dedicated to St. Laurence Justinian.
September 6. St. Pambo of Nitria, A. D. 385. St. Eleutherius, Abbot. St. Bega, or Bees, 7th Cent. St. Eleutherius. Alban Butler boldly says, that this saint raised a dead man to life. He died at Rome, in St. Andrew’s monastery, about the year 585.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Autumnal Dandelion. Apargia Autumnalis.
Dedicated to St. Pambo.[1253, 1254]
September 7. Cloud, A. D. 560. St. Regina, or St. Reine, A. D. 251. St. Evurtius, A. D. 340. St. Grimonia, or Germana. St. Madelberte, A. D. 705. Sts. Alchmund and Tilberht, Bps. of Hexham, A. D. 780 and 789. St. Eunan, first Bp. of Raphoe. St. Enurchus, or Evurtius. This saint is in the church of England calendar, and therefore in the English almanacs, but on what ground it is difficult to conjecture; for Butler himself merely mentions him as a bishop of Orleans, who lived in the reign of Constantine, and died about 340:—he adds, that “his name is famous, but his history of no authority.”
“Fine Feathers make fine Birds.” The subjoined letter, dated the 7th of September, 1825, appears in The Times newspaper of the following day:— To the Editor of the Times. Sir,—I consider it necessary to inform the public, through your paper, that there is a fellow going about the town, (dressed like a painter,) imposing upon the unwary, by selling them painted birds, for foreign ones. He entered my house on Monday last, and after some simple conversation with the customers in the room, he introduced the topic of his birds, which he had in a paper bag, stating that he had been at work in a gentleman’s family at the west end of the town, and the gentleman being on the point of leaving England for a foreign country, he made him a present of them; “but,” says he, “I’m as bad as himself, for I’m going down to Canterbury to-morrow morning myself, to work, and they being of no use to me, I shall take them down to Whitechapel and sell them for what I can get.” Taking one out of the bag, he described it as a Virginia nightingale, which sung four distinct notes or voices: the colour certainly was most beautiful; its head and neck was a bright vermilion, the back betwixt the wings a blue, the lower part to the tail a bright yellow, the wings red and yellow; the tail itself was a compound mixture of the above colours, the belly a clear green—he said it was well worth a sovereign to any gentleman. However, after a good deal of lying, bidding, and argument, one of the party offered five shillings, which he at last took; and disposing of the others much in the same way, he quickly decamped. In the course of an hour after, a barber, a knowing hand in the bird way, who lives in the neighbourhood, came in, and taking a little water, with his white apron he transferred the variegated colours of the nightingale to the white flag of his profession. The deception was visible—the swindler had fled—and the poor hedge-sparrow had his unfortunate head severed from his body, for being forced to personate a nightingale. A Licensed Victualler. Upper Thames-street. By the preceding letter in The Times, a great number of persons were first acquainted with a fraud frequently practised. As a useful and amusing communication it has a place here. It may, however, be as well to correct an error which the intelligent “Licensed Victualler” falls into by venturing beyond a plain account, to indulge in figurative expression. It is not doubted that his “barber, a knowing hand in the bird way,” wore “a white apron;” but when the “Licensed Victualler” calls the barber’s white apron “the white flag of his profession,” he errs; a white apron may be the “flag” of the “Licensed Victualler’s profession,” but it is not the barber’s “flag.” The Barber. The Barber. Randle Holme, an indisputable authority, in his great work on “Heraldry,” figures a barber as above. “He beareth argent,” says Holme; “a barber bare-headed with a pair of cisers in his right hand, and a comb in his left, clothed in russet, his apron checque of the first, and azure; a barber is always known by his checque party-coloured apron, therefore it needs not mentioning.” Holme emphatically adds, “neither can he be termed a barber, (or poler, or shaver,) as anciently they were called, till his apron be about him;” that is to say, “his checque party-coloured apron.” This, and this only, is the “flag of his profession.” [1255, 1256] Holme derives the denomination barber from barba, a beard, and describes him as a cutter of hair; he was also anciently termed a poller, because in former times to poll was to cut the hair: to trim was to cut the beard, after shaving, into form and order.
The instrument-case of a barber, and the instruments in their several divisions, are particularly described by Holme. It contained his looking-glass, a set of horn combs with teeth on one side and wide, “for the combing and readying of long, thick, and stony heads of hair, and such like perriwigs;” a set of box combs, a set of ivory combs with fine teeth on both sides, an ivory beard-comb, a beard-iron called the forceps, being a curling iron for the beard, a set of razors, tweezers with an earpick, a rasp to file the point of a tooth, a hone for his razors, a bottle of sweet oil for his hone, a powder box with sweet powder, a puff to powder the hair, a four square bottle with a screwed head for sweet water, wash balls and sweet balls, caps for the head to keep the hair up, trimming cloths to put before a man, and napkins to put about his neck, and dry his hands and face with. After he was shaved and barbed, the barber was to hold him the glass, that he might see “his new-made face,” and instruct the barber where it was amiss: the barber was then to “take off the linens, brush his clothes, present him with his hat, and, according to his hire, make a bow, with ‘your humble servant, sir.’” The same author thus figures The Barber’s Candlestick. He describes it to be “a wooden turned stick, having a socket in the streight peece, and another in the cross or overthwart peece; this he sticketh in his apron strings on his left side or breast when he useth to trim by candlelight.”
Without going into every particular concerning the utensils and art of “Barbing and Shaving,” some may be deemed curious, and therefore worthy of notice. It is to be observed, however that they are from Randle Holme, who wrote in 1688, and relate to barbers of former days. Barber’s Basin. The barber’s washing or trimming-basin had a circle in the brim to compass a man’s throat, and a place like a little dish to put the ball in after lathering. Holme says, that “such a like bason as this, valiant Don Quixote took from a bloody enchanting barber, which he took to be a golden head-piece.” The barber’s basin is very ancient; it is mentioned by Ezekiel the prophet. In the middle age it was of bright copper.[299] Razor. This is a figure of the old razor of a superior kind, tipped with silver; “that is,” says Holme, “silver plates engraven are fixed upon each end of the haft, to make the same look more gent and rich.” The old man, being fidgetted by this ornament, declares, “it is very oft done by yong proud artists who adorne their instruments with silver shrines, more then seting themselves forth by the glory that attends their art, or praise obtained by skill.” Before English manufactures excelled in cutlery, razors were imported from Palermo.[300] Razors are mentioned by Homer. Barber’s Chafer. [1257, 1258] “This is a small chafer which they use to carry about with them, when they make any progress to trim or barb gentiles at a distance, to carry their sweet water (or countreyman’s broth) in; the round handle at the mouth of the chafer is to fall down as soon as their hand leaves it;” so says Holme. Mr. J. T. Smith remarks, that “the flying barber is a character now no more to be seen in London, though he still remains in some of our country villages; he was provided with a napkin, soap, and pewter bason, the form of which may be seen in many of the illustrative prints of Don Quixote.” The same writer speaks of the barber’s chafer as being—“A deep leaden vessel, something like a chocolate pot, with a large ring, or handle, at the top; this pot held about a quart of water boiling hot, and thus equipped, he flew about to his customers.” These chafers are no longer made in London; the last mould which produced them was sold in New-street, Shoe-lane, at the sale of Mr. Richard Joseph’s moulds for pewter utensils, in January, 1815: it was of brass and broken up for metal.[301] Barber’s Chafing Dish. This was a metal firepot, with a turning handle, and much used during winter, especially in shops without fire-places. It was carried by the handle from place to place, but generally set under a brass or copper basin with a flat broad bottom, whereon if linen cloths were rubbed or let remain, they in a little time became hot or warm for the barber’s use. Barber’s Crisping Irons. This is their ancient shape. “In former times these were much used to curl the side locks of a man’s head, but now (in 1688) wholly cast aside as useless; it openeth and shutteth like the forceps, only the ends are broad and square, being cut within the mouth with teeth curled and crisped, one tooth striking within another.” Scissors. Hair-scissors were long and broad in the blades, and rounded towards the points which were sharp. Beard-scissors had short blades and long handles. The barber’s scissors differed in these respects from others; for instance, the tailor’s scissors had blunt points, while the seamster’s scissors differed from both by reason of their smallness, some of them having one ring for the thumb only to fit it, while the contrary ring or bow was large enough to admit two or three fingers. Beards. Pick-a-devant Beard. “A full face with a sharp-pointed beard is termed, in blazon, a man’s face with a pick-a-devant (or sharp pointed,) beard.” Mr. Archdeacon Nares’s “Glossary” contains several passages in corroboration of Holme’s description of this beard. Cathedral Beard. This Holme calls “the broad or cathedral beard, because bishops and grave men of the church anciently did wear such beards.” Besides this, and the pick-a-devant, he says there are several sorts and fashions of beards, viz. “the British beard hath long mochedoes, (mustachios) on the higher lip, hanging down either side the chin, all the rest of the face being bare:—the forked beard is a broad beard ending in two points:—the mouse-eaten beard, when the beard groweth scatteringly, [1259, 1260] not together, but here a tuft and there a tuft,” &c.
Guillaume Duprat, bishop of Clermont, who assisted at the council of Trent, and built the college of the Jesuits at Paris, had the finest beard that ever was seen. It was too fine a beard for a bishop, and the canons of his cathedral, in full chapter assembled, came to the barbarous resolution of shaving him. Accordingly, when next he came to the choir, the dean, the prevot, and the chantre approached with scissors and razors, soap, basin and warm water. He took to his heels at the sight, and escaped to his castle of Beauregard, about two leagues from Clermont, where he fell sick for vexation, and died.[302]
Ancient monuments represent the Greek heroes to have worn short curled beards. Among the Romans, after the year 454, B. C., philosophers alone constantly wore a beard; the beard of their military men was short and frizzed. The first emperors with a long and thick beard were Hadrian, who wore it to hide his wounds, and Antoninus Pius, and Marcus Aurelius, who wore it as philosophers: a thick beard was afterwards considered an appendage that obtained for the emperors veneration from the people.[303] Wigs. A Peruke. It is figured as seen above by Holme, who also calls it in his peculiar orthography a “perawicke,” and says it was likewise called “a short bob, a head of hair—a wig that hath short locks and a hairy crown.” He describes it with some feeling. “This is a counterfeit hair which men wear instead of their own; a thing much used in our days by the generality of men; contrary to our forefathers who got estates, loved their wives, and wore their own hair; but,” says he, “in these days (1688) there is no such things!” He further gives the following as A long Perriwig, with a Pole-lock. This he puts forth as being “by artists called a long-curled-wig, with a suffloplin, or with a dildo, or pole-lock;” and he affirms, that “this is the sign or cognizance of the perawick-maker.” That the peruke was anciently a barber’s sign, is verified by a very rare, and perhaps an unique engraving of St. Paul’s cathedral when building, with the scaffolding poles and boards up. This print, in the possession of the editor of the Every-Day Book, represents a barber’s shop on the north-side of St. Paul’s churchyard, with the barber’s pole out at the door, and a swinging sign projecting from each side of the house, a peruke being painted on each. A Travelling Wig. This peruque, with a “curled foretop and bobs,” was “a kind of travelling wig, having the side or bottom locks turned up into bobs or knots tied up with ribbons.” Holme further calls it “a campaign-wig,” and says, “it hath knots or bobs, or a dildo, on each side, with a curled forehead.” A Grafted Wig is described by Holme as “a perawick with a turn on the top of the head, in imitation of a man’s hairy crown.” A Border of Hair. This is so called by Holme; he also calls it “a peruque, with the crown or [1261, 1262] top cut off; some term it the border of a peruque:” he adds, that “women usually wear such borders, which they call curls or locks when they hang over their ears.” He further says, they were called “taures when set in curls on the forehead,” and “merkins” when the curls were worn lower, or at the sides of the face. A Bull-head. “Some,” says Holme, “term this curled forehead a bull-head, from the French word taure, because taure is a bull; it was the fashion of women to wear bull-heads, or bull-like foreheads, anno 1674, and about that time: this is the coat (of arms) of Taurell, a French monsieur, or seigneur.” Curls on Wires. According to our chief authority, Holme, a female thus “quoiffed,” with “a pair of locks and curls,” was in “great fashion, about the year 1670.” He adds, that “they are false locks, set on wyres, to make them stand at a distance from the head; as the fardingales made their clothes stand out (from the hips downwards) in queen Elizabeth’s reign.” Female Head Dress in 1688. There is a little difficulty in naming this head dress; for Holme is so diffuse and indignant that he gives it no term though he describes the engraving. The figure is remarkable because it is in many respects similar to the manner wherein the ladies of 1825 adjust the head. It will be remembered that Holme was a herald, and though his descriptions have not hitherto been here related in his armorial language, he always sets them out so, in his “storehouse of armory and blazon.” It may be amusing to conclude these extracts from him with his description of this figure in his own words: thus then the old “deputy for the kings of arms” describes it:— “He beareth argent a woman’s face; her forehead adorned with a knot of diverse coloured ribbons; the head with a ruffle quoif, set in corners, and the like ribbons behind the head. This,” says Holme, “is a fashion-monger’s head, tricked and trimed up, according to the mode of these times, wherein I am writing of it; and, in my judgment, were a fit coat for such seamsters as are skilled in inventions. But” (he angrily breaks forth,) “what do I talk of arms to such, by reason they will be shortly old, and therefore not to be endured by them, whose brains are always upon new devises and inventions! But all are brought again from the old; for there is no new thing under the sun; for what is now, hath been formerly!”
In the great dining-room at Lambeth-palace, there are portraits of all the archbishops, from Laud to the present time. In these we may observe the gradual change of the clerical dress, in the article of wigs. Archbishop Tillotson was the first prelate who wore a wig, which then was not unlike the natural hair, and worn without powder.[304]
It is related of a barber in Paris, that, to establish the utility of his bag-wigs, he caused the history of Absalom to be painted over his door; and that one of the profession, at a town in Northamptonshire, used this inscription, “Absalom, hadst thou worn a perriwig, thou hadst not been hanged.”[305] It is somewhere told of another that he ingeniously versified his brother peruke-maker’s inscription, under a sign which represented the death of Absalom and David weeping; he wrote up thus:— “Oh, Absalom! Oh, Absalom!
Oh, Absalom! my son,
If thou hadst worn a perriwig,
Thou hadst not been undone!”
The well-known, light, flaxen wig of Townsend, the well-known police-officer, is celebrated in a song beginning thus:— [1263, 1264] Townsend’s Wig.
Tune—“Nancy Dawson.” Of all the wigs in Brighton town,
The black, the grey, the red, the brown,
So firmly glued upon the crown,
There’s none like Johnny Townsend’s:
It’s silken hair and flaxen hue,
(It is a scratch, and not a quene,)
Whene’er it pops upon the view,
Is known for Johnny Townsend’s!
Wigs were worn by the Romans when bald; those of the Roman ladies were fastened upon a caul of goat-skin. Perriwigs commenced with their emperors; they were awkwardly made of hair, painted and glued together. False hair was always in use, though more from defect than fashion; but the year 1529 is deemed the epoch of the introduction of long perriwigs into France; yet it is certain that ladies tetes were in use here a century before. Mr. Fosbroke, from whose “EncyclopÆdia of Antiquities” these particulars are derived, says, “that strange deformity, the judge’s wig, first appears as a general genteel fashion in the seventeenth century.” Towards the close of that century, men of fashion combed their wigs at public places, as an act of gallantry, with very large ivory or tortoiseshell combs, which they carried in their pockets as constantly as their snuffboxes. At court, in the mall of St. James’s-park, and in the boxes of the theatre, gentlemen conversed and combed their perukes. Hair. Horace Walpole relates that when the countess of Suffolk married Mr. Howard, they were both so poor, that they took a resolution of going to Hanover before the death of queen Anne, in order to pay their court to the future royal family. Having some friends to dinner, and being disappointed of a full remittance, she was forced to sell her hair to furnish the entertainment. Long wigs were then in fashion, and the countess’s hair being fine, long, and fair, produced her twenty pounds.
A fashion of wearing the hair gave rise to a college term at Cambridge, which is thus mentioned and explained in a dictionary of common parlance at that university:— “Apollo. One whose hair is loose and flowing;
Unfrizzled, unanointed, and untied;
No powder seen.——
“His royal highness prince William of Gloucester was an Apollo during the whole of his residence at the university of Cambridge! The strange fluctuation of fashions has often afforded a theme for amusing disquisition. ‘I can remember,’ says the pious archbishop Tillotson, in one of his sermons, discoursing on this head, viz. of hair! ‘since the wearing the hair below the ears was looked upon as a sin of the first magnitude; and when ministers generally, whatever their text was, did either find, or make occasion to reprove the great sin of long hair; and if they saw any one in the congregation guilty in that kind, they would point him out particularly, and let fly at him with great zeal.’ And we can remember since, the wearing the hair cropt, i. e. above the ears, was looked upon, though not as a ‘sin,’ yet as a very vulgar and raffish sort of a thing; and when the doers of newspapers exhausted all their wit in endeavouring to rally the new-raised corps of crops, regardless of the noble duke who headed them; and, when the rude, rank-scented rabble, if they saw any one in the streets, whether time, or the tonsor, had thinned his flowing hair, would point him out particularly, and ‘let fly at him,’ as the archbishop says, till not a shaft of ridicule remained! The tax upon hair powder has now, however, produced all over the country very plentiful crops. Among the Curiosa Cantabrigiensia, it may be recorded, that our ‘most religious and gracious king,’ as he was called in the liturgy, Charles the Second, who, as his worthy friend, the earl of Rochester, remarked, ‘never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one,’—
sent a letter to the university of Cambridge, forbidding the members to wear perriwigs, smoke tobacco, and read their sermons! It is needless to remark, that tobacco has not yet made its exit in fumo, and that perriwigs still continue to adorn ‘the heads of houses!’—Till the present all prevailing, all accommodating fashion of crops became general at the university, no young man presumed to dine in hall till he had previously received a handsome trimming from the hair-dresser. An inimitable imitation of ‘The Bard’ of Gray, is ascribed to the pen of the honourable Thomas (the late lord) Erskine, when a student at Cambridge. Mr. E. having been disappointed of the attendance of his college barber, was compelled [1265, 1266] to forego his commons in hall! An odd thought came into his head. In revenge, he determined to give his hair-dresser a good dressing; so he sat down, and began as follows:— “‘Ruin seize thee, scoundrel Coe,
Confusion on thy frizzing wait;
Hadst thou the only comb below,
Thou never more shouldst touch my pate.
“‘Club, nor queue, nor twisted tail,
Nor e’en thy chatt’ring, barber, shall avail
To save thy horse-whipped back from daily fears
From Cantab’s curse, from Cantab’s tears.’”
The editor of the “Gradus ad Cantabrigiam” regrets that he has not room for the whole of the ode. There is a curious print from Heemskerck, of a barber of old times labouring in his vocation: it shows his room or shop. An old woman is making square pancakes at the fire-place, before which an overfed man sits on a chair sleeping: there is a fat toping friar seated by the chimney corner, with his fingers on the crossed hands of a demure looking nun by his side, and he holds up a liquor-measure to denote its emptiness: a nun-like female behind, blows a pair of bellows over her shoulder, and seems dancing to a tune played on the guitar or cittern, by a humorous looking fellow who is standing up: another nun-like female sounds a gridiron with a pair of tongs, while another friar blows an instrument through a window. These persons are perhaps sojourning there as pilgrims, for there is a print hung against the wall representing an owl in a pilgrim’s habit on his journey. In this room the barber’s bleeding basin is hung up, and his razor is on the mantel ledge: the barber himself is washing the chin of an aged fool, whom, from the hair lying on the ground, it appears he has just polled. A dog on his hind legs is in a fool’s habit, probably to intimate that the fool is under the hands of the barber preparatory to his fraternizing with the friars and their dames. The [1267, 1268] print is altogether exceedingly humorous, and illustrative of manners: so much of it as immediately concerns the barber is given in the present engraving from it.
Mr. Leigh Hunt, in “The Indicator,” opposes female indifference to the hair. He says, “Ladies, always delightful, and not the least so in their undress, are apt to deprive themselves of some of their best morning beams by appearing with their hair in papers. We give notice, that essayists, and of course all people of taste, prefer a cap, if there must be any thing; but hair, a million times over. To see grapes in paper-bags is bad enough; but the rich locks of a lady in papers, the roots of the hair twisted up like a drummer’s, and the forehead staring bald instead of being gracefully tendrilled and shadowed!—it is a capital offence,—a defiance to the love and admiration of the other sex,—a provocative to a paper war: and we here accordingly declare the said war on paper, not having any ladies at hand to carry it at once into their headquarters. We must allow at the same time, that they are very shy of being seen in this condition, knowing well enough, how much of their strength, like Sampson’s, lies in that gifted ornament. We have known a whole parlour of them fluttered off, like a dove-cote, at the sight of a friend coming up the garden.”
Of the barber’s art, as it was practised formerly, Mr. Archdeacon Nares gives a curious sample from Lyly, an old dramatist, one of whose characters being a barber, says, “thou knowest I have taught thee the knacking of the hands, the tickling on a man’s haires, like the tuning of a citterne. I instructed thee in the phrases of our eloquent occupation, as, how, sir, will you be trimmed? will you have your beard like a spade or a bodkin? a pent-hous on your upper lip, or an ally on your chin? a low curle on your head like a bull, or dangling locke like a spaniel? your mustachoes sharpe at the ends, like shomakers’ aules, or hanging downe to your mouth like goates flakes? your love-lockes wreathed with a silken twist, or shaggie to fall on your shoulders?” Barbers’ shops were anciently places of great resort, and the practices observed there were consequently very often the subject of allusions. The cittern, or lute, which hung up for the diversion of the customers, is the foundation of a proverb.[306] The cittern resembled the guitar. In Burton’s “Winter Evening Entertainments,” published in 1687, with several wood-cuts, there is a representation of a barber’s shop, where the person waiting his turn is playing on a lute.[307] The peculiar mode of snapping the fingers, as a high qualification in a barber, is mentioned by Green, another early writer. “Let not the barber be forgotten: and look that he be an excellent fellow, and one that can snap his fingers with dexterity.” Morose, one of Ben Jonson’s characters in his “Silent Woman,” is a detester of noise, and particularly values a barber who was silent, and did not snap his fingers. “The fellow trims him silently, and hath not the knack with his shears or his fingers: and that continency in a barber he thinks so eminent a virtue, as it has made him chief of his counsel.”[308] This obsolete practice with barbers is noticed in Stubbe’s “Anatomy of Abuses.” “When they come to washing,” says Stubbe, “oh! how gingerly they behave themselves therein. For then shall your mouth be bossed with the lather, or some that rinseth of the balles, (for they have their sweete balles wherewith all they use to washe,) your eyes closed must be anointed therewith also. Then snap go the fingers, ful bravely, Got wot. Thus this tragedy ended, comes me warme clothes to wipe and dry him withall; next, the eares must be picked, and closed together againe artificially, forsooth,” &c. This citation is given by a correspondent to the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” who adds to it his own observations:—“I am old enough,” he says, “to remember when the operation of shaving, in this kingdom, was almost exclusively performed by the barbers: what I speak of is some three-score years ago, at which time gentlemen-shavers were unknown. Expedition was then a prime quality in a barber, who smeared the lather over his customers’ faces with his hand; for the delicate refinement of the brush had not been introduced. The lathering of the beard being finished, the operator threw off the lather adhering to his hand, by a peculiar jerk of the arm, which caused the joints of the fingers to crack, this being a more expeditious [1269, 1270] mode of clearing the hand than using a towel for that purpose; and the more audible the crack, the higher the shaver stood in his own opinion, and in that of his fraternity. This then, I presume, is the custom alluded to by Stubbe.”
Mr. J. T. Smith says, “The entertaining and venerable Mr. Thomas Batrich, barber, of Drury-lane, informs me, that before the year 1756, it was a general custom to lather with the hand; but that the French barbers, much about that time, brought in the brush.” He also says, that “A good lather is half the shave,” is a very old remark among the trade.
In a newspaper report of some proceedings at a police office, in September, 1825, a person deposing against the prisoner, used the phrase “as common as a barber’s chair;” this is a very old saying. One of Shakspeare’s clowns speaks of “a barber’s chair, that fits all,” by way of metaphor; and Rabelais shows that it might be applied to any thing in very common use.[309]
The Barber’s Pole is still a sign in country towns, and in many of the villages near London. It was stated by lord Thurlow in the house of peers, on the 17th of July, 1797, when he opposed the surgeons’ incorporation bill that, “By a statute still in force, the barbers and surgeons were each to use a pole. The barbers were to have theirs blue and white, striped, with no other appendage; but the surgeons, which was the same in other respects, was likewise to have a gallipot and a red rag, to denote the particular nature of their vocation.” The origin of the barber’s pole is to be traced to the period when the barbers were also surgeons, and practised phlebotomy. To assist this operation, it being necessary for the patient to grasp a staff, a stick or a pole was always kept by the barber-surgeon, together with the fillet or bandaging he used for tying the patient’s arm. When the pole was not in use the tape was tied to it, that they might be both together when wanted. On a person coming in to be bled the tape was disengaged from the pole, and bound round the arm, and the pole was put into the person’s hand: after it was done with, the tape was again tied on the pole, and in this state, pole and tape were often hung at the door, for a sign or notice to passengers that they might there be bled: doubtless the competition for custom was great, because as our ancestors were great admirers of bleeding, they demanded the operation frequently. At length instead of hanging out the identical pole used in the operation, a pole was painted with stripes round it, in imitation of the real pole and its bandagings, and thus came the sign. That the use of the pole in bleeding was very ancient, appears from an illumination in a missal of the time of Edward I., wherein the usage is represented. Also in “Comenii Orbis pictus,” there is an engraving of the like practice. “Such a staff,” says Brand, who mentions these graphic illustrations, “is to this very day put into the hand of patients undergoing phlebotomy by every village practitioner.”
The News Sunday-paper of August 4, 1816, says, that a person in Alston, who for some years followed the trade of a barber, recently opened a spirit-shop, when to the no small admiration and amusement of his acquaintance, he hoisted over his door the following lines:— Rove not from pole to pole, but here turn in,
Where naught exceeds the shaving, but the gin.
The south corner shop of Hosier-lane, Smithfield, is noticed by Mr. J. T. Smith as having been “occupied by a barber whose name was Catch-pole; at least so it was written over the door: he was a whimsical fellow; and would, perhaps because he lived in Smithfield, show to his customers a short bladed instrument, as the dagger with which Walworth killed Wat Tyler.” To this may be added, a remark not expressed by Mr. Smith, that Catch-pole had a barber’s pole for many years on the outside of his door.[310]
Catch-pole’s manoeuvre to catch customers, and get his shop talked about, was very successful. It is observed in the “Spectator,” that—“The art of managing mankind is only to make them stare a little, to keep up their astonishment, to let nothing be familiar to them, but ever to have something in your sleeve, in which they must think you are deeper than they are.” The writer of the remark exemplifies it by this story:—“There is an ingenious [1271, 1272] fellow, a barber of my acquaintance, who, besides his broken fiddle and a dryed sea-monster, has a twine-cord, strained with two nails at each end, over his window, and the words, rainy, dry, wet, and so forth, written to denote the weather according to the rising or falling of the cord. We very great scholars are not apt to wonder at this: but I observed a very honest fellow, a chance customer, who sat in the chair before me to be shaved, fix his eye upon this miraculous performance during the operation upon his chin and face. When those, and his head also, were cleared of all incumbrances and excrescences, he looked at the fish, then at the fiddle, still grubbing in his pockets, and casting his eye again at the twine, and the words writ on each side; then altered his mind as to farthings, and gave my friend a silver six-pence. The business, as I said, is to keep up the amazement: and if my friend had had only the skeleton and kitt, he must have been contented with a less payment.”
It was customary with barbers to have their shops lighted by candles in brass chandeliers of three, four, and six branches. Mr. Smith noticing their disuse says, “Mr. Batrich has two suspended from his ceiling; he has also a set of bells fixed against the wall, which he has had for these forty years. These are called by the common people Whittington’s Bells. In his early days, about eighty years back, when the newspapers were only a penny a-piece, they were taken in by the barbers for the customers to read during their waiting time. This custom is handed to us by the late E. Heemskerck, in an etching by Toms, of a barber’s shop, composed of monkies, at the foot of which are the following lines:— “A barber’s shop adorn’d we see,
With monsters, news, and poverty;
Whilst some are shaving, others bled,
And those that wait the papers read;
The master full of wigg, or tory,
Combs out your wig, and tells a story.”
Mr. Smith’s inquiries concerning barbers have been extensive and curious. He says, “On one occasion, that I might indulge the humour of being shaved by a woman, I repaired to the Seven Dials, where, in Great St. Andrew’s-street, a slender female performed the operation, whilst her husband, a strapping soldier in the Horse-guards, sat smoking his pipe. There was a famous woman in Swallow-street, who shaved; and I recollect a black woman in Butcher-row, a street formerly standing by the side of St. Clement’s church, near Temple-bar, who is said to have shaved with ease and dexterity.” His friend Mr. Batrich informed him that he had read of “the five barberesses of Drury-lane, who shamefully mal-treated a woman in the reign of Charles II.” Mr. Batrich died while Mr. Smith’s “Ancient Topography of London,” was passing through the press.
The “Glasgow Chronicle,” about the year 1817, notices the sudden death, in Calton, of Mr. John Falconer, hair-dresser, in Kirk-street. While in the act of shaving a man, he staggered, and was falling, when he was placed on a chair, and expired in five minutes. His shop was the arena of all local discussion, and was therefore denominated the Calton coffee-room. His father and he had been in the trade for upwards of half a century. His father was the first who reduced the price of shaving to a halfpenny; and when his brethren in the town wished him again to raise it, he replied, “Charge a penny! Jock and me are just considering about lowering it to a farthing.” He would never take more than a halfpenny though it was offered him; and being very skilful at his business, and of a frank jocular turn, he had a large share of public favour, and was enabled even at this low rate to gather money and build houses. He died about sixteen years before his son, who carried on the business. He often said others wrought for need, but he did it for pleasure or recreation, and never was so happy as when he was improving the countenances of the lieges. He was generally allowed to be at the top of his profession. Some old men whom he and his father had shaved for fifty years, boasted that they were never touched by another: one very old customer regularly came for many a year to his shop every Saturday night from the western extremity of the town. His shop was furnished with two dozen of antique chairs, as many pictures, and a musical clock, and for a long time he had a good library of books, but they at length nearly wholly disappeared, and he took up to his house the few that remained as his own share. At two different times, when trade was dull, [1273, 1274] he gave his tenants a jubilee on the term day, and presented their discharges without receiving a farthing. He left behind him property worth between 2,000l. and 3000l.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Golden Starwort. Aster Solidaginoides.
Dedicated to St. Cloud.
September 8. Nativity of the Blessed Virgin. St. Adrian, A. D. 306. St. Sidronius, A. D. 1067. Sts. Eusebius, Nestablus, Zeno, and Nestor, Martyrs under Julian. St. Corbinian, Bp. A. D. 730. St. Disen, or Disibode, A. D. 700. The Festival of the Holy Name of the Virgin Mary. Nativity, B. V. M. This Roman catholic festival is in the church of England calendar and almanacs. According to Butler and other Romish writers, “the title of the mother of God was confirmed to the virgin Mary” by the traditions of their church; and her nativity has been kept “above a thousand years,” with matins, masses, homilies, collects, processions, and other forms and ceremonies ordained by that hierarchy. Some of its writers “attribute the institution of this feast to certain revelations which a religious contemplative had; who, they say, every year upon the 8th of September, heard most sweet music in heaven, with great rejoicings of the angels; and once asking one of them the cause, he answered him, that upon that day was celebrated in heaven the nativity of the mother of God; and upon the relation of this man, the church began to celebrate it on earth.”[311] Upon this it is observed and related by the late Mr. Brady thus:— “A circumstance so important in its nature, and unfolded in so peculiar and miraculous a manner, was of course communicated to the then reigning pope, Servius; who immediately appointed a yearly feast ‘to give an opportunity for the religious on earth to join with the angels in this great solemnity;’ and there have been some contemplations dedicated for this occasion, wherein is unfolded, ‘for the benefit of mankind,’ certain circumstances of her ‘sallies of love and union with God,’ even before her pious mother St. Anne gave her being! It is somewhat extraordinary, that, notwithstanding the day of the nativity of the virgin was so clearly proved, after having been forgotten for many centuries, pope Servius, when he appointed the festival, did not also honour it with an octave or vigil; for it appears that pope Innocent IV. has the credit of the octave which he instituted A. D. 1244, and that pope Gregory XI. appointed the vigil A. D. 1370. At the death indeed of Gregory IX. it was in contemplation to observe an octave upon the following occasion: the cardinals had been long shut up without agreeing upon the appointment of a successor to the deceased pope, when some of these holy men made a vow to the virgin, that if through her merits they could come to a decision they would in future observe [1275, 1276] her octave; a vow which had an instantaneous effect, and caused Celestine to be elected to St. Peter’s chair; though, as this nominal pope lived only eighteen days from his election, the vow was not fulfilled until Innocent IV. succeeded to that dignity. The long and uncourteous disregard, however, of the early church to the immaculate mother of our Lord, in respect to the day of her nativity, was amply compensated by other attentions, and there still remain many persons in catholic countries, in Spain and Italy in particular, who place a much greater reliance on the efficiency of the mediation of the virgin, than they do on that of our Lord himself: and if we are to credit the numerous authors who have made her divine powers their theme, and celebrated her extraordinary condescensions, our wonder and astonishment must be excited in a most eminent degree. Some of her courtesies are calculated for teaching a lesson of humility, which no doubt was the operating cause of her performing such offices, which in no other view appear of importance. At one time she descends from heaven to mend the gown of Thomas À Becket, which was ripped at the shoulder. Whilst the monks of Clervaux were at work, the virgin relieved their fatigue, by wiping the perspiration from their faces. That the important duties of an abbey should not be neglected, she for some time personally superintended them, whilst the abbess was absent with a monk who had seduced her from the path of virtue. She even descended from heaven to bleed a young man who prayed to her, and whose health required that operation. At the entreaty of a monk, who prayed to her for that purpose, she supplied his place when absent, and sung matins for him. And, we are solemnly assured, that when St. Allan was much indisposed, she rewarded him for his devotional attentions to her, by graciously giving him that nourishment which female parents are accustomed only to afford their offspring! To what depths of impious absurdity will not ignorance and credulity debase mankind!”[312]
Legendary stories in honour of the virgin are numberless. For edifying reading on this particular festival, the “Golden Legend” relates, among others, the following:— A bishop’s vicar, by name Theophylus, on the death of his diocesan, was willed by the people to succeed him; but Theophylus refused, saying, he had rather be a vicar than a bishop. However, the new bishop displaced him from being vicar, whereupon Theophylus grieved, and falling into despair, consulted a Jew, who being a magician, summoned the devil to the help of Theophylus. The devil being duly acquainted with the state of affairs, wrote a bond with Theophylus’s blood, whereby the said Theophylus was held and firmly bound to renounce the virgin, and the profession of christianity, and the same being by him duly sealed and delivered, as his act and deed, the devil was therewith content, and procured the bishop to re-establish Theophylus in his office. When Theophylus was a vicar again, he began to repent that he had given his bond, and prayed the virgin to relieve him from it. Wherefore she appeared to Theophylus in a vision, “and rebuked him of his felony, and commanded him to forsake the devil,” and to confess himself in heart a christian man. This he accordingly did, and therefore the virgin obtained his pardon, and brought his bond from the devil, and laid it on his breast; and Theophylus became joyful, and related to the bishop and all the people what had befallen him, and they marvelled greatly, and gave praise to the virgin, and “three dayes after he rested in peas,” and died in his vicarage, whereunto the devil had caused him to be presented. At another time a widow, whose son had been taken prisoner, wept without comfort, and prayed to the virgin for his delivery, but he still remained prisoner; and at last, when she saw that her prayers availed not, she entered into a church where an image of the virgin was carved, and standing before the image, reminded the virgin of her importunities, and that she had not helped her; “and therefore,” said she, “like as my son is taken from me, so shall I take away thy son, and keep him as a hostage for mine.” Then she took away from the image the child that it held, “and shette it in her chest, and locked it fast ryght diligently, and was ryght joyfull that she had so good hostage for her sone.” Wherefore, on the following night, the virgin liberated the widow’s son, and desired him to go and [1277, 1278] tell his mother that, as he was released, she desired to have her own son back. This he did, and the widow, in great joy, “toke the chylde of the ymage, and came to the chirche, and delyvered it to our lady, sayenge, lady, I thanke you, for ye have delivered to me my son, and here I deliver to you yours.” One other story is of a thief who was always devout to the virgin. On a time he was taken and judged, and ordered to be hanged; but when he was hanged “the blyssed virgin Mary susteyned, and helde hym up, with her handes, thre dayes, that he dyed not.” When they that caused him to be hanged, “found hym lyvying, and of glad chere,” they supposed that “the corde had not been well strayned,” and would have cut his throat with a sword; but “our blyssed lady” put her hands between his neck and the weapon, so that he could be neither killed nor hurt; and then they took him down “and let him go in the honour of the blyssed virgyn Marye;” and he went and “entred into a monastery, and was in the service of the moder of God as longe as he lyved.” Perhaps these three stories provided for the festival of the nativity of the blessed virgin Mary in papal times, may be deemed sufficient in our times.
Spain, as a catholic country, is profuse in adoration of the virgin. On her festivals a shrine is erected in the open street, decorated with flowers, and surrounded by a number of wax candles. A flight of stairs leads to an altar, whereon is placed an image of the virgin mother, with an embroidered silk canopy above. On these stairs a priest takes his station, and preaches to the multitude, while other priests go round, at intervals, with a salver, to collect oblations from the devotees. To those who give liberally, the priest presents little engravings of the virgin, which are highly valued. An obliging correspondent, who communicates these particulars, (J. H. D. of Portsmouth,) says, “I have two of them, which I obtained on one of those occasions at Cadiz, in 1811, one of which I herewith send you.” Of this consecrated print, the engraving at the head of the present article is a fac-simile.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Amellus. Aster Amellus.
Dedicated to St. Adrian. [311] Ribadeneira.[312] Clavis Calendaria.
September 9. Sts. Gorgonius, Dorotheus, and Companions A. D. 304. St. Omer, A. D. 607. St. Kiaran, Abbot A. D. 549. St. Osmana of Ireland. St. Bettelin. St. Bettelin, or Beccelin. The town of Stafford is honoured by this saint being its patron, where “his relics were kept with great veneration.” He is said to have served St. Guthlac, and been of all others most dear to him, and to have led an “anchoretical life in the forest near Stafford.”[313] Fanny Braddock. The fate of this unhappy young woman who committed suicide at Bath, on the 9th of September, 1731, is still remembered in that city. She resided with Mr. John Wood, the architect, and on the night of the 8th went well to bed, nowise disordered in behaviour. Her custom was to burn a candle all night, and for her maid to lock the door, and push the key under it, so that she always got up in the morning to let her maid into the room. After she had retired, on the evening mentioned, she got out of bed again, and, it is supposed, employed some time in reading. She put on a white night-gown, and pinned it over her breast; tied a gold and a silver girdle together, and at one end having made three knots about an inch asunder, that if one slipped another might hold, she opened the door, put the knotty end of the girdle over it, and locking the door again, made a noose at the other end, through which she put her neck, by getting on a chair and then dropped from it. She hung with her back against the door, and had hold of the key with one of her hands; she had bit her tongue through, and had a bruise on her forehead; this was occasioned, probably, by the breaking of a red girdle she had tried first, which was found in her pocket with a noose on it; there were two marks on the door. The coroner’s inquest sat on her that day, and brought in their verdict non compos mentis. [1279, 1280] She was daughter to the late general Braddock, who at his death left her and her sister 6000l. By her sister’s death about four years before, she became mistress of the whole fortune, but being infatuated by the love of gaming, met “an unlucky chance” which deprived her of her fortune. She had been heard to say, that no one should ever be sensible of her necessities, were they at the last extremity. She was generally lamented, and in life had been greatly esteemed for courteous and genteel behaviour, and good sense. She was buried in a decent manner in the abbey church, in the grave of her honest brave old father, a gentleman who had experienced some undeserved hardships in life; but who might be said to have been thus far happy, that he lived not to see or hear of so tragical a catastrophe of his beloved daughter. The following verses were written by her on her window:— “O, death! thou pleasing end to human woe!
Thou cure for life! thou greatest good below!
Still may’st thou fly the coward and the slave,
And thy soft slumbers only bless the brave.”[314]
Mr. Wood who wrote “an Essay towards a Description of Bath,” speaks of many circumstances which unite to prove that Fanny Braddock had long meditated self-destruction. In a book entitled New Court Tales, she is called “the beautiful and celebrated Sylvia,” which Wood says “she was not very improperly styled, having been a tenant under my roof during the last thirteen months of her life; and at the time of her unhappy death, her debt of two and fifty pounds three shillings and fourpence for rent, &c. entitled me to the sole possession of all her papers and other effects, which I seized on Monday, the 13th of September, 1731.” Though Wood probably knew better how to draw up an inventory, and make an appraisement, than a syllogism, yet at the end of five months the creditors drew “a new inventory” of what was in his possession, and made a new appraisement. “The goods were then sold,” says Wood, “and people striving for something to preserve the memory of the poor deceased lady, the price of every thing was so advanced that the creditors were all paid, and an overplus remained for the nearest relation; though it ought to have come to me, as a consideration towards the damages I sustained on the score of Sylvia’s untimely death”! Whatever was Wood’s estimation of his unhappy tenant when alive, he could afford to praise her dead. “Nothing can be more deplorable than the fate of this unfortunate young woman; a fate that I have heard hundreds in high life lament their not suspecting, that they might have endeavoured to prevent it, though it should have been at half the expense of their estates; and yet many of those people, when common fame every where sounded Sylvia’s running out of her fortune, would endeavour to draw her into play to win her money, and accept of whatever was offered them from her generous hand!” She was ensnared by a woman named Lindsey, who kept a house for high play. “When I came down to Bath,” says Wood, “in the year 1727, Sylvia was entirely at the dame’s command, whenever a person was wanting to make up a party for play at her house. Dame Lindsey’s wit and humour, with the appearance of sanctity in a sister that lived with her, strongly captivated the youth of both sexes, and engaged them in her interest.” The reputation of this “dame Lindsey” was at a low ebb, but Wood observes, “in the course of three years I could never, by the strictest observations, perceive Sylvia to be tainted with any other vice than that of suffering herself to be decoyed to the gaming-table; and, at her own hazard, playing for the amusement and advantage of others. I was therefore not long in complying with a proposal she made to me in the summer of the year 1738, for renting part of a house I then lived in, in Queen-square; her behaviour was such as manifested nothing but virtue, regularity, and good nature. She was ready to accept of trifling marks of friendship, to give her a pretence of making great returns; and she was no sooner seated in my house than ladies of the highest distinction, and of the most unblemished characters were her constant visiters: her levee looked more like that of a minister of state than of a private young lady. Her endowments seemed to have had a power of attraction among her own sex, even stronger than that of all the riches of a court among the gentlemen that are allured by them.” The last night of her life she had spent in [1281, 1282] Mr. Wood’s study, where she took her supper, and dandled two of his children on her knees till the hour of retiring. She then went to the nursery and taking leave of a sleeping infant in its cradle, praised the innocence of its looks. Passing to her own room she undressed and went to bed, and, as her servant left the room, bade her good night; she had never done so before. It is probable that at that moment she thought on her fatal purpose, and some passages in Harrington’s translation of “Orlando Furioso,” are supposed to have strengthened it. It was found that after she had arisen she had been reading in it; the book lay open at pp. 74 and 75, the story of Olympia, who, by the perfidy and ingratitude of her bosom friend, was ruined.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Canadian Golden Rod. Solidago Canadensis.
Dedicated to St. Omer.
September 10. St. Nicholas, of Tolentino, A. D. 1306. St. Pulcheria, Empress, A. D. 453. Sts. Nemesianus, Felix, Lucius, another Felix, Litteus, Polianus, Victor, Jader, and Dativus, Bps. with other Priests, Deacons, &c., in Numidia, banished under Valerian. St. Finian, called Winin, by the Welsh, Bp. 6th Cent. St. Salvias, Bp. of Albi, A. D. 580. Autumn. [Autumn is by some supposed to commence on the 8th of this month.] Laden with richest products of the earth;
Its choicest fruits, enchanting to the eye,
Grateful to taste, and courting appetite.
[1283, 1284] Dr Forster is of opinion that autumn commences on the 10th of September. “It occupies ninety days. The mean temperature is 49.37°, or 11.29° below the summer: the medium of the day declines in this season from 58° to 40°. The mean height of the barometer is 29.781 inches; being .096 inches below the mean of summer. The range increases rapidly during this season; the mean extent of it is 1.49 inches. The prevailing winds are the class SW., throughout the season. The evaporation is 6.444 inches, or a sixth part less than the proportion indicated by the temperature. The mean of De Luc’s hygrometer is seventy-two degrees. The average rain is 7.441 inches: the proportion of rain increases, from the beginning to near the end of the season: this is the true rainy season with us; and the earth, which had become dry to a considerable depth during the spring and summer, now receives again the moisture required for springs, and for the more deeply rooted vegetables, in the following year. “The fore part of this season is, nevertheless, if we regard only the sky, the most delightful part of the year, in our climate. When the decomposition of vapour, from the decline of the heat, is as yet but in commencement, or while the electricity remaining in the air continues to give buoyancy to the suspended particles, a delicious calm often prevails for many days in succession, amidst a perfect sunshine, mellowed by the vaporous air, and diffusing a rich golden tint, as the day declines, upon the landscape. At this period, chiefly, the stratus or fallcloud, the lowest and most singular of the modifications, comes forth in the evenings, to occupy the low plains and vallies, and shroud the earth in a veil of mist, until revisited by the sun. So perfectly does this inundation of suspended aqueous particles imitate real water, when viewed in the distance at break of day, that I have known the country people themselves deceived by its unexpected appearance.” Mr. Howard remarks that—“A phenomenon attends this state of the air, too remarkable to be passed over in silence. An immense swarm of small spiders take advantage of the moisture, to carry on their operations, in which they are so industrious, that the whole country is soon covered with the fruit of their labours, in the form of a fine network, commonly called gossamer. They appear exceedingly active in the pursuit of the small insects, which the cold of the night now brings down; and commence this fishery about the time that the swallows give it up, and quit our shores. Their manner of locomotion is curious: half volant, half aËronaut, the little creature darts from the papillÆ on his rump a number of fine threads which float in the air. Mounted thus in the breeze, he glides off with a quick motion of the legs, which seem to serve the purpose of wings, for moving in any particular direction. As these spiders rise to a considerable height, in very fine weather, their tangled webs may be seen descending from the air in quick succession, like small flakes of cotton.”[315]
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Autumnal Crocus. Crocus autumnalis.
Dedicated to St. Pulcheria.
September 11. Sts. Protus and Hyacinthus, A. D. 257. St. Paphnutius, A. D. 335. St. Patiens, Abp. of Lyons, A. D. 480. Nicknackitarianism. On the 11th of September, 1802, the following cause was decided by a jury in the sheriff’s court. Hurst v. Halford The plaintiff was a nicknackitarian, that is, a dealer in curiosities, such as Egyptian mummies, Indian implements of war, arrows dipped in the poison of the upas-tree, bows, antique shields, helmets, &c. He was described as possessing the skin of the cameleopard exhibited in the Roman amphitheatre, the head of the spear used by king Arthur, and the breech of the first cannon used at the siege of Constantinople; and, in short, of almost every rarity that the most ardent virtuoso would wish to possess. The defendant was the executor of a widow lady of the name of Morgan, who, in the enjoyment of a considerable fortune, indulged her fancy, and amused herself in collecting objects of natural and artificial curiosity. It was stated that this lady had been long in the habit of purchasing a variety of rare articles of the plaintiff: she had bought of him models of the temple of [1285, 1286] Jerusalem and the Alexandrian library, a specimen of the type invented by Memnon, the Egyptian, and a genuine manuscript of the first play acted by Thespis and his company in a waggon; for all these she had in her lifetime paid most liberally. It appeared also she had erected a mausoleum, in which her deceased husband was laid, and she projected the depositing her own remains, when death should overtake her, by the side of him. The plaintiff was employed in fitting it up, and ornamenting it with a tessellated pavement; this was also paid for, and constituted no part of the present demand. This action was brought against the defendant to recover the sum of 40l. for stuffing and embalming a bird of paradise, a fly-bird, an ourang-outang, an ichneumon, and a cassowary. The defendant did not deny that the plaintiff had a claim on the estate of the deceased, but he had let judgment go by default, and attempted merely to cut down the amount of the demand. The plaintiff’s foreman, or assistant, proved that the work had been done by the direction of Mrs. Morgan, and that the charge was extremely reasonable. On the contrary, the defendant’s solicitor contended that the charge was most extravagant; he stated, that the museum of the deceased virtuoso had been sold by public auction, and including the models of the temple of Jerusalem and the Alexandrian library, the antique type, Thespian manuscript, spearhead, and every thing else she had been all her life collecting, it had not netted more than 110l. As to the stuffed monkies and birds, which constituted the foundation of the plaintiff’s claim, they scarce had defrayed the expense of carrying them away; they were absolute rubbish. The plaintiff’s attorney replied that his client’s labour was not to be appreciated by what the objects of it produced at a common sale, attended, perhaps, by brokers, who were as ignorant as the stuffed animals they were purchasing. The under-sheriff observed, that in matters of taste the intrinsic value of an article was not the proper medium of ascertaining the compensation due to the labour which produced it; a virtuoso frequently expended a large sum of money for what another man would kick out of his house as lumber. If Mrs. Morgan, who it was proved was a lady of fortune, wished to amuse the gloomy hours of her widowhood by stuffing apes and birds, her executor was at least bound to pay the expense she had incurred, in indulging her whimsical fancy. He saw no reason why a single shilling of the plaintiff’s demand should be subtracted; and the jury viewed the curiosities in the same light, and gave a verdict for the plaintiff, damages 40l.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Variegated Meadow Saffron. Colchium variegatum.
Dedicated to St. Hyacinthus.
September 12. St. Eanswide, Abbess, 7th Cent. St. Guy of Anderlecht, 11th Cent. St. Albeus, A. D. 525. Glass-cutters at Newcastle. On the 12th of September, 1823, the inhabitants of Newcastle and Gateshead were gratified with a spectacle which in that part was novel and peculiarly interesting, although in London it is common. It was a procession through the principal streets, of the workmen employed in several of the glass-houses, each bearing in his hand a specimen of the art, remarkable either for its curious construction, or its beauty and elegance. The morning was ushered in with the ringing of bells, and notice of the intended procession having been previously circulated, numbers of people crowded the streets. A little after twelve o’clock it moved forward along the Close, amid the cheers of the assembled multitude, the firing of cannon and the ringing of bells, and preceded by the band of the Tyne Hussars. It was composed of the workmen of the Northumberland, the South Shields, the Wear (Sunderland), the Durham and British (Gateshead), the Stourbridge (Gateshead), and the North Shields glass companies, arranged according to the seniority of their respective houses, and each distinguished by appropriate flags. The sky was clear, and the rays of the sun, falling upon the glittering utensils and symbols, imparted richness and grandeur to their appearance. The hat of almost every person in it was decorated with a glass feather, whilst a glass star sparkled on the breast, and a chain or collar of variegated glass hung round the neck; some wore sashes round the waist. Each man carried in his hand a staff, with a cross piece on the top, displaying one or more [1287, 1288] curious or beautiful specimens of art. These elevations afforded a sight of the different vessels, consisting of a profusion of decanters, glasses, goblets, jugs, bowls, dishes, &c., the staple articles of the trade, in an endless variety of elegant shape, and of exquisite workmanship, with several other representations remarkable either for excellence of manufacture or for curious construction. Amongst these were two elegant bird-cages, containing birds, which sung at periods during the procession. A salute was fired several times from a fort mounted with glass cannon, to the astonishment of the spectators; a glass bugle which sounded the halts, and played several marches, was much admired for its sweetness and correctness of tone. Several elegant specimens of stained glass were exhibited; many of the men wore glass hats and carried glass swords. When the procession arrived at the mansion-house it halted, while a salute was fired from the glass cannon; the procession then moved forward, passing along the bridge, through Gateshead, and then returned and paraded through the principal streets of Newcastle, to dinners provided at different inns. Mr. John Sykes, in the volume of “Local Records” published by him at Newcastle, from whence this account is taken, says, “that a procession of this kind is highly commendable, not as a mere unmeaning show calculated for caricature, but as exhibiting to public view some of the finest efforts of human industry and genius.”
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Semilunar Passion Flower. Passiflora peltata.
Dedicated to St. Eanswide.
September 13. St. Eulogius, Patriarch of Alexandria, A. D. 608. St. Amatus, Bp. A. D. 690. Another St. Amatus, or Ame, Abbot, A. D. 627. St. Maurilius, 5th Cent. “GENTLEMAN SMITH,”
THE ORIGINAL CHARLES SURFACE. To the Editor of the Every-Day Book. Dear Sir, Probably a biographical sketch of this eminent professor of the histrionic art, may prove acceptable to your interesting weekly sheet. Of the latter days of Mr. Smith, I write from my own recollection of him. It is a pleasant occupation to record the acts of these worthies of the legitimate drama—to notice the talents and acquirements of an actor so universally respected for the kindness of his disposition—the firmness of a mind gradually developing principles and conduct worthy the sympathy and respect of all—and whose ease and gracefulness of manner obtained for him the honourable distinction of “Gentleman Smith.” The subject of our memoir was born in London, in 1730. He was designed for the church, and in 1737 his father sent him to Eton, from whence he was removed to St. John’s-college, Cambridge, in 1748. The vivacity and spirit which had distinguished young Smith while at Eton, here led him into some rash and impetuous irregularities. He was young—very young: unknown to the world, and too worldly in his pleasures. The force of evil example, so glaringly displayed within our colleges and grammar-schools, was powerful—and Smith yielded to its power. One hasty act of imprudence and passion, frustrated his father’s hopes, and determined the future pursuits of this tyro. Having one evening drunk too freely with some associates of kindred minds, and being pursued by the proctor, he had the imprudence to snap an unloaded pistol at him. For this offence he was doomed to a punishment to which he would not submit; and in order to avoid expulsion immediately quitted college. He now had the opportunity of gratifying his inclination for the stage, and without any deep reflection upon the step he was about to take, immediately upon his arrival in London, applied to Mr. Rich, then manager of Covent-garden theatre, and succeeded in obtaining an engagement. He made his first appearance in January, 1753, in the character of Theodosius; on which occasion many of his college friends came up for the purpose of giving him their support. His second attempt was Polydore, in the “Orphan;” after which he appeared successively in Southampton, in the “Earl of Essex,” and Dolabella, in “All for Love.” Mr. Smith was obliged for some time to play subordinate parts; but after Mr. Barry quitted the stage, he undertook several of the principal characters in which that great actor had appeared with such distinguished approbation. Mr. Smith’s mode of acting had many peculiarities [1289, 1290] which were considered as defects, but from his frequent appearance, the audience seemed to forget them, or to regard them as trifles undeserving notice, when viewed in connection with the many excellencies which he always displayed. This favourable disposition towards him was greatly increased by his upright and independent conduct in private life, which gained for him very general esteem. When Churchill published his “Rosciad,” in 1761, the only notice he took of him in his satire, is comprised in the following couplet:— “Smith the genteel, the airy, and the smart,
Smith was just gone to school to say his part.”
After being twenty-two years at Covent-garden, Garrick engaged him, in the winter of 1774, to perform at Drury-lane, where he remained till the close of his professional labours in 1788. Though Mr. Smith, for a considerable period, played the first parts in tragedy, nature seemed not to have qualified him for this branch of the histrionic art. His person was tall and well formed, but his features wanted flexibility, for the expression of the stronger and finer emotions of tragedy, and his voice had a monotony and harshness, which took much from the effect of his finer performances. The parts in this line in which he acquired most popularity were Richard the Third, Hotspur, and Hastings. But, now, I must speak of those powers in which Mr. Smith was unrivalled. His personation of Charles Surface, in the “School for Scandal,” (of which he was the original representative,) has always been spoken of as his masterpiece, and, indeed, the highest praise and admiration were always awarded him for originality, boldness of conception, truth, freedom, ease, and gracefulness of action and manner. A sigh of tender regret to the recollection of so great a worthy has been uttered by the pleasant Elia, in his “Essay upon Old Actors,” to which I refer every lover of the drama,—there he will discover what our favourites in the old school of acting were,—and what our modern professors ought now to be! Mr. Smith’s Kitely has been extolled as superior to that of Garrick. Archer and Oakly are two other parts, in which he acquired high reputation. On the 9th of March, 1788, after performing Macbeth, he delivered an epilogue, in which he announced his intention to quit the stage at the close of the season, thinking it time to “resign the sprightly Charles to abler hands and younger heads.” On the ninth of June following, he took his leave, after the performance of Charles Surface, in a short, but neat and elegant address: expressing his gratitude for the candour, indulgence, and generosity he had experienced, and his hope that the “patronage and protection the public had vouchsafed him on the stage, would be followed by some small esteem, when he was off.” He performed but once afterwards, which was in the same part, in 1798, for the benefit of his old friend King. Mr. Smith was first married to the sister of the earl of Sandwich, the widow of Kelland Courtnay, Esq.; she died in 1762. Soon afterwards he married Miss Newson, of Leiston, in Suffolk. Lord Chedworth bequeathed him a legacy of 200l. He died at Bury St. Edmunds, on the 13th of September, 1819, in the 89th year of his age.[316] In my humble walk of life, when a boy at the free grammar-school of Bury St. Edmunds, I had, with my young “classical” companions, frequent opportunities of meeting this aged veteran of the drama. His appearance was always agreeable to us. He encouraged our playful gambols, and was well-pleased in giving us something to be pleased with. In his eightieth year he looked “most briskly juvenal.” His person was then debonair, and his fine, brown, intelligent eye reflected all the mind could realize of the volition of Charles Surface. His dress was in perfect keeping with the vivacious disposition of the man. He always wore, when perambulating, a white hat, edged with green—blue coat—figured waistcoat—fustian-coloured breeches, and gaiters to correspond. Thus apparelled, he was, when the weather was favourable, to be met with in some one of the beautifully rural walks in the neighbourhood of the town, tripping on at a sharp, brisk pace, and twisting his thin gold-headed cane in his right hand. His politeness was proverbial; and the same ease and gracefulness of carriage—dignity of manner—and suavity of address—were features as conspicuous off, as when on, the stage. It was a lucky [1291, 1292] moment for us to meet him near our “tart” and “turn-over” shop. He would anticipate our raspberry cravings, and remind us that he “was once a school-boy,” and that the fagging system was only to be tolerated in the hopeful expectation of a plentiful reward in “sweets” and “sugar-candy.” He was one whom Shakspeare has painted— “That liv’d, that lov’d, that lik’d, that look’d with cheer.”
Should this trifling sketch fall into the hands of any of my respected fellows, who were with me during my labours at the above-named school, I am confident they will contemplate this great man’s memory with that regard which his rich pleasantries, and our personal knowledge of him, are calculated to inspire. He was an honourable man; and it was his honourable conduct which alone conducted him to an honourable distinction in the evening of his days. Unlike the many of his profession, whose talents blaze forth for a while, and then depart like a sunbeam, he retired into the quiet of domestic life—sought peace and solace—and found them. In a word, “Gentleman Smith” was a respecter of virtue:—and he developed its precepts to the world in the incidents of his own life. I am, dear Sir, Yours very truly, S. R.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Officinal Crocus. Crocus Sativus.
Dedicated to St. Eulogius.
September 14. The Exaltation of the Holy Cross, A. D. 629. St. Catharine of Genoa, A. D. 1510. St. Cormac, Bp. of Cashel, and king of Munster, A. D. 908. Holy Cross,
or
Holy Rood. Holy Cross is in our almanacs and the church of England calendar on this day, whereon is celebrated a Romish catholic festival in honour of the holy cross, or, as our ancestors called it, the holy rood. From this denomination Holyrood-house, Edinburgh, derives its name. The rood was a carved or sculptured groupe consisting of a crucifix, or image of Christ on the cross, with, commonly, the virgin Mary on one side, and John on the other; though for these were sometimes substituted the four evangelists, and frequently rows of saints were added on each side.[317] The rood was always placed in a gallery across the nave, at the entrance of the chancel or choir of the church, and this gallery was called the rood-loft, signifying the rood-gallery; the old meaning of the word loft being a high, or the highest, floor, or a room higher than another room. In the rood-loft the musicians were stationed, near the rood, to play during mass. The holy roods or crosses being taken down at the time of the reformation, the rood-loft or gallery became the organ-loft or singing gallery, as we see it in our churches at present: the ancient rood-loft was usually supported by a cross-beam, richly carved with foliage, sometimes superbly gilt, with a screen of open tabernacle-work beneath.[318] When the roods, and other images in churches were taken down throughout England, texts of scripture were written on the walls of the churches instead. The first rood taken down in London was the rood belonging to St. Paul’s cathedral, and then all the other roods were removed from the churches of the metropolis.[319] The holy rood, at Boxley, in Kent, was called the Rood of Grace; its image, on the cross, miraculously moved its eyes, lips, and head, upon the approach of its marvelling votaries. The Boxley Rood was brought to London, and Hilsey, bishop of Rochester, within whose diocese it had performed wonders under the papacy, took it to pieces at St. Paul’s cross, and showed the people the springs and wheels by which, at the will of the priests, it had been secretly put in motion.[320] The open detection and destruction of this gross imposture, reconciled many, who had been deceived, to the reformation.
The festival of Holy Cross, or as it is more elaborately termed by the Catholics, the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, is in commemoration of the alleged miraculous [1293, 1294] appearance of the cross to Constantine in the sky at mid-day. It was instituted by the Romish church on occasion of the recovery of a large piece of the pretended real cross which Cosroes, king of Persia, took from Jerusalem when he plundered it. The emperor Heraclius defeated him in battle, retook the relic, and carried it back in triumph to Jerusalem. According to Rigordus, a historian of the thirteenth century, the capture of this wood by Cosroes, though it was recaptured by Heraclius, was a loss to the human race they never recovered. We are taught by him to believe that the mouths of our ancestors “used to be supplied with thirty, or in some instances, no doubt according to their faith, with thirty-two teeth, but that since the cross was stolen by the infidels, no mortal has been allowed more than twenty-three!”[321]
Nutting appears to have been customary on this day. Brand cites from the old play of “Grim, the Collier of Croydon:”— “This day, they say, is called Holy-rood day,
And all the youth are now a nutting gone.”
It appears, from a curious manuscript relating to Eton school, that in the month of September, “on a certain day,” most probably the fourteenth, the scholars there were to have a play-day, in order to go out and gather nuts, a portion of which, when they returned, they were to make presents of to the different masters; but before leave was granted for their excursion, they were required to write verses on the fruitfulness of autumn, and the deadly cold of the coming winter.[322]
“Tuesday, Sept. 14, 1731, being Holyrood day, the king’s huntsmen hunted their free buck in Richmond New park, with bloodhounds, according to custom.”[323]
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Passion Flower. Passiflora cÆrulea.
Dedicated to the Exaltation of the Cross.
September 15. St. Nicetas, 4th Cent. St. Nicomedes, A. D. 90. St. John, the Dwarf, 5th Cent. St. Aicard, or Achart, Abbot, A. D. 687. St. Aper, or Evre, Bp. A. D. 486. The weather on an average is, at least, six times out of seven fine on this day.[324] It yet is not day;
The morning hath not lost her virgin blush,
Nor step, but mine, soiled the earth’s tinsel robe.
—— How full of heaven this solitude appears,
This healthful comfort of the happy swain;
Who from his hard but peaceful bed roused up,
In ’s morning exercise saluted is
By a full quire of feathered choristers,
Wedding their notes to the inamoured air.
Here Nature, in her unaffected dresse,
Plaited with vallies, and imbost with hills,
Enchast with silver streams, and fringed with woods,
Sits lovely in her native russet.
Chamberlayne.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Byzantine Saffron. Colchicum Byzanticum.
Dedicated to St. Nicetas.
September 16. St. Cornelius, Pope, A. D. 252. St. Cyprian, Abp. of Carthage, A. D. 258. St. Euphemia, A. D. 307. Sts. Lucia and Geminianus. Sts. Ninian, or Ninyas, Bp. A. D. 432. St. Editha, A. D. 984. Jemmy Gordon. This eccentric individual, who is recorded on the 23d of May, died in the workhouse of St. Leonard’s, at Cambridge, on the 16th of September, 1825. He had for many years been in the receipt of an annuity of five and twenty pounds bequeathed [1295, 1296] to him by Mr. Gordon, a deceased relative. Several confinements in the town gaol left Gordon at liberty to write memoirs of himself, which are in the possession of Mr. W. Mason, picture-dealer of Cambridge. He may amuse and essentially benefit society if he publish the manuscripts, accompanied by details drawn from personal recollections of the deceased biographer, with reflections on the misapplication of talent and the consequences of self-indulgence. It is an opportunity whereon to “point a moral, and adorn a tale.”
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Sea Starwort. Aster Tripolum.
Dedicated to St. Editha.
September 17. St. Lambert, Bp. A. D. 709. St. Columba, A. D. 853. St. Hildegardis, Abbess, A. D. 1179. St. Rouin, or Rodingus, or Chrodingus, A. D. 680. Sts. Socrates and Stephen, Martyrs under Dioclesian. Lambert. He is a saint in the Romish calendar; his name “Lambert” stands unsainted in the church of England calendar and almanacs: sometimes he is called Landebert. He was bishop of Maestricht from which see he was expelled in 673, and retired to the monastery of Stavelo, where he continued seven years, submitting to the rules of the novices. He was afterwards restored to his bishopric, and discharged its functions with zeal and success. But during the disorders which prevailed in the government of France, he was murdered on the 17th of September, 703, and in 1240, his festival was ordained to be kept on this day.[325]
THEATRICALS. This is about the season when the summer theatres close, and the winter theatres open. Most of the productions written, and represented of late years, seem symptomatic of decay in dramatic and histrionic talent. The false taste of some of the vocal performers, is laughed at in a light piece called “Der FreischÜtz Travestie: by Septimus Globus, Esq.” One of its versifications is in a “SCENE—UNSEEN.” According to the author,— A SONG—SINGS ITSELF. TUNE.—Galloping Dreary Dun. Fine singers we have, both woman and man,
Gallop O! fly away! jump!
They all bravura, as fast as they can,
They mock Catalani,
Up long laney,
Bawling,
Squalling,
Galloping all away! drag and tail,—die away—plump!
They come on the stage, so fine and so gay,
Gallop O! fly away! jump!
They mount in the air, and they ride away,
They mock Catalani, &c.
They canter one off, all into the dark,
Gallop O! fly away! jump!
The Jack-bottom sings, instead of the lark,
They mock Catalani, &c.
They let off a trill, and it asks the way,
Gallop O! fly away! jump!
They quiver and shake—oh! I bid you good day,
They mock Catalani, &c.
Such singing I guess, does nobody good,
Gallop O! fly away! jump!
Notes wander about, like the babes in the wood,
They mock Catalani, &c.
I sing by myself, but pray take a peep,
Gallop O! fly away! jump!
You’ll soon find singers, to sing you to sleep,
They mock Catalani, &c.
[Exit Song.
From the same piece there may be another “seasonable” extract, for we are at that period of the year when the chase, which was once a necessary pursuit, is indulged as an amusement. In Von Weber’s “Der FreischÜtz,” the casting of the fifth bullet by Caspar is accompanied by “a wild chase in the clouds;” the writer who travestied that opera, as it was represented at the Lyceum theatre, represents this operation to be thus accompanied:— Neighing and barking ‘old clothes!’—Skylarking—A wild chase in the clouds; an ‘Etherial Race—inhabitants of air,’ consisting of skeleton dogs muzzled, skeleton horses, and skeleton horsemen, with overalls and preservers, and Mr. Green from the city, are in pursuit of a skeleton stag ‘to Bachelor’s-hall,’ with grave music accompanying the following—[1297, 1298] SONG AND CHORUS. BY SKELETON HUNTSMEN. “Bright Chanticleer proclaims the dawn.” The moon’s eclipse proclaims our hunt,
The graves release their dead,
The common man lifts up the wood,
The lord springs from the lead;
The lady-corpses hurry on,
To join the ghostly crowds,
And off we go, with a ho! so—ho!
A—hunting in the clouds.
With a hey, ho, chivey!
Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy!
&c.
No hill, no dale, no glen, no mire,
No dew, no night, no storm,
No earth, no water, air, nor fire,
Can do wild huntsmen harm.
We laugh at what the living dread,
And throw aside our shrouds,
And off we go, with a ho! so—ho!
A—hunting in the clouds.
With a hey, ho, chivey!
Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy,
&c.
Oft, when by body-snatchers stol’n,
And surgeons for us wait,
Some honest watchmen take the rogues
To be examined straight,
We slip away from surgeons, and
From police-office crowds,
And off we go, with a ho! so—ho!
A—hunting in the clouds.
With a hey, ho, chivey!
Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy!
&c.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Narrow-leaved Mallow. Malva augustiflora.
Dedicated to St. Lambert.
September 18. St. Thomas, Abp. of Valentia, A. D. 1555. St. Methodius, Bp. of Tyre, A. D. 311. St. Ferreol, A. D. 304. St. Joseph, of Cupertino, A. D. 1663. St. Ferreol. He was “a tribune or colonel,” Butler says, at Vienne in France, and imprisoned on suspicion of being a christian, which he verified by refusing to sacrifice according to the religion of the country, whereupon being scourged and laid in a dungeon, on the third day his chains fell off his hands and legs, and he swam over the Rhone. It appears that the miraculous chain-falling was ineffectual, for he was discovered and beheaded near the river.
The anniversary of this saint and martyr is celebrated at Marseilles with great pomp. The houses are decorated with streamers to the very tops; and the public way is crossed by cords, on which are suspended numberless flags of various colours. The ships are always ornamented with flags and streamers. The procession passes under several arches, hung with boughs, before it stops at the altars or resting-places, which are covered with flowers: every thing concurs to give to this solemnity an air of cheerfulness. The eye dwells with pleasure on the garlands of beautiful flowers, the green boughs, and the emblem of the divinity contained in the flags of the procession. The attendants are extremely numerous; every gardener carries his wax taper, ornamented with the most rare and beautiful flowers; he has also the vegetables and fruits with which heaven had blessed his labour, and sometimes he bears some nests of birds. The butchers also make a part of this procession, clothed in long tunics, and with a hat À la Henri IV. armed with a hatchet or cleaver; they lead a fat ox dressed with garlands and ribands, and with gilt horns, like the ox at the carnival: his back is covered with a carpet, on which sits a pretty child, dressed as St. John the Baptist. During the whole week which precedes the festival, the butchers lead about this animal: they first take him to the police, where they pay a duty, and then their collection begins, which is very productive: every one wishes to have the animal in his house; and it is a prevailing superstition among the people, that they shall have good luck throughout the year if this beast leave any trace of his visit, however dirty it may be. The ox is killed on the day after the festival. The child generally lives but a short time: exhausted by the fatigue which he has suffered, and by the caresses which he has received, and sickened by the sweetmeats with which he has been crammed, he languishes, and often falls a victim. A number of young girls, clothed in white, their heads covered with veils, adorned with flowers, and girded with ribands of a uniform colour are next in the procession. Children, habited in [1299, 1300] different manners, recall the ancient “mysteries.” Several young women are dressed as nuns; these are St. Ursula, St. Rosalia, St. Agnes, St. Teresa, &c. The handsomest are clothed as Magdalens; with their hair dishevelled on their lovely faces, they look with an air of contrition on a crucifix which they hold in the hand: others appear in the habit of the Soeurs de la CharitÉ, whose whole time is devoted to the service of the sick. Young boys fill other parts, such as angels, abbots, monks; among whom may be distinguished St. Francis, St. Bruno, St. Anthony, &c. In the midst of the shepherds marches the little St. John, but half covered with a sheep’s skin, like the picture of his precursor; he leads a lamb decked with ribands, a symbol of the saviour who offered himself for us, and died for the remission of our sins. The streets are strewed with flowers; numerous choristers carry baskets full of roses and yellow broom, which they throw, on a given signal, before the host or holy sacrament: they strew some of these on the ladies who sit in rows to see the procession; these also have baskets of flowers on their knees, which they offer to the host; they amuse themselves with covering the young virgins and little saints with the flowers. The sweet scents of the roses, the cassia, the jessamine, the orange, and the tuberose, mingled with the odour of the incense, almost overpower the senses. The procession proceeds to the port, and it is there that the ceremony presents a sublime character: the people fill the quays; all the decks are manned with seamen, dressed in their best blue jackets, their heads uncovered, and their red caps in their hands. All bend the knee to the God of the Universe: the seamen stretch out their hands towards the prelate, who, placed under a canopy, gives the benediction: the most profound silence reigns among this immense crowd. The benediction received, every one rises instantaneously; the bells begin to ring, the music plays, and the whole train takes the road to the temple from which they came.[326]
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Pendulous Starwort. Aster pendulus.
Dedicated to St. Thomas, of Villanova.
September 19. St. Januarius, Bp. of Benevento, A. D. 305. St. Theodore, Abp. of Canterbury, A. D. 690. Sts. Peleus, Pa-Termuthes, and Companions. St. Lucy A. D. 1090. St. Eustochius, Bp. A. D. 461. St. Sequanus, or Seine, Abbot, A. D. 580. STOURBRIDGE FAIR This place, near Cambridge, is also called Sturbridge, Sturbitch, and Stirbitch. A Cambridge newspaper speaks of Stirbitch fair being proclaimed on the 19th of September, 1825, for a fortnight, and of Stirbitch horse-fair commencing on the 26th of the month. The corruption of this proper name, stamps the persons who use it in its vulgar acceptation as being ignorant as the ignorant; the better instructed should cease from shamefully acquiescing in the long continued disturbance of this appellation. Stephen Batman, in his “Doome warning,” published in 1582, relates that “Fishers toke a disfigured divell, in a certain stoure, (which is a mighty gathering togither of waters, from some narrow lake of the sea,) a horrible monster with a goats heade, and eyes shyning lyke fyre, whereuppon they were all afrayde and ranne awaye; and that ghoste plunged himselfe under the ise, and running uppe and downe in the stowre made a terrible noyse and sound.” We get in Stirbitch a most “disfigured divell” from Stourbridge. The good people derive their “good name” from their river.
Stourbridge fair originated in a grant from king John to the hospital of lepers at that place. By a charter in the 30th year of Henry VIII., the fair was granted to the magistrates and corporation of Cambridge. The vicechancellor of the university has the same power in it that he has in the town of Cambridge.
By an order of privy council of the 3rd of October, 1547, the mayor and under-sheriff of the county were required, not only to acknowledge before the vicechancellor, heads of colleges and proctors, that they had interfered with the privileges of the university in Stourbridge fair, but also, “that the mayor, in the common hall, shall openly, among his brethren, acknowledge his wilfull proceeding.” The breach consisted in John Fletcher, the [1301, 1302] mayor, having refused to receive into the tolbooth certain persons of “naughty and corrupt behaviour,” who were “prisoners, taken by the proctors of the university, in the last Sturbridge fair;” wherefore he was called before the lords and others of the council, and his fault therein “so plainly and justly opened” that he could not deny it, but did “sincerely and willingly confess his said fault.”[327]
In 1613, Stourbridge fair acquired such celebrity, that hackney-coaches attended it from London. Subsequently not less than sixty coaches plied at this fair, which was the largest in England. Vast quantities of butter and cheese found there a ready market; it stocked the people of Norfolk, Suffolk, Essex, and other counties with clothes, and all other necessaries; and shopkeepers supplied themselves from thence with the commodities wherein they dealt.[328]
Jacob Butler, Esq. who died on the 28th of May, 1765, stoutly maintained the charter of Stourbridge fair: he was of Bene’t-college, Cambridge, and a barrister-at-law. In stature he was six feet four inches high, of determined character, and deemed “a great eccentric” because, among other reasons, he usually invited the giants and dwarfs, who came for exhibition, to dine with him. He was so rigid in seeing the charter literally complied with, that if the ground was not cleared by one o’clock on the day appointed, and he found any of the booths standing, he had them pulled down, and the materials taken away. On one occasion when the wares were not removed by the time mentioned in the charter, he drove his carriage among the crockery and destroyed a great quantity. The rev. John Butler, LL.D. rector of Wallington, in Hertfordshire, father of Mr. Butler, who was his eldest son, endeavoured in the year 1705, to get Stourbridge fair rated to the poor. This occasioned a partial and oppressive assessment on himself that involved him in great difficulties. Dr. Butler died in 1714, and Jacob Butler succeeded to his difficulties and estates in the parish of Barnwell. As a trustee under an act for the turnpike road from Cambridge to London, Mr. Butler was impeached of abuses in common with his co-trustees. Being obnoxious, he was singled out to make good the abuse, and summoned to the county sessions, where he appeared in his barrister’s gown, was convicted and fined ten pounds, which he refused to pay, and was committed. He excepted to the jurisdiction, wherein he was supported by the opinion of sir Joseph Yorke, then attorney-general, and to save an estreat applied to the under-sheriff, who refused his application, and afterwards went to the clerk of the peace at Newmarket, from whom he met the like treatment; this forced him to the quarter-sessions, where he obtained his discharge, after telling the chairman he felt it hard to be compelled to the trouble and expense of teaching him and his brethren law. He appears to have been a lawyer of that school, which admitted no law but the old common law of the land, and statute law. In 1754, “to stem the venality and corruption of the times, he offered himself a candidate to represent the county in parliament, unsupported by the influence of the great, the largess of the wealthy, or any interest, but that which his single character could establish in the esteem of all honest men and lovers of their country. But when he found the struggles for freedom faint and ineffectual, and his spirits too weak to resist the efforts of his enemies, he contented himself with the testimony of those few friends who dare to be free, and of his own unbiassed conscience, which, upon this, as well as every other occasion, voted in his favour; and upon these accounts he was justly entitled to the name of the old Briton.” He bore this appellation to the day of his death. The loss of a favourite dog is supposed to have accelerated his end; upon its being announced to him, he said, “I shall not live long now my dog is dead.” He shortly afterwards became ill, and, lingering about two months, died. His coffin, which was made from a large oak by his express order, some months before his death, became an object of public curiosity; it was of sufficient dimensions to contain several persons, and wine was copiously quaffed therein by many of those who went to see it. To a person, who was one of the legatees, the singular trust was delegated [1303, 1304] of driving him to the grave, on the carriage of a waggon, divested of the body: seated in the front, he was to drive his two favourite horses, Brag and Dragon, to Barnwell church, and should they refuse to receive his body there, he was to return and bury him in the middle of the grass-plat in his own garden. Part only of his request was complied with, for the body being put into a leaden coffin, and the leaden one into a shell, was conveyed in a hearse, and the coffin made before his death was put upon the carriage of his waggon, and driven before the hearse by the gentleman above mentioned when arrived at the church door, it was taken from the carriage by four men, who received half-a-guinea each; it was then put into the vault, and the corpse being taken from the hearse was carried to the vault, there put into the coffin, and then screwed down. The late rev. Michael Tyson of Bene’t-college, “a good antiquary and a gentleman artist,” amused himself with etching a few portraits; among them “were some of the old masters of his college, and some of the noted characters in and about Cambridge, as Jacob Butler of Barnwell, who called himself the old Briton,” which Mr. Nichols says “may be called his best, both in design and execution; for it expresses the very man himself.” A gentleman of the university has obligingly communicated to this work a fine impression of Mr. Tyson’s head of “the old Briton,” from whence the present portrait is engraven. [1305, 1306] Origin of Stourbridge Fair. Mr. George Dyer, in a supplement to his recently published “Privileges of the University of Cambridge,” being a sequel to his “History of the University,” cites thus from Fuller:— “Stourbridge fair is so called from Stour, a little rivulet (on both sides whereof it is kept,) on the east of Cambridge, whereof this original is reported. A clothier of Kendal, a town characterized to be Lanificii gloria et industria prÆcellens, casually wetting his cloath in water in his passage to London, exposed it there to sale, on cheap termes, as the worse for wetting, and yet it seems saved by the bargain. Next year he returned again with some other of his townsmen, proffering drier and dearer cloath to be sold. So that within a few years hither came a confluence of buyers, sellers, and lookers-on, which are the three principles of a fair. In memoria thereof, Kendal men challenge some privilege in that place, annually choosing one of the town to be chief, before whom an antic sword was carried with some mirthful solemnities, disused of late, since these sad times, which put men’s minds into more serious employments.” This was about 1417.
The “History of Stourbridge Fair,” &c. a pamphlet published at Cambridge in 1806, supplies the particulars before the reader, respecting Jacob Butler and the fair, except in a few instances derived from authorities acknowledged in the notes. From thence also is as follows:— Stourbridge fair was annually set out on St. Bartholomew’s day, by the aldermen and the rest of the corporation of Cambridge, who all rode there in grand procession, with music playing before them; and, when the ceremony was finished, used to ride races about the place; then returning to Cambridge, cakes and ale were given to the boys who attended them, at the Town-hall; but, we believe, this old custom is now laid aside. On the 7th of September they rode in the same manner to proclaim it; which being done, the fair then began, and continued three weeks, though the greatest part was over in a fortnight. This fair, which was allowed, some years ago, to be the largest in Europe, is kept in a corn-field about half a mile square, the river Cam running on the north side, and the rivulet called the Stour, (from which, and the bridge which crosses it, the fair received its name,) on the east side; it is about two miles from Cambridge market-place, and where, during the time of the fair, coaches, &c. attend to convey persons to the fair. The chief diversions at the fair were drolls, rope-dancing, sometimes a music-booth, and plays performed; and though there is an act of parliament which prohibits the acting of plays within ten miles of Cambridge, the Norwich company have permission to perform there every night during the fair. If the corn was not cleared off the field by the 24th of August, the builders were at liberty to tread it down to build their booths; and on the other hand, if the booths and materials were not cleared away by Michaelmas-day at noon, the ploughmen might enter the same with their horses, ploughs, and carts, and destroy whatever they found remaining on the ground after that time. The filth, straw, dung, &c. left by the fair-keepers, making the farmers amends for their trampling and hardening the ground. The shops, or booths, were built in rows like streets, having each their name; as Garlick-row, Booksellers’-row, Cook-row, &c. and every commodity had its proper place; as the cheese-fair, hop-fair, wool-fair, &c. In these streets, or rows, as well as in several others, were all kinds of tradesmen, who sell by wholesale or retail, as goldsmiths, toy-men, braziers, turners, milliners, haberdashers, hatters, mercers, drapers, pewterers, china warehouses, and, in short, most trades that could be found in London, from whence many of them came; there were also taverns, coffee-houses, and eating-houses in great plenty, all kept in booths, except six or seven brick-houses, in any of which (except the coffee-house booth,) you might be accommodated with hot or cold roast goose, roast or boiled pork, &c. Crossing the road, at the south end of Garlick-row, on the left hand, was a square formed of the largest booths, called the Duddery, the area of which was from two hundred and forty to three hundred feet, chiefly taken up with woollen drapers, wholesale tailors, sellers of second-hand clothes, &c. where the dealers had a room before their booths to take down and open their packs, and bring in waggons to load and unload the same. In the centre of the square there formerly stood [1307, 1308] a high pole with a vane at the top. On two Sundays, during the principal time of the fair, morning and afternoon, divine service was performed, and a sermon preached by the minister of Barnwell, from a pulpit placed in this square, who was very well paid for the same, by a contribution made among the fair-keepers. In this duddery only, it is said, that 100,000l. worth of woollen manufacture has been sold in less than a week, exclusive of the trade carried on here by the wholesale tailors from London, and other parts of England, who transacted their business wholly with their pocket-books, and meeting with their chapmen here from all parts of the country, make up their accounts, receive money, and take further orders. These, it is said, exceed the sale of goods actually brought to the fair, and delivered in kind; it was frequently known that the London wholesale-men have carried back orders from their dealers for 10,000l. worth of goods, and some a great deal more. Once, in this duddery, there was a booth consisting of six apartments, which contained goods worth 20,000l. belonging solely to a dealer in Norwich stuffs. The trade for wool, hops, and leather, was prodigious; the quantity of wool only, which was sold at one fair, was said to amount to between 50 and 60,000l., and of hops to nearly the same sum. The 14th of September was the horse-fair day, which was always the busiest day during the time of the fair, and the number of people, who came from all parts of the county on this day, was very great. Colchester oysters and fresh herrings were in great request, particularly by those who lived in the inland parts of the kingdom. The fair was like a well-governed city, and less disorder or confusion were to be seen here than in any other place, where there was so great a concourse of people assembled. Here was a court of justice, open from morning till night, where the mayor, or his deputy, always attended to determine all controversies in matters arising from the business of the fair, and for keeping the peace; for which purpose he had eight servants to attend him, called red-coats, who were employed as constables, and if any dispute arose between buyer and seller, &c. upon calling out red-coat there was one of them immediately at hand; and if the dispute was not quickly decided, the offenders were taken to the said court, and the case determined in a summary way, (as was practised in those called pie-powder courts in other fairs,) and from which there was no appeal. The greatest inconvenience attending the tradesmen at this fair, was the manner in which they were obliged to lodge in the night; their bed (if it may be so called,) was laid upon two or three boards nailed to four posts about a foot from the ground, and four boards fixed round it to keep them from falling out; in the day-time it was obliged to be removed from the booth, and laid in the open air, exposed to the weather; at night it was again taken in, and made up in the best manner they were able, and they laid almost neck and heels together, it being not more than five feet long. Very heavy rains, which fall about this season, would sometimes force through the hair-cloths, which were almost the only covering to the booths, and oblige them to get up again; and high winds have been known to blow down many of the booths, particularly in the year 1741. CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. Legislative discussion and interference have raised a feeling of kindness towards the brute creation which slumbered and slept in our forefathers. Formerly, the costermonger was accustomed to make wounds for the express purpose of producing torture. He prepared to drive an ass, that had not been driven, with his knife. On each side of the back bone, at the lower end, just above the tail, he made an incision of two or three inches in length through the skin, and beat into these incisions with his stick till they became open wounds, and so remained, while the ass lived to be driven to and from market, or through the streets of the metropolis. A costermonger, now, would shrink from this, which was a common practice between the years 1790 and 1800. The present itinerant venders of apples, and other fruit, abstain from wanton barbarity, while coachmen and carmen are punished for it under Mr. Martin’s act. This gentleman’s humanity, though sometimes eccentric, is ever active; and, when judiciously exercised, is approved by natural feelings, and supported by public opinion. A correspondent has pleasantly thrown [1309, 1310] together some amusing citations respecting the ass. It is a rule with the editor of the Every-Day Book not to alter communications, or he would have turned one expression, in the course of the subjoined paper, which seems to bear somewhat ludicrously upon the interference of the member for Galway, in behalf of that class of animals which have endured more persecution than any in existence, except, perhaps, our fellow human-beings, the Jews. THE ASS. (For Hone’s Every-Day Book.) Poorly as the world may think of the intellectual abilities of asses, there have been some very clever fellows among them. There have been periods when, far from his name being synonymous with stupidity, and his person made the subject of the derision, the contempt, and, what is worse, the scourge of the vulgar—(for that is “the unkindest cut of all”)—he was “respected and beloved by all who had the pleasure of his acquaintance!” Leo Africanus asserts, that asses may be taught to dance to music, and it is surprising to see the accurate manner in which they will keep time. In this, at least, they must be far superior to us, poor human beings, if they can keep time, for “time stays for no man,” as the proverb says. Though their vocal powers do not equal those of a Bra-ham, yet we have had an undoubted proof of the sensitiveness of their ear to the sweets of harmony; Gay also tells us— “The ass learnt metaphors and tropes,
But most on music fixed his hopes.”—
And merry Peter Pindar thus apostrophises his asinine namesake:— “What tho’ I’ve heard some voices sweeter;
Yet exquisite thy hearing, gentle Peter!
Whether a judge of music, I don’t know—
If so—
Thou hast th’ advantage got of many a score
That enter at the open door.”——
What an unfounded calumny then must it have been on the part of the Romans, to declare these “Roussins d’Arcadie” (as La Fontaine calls them) so deficient in their aural faculties, that “to talk to a deaf ass” was proverbial for “to labour in vain!”—Perhaps it was under the same delusion that, as Goldsmith says,— “John Trott was desired by two witty peers,
To tell them the reason why asses had ears.”
John owns his ignorance of the subject, and facetiously exclaims— “Howe’er, from this time, I shall ne’er see your graces,
As I hope to be saved! without thinking on asses!”
Which joke, by the bye, the author of “Waverley” has deigned to make free with, and thrust into the mouth of a thick-headed fellow, in the fourth volume of the “Crusaders.” Gesner says he saw one leap through a hoop, and, at the word of command, lie down just as if he were dead. Mahomet had an excellent creature, half ass and half mule: for if we may take his word for it, the beast carried him from Mecca to Jerusalem in the twinkling of an eye in one step!—“It is only the first step which is difficult,” says the French proverb, and here it is undoubtedly right. Sterne gives us a most affecting account of one which had the misfortune to die. “The ass,” the old owner told him, “he was assured loved him. They had been separated three days, during which time the ass had sought him as much as he had sought the ass: and they had scarce either eat or drank till they met.” This certainly could not have assisted much to improve the health of the donkey. I cannot better conclude my evidence of his shrewdness and capacity than with an anecdote which many authors combine in declaring:— “De la peau du lion l’Âne s’Étant vÊtu
Etoit craint partout À la ronde:
Et bien qu’animal sans vertu
Il faisoit trembler tout le monde.
Un petit bout d’oreille, echappÉ par malheur,
Decouvrit la fourbe et l’erreur.
Martin fit alors son office,” &c.
La Fontaine. It is curious to see the same taste and the same peculiarities attached to the same family. As long as the ass was thought to be a lion, he was suffered to go on,—but when he is discovered to be an ass, forth steps Mr. Martin—then the task is his! Now for the estimation in which they were held. Shakspeare makes the fairy queen, the lovely Titania, fall in love with a gentleman who sported an ass’s head:— “Methought I was enamour’d of an ass,”
said the lady waking—and she thought right, if love be [1311, 1312] “All made of fantasy,
All adoration, duty, and observance.”
At Rouen, they idolized a donkey in the most ludicrous manner, by dressing him up very gaily in the church, dancing round him, and singing, “eh! eh! eh! father ass! eh! eh! eh! father ass!” which, however flattering to him, was really no compliment to themselves. The ass on which Silenus rode, when he did good service to Jove, and the other divinities, was transported up into the celestial regions. Apion affirms, that when Antiochus spoiled the temple at Jerusalem a golden ass’s head was found, which the Jews used to worship.—To this Josephus replies with just indignation, and argues how could they adore the image of that, which, “when it does not perform what we impose upon it, we beat with a great many stripes!” Poor beasts! they must be getting used to hard usage by this time! The wild ass was a very favourite creature for hunting, as we learn from Martial (13 Lib. 100 Ep.); and Virgil sings— “SÆpÈ etiam cursu timidos agitabis onagros.”
Its flesh was esteemed a dainty. Xenophon, in the first book of the “Anabasis,” compares it to venison; and Bingley says, it is eaten to this day by the Tartars: but what is more curious, MÆcenas, who was a sensible man in other respects, preferred, according to Pliny, the meat of the foal of the tame donkey! “de gustibus non disputandum” indeed! With its milk Poppoea composed a sort of paste with which she bedaubed her face, for the purpose of making it fair: as we are told by Pliny (Lib. 11. 41) and Juvenal (Sat. 2. 107): and in their unadulterated milk she used frequently to bathe for the same purpose (Dio. 62. 28.): “Propter quod secum comites educit asellas
Exul Hyperboreum si dimittatur ad axem.”
Juv. 6. 468. And in both respects she was imitated by many of the Roman ladies. Of its efficacy to persons of delicate habits there can be no doubt, and Dr. Wolcott only called it in question (when recommended by Dr. Geach,) for the purpose of making the following excellent epigram:— “And, doctor, do you really think
That ass’s milk I ought to drink?
’Twould quite remove my cough, you say,
And drive my old complaints away.—
It cured yourself—I grant it true—
But then—’twas mother’s milk to you?”
And lastly, even when dead, his utility is not ended; for, as we read in Plutarch (Vita Cleomenis) the philosopher affirmed, that “from the dead bodies of asses, beetles were produced!” Tim Tims.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Devil’s Bit Scabious. Scabiosa Succisa.
Dedicated to St. Lucy.
September 20. Sts. Eustachius and Companions. St. Agapetus, Pope, A. D. 536. Chronology. On the 20th of September, 1753, the foundation stone of the new exchange at Edinburgh was laid by George Drummond, Esq. grand master of the society of freemasons in Scotland. The procession was very grand and regular: each lodge of masons, of which there were twelve or thirteen, walked in procession by themselves, all uncovered, amounting to six hundred and seventy-two, most of whom were operative masons. The military paid proper honours to the company, and escorted the procession. The grand master, supported by a former grand master and the present substitute, was joined in the procession by the lord provost, magistrates, and council, in their robes, with the city sword, mace, &c. carried before them, accompanied with the directors of the scheme, &c. The foundation stone, bearing the Latin inscription, lay all that day on the pavement, to be viewed by the populace. The freemasons, having caused a magnificent triumphal arch in the true Augustine style to be erected at the entry of the place where the stone was laid, they passed through it, and the magistrates went to a theatre erected for them, covered with tapestry, and decked with flowers, on the west of the place where the stone was to be laid; and directly opposite, to the east, another theatre was erected for the grand master and officers of the grand lodge, and being seated in a chair placed for him, the grand master soon after laid the stone; and put into it, in holes made for that purpose, two medals, one of them being inscribed— “In the Lord is all our trust.” The grand master having applied the square the plumb, the level, the mallet, &c. to the stone, in order to fix the same [1313, 1314] in its proper position, gave it three knocks with the mallet, which were followed by three huzzas from the brethren: then the mason’s anthem, which was played by the music when the stone was first slung in the tackle, was again repeated, the brethren, &c. joining in the chorus, which being ended, a cornucopia, with two silver vessels, were handed to the grand master, filled with corn, wine, and oil; he, according to an ancient ceremony, poured them on the stone, saying, “May the bountiful hand of heaven supply this city with abundance of corn, wine, oil, and all other necessaries of life.” This being also succeeded by three huzzas, the anthem was again played; and when finished, the grand master repeated these words: “May the grand architect of the universe, as we have now laid the foundation stone, of his kind providence enable us to carry on and finish what we have now begun; and may he be a guard to this place, and the city in general, and preserve it from decay and ruin to the latest posterity.” Having closed the ceremony with a short prayer for the sovereign, the senate of the city, the fraternity of masons, and all the people, and the anthem having been again played, the grand master addressed himself to the lord provost and magistrates, &c. in a polite and learned manner, applauding their noble design, and praying that heaven would crown their endeavours, &c. with the desired success. He also made a speech to the undertakers, admonishing them to observe the instructions of the directors, &c. and to do their duty as artificers, for their own honour, credit, &c. Several medals struck on the occasion, were distributed by the grand master to the magistrates, &c.[329]
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Common Meadow Saffron. Colchicum autumnale.
Dedicated to St. Eustachius.
September 21. St. Matthew, Apostle and Evangelist. St. Maura, A. D. 850. St. Lo, or Laudus, Bp. of Coutances, A. D. 568. St. Matthew. This is a festival in the church of England calendar, and in the almanacs. Mr. Audley notices of Matthew, that he was also called Levi; that he was the son of Alpheus, a publican, or tax-gatherer, under the Romans; and that he is said to have preached the gospel in Ethiopia, and to have died a martyr there. Mr. A. inclines to think that he died a natural death. He says, it is generally, if not universally, agreed by the ancients, that Matthew wrote his gospel in Hebrew, but that several moderns think it was written in Greek, and that Matthew has more quotations from the Old Testament than any of the evangelists.
On this day the lord mayor, aldermen, sheriffs, and governors of the several royal hospitals in London, attend divine service, and hear a sermon preached at Christ church, Newgate-street; they then repair to the great hall in Christ’s hospital, where two orations are delivered, one in Latin, and the other in English, by the two senior scholars of the grammar-school; and afterwards partake of an elegant dinner.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Cilcated Passion Flower. Passiflora cilcata.
Dedicated to St. Matthew.
September 22. St. Maurice, and his Companions, 4th Cent. St. Emmeran, Bp. of Poitiers, A. D. 653. “Now soften’d suns a mellow lustre shed,
The laden orchards glow with tempting red;
On hazel boughs the clusters hang embrown’d,
And with the sportsman’s war the new-shorn fields resound.”
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Tree Boletus. Boletus arborens.
Dedicated to St. Maurice.
September 23. St. Linus, Pope. St. Thecla, 1st Cent. St. Adamnan, Abbot, A. D. 705. [1315, 1316] On the 23d of September, 1751, a man ran, driving a coach-wheel, from the Bishop’s-head in the Old Bailey, to the eleventh mile stone at Barnet, and back again, in three hours and fifty-one minutes, having four hours to do it in, for a wager of 50l.[330]
FLORAL DIRECTORY. White Starwort. Aster dumotus.
Dedicated to St. Thecla.
September 24. St. Gerard, Bp. of Chonad, A. D. 1046. St. Germer, or Geremar, Abbot, A. D. 658. St. Rusticus, or St. Rotiri, Bp. of Auvergne, 5th Cent. St. Chuniald, or Conald.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Dung Fungus. Agaricus fimetarius.
Dedicated to St. Gerard.
September 25. S. Ceolfrid, Abbot, A. D. 716. St. Barr, or Finbarr, first Bp. of Cork, 6th Cent. St. Firmin, Bp. of Amiens, 3d Cent. St. Aunaire, Bp. of Auxerre, A. D. 605. Gymnastics. A late distinguished senator said in parliament, “man is born to labour as the sparks fly upwards.” This observation is founded on a thorough knowledge of the destiny from which none can escape. The idle are always unhappy, nor can even mental vigour be preserved without bodily exercise. Neither he who has attained to inordinate wealth, nor he who has reached the greatest heights of human intellect is exempt from the decree, that every man must “work for his living.” If the “gentleman” does not work to maintain his family, he must work to maintain his life; hence he walks, rides, hunts, shoots, and travels, and occupies his limbs as well as his mind; hence noblemen amuse themselves at the turning lathe, and the workman’s bench, or become mail coachmen, or “cutter-lads:” and hence sovereigns sometimes “play at being workmen,” or, what is worse, at the “game” of war. Without exercise the body becomes enfeebled, and the mind loses its tension. Corporeal inactivity cannot be persisted in even with the aid of medicine, without symptoms of an asthenic state. From this deliquium the patient must be relieved in spite of his perverseness, or he becomes a maniac or a corpse. Partial remedies render him “a nervous man;” his only effectual relief is bodily exercise. Exercise in the open air is indispensable, and many who walk in the wide and rapidly extending wilderness of the metropolis have sufficient; but, to some, the exercise of walking is not enough for carrying on the business of life; while others, whose avocations are sedentary, scarcely come under the denomination of sesquipedalians. These resort to stretching out the arms, kicking, hopping, what they call “jumping,” running up and down a pair of stairs, sparring, or playing with the dumb bells: these substitutes may assist, but, alone, they are inadequate to the preservation of health. Some years ago a work on gymnastics, by Salzmann, was translated from the German into English. Its precepts were unaided by example; it produced a sensation, people talked about it at the time, and agreed that the bodily exercises it prescribed were good, but nobody took them, and gymnastics, though frequently thought upon, have not until lately been practised. In the first sheet of the Every-Day Book public attention was called to this subject, and since them Mr. Voelker, a native of Germany, has opened a gymnasium at No. 1, Union-place, in the New-road, near the Regent’s-park; and another at Mr. Fontaine’s riding-school, Worship-street, Finsbury-square. The editor of this work has visited Mr. Voelker’s gymnasium in the New-road; and with a view to public benefit, and because they will operate a new feature in manners, he promulgates the information that such institutions are established. Mr. Voelker’s prospectus of his establishment is judicious. He contends that while education has been exclusively directed to the developement of the mental faculties, the bodily powers have been entirely neglected. “The intimate connection between mind and body has not been sufficiently considered; for who does not know, from his own experience, that the mind uniformly participates in the condition of the body; that it is cheerful, when the body is strong and healthy; and depressed, when the body is languid and unhealthy?” Mr. Voelker refers to Xenophon, and to the great promoters of education in [1317, 1318] modern times, namely, Locke, Rousseau, Campe, Basedow, Pestalozzi, and Fellenberg, as authorities for the use of gymnastics; but he says it was reserved for professor Jahn to be the restorer of this long-lost art. In 1810, he established a gymnasium at Berlin; and the number of his pupils, consisting of boys, youth, and men, soon increased to several thousands. His ardent zeal and indefatigable exertion, and his powerful and persuasive appeals to his pupils, had such an effect, that all vied with each other in endeavouring to render their bodies strong and active. But the rising of the German people, in 1813, suddenly changed the cheerful game into a serious combat. Professor Jahn, and such of his pupils as were capable of bearing arms, (many of these being but fourteen years of age,) joined the volunteers of Lutzen. But few lived to revisit the place, where they had prepared themselves for enduring the hardships of war. Most of these young heroes covered the fields of battle with their corpses from the gates of Berlin to the capital of their enemies. The exercises, however, were resumed at Berlin, and had spread through several other towns, when the campaign of 1815 caused a new, but short interruption. “As a pupil of Jahn’s,” says Mr. Voelker, “I also had the honour of serving among the volunteers. The campaign being finished, I returned to my studies: and when I thought myself sufficiently qualified for the duties of a teacher, I commenced them in 1818. At first I established gymnastic exercises at the academy of Eisenach, and in the university of Tubingen. In these establishments, as in all others where similar exercises had been introduced by professor Jahn or his pupils, a new vigour was imparted to the scholars. Boys, youths, and men, soon found more pleasure in exercises which strengthened the powers of their body, than in pleasures which render it effeminate and weak. By the consciousness of increased vigour, the mind, too, was powerfully excited, and strove for equal perfection; and each of the pupils had always before his eyes, as the object of his exertions, mens sana in corpore sano. Even men indolent by nature were irresistibly carried away by the zeal of their comrades. Weakly and sick persons, too, recovered their health; and these exercises were, perhaps, the only effectual remedy that could have been found for their complaints. The judgment of physicians, in all places where these exercises were introduced, concurred in their favourable effect upon health; and parents and teachers uniformly testified, that by them their sons and pupils, like all other young men who cultivated them, had become more open and free, and more graceful in their deportment. Fortune led me to the celebrated establishment of M. Von Fellenberg; and this great philosopher, and at the same time practical educator, gave the high authority of his approbation to the gymnastic science. It would not become me to state how I have laboured in the academy of that gentleman; but the recommendations with which he and others have favoured me, and also the testimonials, for which I am indebted to them, sufficiently prove that I do not set too high a value upon the utility of this branch of education. After I had established this system of education there, I accepted an invitation as professor at the Canton school at Chur, which I received from the government of the Canton. My exertions there had the same result as in other establishments, as is fully shown by the testimonials of the government. The thanks which I received from so many of my pupils, the testimonials from the directors of those establishments in which I have taught, my own consciousness of not having worked in vain, and the invitations of some friends, emboldened me to come forward in England, also, with gymnastics, on the plan of professor Jahn, and animate me with the confidence that here, too, my endeavours will not be fruitless.”
The subscription to professor Voelker’s gymnasium in the New-road and at Worship-street is, for one month, 1l.; for three months, 2l. 10s.; for six months, 4l.; for a twelvemonth, six guineas: or an association of twenty gentlemen may pay each 2l. for three, and 3l. for six months. Pupils from boarding-schools pay each 2l. for three, and 3l. for six months; but a number together pay each 1l. 10s. for three, 2l. 10s. for six, and 4l. for twelve months. Pupils not taking lessons with the other pupils, pay a guinea for every lesson. Twelve lessons may be had when convenient for 1l. 10s. The Exercises. I. The preliminary exercises serve [1319, 1320] principally to strengthen the arms and legs, and to increase their activity, to give the body a graceful carriage, to accustom it to labour, and thus prepare it for the other exercises. II. Running for a length of time, and with celerity. If the pupil follows the prescribed rules, and is not deterred by a little fatigue in the first six lessons, he will soon be able to run three English miles in from twenty to twenty-five minutes. Some of Mr. V.’s pupils have been able to run for two hours incessantly, and without being much out of breath. III. Leaping in distance and height, with and without a pole. Every pupil will soon convince himself to what degree the strength of the arms, the energy of the muscles of the feet, and good carriage of the body, are increased by leaping, particularly with a pole. Almost every one learns in a short time to leap his own height, and some of the pupils have been able to leap ten or eleven feet high. It is equally easy to learn to leap horizontally over a space three times the length of the body; even four times that length has been attained. IV. Climbing up masts, ropes, and ladders. Every pupil will soon learn to climb up a mast, rope, or ladder of twenty-four feet high; and after six months’ exercise, even of thirty-four or thirty-six feet. The use of this exercise is very great in strengthening the arms. V. The exercises on the pole and parallel bars, serve in particular to expand the chest, to strengthen the muscles of the breast and small of the back, and to make the latter flexible. In a short time, every pupil will be enabled to perform exercises of which he could not have thought himself capable, provided that he do not deviate from the prescribed course and rules. VI. Vaulting, which is considered one of the principal exercises for the increase of strength, activity, good carriage of the body, and courage, which employs and improves the powers of almost all parts of the body, and has hitherto always been taught as an art by itself, is brought to some perfection in three months. VII. Fencing with the broad sword, throwing lances, wrestling, and many other exercises. All these exercises so differ from one another, that generally those parts of the body which are employed in one, rest in another. Every lesson occupies from one hour and a half to two hours, its length depending on the degree of labour required for the exercises practised in it.
In the New-road, lessons are given on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday, from six to eight o’clock, A. M., or on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday, from six to eight o’clock, P. M. Young pupils are instructed every day from eight to nine o’clock, A. M. At Worship-street, the lessons are given on Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, from seven to nine o’clock in the evening.
The drawing for this article was made by Mr. George Cruikshank, after his personal observation of Mr. Voelker’s gymnasium in the New-road: it was engraved by Mr. H. White.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book. Sir, You, who have so long and so ably instructed us in the amusements of our ancestors, will not, I hope, neglect to give publicity to a new species of amusement which is not only pleasant in itself, but absolutely necessary in this overgrown metropolis. I allude to the gymnastic exercises which have lately been introduced from Germany into this country. They are as yet but little known, and some portion of that prejudice exists against them which invariably attends a new discovery: fortunately, however, it is in the power of the Editor of the Every-Day Book to combat the former by a simple notice, while the latter will be much shaken if it be known that these exercises are approved by him. An inhabitant of London need only look out of his own window to see practical illustrations of the necessity of these exercises. How often do we see a young man with an intelligent but very pale countenance, whose legs have hardly strength to support the weight of his bent and emaciated body. He once probably was a strong and active boy, but he came to London, shut himself up in an office, took no exercise because he was not obliged to take any; grew nervous and bilious; took a great deal of medical advice and physic; took every thing in fact but the true remedy, exercise; and may probably still linger out a few years of wretched existence, when death will be welcomed as his best friend. This, [1321, 1322] though an extreme case, is a very common one, and the unfortunate beings who approximate to it in a considerable degree are still more numerous. Many of the miseries and diseases of young and old, male and female, in this city, may be traced eventually to want of exercise. Give us pure air, and we can exist with comparatively little exercise; but bad air and no exercise at all, are poisons of a very active description. These exercises are so contrived that they exert equally every part of the body without straining or tiring any; and I speak from my own experience, when I say that after two hours’ practice in professor Voelker’s gymnasium, opposite Mary-le-bone church in the new Paddington-road, I am not more fatigued than when I entered it, and feel an agreeable glow of body, and flow of spirits, which walking or riding does not create. I, as well as some other pupils, have two or three miles to walk to the gymnasium; we have the option of going morning or evening, and we do not find the walk and two hours of the exercises before breakfast, fatigue us or incapacitate us in the slightest degree from going through our customary avocations. I should also add that in bodily strength I am under, rather than above, par. It is not easy to describe these exercises to those who have not seen them. They consist: First, Of preliminary exercises of the hands and legs, which give force and agility to those members, and prepare the body for the other exercises. Secondly, Horizontal parallel bars, from three to five feet high, according to the size of the pupil, on which he raises his body by the arms, and swings his legs over in a variety of directions: this exercise opens the chest, and gives great strength to the [1323, 1324] muscles of the arms and body. Thirdly, The horizontal round pole supported by posts from five to eight feet high, according to the height of the performer. An endless variety of exercises may be performed on this pole, such as raising the body by the arms, going from one end to the other by the hands alone, vaulting, swinging the body over in all directions, &c. &c. Fourthly, The horse, a large wooden block shaped like the body of a horse—the pupils jump upon and over this much-enduring animal in many ways. Fifthly, Leaping in height and distance with and without poles. Sixthly, Climbing masts, ropes, and ladders of various heighths. Seventhly, Throwing lances, running with celerity and for a length of time, hopping, &c. &c. &c. It is, moreover, in our option to take whatever portion of the exercises we may find most agreeable. The improvement which the gentlemen who practise these exercises experience in health (not to mention strength, agility, and grace,) is very considerable, and altogether wonderful in several who have entered in a feeble and sickly state. This, one would think, would be sufficient to prove that the exercises are not attended with danger, even were I not to mention that I have not seen a single accident. Neither is their utility necessarily confined to boyhood, as several gentlemen upwards of forty can clearly testify; nor does the pleasure of practising them depart with the novelty, but always increases with proficiency and time. The expense the professor has already incurred in providing implements and adequate accommodation has been very considerable, and his terms are so moderate that a small number of pupils cannot possibly remunerate him; it is therefore to be hoped, no less for his sake than for our own, that he should meet with encouragement in this city. With respect to the professor himself he has every quality that can recommend him to his pupils. The grace with which he performs the exercises is only equalled by his attention and care, and his mild and unassuming manners have won the hearts of all who know him. His pupils feel grateful not only for the benefits they have themselves received, but for the advantage that is likely to accrue to the country from the introduction of these wholesome, athletic amusements. I am, &c. G*.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Great Boletus. Boletus Bovinus.
Dedicated to St. Ceolfrid.
September 26. Sts. Cyprian and Justina, A. D. 304. St. Eusebius, Pope, A. D. 310. St. Colman Elo, Abbot, A. D. 610. St. Nilus, the younger, Abbot, A. D. 1005. Old Holy-rood. This day is so marked in the church of England calendar and in the almanacs. Respecting the rood enough, perhaps, was said to gratify the reader’s curiosity on holy-rood day. St. Cyprian. Is also in the calendar and almanacs on this day. He was a native of Carthage in the third century, and as a father is highly esteemed for the piety of his writings and the purity of the Latin tongue wherein they were written.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Gigantic Golden Rod. Solidago gigantea.
Dedicated to St. Justina.
September 27. Sts. Cosmas and Damian, A. D. 303. Sts. Elzear and Delphina, A. D. 1323, and 1369. Sts. Cosmas and Damian. These saints are said to have been beheaded under Dioclesian. In a church dedicated to these saints at Isernia, near Naples, while sir William Hamilton was ambassador from Great Britain to that court, votive offerings were presented of so remarkable a nature, as to occasion him to acquaint sir Joseph Banks with the particulars. They were the grossest relics of the ancient pagan worship. The late Mr. Richard Payne Knight wrote a remarkable “Dissertation” on the subject for the use of the Dilettanti.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Manyflowered Starwort. Aster multiflorus.
Dedicated to St. Delphina.
September 28. St. Wenceslas, duke of Bohemia, A. D. 938. St. Lioba, Abbess, A. D. 779. [1325, 1326] St. Eustochium, A. D. 419. St. Exuperius, Bp. of Toulouse, A. D. 409.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Evergreen Golden Rod. Solidago sempervirens.
Dedicated to St. Eustochium, V.
September 29. The Dedication of St. Michael’s Church, or The Festival of St. Michael and all the holy Angels. St. Theodota, A. D. 642. St. Michael. This saint is in our almanacs and in the calendar of the church of England. The day is a great festival in the Romish church. The rev. Edward Barnard, of Brantinghamthorpe, in “The Protestant Beadsman,” an elegantly written “series of biographical notices and hymns, commemorating the saints and martyrs whose holidays are kept by the church of England,” says, “The rank of archangel is given in scripture to none but Michael, who is represented as the guardian and protector both of the Jewish church, and the glorious church of Christ, in which the former merged. On this account he is celebrated by name, while the rest of the holy angels are praised collectively. St. Michael is mentioned in scripture five times, and always in a military view; thrice by Daniel, as fighting for the Jewish church against Persia; once by St. John, as fighting at the head of his angelic troops against the dragon and his host; and once by St. Jude, as fighting personally with the devil, about the body of Moses; for the very ashes of God’s servants have angelic protection. It has been thought by many, that there is no other archangel but Michael. An author of great name, who has not given his reasons or authority, inclines to this opinion; and adds, that he succeeded Lucifer in this high dignity. Others imagine, and not without strong probability, that Michael is the Son of God himself. The interpretation of his name, and the expression (used by St. John) of ‘his angels,’ strengthen this supposition; for to whom can the angels belong but to God, or Christ? The title, by which Gabriel spoke of him, when he required his assistance, (‘Michael your prince’) is likewise brought forward, by bishop Horsley, in confirmation of this opinion. Besides, the Jews always claimed to be under the immediate spiritual protection and personal government of God, who calls them his peculiar people. How then can Michael preside over them? This festival will not loose any dignity by the adoption of such an interpretation, but will demand a more conscientious observance from those, who celebrate in it, not only the host of friendly angels, but, likewise (under the title of Michael) Jesus Christ the common Lord both of angels and men.” A well-informed expositor of the “Common Prayer-book,” Wheatley, says that the feast of St. Michael and all angels is observed, that the people may know what benefits are derived from the ministry of angels.
The accompanying engraving is from an ancient print emanating from the “contemplations” of catholic churchmen, among whom there is diversity of opinion concerning the number of archangels. Their inquiries have been directed to the subject, because it is an article of the catholic faith that angels, as well as saints, intercede for men, and that their intercession may be moved by prayers to them. In conformity with this persuasion patron-saints and angels are sometimes drawn for, by putting certain favourite names together, and selecting one, to whom, as the patron-saint or angel, the invocations of the individual are from that time especially addressed. In the great army of angels the archangels are deemed commanders. The angels themselves are said to be divided into as many legions as there are archangels; whether these are seven or nine does not appear to be determined; but Michael, as in the present engraving, is always represented as the head or chief archangel, he is here accompanied by six only. Dr. Laurence, regius professor of Hebrew at Oxford, and now archbishop of Cashel, recently printed at the Clarendon press, the long lost “Book of Enoch.” This celebrated apocryphal writing of ancient times calls “Michael one of the holy angels, who, presiding over human virtue, commands the nations.” It says, that Raphael “presides over the spirits of men;” that Uriel “presides over clamour and terror;” and Gabriel, “over paradise and over the cherubims.” Our old heraldic friend, Randle Holme, says, Michael is the head of the “order of archangels;” his design is a banner hanging [1327, 1328] on a cross, and he is armed, as representing victory with a dart in one hand, and a cross on his forehead. He styles Raphael as leader of the “order of powers,” with a thunderbolt and a flaming sword to withsta “order of seraphims;” his ensign is a flaming heart and a cross-staff. Gabriel he makes governor of the “order of angels,” and his ensign a book and a staff. Of the other three archangels in the print, it would be difficult to collect an account immediately. St. Michael and other Archangels. Our forefathers were told by the predecessor of Alban Butler, that Michael bore the banner of the celestial host, chased the angel Lucifer and his followers from heaven, and enclosed them in dark air unto the day of judgment, not in the upper region, because there it is clear and delightful, nor upon the earth, because there they could not torment mankind, but between heaven and earth, that when they look up they may see the joy they have lost, and when they look downward, may see men mount to heaven from whence they fell. The relation says, they flee about us as flies; they are innumerable, and like flies they fill the air without number; and philosophers and doctors are of opinion, that the air is as full of devils and wicked spirits “as the sonne bemes ben full of small motes which is small dust or poudre.”[331]
Bishop Hall, in his “Triumphs of Rome,” mentions a red velvet buckler to have been preserved in a castle in Normandy [1329, 1330] which Michael wore in his combat with the dragon. Bishop Patrick who wrote subsequently, in 1674, says “I hope that the precious piece of St. Michael’s red cloth is forthcoming—his dagger and his shield were to be seen at the beginning of this age, though one of their historians says, that five years before he came thither, in 1607 the bishop of Avranches had forbidden his shield to be any more showed: but who knows but some of the succeeding bishops may have been better natured, and not have denied this gratification to the desires of their gaping devotees.”
Bishop Patrick cites a Roman catholic litany, wherein after addresses to God, the Trinity, and the virgin Mary, there are invocations to St. Michael, St. Gabriel, and St. Raphael, together with all the orders of angels, to “pray for us.” He also instances that in the old Roman missal, and in the Sarum missal, there is a proper mass to Raphael the archangel, as the protector of pilgrims and travellers, and a skilful worker with medicine. Likewise an office for the continual intercession of St. Gabriel, and all the heavenly militia. In these catholic services St. Michael is invoked as a “most glorious and warlike prince,” “chief officer of paradise,” “captain of God’s hosts,” “the receiver of souls,” “the vanquisher of evil spirits,” and “the admirable general.” After mentioning several miracles attributed by the Romanists to St. Michael, the bishop says, “You see from this legend, that when people are mad with superstition, any story of a cock and a bull will serve their turn to found a festival upon, and to give occasion for the further veneration of a saint or an angel, though the circumstances are never so improbable.” He relates as an instance, that in a Romish church-book, Michael is said to have appeared to a bishop, whom he required to go to a hill-top, where if he found a bull tied, he was to found a church, and dedicate it to God and St. Michael. The bishop found the bull, and proceeded to found the church, but a rock on each side hindered the work, wherefore St. Michael appeared to a man, and bade him go and put away the rock, and dread nothing; so the man went, and “sette to his shoulders,” and bade the rock go away in the name of God and St. Michael; and so the rocks departed to the distance necessary to the work. “This removing the rock,” says bishop Patrick, “is a pretty stretcher!” Michaelmas. It is noticed by Mr. Brand in his “Popular Antiquities,” which cites most of the circumstances presently referred to, that—“It has long been and still continues the custom at this time of the year, or thereabouts, to elect the governors of towns and cities, the civil guardians of the peace of men, perhaps, as Bourne supposes, because the feast of angels naturally enough brings to our minds the old opinion of tutelar spirits, who have, or are thought to have, the particular charge of certain bodies of men, or districts of country, as also that every man has his guardian angel, who attends him from the cradle to the grave, from the moment of his coming in, to his going out of life.” Mr. Nichols notices in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” that on Monday, October 1st, 1804,—“The lord mayor and alderman proceeded from Guildhall, and the two sheriffs with their respective companies from Stationers’-hall, and having embarked on the Thames, his lordship in the city barge, and the sheriffs in the stationers’ barge, went in aquatic state to Palace-yard. They proceeded to the court of Exchequer: where, after the usual salutations to the bench (the cursitor baron, Francis Maseres, Esq. presiding) the recorder presented the two sheriffs; the several writs were then read, and the sheriffs and the senior under-sheriff took the usual oath. The ceremony, on this occasion, in the court of Exchequer, which vulgar error supposed to be an unmeaning farce, is solemn and impressive; nor have the new sheriffs the least connection either with chopping of sticks, or counting of hobnails. The tenants of a manor in Shropshire are directed to come forth to do their suit and service; on which the senior alderman below the chair steps forward, and chops a single stick, in token of its having been customary for the tenants of that manor to supply their lord with fuel. The owners of a forge in the parish of St. Clement (which formerly belonged to the city, and stood in the high road from the Temple to Westminster, but now no longer exists,) are then called forth to do [1331, 1332] their suit and service; when an officer of the court, in the presence of the senior alderman, produces six horse-shoes and sixty-one hobnails, which he counts over in form before the cursitor baron; who, on this particular occasion, is the immediate representative of the sovereign. “The whole of the numerous company then again embarked in their barges, and returned to Blackfriars-bridge, where the state carriages were in waiting. Thence they proceeded to Stationers’-hall, where a most elegant entertainment was given by Mr. Sheriff Domville.”
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book. Sir, I have no doubt but many thousands of my fellow-citizens were unaware of the existence and very recent destruction of the baronial establishment of their chief magistrate; and that, therefore, by recording a few particulars you will endeavour to mark the era, when, perhaps, the last of these gentlemanly households, once to be found in every knightly and noble family, was destroyed in England. It is perhaps an unavoidable consequence of change of manners; but to those who delight in contemplating those of their ancestors, to witness the wreck of what appears almost consecrated by ancient usage, affords any thing but a pleasurable sensation. In former days those of rank considered it a degradation to have menials officiate about their persons, and therefore created officers in their households, which were looked upon as initiatory schools to every thing gallant or polite, and were consequently eagerly filled by noble youths and aspiring cadets. In imitation of those with whom for a brief period he ranked, the lord mayor of London had an establishment arranged for him, consisting of the following officers: Four Squires. 1st. The sword-bearer, whose duty it was to advise his lordship of the necessary etiquette to be observed on stated occasions. To some it may appear very unimportant whether the lord mayor has on a violet or a scarlet gown; whether the mace is always carried before him or not, and strictly speaking it is so; but while old customs are harmless, and tend to preserve dignity and good order, why should they not be observed? This place used to be purchased, but when the late Mr. Cotterel died, who gave I believe upwards of 7000l. for it, and could have parted with it for 9000l. but was prevented by the corporation, it was made a gift place, and given to Mr. Smith of the chamberlain’s office, who now holds it subject to an annual election. This has placed the office on a very different, less independent, and less respectable footing, than it used to be. The predecessor of Mr. Cotterel, Heron Powney, Esq., who enjoyed the office thirty-three years, exercised great authority throughout the house, and used, with great form, to attend the lord mayor every morning to instruct him in any necessary ceremonial; and on all public occasions, assisted by two yeomen of the water side, robed his lordship: this is now performed by servants. There are four swords—the black, used on Good Friday, 30th of January, fire of London, and all fast days, when his lordship ought to go to St. Paul’s: on these days he wears his livery gown. The common sword, to go to the sessions, courts of aldermen, common council, &c.; the Sunday sword; and the pearl sword, which used to be carried on very rare occasions only, but is now exhibited at every turn. This gentleman, in the olden times, had apartments at the Old Bailey, and derived emolument from granting admission to two galleries during the sessions. He wears a black silk damask gown, and a cap of maintenance, and chain upon state days. He sits at the head of the table which goes by his name, at which the gentlemen of the household dined when they were in waiting; but now they only dine together fourteen days in the year, on public occasions. The lord mayors were latterly allowed 1500l. per annum for the maintenance of this table, which supplied that in the servants’ hall; but the latter have long been on board wages, to the great loss of many an exhausted pauper. The second squire was Mr. Common Hunt: his principal office is indicated by his title; but he was likewise master of the ceremonies. He was in waiting every Monday and Wednesday, and every third Sunday while the house was in waiting. The last who held this office was Mr. Charles Cotterel, brother to the late sword-bearer, at whose death in 1807 it was abolished, and the duty of master of the ceremonies has since been performed by Mr. Goldham, one of the serjeants of [1333, 1334] the chamber. The common hunt’s house used to be at the Dog-house-bar in the City-road. The third squire is Mr. Common Crier, whose duty it is to attend his lordship with the mace to the courts of aldermen and common council, common halls, and courts of hustings: he is in waiting every Tuesday and Thursday; and whenever the lord mayor wears his scarlet robes, attends him with the mace. His dress is a damask gown and counsellor’s wig: he had apartments at Aldersgate. Formerly this place was purchased, but not within the memory of man. The fourth squire is the water-bailiff, who is empowered by the lord mayor to act as sub-conservator of the Thames and Medway. He is in waiting every Friday and Saturday, every third Sunday, and all public days. Dress, damask gown. Had apartments at Cripplegate. This is now likewise a gift place. The four attornies used to attend his lordship in turn, weekly, to advise him in his magisterial capacity; but this part of their duty has now become obsolete, and has devolved to Mr. Hobler. To the lord mayor’s household also properly belong three serjeant carvers, three serjeants of the chamber, one serjeant of the channel, one yeoman of the chamber, two marshals, four yeomen of the water-side, one yeoman of the channel, one under water-bailiff, six young men. The members of the household, with the exception of the four squires, attornies, and marshals, had the privilege of alienating their places on payment of 50l. to the corporation; but if they died without paying this fine, their places lapsed to the city, and the value of them was consequently lost to their family. But let the one who sold hold what situation he might in this little republic, the purchaser was admitted to only the lowest rank, that of junior young man, that all below the one who sold might rise a step. The gentlemen were in waiting on fixed days; sometimes the whole number, at others only a part, and at these times were entitled to a dinner, and on any extra occasion when the sword was carried: there was a bill of fare for each day. At table, the marshals were the lowest above the salt. This was formerly made of pewter, but in the year , a carver presented the table with one of silver, nearly similar in form. The pewter one was used in the servants’ hall until it was rendered useless by the introduction of board wages. Except the squires, attornies, and marshals, the household now all wear black gowns, in form like those of the livery, made of prince’s stuff faced with velvet, though formerly they were curious enough. Divided as if by a herald into two parts, dexter and sinister, one side was formed of the colours distinguishing the lord mayor’s livery, and the other those of the two sheriffs. On Plough Sunday his lordship goes to church to qualify, when two of the yeomen of the water-side attend, that they may depose to this fact at the next sessions. On the Monday his lordship keeps wassail with his household, and with his lady presides at the head of their table. This used indeed to be a gala day; but elegance now takes place of profusion and hilarity. Formerly they could scarcely see their opposite neighbour for the piles of sweetmeats; but these have disappeared to make way for the city plate and artificial flowers. The lady mayoress is generally accompanied by two or three ladies, to obviate the unpleasantness of finding herself the only female among so many strangers: the chaplain on that day takes the lower end of the table. The yeoman of the cellar is stationed behind his lordship, and at the conclusion of the dinner produces two silver cups filled with negus, and giving them to his lord and lady, proclaims with a loud voice, “Mr. Sword-bearer, squires, and gentlemen all! my lord mayor and lady mayoress drink to you in a loving cup, and bid you all heartily welcome!” After drinking, they pass the cups down each side of the table, for all to partake and drink their healths. When the ladies retire the chaplain leads her ladyship, and after a few songs his lordship follows. Then a mighty silver bowl of punch was introduced, and a collection amounting to nearly 25l. used to be made for the servants. They were all introduced, from the stately housekeeper to the kitchen girl, in merry procession to accept the largess, taste the punch, and perhaps the cook or a pretty housemaid did not escape without a kiss. This was not the only day on which the servants partook of the bounty of the gentlemen. Every Saturday there was a collection of three shillings and sixpence from the sword-bearer [1335, 1336] and the other squire, and one shilling and sixpence from the other individuals. This was termed cellarage, and was divided between the yeoman of the cellar and the butler. But these golden days are over. Since the days of the Fitzaleyns and Whittingtons, it has been found expedient to make the lord mayors an allowance to enable them, or rather assist them, to maintain the hospitality and splendour of their station; but such is the perverseness of human nature, that as this has from time to time been increased, the gorgeousness of the display seems to have decreased. The following are the receipts and expenses of Mr. Wilkes during his mayoralty: | Receipts. | | £. | s. | d. | | Payments from the chamberlain’s office | 2372 | 8 | 4 | | | Cocket office | 702 | 5 | 6 | 1/2 | | Gauger | 250 | 0 | 0 | | | Annual present of plate from the Jews | 50 | 0 | 0 | | | Lessees of Smithfield-market | 10 | 0 | 0 | | | Licenses | 4 | 10 | 0 | | | From the bridge-house towards the feast | 50 | 0 | 0 | | | Alienation of a young man’s place | 40 | 0 | 0 | | | Sale of a young man’s place | 1000 | 0 | 0 | | | Presentation of the sheriffs | 13 | 6 | 8 | | | For keeping the mansion-house in order | 100 | 0 | 0 | | | Six freedoms to the lord mayor | 150 | 0 | 0 | | | In lieu of buckets | 6 | 0 | 0 | | | Licensing the sessions paper | 130 | 0 | 0 | | | From Mr. Roberts, comptroller, for the importation fee | 10 | 10 | 0 | | | £4889 | 0 | 6 | 1/2 | | Expenses. | | £. | s. | d. | | Lord mayor’s table, including public dinners | 2050 | 0 | 0 | | | Sword-bearer’s table | 1500 | 0 | 0 | | | Lord mayor’s-day | 520 | 0 | 0 | | | Easter Monday | 1200 | 0 | 0 | | | Rout | 190 | 0 | 0 | | | Old Bailey | 730 | 0 | 0 | | | Horses, coaches, &c. | 420 | 0 | 0 | | | Servants’ wages, liveries, &c. | 570 | 0 | 0 | | | Lamps, wax, and other candles | 295 | 0 | 0 | | | Linen | 160 | 0 | 0 | | | Coals and firing | 280 | 0 | 0 | | | China and glass | 110 | 0 | 0 | | | Stationery wares, newspapers, &c. | 60 | 0 | 0 | | | Winter and summer for the sword-bearer and household | 36 | 13 | 0 | | | Glazier, upholsterer, &c. | 46 | 0 | 0 | | | Music, &c. | 35 | 0 | 0 | | | Ribands, &c. | 24 | 0 | 0 | | | £8226 | 13 | 0 | | | N. B. Benefactions on public occasions, charities, &c. cloths, fees to the water-bailiff, are not included. | | Expenses | 8226 | 13 | 0 | | | Receipts | 4889 | 0 | 6 | 1/2 | | Balance | £3337 | 12 | 5 | 1/2 | The rout was first discontinued by sir Brooke Watson, because it was always customary to have it in passion week. The allowance has since had an increase of 3000l. This liberality on the part of the corporation, instead of exciting a corresponding feeling on the part of their magistrates, seems rather to have raised in them a spirit of cupidity, and of late years, on many occasions, the office seems to have been undertaken on a kind of speculation for saving money. Though allowed 1500l. a year for the sword-bearer’s table, every chicken and bottle of wine began to be grudged; and after repeated appeals by the household to the court of common council, on account of the shabby reductions successively made, and which were considered as unjust, as they had purchased their places with the usual privileges, the corporation concluded a treaty with them a short time ago, by which a specified sum of money was secured to each individual, either on giving up his place, or at his death to be paid to his family. They have of course given up the right of alienating their places, and thus perpetuating the system. The corporation have thus gained an extensive increase of patronage; though the number of officers is to be reduced as the places fall in. But some of the aldermen below the chair were rather disagreeably surprised at the result; for the common council very justly deducted the 1500l. at which the expense of the table was generally calculated, from his lordship’s allowance. I am, &c. C. R. H.
[1337, 1338] The lord mayor’s household, scarcely known in its constitution by the citizens whom the lord mayor selects for his visitors, is well set forth by the preceding letter of a valuable correspondent. It concerns all who are interested in the maintenance of civic splendour, and especially those who are authorized to regulate it. Such papers, and indeed any thing regarding the customs of London, will always be acceptable to the readers of this work, who have not until now been indulged with information by those who have the power to give it. The Every-Day Book is a collection of ancient and present usages and manners, wherein such contributions are properly respected, and by the Editor they are always thankfully received.
On Michaelmas-day the sheriffs of London, previously chosen, are solemnly sworn into office, and the lord mayor is elected for the year ensuing. Pennant speaking of the mercers’ company, which by no means implied originally a dealer in silks, (for mercery included all sorts of small wares, toys, and haberdashery,) says, “This company is the first of the twelve, or such who are honoured with the privilege of the lord mayor’s being elected out of one of them.” If the lord mayor did not belong to either of the twelve, it was the practice for him to be translated to one of the favoured companies. The custom was discontinued in the mayoralty of sir Brook Watson, in 1796, and has not been revived. E. I. C.
The “Gentleman’s Magazine” notices a singular custom at Kidderminster—“On the election of a bailiff the inhabitants assemble in the principal streets to throw cabbage stalks at each other. The town-house bell gives signal for the affray. This is called lawless hour. This done, (for it lasts an hour,) the bailiff elect and corporation, in their robes, preceded by drums and fifes, (for they have no waits,) visit the old and new bailiff, constables, &c. &c. attended by the mob. In the mean time the most respectable families in the neighbourhood are invited, to meet and fling apples at them on their entrance. I have known forty pots of apples expended at one house.”
Michaelmas Goose. “September, when by custom (right divine)
Geese are ordain’d to bleed at Michael’s shrine.”
Churchill. Mr. Brand notices the English custom of having a roast goose to dinner on Michaelmas-day. He cites Blount as telling us that “goose-intentos” is a word used in Lancashire, where “the husbandmen claim it as a due to have a goose intentos on the sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost; which custom took origin from the last word of the old church-prayer of that day: ‘Tua, nos quÆsumus, Domine, gratia semper prÆveniat et sequitur; ac bonis operibus jugiter prÆstet esse intentos.’ The common people very humourously mistake it for a goose with ten toes.” To this Mr. Brand objects, on the authority of Beckwith, in his new edition of the “Jocular Tenures:” that “besides that the sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, or after Trinity rather, being movable, and seldom falling upon Michaelmas-day, which is an immovable feast, the service for that day could very rarely be used at Michaelmas, there does not appear to be the most distant allusion to a goose in the words of that prayer. Probably no other reason can be given for this custom, but that Michaelmas-day was a great festival, and geese at that time most plentiful. In Denmark, where the harvest is later, every family has a roasted goose for supper on St. Martin’s Eve.” Mr. Douce is quoted by Mr. Brand, as saying, “I have somewhere seen the following reason for eating goose on Michaelmas-day, viz. that queen Elizabeth received the news of the defeat of the Spanish Armada, whilst she was eating a goose on Michaelmas-day, and that in commemoration of that event she ever afterwards on that day dined on a goose.” This Mr. Brand regards as strong proof that the custom prevailed even at court in queen Elizabeth’s time; and observing that it was in use in the tenth year of king Edward the Fourth, as will be shown presently, he represents it to have been a practice in queen Elizabeth’s reign, before the event of the Spanish defeat, from the “Posies of Gascoigne,” published in 1575. “And when the tenauntes come
to paie their quarter’s rent,
They bring some fowle at Midsummer,
a dish of fish in Lent,
At Christmasse a capon, [1339, 1340]
at Michaelmasse A GOOSE;
And somewhat else at New-yeres tide,
for feare their lease flie loose.”
Gascoyne. So also the periodical paper called “The World,” represents that “When the reformation of the calendar was in agitation, to the great disgust of many worthy persons who urged how great the harmony was in the old establishment between the holidays and their attributes, (if I may call them so,) and what confusion would follow if Michaelmas-day, for instance, was not to be celebrated when stubble-geese are in their highest perfection; it was replied, that such a propriety was merely imaginary, and would be lost of itself, even without any alteration of the calendar by authority: for if the errors in it were suffered to go on, they would in a certain number of years produce such a variation, that we should be mourning for a good king Charles on a false thirtieth of January, at a time of year when our ancestors used to be tumbling over head and heels in Greenwich-park in honour of Whitsuntide: and at length be choosing king and queen for Twelfth Night, when we ought to be admiring the London prentice at Bartholomew-fair.” According to Brand, geese are eaten by ploughmen at the harvest-home; and it is a popular saying, “If you eat goose on Michaelmas-day you will never want money all the year round.” In 1470, John de la Hay took of William Barnaby, lord of Lastres, in the county of Hereford, one parcel of the land of that demesne, rendering twenty-pence a year, and one goose fit for the lord’s dinner on the feast of St. Michael the archangel, with suit of court and other services.
According to Martin, in his “Description of the Western Islands of Scotland,” the protestant inhabitants of Skie, observe the festivals of Christmas, Easter, Good Friday, and that of St. Michael, on which latter day they have a cavalcade in each parish, and several families bake the cake called St. Michael’s bannock. So also, “They have likewise a general cavalcade on St. Michael’s-day in Kilbar village, and do then also take a turn round their church. Every family, as soon as the solemnity is ended, is accustomed to bake St. Michael’s cake, and all strangers, together with those of the family, must eat the bread that night.” We read too, in Macauley’s History, that “It was, till of late, a universal custom among the islanders, on Michaelmas-day, to prepare in every family a loaf or cake of bread, enormously large, and compounded of different ingredients. This cake belonged to the archangel, and had its name from him. Every one in each family, whether strangers or domestics, had his portion of this kind of shew-bread, and had, of course, some title to the friendship and protection of Michael.”
Macauley, in the “History of St. Kilda,” says, that “In Ireland a sheep was killed in every family that could afford one, on the same anniversary; and it was ordained by law that a part of it should be given to the poor. This, and a great deal more was done in that kingdom, to perpetuate the memory of a miracle wrought there by St. Patrick through the assistance of the archangel. In commemoration of this, Michaelmas was instituted a festival day of joy, plenty, and universal benevolence.” Ganging Day. Mr. Brand found in a London newspaper of October 18, 1787, the following extraordinary septennial custom at Bishops Stortford, in Hertfordshire, and in the adjacent neighbourhood, on old Michaelmas-day: “On the morning of this day, called Ganging-day, a great number of young men assemble in the fields, when a very active fellow is nominated the leader. This person they are bound to follow, who, for the sake of diversion, generally chooses the route through ponds, ditches, and places of difficult passage. Every person they meet is bumped, male or female; which is performed by two other persons taking them up by their arms, and swinging them against each other. The women in general keep at home at this period, except those of less scrupulous character, who, for the sake of partaking of a gallon of ale and a plumb-cake, which every landlord or publican is obliged to furnish the revellers with, generally spend the best part of the night in the fields, if the weather is fair; it being strictly according to ancient usage not to partake of the cheer any where else.” [1341, 1342] M. Stevenson, in “The Twelve Moneths, Lond. 1661, 4to.” mentions the following superstition; “They say, so many dayes old the moon is on Michaelmass-day, so many floods after.” Anecdote of a Goose. An amusing account of a Canada goose once the property of Mr. Sharpe, at Little Grove, near East Barnet, was inserted by that gentleman in his copy of “Willughby’s Ornithology.” He says:— The following account of a Canada goose is so extraordinary, that I am aware it would with difficulty gain credit, were not a whole parish able to vouch for the truth of it. The Canada geese are not fond of a poultry-yard, but are rather of a rambling disposition. One of these birds, however, was observed to attach itself, in the strongest and most affectionate manner, to the house-dog; and would never quit the kennel, except for the purpose of feeding, when it would return again immediately. It always sat by the dog; but never presumed to go into the kennel, except in rainy weather. Whenever the dog barked, the goose would cackle and run at the person she supposed the dog barked at, and try to bite him by the heels. Sometimes she would attempt to feed with the dog; but this the dog, who treated his faithful companion rather with indifference, would not suffer. This bird would not go to roost with the others at night, unless driven by main force; and when, in the morning, she was turned into the field, she would never stir from the yard gate, but sit there the whole day, in sight of the dog. At last, orders were given that she should be no longer molested, but suffered to accompany the dog as she liked: being thus left to herself, she ran about the yard with him all the night; and what is particularly extraordinary, and can be attested by the whole parish, whenever the dog went out of the yard and ran into the village, the goose always accompanied him, contriving to keep up with him by the assistance of her wings; and in this way of running and flying, followed him all over the parish. This extraordinary affection of the goose towards the dog, which continued till his death, two years after it was first observed, is supposed to have originated from his having accidentally saved her from a fox in the very moment of distress. While the dog was ill, the goose never quitted him day or night, not even to feed; and it was apprehended that she would have been starved to death, had not orders been given for a pan of corn to be set every day close to the kennel. At this time the goose generally sat in the kennel, and would not suffer any one to approach it, except the person who brought the dog’s or her own food. The end of this faithful bird was melancholy; for, when the dog died, she would still keep possession of the kennel; and a new house-dog being introduced, which in size and colour resembled that lately lost, the poor goose was unhappily deceived; and going into the kennel as usual, the new inhabitant seized her by the throat, and killed her.
Michaelmas-day is one of the “four usual quarter-days, or days for payment of rent in the year.” A Michaelmas Notice to quit. To ALL gad-flies and gnats, famed for even-tide hum,
To the blue-bottles, too, with their gossamer drum;
To all long-legs and moths, thoughtless rogues still at ease,
Old Winter sends greeting—health, friendship, and these.
Whereas, on complaint lodged before me this day,
That for months back, to wit, from the first day of May,
Various insects, pretenders to beauty and birth,
Have, on venturesome wing, lately traversed the earth,
And, mistaking fair Clara’s chaste lips for a rose,
Stung the beauty in public—and frightened her beaux.
And, whereas, on the last sultry evening in June, [1343, 1344]
The said Clara was harmlessly humming a tune;
A blue-bottle, sprung from some dunghill, no doubt,
Buzzed about her so long—he at last put her out.
And whereas sundry haunches and high-seasoned pies,
And a thousand sweet necks have been o’errun with flies;
In his wisdom, Old Winter thinks nothing more fit
Than to publish this friendly ‘memento to quit.’
At your peril, ye long-legs, this notice despise!
Hasten hence, ye vile gad-flies! a word to the wise!
Hornets, horse-stingers, wasps, fly so hostile a land,
Or your death-warrant’s signed by Old Winter’s chill hand.[332]
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Michaelmas Daisy. Aster Tradescanti.
Dedicated to St. Michael and all Angels.
September 30. St. Jerome, Priest, Doctor of the Church, A. D. 420. St. Gregory, Bp. surnamed the Apostle of Armenia, and the Illuminator, 4th Cent. St. Honorius, Abp. of Canterbury, A. D. 653. St. Jerome. This saint is in the church of England calendar and almanacs. Particulars concerning him will be related hereafter; it is sufficient to observe, for the present, that the church of England sets him forth as an authority for reading the Old Testament Apocrypha. Custom at Kidderminster. The annual election of a bailiff at this town, before noticed,[333] is still accompanied by the rude mirth of the populace. The Editor is obliged to a lady for the following communication. To the Editor of the Every-Day Book. Dear Sir, I have just cast my eye upon your definition of the term “costermonger,” and it reminds me of an annual custom at Kidderminster, (my native town,) which you may perhaps think an account of, a fit subject for insertion in the Every-Day Book. The magistrate and other officers of the town are annually elected, and the first Monday after Michaelmas-day is the day of their inauguration, in celebration of which, they each of them cause to be thrown to the populace, (who assemble to the amount of some thousands,) from the windows of their houses, or sometimes from the town-hall, a large quantity of apples, in the whole often amounting, from twenty to thirty pots, (baskets containing five pecks each.) This practice occasions, of course, a kind of prescriptive holiday in the town, and any one having the temerity to refuse his apprentice or servant leave to attend the “apple-throwing,” would most probably have cause to repent such an invasion of right. A rude concourse therefore fills the streets which are the scenes of action; and as a sort of “safety valve,” if I may “compare great things with small,” recourse is had by the crowd to the flinging about of old shoes, cabbage stalks, and almost every accessible kind of missile; till at length the sashes are raised, and the gifts of Pomona begin to shower down upon the heads of the multitude. Woe be to the unlucky wight who may chance to ride through the town during the introductory part of this custom; no sooner does he appear, than a thousand aims are taken at him and his horse, or carriage, and the poor belated rider “sees, or dreams he sees,” (if ignorant of the practice,) the inhabitants of a whole town raised to oppose his single progress, without being able to form the most distant idea of their motive for so doing. At Ludlow there is a custom as ancient and equally foolish, that of pulling a rope, but of this I know nothing except by report. I am, H. M.
FLORAL DIRECTORY. Golden Amaryllis. Amaryllis Aurea.
Dedicated to St. Jerome. [1345, 1346]
|
