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ENGLAND IN THE DAYS OF OLD.

BYGONE ENGLAND,

Social Studies in its Historic Byways and Highways,

By WILLIAM ANDREWS.

“Of interest alike to the antiquary and general reader is ‘Bygone England,’ a book from the able pen of Mr. William Andrews, devoted to the consideration of some of the phases of the social life of this country in the olden time.”—Whitehall Review.

“A very readable and instructive volume.”—The Globe.

“Many are the subjects of interest introduced into this chatty volume.”—Saturday Review.

“There is a large mass of information in this capital volume, and it is so pleasantly put, that many will be tempted to study it. Mr. Andrews has done his work with great skill.”—London Quarterly Review.

“We welcome ‘Bygone England.’ It is another of Mr. Andrews’ meritorious achievements in the path of popularising archæological and old-time information without in any way writing down to an ignoble level.”—The Antiquary.

“A delightful volume for all who love to dive into the origin of social habits and customs, and to penetrate into the byways of history.”—Liverpool Daily Post.

“‘A delightful book,’ is the verdict that the reader will give after a perusal of its pages. Mr. Andrews has presented to us in a very pleasing form some phases of the social life of England in the olden time.”—Publishers’ Circular.

“Some of the chapters are very interesting, and are most useful for those who desire to know the origin and history of some of our daily practices and amusements.”—The World.

“In recommending this book to the general public, we do so, feeling confident that within its pages they will find much that is worth knowing, that they will never find their interest flag, nor their curiosity ungratified.”—Hull Daily News.

THE HOUSE OF COMMONS IN THE TIME OF SIR ROBERT WALPOLE.

England
in the
Days of Old,

by
William Andrews.

LONDON:
WILLIAM ANDREWS & CO., 5, FARRINGDON AVENUE, E.C.
1897.

Preface.

This volume of new studies on old-time themes, chiefly concerning the social and domestic life of England, is sent forth with a hope that it may prove entertaining and instructive. It is a companion work to “Bygone England,” which the critical press and reading public received with a warm welcome on its publication, and thus encouraged me to prepare this and other volumes dealing with the highways and byways of history.

William Andrews.

The Hull Press,
February 14th, 1897.

Contents.

England in the Days of Old.

When Wigs were Worn.

he wig was for a long period extremely popular in old England, and its history is full of interest. At the present time, when the wig is no longer worn by the leaders of fashion, we cannot fully realize the important place it held in bygone times. Professional, as well as fashionable people did not dare to appear in public without their wigs, and they vied with each other in size and style.

EGYPTIAN WIG
(PROBABLY FOR FEMALE),
FROM THE BRITISH MUSEUM.

To trace the origin of the wig our investigations must be carried to far distant times. It was worn in Egypt in remote days, and the Egyptians are said to have invented it, not merely as a covering for baldness, but as a means of adding to the attractiveness of the person wearing it. On the mummies of Egypt wigs are found, and we give a picture of one now in the British Museum. This particular wig probably belonged to a female, and was found near the small temple of Isis, Thebes. “As the Egyptians always shaved their heads,” says Dr. T. Robinson, “they could scarcely devise a better covering than the wig, which, while it protected them from the rays of the sun, allowed, from the texture of the article, the transpiration from the head to escape, which is not the case with the turban.” Dr. Robinson has devoted much study to this subject, and his conclusions merit careful consideration. He also points out that in the examples of Egyptian wigs in the British and Berlin Museums the upper portions are made of curled hair, the plaited hair being confined to the lower part and the sides. On the authority of Wilkinson, says Dr. Robinson, “these wigs were worn both within the house and out of doors. At parties the head-dress of the guests was bound with a chaplet of flowers, and ointment was put upon the top of the wig, as if it had really been the hair of the head.”

We find in Assyrian sculptures representations of the wig, and its use is recorded amongst ancient nations, including Persians, Medes, Lydians, Carians, Greeks, and Romans. Amongst the latter nation galerus, a round cap, was the common name for a wig.

The early fathers of the Church denounced the wig as an invention of the Evil One. St. Gregory of Nazianzus, as a proof of the virtue of his simple sister Gorgonia, said, “she neither cared to curl her own hair, nor to repair its lack of beauty by the aid of a wig.” St. Jerome pronounced these adornments as unworthy of Christianity. The matter received consideration or perhaps, to put it more correctly, condemnation, at many councils, commencing at Constantinople, and coming down to the Provincial Council at Tours. The wig was not tolerated, even if worn as a joke. “There is no joke in the matter,” said the enraged St. Bernard: “the woman who wears a wig commits a mortal sin.” St. John Chrysostom pleaded powerfully against this enormity; and others might be mentioned who spoke with no uncertain sound against this fashion.

Dr. Doran relates a strange story, saying St. Jerome vouches for its authenticity, and by him it was told to deter ladies from wearing wigs. “Prætexta,” to use Doran’s words, “was a very respectable lady, married to a somewhat paganist husband, Hymetius. Their niece, Eustachia, resided with them. At the instigation of the husband Prætexta took the shy Eustachia in hand, attired her in a splendid dress, and covered her fair neck with ringlets. Having enjoyed the sight of the modest maiden so attired, Prætexta went to bed. To that bedside immediately descended an angel, with wrath upon his brow, and billows of angry sounds rolling from his lips. ‘Thou hast,’ said the spirit, ‘obeyed thy husband rather than the Lord, and has dared to deck the hair of a virgin, and made her look like a daughter of earth. For this do I wither up thy hands, and bid them recognize the enormity of thy crime in the amount of thy anguish and bodily suffering. Five months more shalt thou live, and then Hell shall be thy portion; and if thou art bold enough to touch the head of Eustachia again, thy husband and thy children shall die even before thee.’”

Church history furnishes some strange stories against wearing wigs, and the following may be taken as a good example. Clemens of Alexandria, so runs the tale, surprised wig-wearers by telling those that knelt at church to receive the blessing, they must please to bear in mind that the benediction remained on the wig, and did not pass through to the wearer! Some immediately removed their wigs, but others allowed them to remain, no doubt hoping to receive a blessing.

Poetry and history supply many interesting passages bearing on our present investigations. The Lycians having been engaged in war, were defeated. Mausoleus, their conqueror, ruthlessly directed the subdued men to have their heads shaven. This was humiliating in the extreme, and the Lycians were keenly alive to their ridiculous appearance. The king’s general was tempted with bribes, and finally yielded, and allowed wigs to be imported for them from Greece, and thus the symbol of degredation became the pink of Lycian fashion.

Hannibal, the brave soldier, is recorded to have worn two sorts of wigs; one to improve, and the other to disguise his person.

Wigs are said to have been worn in England in the reign of King Stephen, but their palmy days belong to the seventeenth and the earlier part of the eighteenth centuries. Says Stow, they were introduced into this country about the time of the Massacre of Paris, but they are not often alluded to until the reign of Queen Elizabeth. The earliest payment for one in the Privy Purse expenses occurs in December, 1529, and is for twenty shillings “for a perwyke for Sexton, the king’s fool.” Some twenty years later wigs, or, to give the full title, periwigs, became popular.

In France the mania was at its height in the reign of Louis XIV. We are told in 1656 he had not fewer than forty court perruquiers, and these, by an order of Council, were declared artistes. In addition to this, Le Gros instituted at Paris an Académie de France des Perruquiers. Robinson records that a storm was gathering about their heads. He tells us “the celebrated Colbert, amazed at the large sums spent for foreign hair, conceived the idea of prohibiting the wearing of wigs at Court, and tried to introduce a kind of cap.” He lost the day, for it was proved that more money reached the country for wigs than went out to purchase hair. The fashion increased; larger wigs were worn, and some even cost £200 apiece.

Charles II. was the earliest English king represented on the Great Seal wearing a large periwig. Dr. Doran assures us that the king did not bring the fashion to Whitehall. “He forbade,” we are told, “the members of the Universities to wear periwigs, smoke tobacco, or to read their sermons. The members did all three, and Charles soon found himself doing the first two.”

Pepys’ “Diary” contains much interesting information concerning wigs. Under date of 2nd November, 1663, he writes: “I heard the Duke say that he was going to wear a periwig, and says the King also will. I never till this day observed that the King is mighty gray.” It was perhaps the change in the colour of his Majesty’s hair that induced him to assume the head-dress he had previously so strongly condemned.

As might be expected, Pepys, who delighted to be in the fashion, adopted the wig. He took time to consider the matter, and had consultations with Mr. Jervas, his old barber, about the affair. Referring in his “Diary” to one of his visits to his hairdresser, Pepys says “I did try two or three borders and periwigs, meaning to wear one, and yet I have no stomach for it; but that the pains of keeping my hair clean is great. He trimmed me, and at last I parted, but my mind was almost altered from my first purpose, from the trouble which I forsee in wearing them also.” Weeks passed before he could make up his mind to wear a wig. Mrs. Pepys was taken to the periwig-maker’s shop to see the one made for Mr. Pepys, and expressed her satisfaction on seeing it. We read in April, 1665, of the wig being at Jervas’ under repair. Early in May, Pepys writes in his “Diary,” he suffered his hair to grow long, in order to wear it, but he said “I will have it cut off all short again, and will keep to periwigs.” Later, under date of September 3rd, he writes: “Lord’s day. Up; and put on my coloured silk suit, very fine, and my new periwig, bought a good while since, but durst not wear, because the plague was in Westminster when I bought it; and it is a wonder what will be in fashion, after the plague is done, as to periwigs, for nobody will dare to buy any hair, for fear of the infection, that it had been cut off the heads of people dead of the plague.”

We learn from an entry in the “Diary” for June 11th, 1666, that ladies in addition to assuming masculine costume for riding, wore long wigs. “Walking in the galleries at Whitehall,” observes Mr. Pepys, “I find the ladies of honour dressed in their riding garbs, with coats and doublets with deep skirts, just for all the world like mine, and buttoned their doublets up the breast, with periwigs and with hats, so that, only for long petticoats dragging under their men’s coats, nobody could take them for women in any point whatever.”

Pepys, we have seen, wondered if periwigs would survive after the terrible plague. He thought not, but he was mistaken. Wigs still remained popular. The plague passed away, and its terrors were forgotten. The world of folly went on much as of yore, perhaps with greater gaiety, as a reaction to the lengthened time of depression.

In some instances the wig appears much out of place, and a notable example is that given in the portrait by Kneller, of George, Earl of Albemarle. He is dressed in armour, and wearing a long flowing wig. Anything more absurd could scarcely be conceived.

THE EARL OF ALBEMARLE.

The beau of the period when the wig was popular carried in his pocket beautifully made combs, and in his box at the play, or in other places, combed his periwig, and rendered himself irresistible to the ladies. Making love seems to have been the chief aim of his life. Sir John Hawkins, in his “History of Music,” published in 1776, has an informing note on combing customs. “On the Mall and in the theatre,” he tells us, “gentlemen conversed and combed their perukes. There is now in being a fine picture by the elder Laroon of John, Duke of Marlborough, at his levée, in which his Grace is represented dressed in a scarlet suit, with large white satin cuffs, and a very long white peruke which he combs, while his valet, who stands behind him, adjusts the curls after the comb has passed through them.” Allusions to the practice may be found in the plays from the reign of Charles II. down to the days of Queen Anne. We read in Dryden’s prologue to “Almanzor and Almahide”—

“But as when vizard mask appears in pit,
Straight every man who thinks himself a wit
Perks up, and, managing a comb with grace,
With his white wig sets off his nut-brown face.”

Says Congreve, in the “Way of the World”:—

“The gentlemen stay but to comb, madam, and will wait on you.”

Thomas Brown, in his “Letters from the Dead to the Living” presents a pen portrait of beaux, as they appeared at the commencement of the eighteenth century. Some of the passages are well worth reproducing, as they contain valuable information concerning wigs. “We met,” says the writer, “three flaming beaux of the first magnitude. He in the middle made a most magnificent figure—his periwig was large enough to have loaded a camel, and he bestowed upon it at least a bushel of powder, I warrant you. His sword-knot dangled upon the ground, and his steinkirk, that was most agreeably discoloured with snuff from the top to the bottom, reach’d down to his waist; he carry’d his hat under his left arm, walk’d with both hands in the waistband of his breeches, and his cane, that hung negligently down in a string from his right arm, trail’d most harmoniously against the pebbles, while the master of it was tripping it nicely upon his toes, or humming to himself.” Down to the middle of the eighteenth century, wigs continued to increase in size.

It will not now be without interest to direct attention to a few of the many styles of wigs.

CAMPAIGN-WIG.

Randle Holme, in his “Academy of Armory,” published in 1684, has some interesting illustrations, and we will draw upon him for a couple of pictures. Our first example is called the campaign-wig. He says it “hath knots or bobs, or dildo, on each side, with a curled forehead.” This is not so cumbrous as the periwig we have noticed.

PERIWIG WITH TAIL.

Another example from Holme is a smaller style of periwig with tail, and from this wig doubtless originated the familiar pig-tail. It was of various forms, and Swift says:—

“We who wear our wigs
With fantail and with snake.”

A third example given by Holme is named the “short-bob,” and is a plain peruke, imitating a natural head of hair. “Perukes,” says Malcolm, in his “Manners and Customs,” “were an highly important article in 1734. Those of right gray human hair were four guineas each; light grizzle ties, three guineas; and other colours in proportion, to twenty-five shillings. Right gray human hair, cue perukes, from two guineas; white, fifteen shillings each, which was the price of dark ones; and right gray bob perukes, two guineas and a half; fifteen shillings was the price of dark bobs. Those mixed with horsehair were much lower. It will be observed, from the gradations in price, that real gray hair was most in fashion, and dark of no estimation.” As time ran its course, wigs became more varied in form, and bore different names.

RAMILLIE-WIG.

We find in the days of Queen Anne such designations as black riding-wigs, bag-wigs, and nightcap-wigs. These were in addition to the long, formally curled perukes. In 1706, the English, led by Marlborough, gained a great victory on the battlefield of Ramillies, and that gave the title to a long wig described as “having a long, gradually diminishing, plaited tail, called the ‘Ramillie-tail,’ which was tied with a great bow at the top, and a smaller one at the bottom.” It is stated in Read’s Weekly Journal of May 1st, 1736, in a report of the marriage of the Prince of Wales, that “the officers of the Horse and Foot Guards wore Ramillie periwigs by his Majesty’s order.” We meet in the reign of George II. other forms of the wig, and more titles for them; the most popular, perhaps, was the pigtail-wig. The pig-tails were worn hanging down the back, or tied up in a knot behind, as shown in our illustration. This form of wig was popular in the army, but in 1804, orders were given for it to be reduced to seven inches in length, and finally, in 1808, to be cut off.

THE PIG-TAIL WIG.

BAG-WIG.

Here is a picture of an ordinary man; by no means can he be regarded as a beau. He is wearing a common bag-wig, dating back to about the middle of the eighteenth century. The style is modified to suit an individual taste, and for one who did not follow the extreme fashion of his time. In this example may be observed the sausage curls over the ear, and the frizziness over the forehead.

We have directed attention to the large periwigs, and given a portrait of the Earl of Albemarle wearing one. In the picture of the House of Commons in the time of Sir Robert Walpole we get an excellent indication of how popular the periwig was amongst the law-makers of the land. Farquhar, in a comedy called “Love and a Bottle,” brought out in 1698, says, “a full wig is imagined to be as infallible a token of wit as the laurel.”

Tillotson is usually regarded as the first amongst the English clergy to adopt the wig. He said in one of his sermons: “I can remember since the wearing of 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.” Dr. Tillotson died on November 24th, 1694.

Wigs found favour with parsons, and in course of time they appear to have been indispensable. A volume in 1765, was issued under the title of “Free Advice to a Young Clergyman,” from the pen of the Rev. John Chubbe, in which he recommended the young preacher to always wear a full wig until age had made his own hair respectable. Dr. Randolph, on his advancement to the bishopric, presumed to wait upon George IV. to kiss hands without wearing a wig. This could not be overlooked by the king, and he said, “My lord, you must have a wig.” Bishops wore wigs until the days of William IV. Bishop Blomfield is said to have been the first bishop to set the example of wearing his own hair. Even as late as 1858, at the marriage of the Princess Royal of England, Archbishop Sumner appeared in his wig.

ARCHBISHOP TILLOTSON.

Medical men kept up the custom of wearing wigs for a long period; perhaps they felt like a character in Fielding’s farce, “The Mock Doctor,” who exclaims, “I must have a physician’s habit, for a physician can no more prescribe without a full wig than without a fee.” The wig known as the full-bottomed wig was worn by the medical profession:—

“Physic of old her entry made
Beneath the immense, full-bottom’d shade;
While the gilt cane, with solemn pride
To each suspicious nose applied,
Seemed but a necessary prop
To bear the weight of wig at top.”

We are told Dr. Delmahoy’s wig was particularly celebrated in a song which commenced:

“If you would see a noble wig,
And in that wig a man look big,
To Ludgate Hill repair, my boy,
And gaze on Dr. Delmahoy.”

In the middle of the last century so much importance was attached to this portion of a medical man’s costume, that Dr. Brocklesby’s barber was in the habit of carrying a bandbox through the High Change, exclaiming: Make way for Dr. Brocklesby’s wig!

Professional wigs are now confined to the Speaker in the House of Commons, who, when in the chair, wears a full-bottomed one, and to judges and barristers. Such wigs are made of horsehair, cleaned and curled with care, and woven on silk threads, and shaped to fit the head with exactness. The cost of a barrister’s wig of frizzed hair is from five to six guineas.

An eminent counsel in years agone wished to make a motion before Judge Cockburn, and in his hurry appeared without a wig. “I hear your voice,” sternly said his Lordship, “but I cannot see you.” The barrister had to obtain the loan of a wig from a learned friend before the judge would listen to him.

Lord Eldon suffered much from headache, and when he was raised to the peerage he petitioned the King to allow him to dispense with the wig. He was refused; his Majesty saying he could not permit such an innovation. In vain did his Lordship show that the wig was an innovation, as the old judges did not wear them. “True,” said the King; “the old judges wore beards.”

In more recent times we have particulars of several instances of both bench and bar discarding the use of the wig. At the Summer Assizes at Lancaster, in 1819, a barrister named Mr. Scarlett hurried into court, and was permitted to take part in a trial without his wig and gown. Next day the whole of the members of the bar appeared without their professional badges, but only on this occasion, although on the previous day a hope had been expressed that the time was not far distant when the mummeries of costume would be entirely discarded.

We learn from a report in the Times of July 24th, 1868, that on account of the unprecedented heat of the weather on the day before in the Court of Probate and Divorce the learned judge and bar appeared without wigs.

On July 22nd, 1874, it is recorded that Dr. Kenealy rose to open the case for the defence in the Tichborne suit; he sought and obtained permission, to remove his wig on account of the excessive heat.

Towards the close of the last century few were the young men at the Universities who ventured to wear their own hair, and such as did were designated Apollos.

Women, as well as men, called into requisition, to add to their charms, artificial accessories in the form of wigs and curls. Ladies’ hair was curled and frizzed with considerable care, and frequently false curls were worn under the name of heart-breakers. It will be seen from the illustration we give that these curls increased the beauty of a pretty face.

HEART-BREAKERS.

Queen Elizabeth, we gather from Hentzner and other authorities, wore false hair. We are told that ladies, in compliment to her, dyed their hair a sandy hue, the natural colour of the Queen’s locks.

A BARBER’S SHOP IN THE TIME OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.

We present a picture of a barber’s shop in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. It looks more like the home of a magician than the workshop of a hairdresser, although we see the barber thoughtfully employed on a wig. The barber at this period was an important man. A few of his duties consisted in dressing wigs, using the razor, cutting hair, starching beards, curling moustachios, tying up love-locks, dressing sword-wounds received in street frays, and the last, and by no means the least, of his varied functions was that of receiver and circulator of news and scandal.

It is recorded that Mary Queen of Scots obtained wigs from Edinburgh not merely while in Scotland, but during her long and weary captivity in England. From “The True Report of the Last Moments of Mary Stuart,” it appears, when the executioner lifted the head by the hair to show it to the spectators, it fell from his hands owing to the hair being false.

We have previously mentioned Pepys’ allusions to women and wigs in 1666. Coming down to later times, we read in the Whitehall Evening Post of August 17th, 1727, that when the King, George II., reviewed the Guards, the three eldest Princesses “went to Richmond in riding habits, with hats, and feathers, and periwigs.”

It will be seen from the picture of a person with and without a wig that its use made a plain face presentable. There is a good election story of Daniel O’Connell. It is related during a fierce debate on the hustings, O’Connell with his biting, witty tongue attacked his opponent on account of his ill-favoured countenance. But, not to be outdone, and thinking to turn the gathering against O’Connell, his adversary called out, “Take off your wig, and I’ll warrant that you’ll prove the uglier.” The witty Irishman immediately responded, amidst roars of laughter from the crowd, by snatching the wig from off his own head and exposing to view a bald plate, destitute of a single hair. The relative question of beauty was scarcely settled by this amusing rejoinder, but the laugh was certainly on O’Connell’s side.

WITH AND WITHOUT A WIG.

An interesting tale is told of Peter the Great of Russia. In the year 1716, the famous Emperor was at Dantzig, taking part in a public ceremony, and feeling his head somewhat cold, he stretched out his hand, and seizing the wig from the head of the burgomaster sitting below him, he placed it on his own regal head. The surprise of the spectators may be better imagined than described. On the Czar returning the wig, his attendants explained that his Majesty was in the habit of borrowing the wig of any nobleman within reach on similar occasions. His Majesty, it may be added, was short of hair.

STEALING A WIG.

In the palmy days of wigs the price of a full wig of an English gentleman was from thirty to forty guineas. Street quarrels in the olden time were by no means uncommon; care had to be exercised that wigs were not lost. Says Swift:—

“Triumphing Tories and desponding Whigs,
Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs.”

Although precautions were taken to prevent wigs being stolen, we are told that robberies were frequently committed. Sam Rogers thus describes a successful mode of operation: “A boy was carried covered over in a butcher’s tray by a tall man, and the wig was twisted off in a moment by the boy. The bewildered owner looked all around for it, when an accomplice impeded his progress under the pretence of assisting him while the tray-bearer made off.”

Gay, in his “Trivia,” thus writes:—

“Nor is the flaxen wig with safety worn:
High on the shoulders in a basket borne
Lurks the sly boy, whose hand, to rapine bred,
Plucks off the curling honours of thy head.”

We will bring our gossip about wigs to a close with an account of the Peruke Riot. On February 11th, 1765, a curious spectacle was witnessed in the streets of London, and one that caused some amusement. Fashion had changed; the peruke was no longer in favour, and only worn to a limited extent. A large number of peruke-makers were thrown out of employment, and distress prevailed amongst them. The sufferers thought that help might be obtained from George III., and a petition was accordingly drawn up for the enforcement of gentlefolk wearing wigs for the benefit of the wig-makers. A procession was formed, and waited upon the King at St. James’s Palace. His Majesty, we are told, returned a gracious answer, but it must have cost him considerable effort to have maintained his gravity.

Besides the monarch, the unemployed had to encounter the men of the metropolis, and from a report of the period we learn they did not fare so well. “As the distressed men went processionally through the town,” says the account, “it was observed that most of the wig-makers, who wanted other people to wear them, wore no wigs themselves; and this striking the London mob as something monstrously unfair and inconsistent, they seized the petitioners, and cut off all their hair per force.”

Horace Walpole alludes to this ludicrous petition in one of his letters. “Should we wonder,” he writes, “if carpenters were to remonstrate that since the Peace there is no demand for wooden legs?” The wags of the day could not allow the opportunity to pass without attempting to provoke more mirth out of the matter, and a petition was published purporting to come from the body carpenters imploring his Majesty to wear a wooden leg, and to enjoin his servants to appear in his royal presence with the same graceful decoration.

Powdering the Hair.

In the olden days hair-powder was largely used in this country, and many circumstances connected with its history are curious and interesting. We learn from Josephus that the Jews used hair-powder, and from the East it was no doubt imported into Rome. The history of the luxurious days of the later Roman Empire supplies some strange stories. At this period gold-dust was employed by several of the emperors. “The hair of Commodus,” it is stated on the authority of Herodian, “glittered from its natural whiteness, and from the quantity of essences and gold-dust with which it was loaded, so that when the sun was shining it might have been thought that his head was on fire.”

It is supposed, and not without a good show of reason, that the Saxons used coloured hair-powder, or perhaps they dyed their hair. In Saxon pictures the beard and hair are often painted blue. Strutt supplies interesting notes on the subject. “In some instances,” he says, “which, indeed, are not so common, the hair is represented of a bright red colour, and in others it is of a green and orange hue. I have no doubt existing in my own mind, that arts of some kind were practised at this period to colour the hair; but whether it was done by tingeing or dyeing it with liquids prepared for that purpose according to the ancient Eastern custom, or by powders of different hues cast into it, agreeably to the modern practice, I shall not presume to determine.”

It was customary among the Gauls to wash the hair with a lixivium made of chalk in order to increase its redness. The same custom was maintained in England for a long period, and was not given up until after the reign of Elizabeth. The sandy-coloured hair of the queen greatly increased the popularity of the practice.

The satirists have many allusions to this subject, more especially those of the reigns of James and Charles I. In a series of epigrams entitled “Wit’s Recreations,” 1640, the following appears under the heading of “Our Monsieur Powder-wig”:—

“Oh, doe but marke yon crisped sir, you meet!
How like a pageant he doth walk the street!
See how his perfumed head is powdered ore;
’Twou’d stink else, for it wanted salt before.”

In “Musarum Deliciæ,” 1655, we read:—

“At the devill’s shopps you buy
A dresse of powdered hayre,
On which your feathers flaunt and fly;
But i’de wish you have a care,
Lest Lucifer’s selfe, who is not prouder,
Do one day dresse up your haire with a powder.”

From the pen of R. Younge, in 1656, appeared, “The Impartial Monitor.” The author closes with a tirade against female follies in these words:—“It were a good deed to tell men also of mealing their heads and shoulders, of wearing fardingales about their legs, etc.; for these likewise deserve the rod, since all that are discreet do but hate and scorn them for it.” A “Loyal Litany” against the Oliverians runs thus:—

“From a king-killing saint,
Patch, powder, and paint,
Libera nos, Domine.”

Massinger, in the “City Madam,” printed in 1679, describing the dress of a rich merchant’s wife, mentions powder thus:—

“Since your husband was knighted, as I said,
The reverend hood cast off, your borrowed hair
Powdered and curled, was by your dresser’s art,
Formed like a coronet, hanged with diamonds
And richest orient pearls.”

John Gay, in his poem, “Trivia, or the Art of Walking the Streets of London,” published in 1716, advises in passing a coxcomb,—

“Him like the Miller, pass with caution by,
Lest from his shoulder clouds of powder fly.”

We learn from the “Annals of the Barber-Surgeons” some particulars respecting the taxing of powder. On 8th August, 1751, “Mr. John Brooks,” it is stated, “attended and produced a deed to which he requested the subscription of the Court; this deed recited that by an Act of Parliament passed in the tenth year of Queen Anne, it was enacted that a duty of twopence per pound should be laid upon all starch imported, and of a penny per pound upon all starch made in Great Britain, that no perfumer, barber, or seller of hair-powder should mix any powder of alabaster, plaster of Paris, whiting, lime, etc. (sweet scents excepted), with any starch to be made use of for making hair-powder, under a pain of forfeiting the hair-powder and £50, and that any person who should expose the same for sale should forfeit it and £20.” Other details were given in the deed, and the Barber-Surgeons gave it their support, and promised twenty guineas towards the cost of passing the Bill through Parliament.

A few years prior to the above proceeding we gather from the Gentleman’s Magazine particulars of some convictions for using powder not made in accordance with the laws of the land. “On the 20th October, 1745,” it is recorded, “fifty-one barbers were convicted before the commissioners of excise, and fined in the penalty of £20, for having in their custody hair-powder not made of starch, contrary to Act of Parliament: and on the 27th of the same month, forty-nine other barbers were convicted of the same offence, and fined in the like penalty.”

Before powder was used, the hair was generally greased with pomade, and powdering operations were attended with some trouble. In houses of any pretension was a small room set apart for the purpose, and it was known as “the powdering-room.” Here were fixed two curtains, and the person went behind, exposing the head only, which received its proper supply of powder without any going on the clothes of the individual dressed.

In the Rambler, No. 109, under date 1751, a young gentleman writes that his mother would rather follow him to his grave than see him sneak about with dirty shoes and blotted fingers, hair unpowdered, and a hat uncocked.

We have seen that hair-powder was taxed, and on the 5th of May, 1795, an Act of Parliament was passed taxing persons using it. Pitt was in power, and being sorely in need of money, hit upon the plan of a tax of a guinea per head on those who used hair-powder. He was prepared to meet much ridicule by this movement, but he saw that it would yield a considerable revenue, estimating it as much as £200,000 a year. Fox, with force, said that a fiscal arrangement dependent on a capricious fashion must be regarded as an absurdity, but the Opposition were unable to defeat the proposal, and the Act was passed. Pitt’s powerful rival, Charles James Fox, in his early manhood, was one of the most fashionable men about town. Here are a few particulars of his “get up” about 1770, drawn from the Monthly Magazine: “He had his chapeau-bas, his red-heeled shoes, and his blue hair-powder.” Later, when Pitt’s tax was gathered, like other Whigs he refused to use hair-powder. For more than a quarter of a century it had been customary for men to wear their hair long, tied in a pig-tail and powdered. Pitt’s measure gave rise to a number of Crop Clubs. The Times for April 14th, 1795, contains particulars of one. “A numerous club,” says the paragraph, “has been formed in Lambeth, called the Crop Club, every member of which, on his entrance, is obliged to have his head docked as close as the Duke of Bridgewater’s old bay coach-horses. This assemblage is instituted for the purpose of opposing, or rather evading, the tax on powdered heads.” Hair cropping was by no means confined to the humbler ranks of society. The Times of April 25th, 1795, reports that:—“The following noblemen and gentlemen were at the party with the Duke of Bedford, at Woburn Abbey, when a general cropping and combing out of hair-powder took place: Lord W. Russell, Lord Villiers, Lord Paget, &c., &c. They entered into an engagement to forfeit a sum of money if any of them wore their hair tied, or powdered, within a certain period. Many noblemen and gentlemen in the county of Bedford have since followed the example: it has become general with the gentry in Hampshire, and the ladies have left off wearing powder.” Hair-powder did not long continue in use in the army, for in 1799 it was abolished on account of the high price of flour, caused through the bad harvests. Using flour for the hair instead of for food was an old grievance among the poor. In the “Art of Dressing the Hair,” 1770, the author complains:—

“Their hoarded grain contractors spare,
And starve the poor to beautify the hair.”

Pitt’s estimates proved correct, for in the first year the tax produced £210,136. The tax was increased from a guinea to one pound three shillings and sixpence. Pitt’s Tory friends gave him loyal support. The Whigs might taunt them by calling them “guinea-pigs,” it mattered little, for they were not merely ready to pay the tax for themselves but to pay patriotic guineas for their servants. A number of persons were exempt from paying the tax, including “the royal family and their servants, the clergy with an income of under £100 per annum, subalterns, non-commissioned officers and privates in the army and navy, and all officers and privates of the yeomanry and volunteers enrolled during the past year. A father having more than two unmarried daughters might obtain on payment for two, a license for the remainder.” A gentlemen took out a license for his butler, coachman, and footman, etc., and if he changed during the year it stood good for the newly engaged servants.

Powder was not wholly set aside by ladies until 1793, when with consideration Queen Charlotte abandoned its use, swayed no doubt by her desire to cheapen, in that time of dearth, the flour of which it was made. It has been said its disuse was attributable to Sir Joshua Reynolds, Angelica Kauffmann, and other painters of their day, but it is much more likely that the artists painted the hair “full and flowing” because they found it so, not that they as a class dictated to their patronesses in despite of fashion. The French Revolution had somewhat to do with the change, a powdered head or wig was a token of aristocracy, and as the fashion might lead to the guillotine, sensible people discarded it long before the English legislature put a tax upon its use.

With reference to this Sir Walter Scott says in the fifth chapter of “The Antiquary”:—“Regular were the Antiquary’s inquiries at an old-fashioned barber, who dressed the only three wigs in the parish, which, in defiance of taxes and times, were still subjected to the operation of powdering and frizzling, and who for that purpose divided his time among the three employers whom fashion had yet left him.”

“Fly with this letter, Caxon,” said the senior (the Antiquary), holding out his missive, “fly to Knockwinnock, and bring me back an answer. Go as fast as if the town council were met and waiting for the provost, and the provost was waiting for his new powdered wig.” “Ah, sir,” answered the messenger, with a deep sigh, “thae days hae lang gane by. Deil a wig has a provost of Fairport worn sin’ auld Provost Jervie’s time—and he had a quean of a servant-lass that dressed it hersel’, wi’ the doup o’ a candle and a dredging box. But I hae seen the day, Monkbarns, when the town council of Fairport wad hae as soon wanted their town-clerk, or their gill of brandy ower-head after the haddies, as they wad hae wanted ilk ane a weel-favoured, sonsy, decent periwig on his pow. Hegh, sirs! nae wonder the commons will be discontent, and rise against the law, when they see magistrates, and bailies, and deacons, and the provost himsel’, wi’ heads as bald an’ as bare as one o’ my blocks.”

It was not in Scotland alone that the barber was peripatetic. “In the last century,” says Mrs. G. Linnæus Banks, author of the “Manchester Man” and other popular novels, “he waited on his chief customers or patrons at their own homes, not merely to shave, but to powder the hair or the wig, and he had to start on his round betimes. Where the patron was the owner of a spare periwig it might be dressed in advance, and sent home in a box, or mounted on a stand, such as a barrister keeps handy at the present day. But when ladies had powdered top-knots, the hairdresser made his harvest, especially when a ball or a rout made the calls for his services many and imperative. When at least a couple of hours were required for the arrangement of a single toupée or tower, or commode, as the head-dress was called, it may well be understood that for two or three days prior to the ball the hairdresser was in demand, and as it was impossible to lie down without disarranging the structure he had raised on pads, or framework of wire, plastering with pomatum and disguising with powder, the belles so adorned or disfigured were compelled to sit up night and day, catching what sleep was possible in a chair. And when I add that a head so dressed was rarely disturbed for ten days or a fortnight, it needs no stretch of imagination to realize what a mass of loathsome nastiness the fine ladies of the last century carried about with them, or what strong stomachs the barbers must have had to deal with them.”

The Tories often regarded with mistrust any persons who did not use hair-powder. The Rev. J. Charles Cox, LL.D., F.S.A., the eminent antiquary, relates a good story respecting his grandfather. “So late as 1820,” says Dr. Cox, “Major Cox of Derby, an excellent Tory, declined for some time to allow his son Edward to become a pupil of a well-known clerical tutor, for the sole reason that the clergyman did not powder, and wore his hair short, arguing that he must therefore, be a dangerous revolutionist.”

In 1869 the tax on hair-powder was repealed, when only some 800 persons paid it, producing about £1,000 per year.

Men wearing Muffs.

The muff in bygone times was worn by men as well as women. Several writers state that it was introduced into England in the reign of Charles II., but this is not correct, for, although it is not of great antiquity, it can certainly be traced back to a much earlier period. Most probably it reached us from France, and when it came into fashion it was small in size.

The earliest representation of a muff that has come under our notice occurs in a drawing by Gaspar Rutz (1598) of an English lady, and she wears it pendant from her girdle. A few years later in the wardrobe accounts of Prince Henry of Wales, a charge is made for embroidering two muffs. The entries occur in 1608, and are as follow:—“One of cloth of silver, embroidered with purles, plates, and Venice twists of silver and gold; the other of black satten, embroidered with black silk and bugles, viz., for one £7, the other 60s.” Muffs were usually ornamented with bunches of gay ribbons, or some other decorations, and were generally hung round the neck with ribbons.

Several poems and plays of the olden time contain references to men using muffs. One of the earliest, if not the first, to mention a man wearing a muff, occurs in an epistle by Samuel Rowlands, written about 1600. It is as follows:—

“Behold a most accomplished cavalier
That the world’s ape of fashion doth appear,
Walking the streets his humour to disclose,
In the French doublet and the German hose.
The muffes, cloak, Spanish hat, Toledo blade,
Italian ruff, a shoe right Spanish made.”

A ballad, describing the frost fair on the Thames in the winter of 1683-4, mentions amongst those present:—

“A spark of the Bar with his cane and his muff.”

In course of time the muff was increased in size, until it was very large. Dryden, in the epilogue of “The Husband his own Cuckstool,” 1696, refers to the monstrous muff worn by the beau.

Pepys made a point of being in fashion, but in respect to the muff he was most economical. He says he took his wife’s last year’s muff, and it is pleasing to record that he gallantly bought her a new one.

MAN WITH MUFF, 1693.
(From a Print of the Period.)

Professional men did not neglect to add to their dignity by the use of the muff. In addition to the gold-headed cane, the doctor carried a muff. An old book called “The Mother-in-law,” includes a character who is advised by his friends to become a physician. Says one to him: “’Tis but putting on the doctor’s gown and cap, and you’ll have more knowledge in an instant than you’ll know what to do withal.” Observes another friend: “Besides, sir, if you had no other qualification than that muff of yours, twould go a great way. A muff is more than half in the making of a doctor.” Cibble tells Nightshade in Cumberland’s “Cholerick Man,” 1775, to “Tuck your hands in your muff and never open your lips for the rest of the afternoon; ’twill gain you respect in every house you enter.” Alexander Wedderburn, before being called to the English Bar in 1757, had practised as an advocate in his native city, Edinburgh. In his references to his early days, there is an allusion to the muff, showing that its use must have been by no means uncommon in Scotland in the middle of the eighteenth century. “Knowing my countrymen at that time,” he tells us, “I was at great pains to study and assume a very grave, solemn deportment for a young man, which my marked features, notwithstanding my small stature, would render more imposing. Men then wore in winter small muffs, and I flatter myself that, as I paced to the Parliament House, no man of fifty could look more thoughtful or steady. My first client was a citizen whom I did not know. He called upon me in the course of a cause, and becoming familiar with him, I asked him ‘how he came to employ me?’ The answer was: ‘Why, I had noticed you in the High Street, going to the court, the most punctual of any, as the clock struck nine, and you looked so grave and business-like, that I resolved from your appearance to have you for my advocate.’” More instances of the muff amongst professional men might be cited, but the foregoing are sufficient to indicate the value set upon it by this class.

Towards the end of the seventeenth century it was customary to carry in the muff small dogs known as “muff dogs,” and Hollar made a picture of one of these little animals.

A tale is told of the eccentric head of one of the colleges at Oxford, who had a great aversion to the undergraduates wearing long hair, that on one occasion he reduced the length of a young man’s hair by means of a bread-knife. It is stated that he carried concealed in his muff a pair of scissors, and with these he slyly cut off offending locks.

Both the Tatler and the Spectator include notices of the muff. In No. 153 of the Tatler, 1710, is a description of a poor but doubtless a proud person with a muff. “I saw,” it is stated, “he was reduced to extreme poverty, by certain shabby superfluities in his dress, for—notwithstanding that it was a very sultry day for the time of the year—he wore a loose great coat and a muff. Here we see poverty trying to imitate prosperity.” There are at least three allusions to the muff in the pages of the Spectator. We find in the issue for March 19th, 1711, a correspondent desires Addison to be “very satyrical upon the little muff” that was then fashionable amongst men.

A satirical print was published in 1756, at the Gold Acorn Tavern, facing Hungerford Market, London, called the “Beau Admiral.” It represents Admiral Byng carrying a large muff. He had been sent to relieve Minorca, besieged by the French, and after a futile action withdrew his ships, declaring that the ministry had not furnished him with a sufficient fleet to successfully fight the enemy. This action made the ministry furious, and Byng was brought before a court martial, and early in 1757 he was, according to sentence, shot at Portsmouth.

In America muffs were popular with both men and women. Old newspapers contain references to them. The following advertisement is drawn from the Boston News Letter of March 5th, 1715:—

“Any man that took up a Man’s Muff drop’t on the Lord’s Day between the Old Meeting House & the South, are desired to bring it to the Printer’s Office, and shall be rewarded.”

Mrs. Alice Morse Earle, in her “Costume of Colonial Times” (New York: 1894), gives other instances of men’s muffs being missing, “In 1725,” says Mrs. Earle, “Dr. Prince lost his ‘black bear-skin muff,’ and in 1740 a sable-skin man’s muff was advertised.” It is clear from Mrs. Earle’s investigations that the beaux of New England followed closely the lead of the dandies of Old England. “I can easily fancy,” she says, “the mincing face of Horace Walpole peering out of a carriage window or a sedan-chair, with his hands and his wrists thrust in a great muff; but when I look at the severe and ascetic countenance in the portrait of Thomas Prince, I find it hard to think of him, walking solemnly along Boston streets, carrying his big bear-skin muff.” Other Bostonians, we are told, maintained the fashion until a much later period. Judge Dana employed it even after Revolutionary times. In 1783, in the will of René Hett, of New York, several muffs are mentioned, and were considered of sufficient account to form bequests.

The puritans of New England had little regard for warmth in their places of worship, and it is not surprising that men wore muffs. People were obliged to attend the services of the church unless they were sick, yet little attempt was made to render the places comfortable.

The first stove introduced into a meeting-house in Massachusetts was at Boston in 1773. In 1793 two stoves were placed in the Friends’ meeting-house, Salem, and in 1809 one was erected in the North Church, Salem. Persons are still living in the United States who can remember the knocking of feet on a cold day towards the close of a long sermon. The preachers would ask for a little patience and promise to close their discourses.

Concerning Corporation Customs.

The history of old English Municipal Corporations contains some quaint and interesting information respecting the laws, customs, and every-day life of our forefathers. The institution of corporate towns dates back to a remote period, and in this country we had our corporations before the Norman Conquest. The Norman kings frequently granted charters for the incorporation of towns, and an example is the grant of a charter to London by Henry I. in the year 1101.

For more than a century and a half no person was permitted to hold office in a municipal corporation unless he had previously taken sacrament according to the rites of the Established Church. The act regulating this matter was known as the Test Act, which remained in force from the days of Charles II. to those of George IV. It was repealed on the 9th May, 1828. In the latter reign, in 1835, was passed the Municipal Reform Act, which greatly changed the constitution of many corporate towns and boroughs. It is not, however, so much the laws as local customs to which we wish to direct attention.

The mace as a weapon may be traced back to a remote period, and was a staff about five feet in length with a metal head usually spiked. Maces were used by the heavy cavalry in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, but went out of use in England in the reign of Elizabeth. It is not clear when the ornamental maces came to be regarded as an ensign of authority. Their first use may be traced back to the twelfth century. At that period and later spikeless maces were carried by the guards attending princes, as a convenient weapon to protect them against the sudden attacks of the assassin. Happily their need passed away, and as a symbol of rank only they have remained. In civic processions the mace is usually borne before the mayor, and when the sovereign visits a corporate town it is customary for the mayor to bear the mace before the monarch. We learn from history that when Princess Margaret was on her way to Scotland in 1503 to be united in marriage to James IV., as she passed through the city of York the Lord Mayor shouldered the mace and carried it before her. The mace was formerly borne before the mayoress of Southampton when she went out in state. A singular custom connected with the mace obtained at Leicester. It was customary for the newly-elected mayor to proceed to the castle, and in accordance with a charter granted by James I., take an oath before the steward of the Duchy of Lancaster, “to perform faithfully and well all and every ancient custom, and so forth according to the best of his knowledge.” On arrival at a certain place within the precincts of the stronghold the mayor had the great mace lowered from an upright position as a token of acknowledgment to the ancient feudal earls within their castle. In 1766 Mr. Fisher, a Jacobite, was elected mayor, and like others of his class was ever ready when opportunity offered to show his aversion to the reigning dynasty. He purposely omitted the ceremony of lowering the mace. When the servant of the mayor refused to “slope the mace,” the Constable of the castle or his deputy refused to admit the mayor. The ceremony was discontinued after this occurrence, and the mayor went in private to take the oath.

THE LORD MAYOR OF YORK ESCORTING PRINCESS MARGARET.

The following ordinances were in force at Kingston-upon-Hull about 1450, and point their own moral.

“No Mayor should debase his honourable office by selling (during his Mayoralty) ale or wine in his house.”

“Whenever the Mayor appeared in public he should have a sword carried before him, and his officers should constantly attend him; also he should cause everything to be done for the honour of the town, and should not hold his office for two years together.”

“No Aldermen should keep ale-houses or taverns, nor absent themselves from the town’s business, nor discover what is said in their councils, under heavy penalties.”

An entry in the annals of Hull in 1549 states that three of the former sheriffs of the town, named respectively Johnson, Jebson, and Thorp, were fined £6 13s. 4d. each “for being deficient in the elegance of their entertainments, for neglecting to wear scarlet gowns, and for not providing the same for their wives during their shrievalties.” Ten years later a Mr. Gregory was chosen sheriff, and he refused to accept the office. The matter was referred to the Queen in Council, and he was ordered to be fined £100, to be disfranchised and turned out of the town. We are told that the order was executed.

We gather from the ancient records of Canterbury that, in 1544, it was decided “that during winter every dark-night the aldermen, common council, and inn-holders are to find one candle, with light, at their doors, and the other inhabitants are to do in like fashion upon request, and if any lantern be stolen, the offender shall be set in the pillory at the mayor’s discretion; the candles are to be lighted at six, and continued until burnt out.”

In 1549 the sheriff of Canterbury paid a fine of three shillings and fourpence for wearing his beard.

Another quaint item in the Canterbury records under the year 1556 is an order directing the mayor every year before Christmas to provide for the mayoress, his wife, to wear one scarlet gown, and a bonnet of velvet. If the mayor failed to procure the foregoing he was liable to a fine of £10.

BURYING THE MACE AT NOTTINGHAM.

At Nottingham the new mayor took office on the 29th September each year. The outgoing mayor and other members of the corporation marched in procession to St. Mary’s Church. At the conclusion of divine service all retired to the vestry, and the retiring mayor occupied the chair at the head of a table covered with a black cloth, in the middle of which lay the mace covered with rosemary and sprigs of bay. This was called burying the mace, and no doubt was meant to denote the official decease of the late holder. The new mayor was then formally elected, and the outgoing mayor took up the mace, kissed it, and delivered it to his successor with a suitable speech. After the election of other town officials the company proceeded to the chancel of the church, where the mayor took the oath of office, which was administered by the senior coroner. After the mayor had been proclaimed in public places by the town clerk, a banquet was held at the municipal buildings; the fare consisted of bread and cheese, fruit in season, and pipes of tobacco! The proclaiming of the new mayor did not end on the day of election: on the following market-day he was proclaimed in face of the whole market, and the ceremony took place at one of the town crosses.

THE MAYOR OF WYCOMBE GOING TO THE GUILDHALL.

We learn from the Report of the Royal Commission issued in 1837 that the election of the Mayor of Wycombe was enacted with not a little ceremony. The great bell of the church was tolled for an hour, then a merry peal was rang. The retiring mayor and aldermen proceeded to church, and after service walked in procession to the Guildhall, preceded by a woman strewing flowers and a drummer beating a drum. The mayor was next elected, and he and his fellow-members of the corporation marched round the market-house, and wound up the day by being weighed, and their weights were duly recorded by the sergeant-at-mace, who was rewarded with a small sum of money for his trouble.

In the Gentlemen’s Magazine for 1782 we find particulars of past mayoral customs at Abingdon, Berkshire. “Riding through Abingdon,” says a correspondent, “I found the people in the street at the entrance of the town very busy in adorning the outside of their houses with boughs of trees and garlands of flowers, and the paths were strewed with rushes. One house was distinguished by a greater number of garlands than the rest. On inquiring the reason, it seemed that it was usual to have this ceremony performed in the street in which the new mayor lived, on the first Sunday that he went to church after his election.”

At Newcastle-on-Tyne still lingers a curious custom which dates back to the period when strife was rife between England and Scotland. It has long been the practice to present the judges attending the Assizes on their arrival with two pairs of gloves, a pair to each of their marshals and to the other members of their retinue, also to the clerks of Assize and their officers. The judges are entertained in a hospitable manner during their stay in the city. At the conclusion of the business of the Assizes the mayor and other members of the Corporation in full regalia wait upon the judges, and the mayor thus addresses them:—

“My Lords, we have to congratulate you upon having completed your labours in this ancient town, and have also to inform you that you travel hence to Carlisle, through a border county much and often infested by the Scots; we therefore present each of your lordships with a piece of money to buy therewith a dagger to defend yourselves.”

The mayor then gives the senior judge a piece of gold of the reign of James I., termed a Jacobus, and to the junior judge a coin of the reign of Charles I., called a Carolus. After the judge in commission has returned thanks the ceremony is ended. Some time ago a witty judge returned thanks as follows: “I thank the mayor and corporation much for this gift. I doubt, however, whether the Scots have been so troublesome on the borders lately; I doubt, too, whether daggers in any numbers are to be purchased in this ancient town for the protection of my suite and of myself; and I doubt if these coins are altogether a legal tender at the present time.”

The local authorities are anxious to keep up the ancient custom enjoined upon them by an old charter, but they often experience great difficulty in obtaining the old-time pieces of money. Sometimes as much as £15 has been paid for one of the scarce coins. “Upon the resignation or the death of a judge who has travelled the northern circuit, we are told the corporation at once offer to purchase from his representative the ‘dagger-money’ received on his visits to Newcastle, in order to use it on future occasions.”

It was customary, in the olden time, for the mayor and other members of the Banbury Corporation to repair to Oxford during the assizes and visit the judge at his lodgings, and the mayor, with all the graces of speech at his command, ask “my lord” to accept a present of the celebrated Banbury cakes, wine, some long clay pipes, and a pound of tobacco. The judge accepted these with gratitude, or, at all events, in gracious terms expressed his thanks for their kindness.

The Corporation of Ludlow used to offer hospitality to the judges. The representatives of the town met the train in which the judges travelled from Shrewsbury to Hereford, and offered to them cake and wine, the former on an ancient silver salver, and the latter in a loving-cup wreathed with flowers. Mr. Justice Hill was the cause of the custom coming to a conclusion in 1858. He was travelling the circuit, and he communicated with the mayor saying, “owing to the delay occasioned, Her Majesty’s judges would not stop at Ludlow to receive the wonted hospitality.” We are told the mayor and corporation were offended, and did not offer to renew the ancient courtesy.

The making of a “sutor of Selkirk” is attended with some ceremony. “It was formerly the practice of the burgh corporation of Selkirk,” says Dr. Charles Rogers, the social historian of Scotland, “to provide a collation or dejeûner on the invitation of a burgess. The rite of initiation consisted in the newly-accepted brother passing through the mouth a bunch of bristles which had previously been mouthed by all the members of the board. This practice was termed ‘licking the birse:’ it took its origin at a period when shoemaking was the staple trade of the place, the birse being the emblem of the craft. When Sir Walter Scott was made a burgess or ‘sutor of Selkirk,’ he took precaution before mouthing the beslabbered brush to wash it in his wine, but the act of rebellion was punished by his being compelled to drink the polluted liquor.” In 1819, Prince Leopold was created “a sutor of Selkirk,” but the ceremony was modified to meet his more refined tastes, and the old style has not been resumed. Mr. Andrew Lang, a distinguished native of the town, has had the honour conferred upon him of being made a sutor.

The Mayor of Altrincham, Cheshire, in bygone times was, if we are to put any faith in proverbial lore, a person of humble position, and on this account the “honour” was ridiculed. An old rhyme says—

“The Mayor of Altrincham, and the Mayor of Over,
The one is a thatcher, and the other a dauber.”

Sir Walter Scott, in “The Heart of Mid-Lothian,” introduces the mayor into his pages in no flattering manner. Mr. Alfred Ingham, in his “History of Altrincham and Bowdon” (1879), has collected for his book some curious information bearing on this theme. He relates a tradition respecting one of the mayors gifted with the grace of repartee, which is well worth reproducing:—“The Mayor of Over—for he and the Mayor of Altrincham are often coupled—journeyed once upon a time to Manchester. He was somewhat proud, though he went on foot, and on arriving at Altrincham, felt he would be all the better for a shave. The knight of the steel and the strop performed the operation most satisfactorily; and as his worship rose to depart, he said rather grand-eloquently, ‘You may tell your customers that you have had the honour of shaving the Mayor of Over.’ ‘And you,’ retorted the ready-witted fellow, ‘may tell yours that you have had the honour of being shaved by the Mayor of Altrincham.’ The rest can be better imagined than described.”

We learn from Mr. J. Potter Briscoe that a strange tradition still lingers in Nottingham, to the effect that when King John last visited the town, he called at the house of the mayor, and the residence of the priest of St. Mary’s. Finding neither ale in the cellar of one, nor bread in the cupboard of the other, His Majesty ordered every publican in the town to contribute sixpennyworth of ale to the mayor annually, and that every baker should give a half-penny loaf weekly to the priest. The custom was continued down to the time of Blackner, the Nottingham historian, who published his history in 1815.

The mayor of Rye, in bygone times, had almost unlimited authority, and if anyone spoke evil of him, he was immediately taken and grievously punished by his body, but if he struck the mayor, he ran the risk of having cut off the hand that dealt the blow.

As late as 1600, at Hartlepool, it was enacted, that anyone calling a member of the council a liar be fined eleven shillings and sixpence, if, however, the term false was used, the fine was only six shillings and eightpence.

Bribes for the Palate.

In the days of old it was no uncommon practice for public bodies and private persons to attempt to bribe judges and others with presents. Frequently the gifts consisted of drink or food. In some instances money was expected and given. It is not, however, to bribery in general we want to direct attention, but to some of its more curious phases, and especially those which appealed to the recipients’ love of good cheer.

Some of the judges even in a corrupt age would not be tempted. One of the most upright of our judges was Sir Matthew Hale. It had long been customary for the Dean and Chapter of Salisbury to present to the judges of the Western Circuit six sugar loaves. The gift was sent to Hale, and he directed his servant to pay for the sugar before he tried a case in which the donors were interested. On another occasion while he was on circuit, a gentleman gave him a buck, hoping by this act to gain his favour in a case that was to be tried before him. When the trial was about to commence, Hale remembered the name of the gentleman and inquired if he was the person from whom the venison had been received. On being informed that such was the fact, he would not allow the trial to proceed until he had made payment for the buck. The gentleman strongly protested against receiving the money, saying that he had only presented the same to the Chief Baron as he had done to other judges who had gone the circuit. Further instances might be mentioned of presents being offered and refused by Hale, but the foregoing are sufficient to show the character of the man.

Newcastle-on-Tyne municipal records contain many references to presents of sugar loaves. There are for example gifts to noblemen who called at the town on their way to Scotland. In January 1593, we find particulars of 23s. 7d. for sugar and wine “sent in a present to my L. Ambassador as he came travling through this towne to Scotland called my L. Souch.”

The charges are as follow:—

A little later the Earl of Essex was bound for Scotland and received a present at the hands of the local authorities. The town accounts state:

In the following month the Earl of Essex, in company of my Lord Wharton, returned from North Britain and received sugar and wine costing the town £4 14s. 10d. The details of the amount are as under:—

The Bishop of Durham was not overlooked. In February, 1596, we find an entry as follows:—

“Mr. Maiore and his brethren” enjoyed sugar and sundry pottles of wine.

It is satisfactory to find that the ladies were not neglected at Newcastle-on-Tyne. Here is an entry referring to the entertainment of the Mayoress and other ladies:—

In the same month is an entry far different in character. It is a charge of 4d. for leading a scolding woman through the town wearing the brank. Payments for inflicting punishment on men and women frequently occur.

The accounts of the borough of St. Ives, Cornwall, contain an item as follows:—

The records of the city of Winchester include particulars of many presents of sugar loaves and other gifts. On March 24th, 1592, it was decided at a meeting of the municipal authorities to present the Lord Marquis of Winchester with a sugar loaf weighing five pounds, and a gallon of sack, on his coming to the Lent Assizes. The accounts of the city at this period contain entries of payments for sugar loaves given to the Recorder for a New Year’s present, and for pottles of wine bestowed on distinguished visitors.

WOMAN WEARING A BRANK, OR SCOLD’S BRIDLE.

THE BRANK, OR SCOLD’S BRIDLE.

At a meeting held in 1603 of the local authorities of Nottingham, it was agreed that the town should present to the Recorder, Sir Henry Pierrepoint, as follows:—“A sugar loaf, 9s.; lemons, 1s. 8d.; white wine, one gallon, 2s. 8d.; claret, one gallon, 2s. 8d.; muskadyne, one pottle, 2s. 8d.; sack, one pottle, 2s.; total, 20s. 8d.”

A year later the burgesses of Nottingham wished to show the great esteem they entertained for the Earl of Shrewsbury, and it was decided to give to him “a veal of mutton, a lamb, a dozen chickens, two dozen rabbits, two dozen of pigeons, and four capons.” This is a truly formidable list, and seems more suitable for stocking a shop than a gentleman’s larder.

The porpoise in past times was prized as a delicacy, and placed on royal tables. Down to the days of Queen Elizabeth it was used by the nobles as an article of food. In the reign of that queen, a penny in twelve was the market due at Newcastle-on-Tyne, when the fish were cut up and exposed for sale. The heads, fins, and numbles were taken in addition. The seal was subject to the same regulations. The porpoise was deemed suitable for a present. In 1491 it is recorded that a large porpoise was sent from Yarmouth as a gift to the Earl of Oxford.

The annals of Exeter furnish particulars of several gifts of fish. In 1600 it was decided by the local authorities to present to the Recorder of the city, Mr. Sergeant Hale, annually during his life, eight salmon of the river Exe. The Mayor for the time being had a like quantity allowed. It was resolved on the 10th January, 1610, to present, at the cost of the citizens, to the Speaker of the Parliament, in token of good will, a hogshead of Malaga wine, or a hogshead of claret, whichever might be deemed most acceptable, and one baked salmon pie.

Sir George Trenchard in 1593 received from the Mayor of Lyme a box of marmalade and six oranges, costing 7s.

Six months later the municipal accounts of Lyme include an entry as follows:—

Mr. George Roberts, in his “Social History of the Southern Counties,” has an interesting note respecting the potatoes named in the foregoing entry. He says:—“The sweet potato (Convolvulus Batatas) was known in England before the common potato, which received its name from its resemblance to the Batata. This plant was introduced into this country by Sir Francis Drake and Sir John Hawkins in the middle of the sixteenth century. The roots were, about the close of the reign of Elizabeth, imported in considerable quantities from Spain and the Canaries, and were used as a confection rather than as a nourishing vegetable.”

We will close this paper with particulars of a present which may be regarded more of an example of esteem than an attempt at bribery. Hull, in the days of old, was noted for its ale. The Corporation of the town often presented one or two barrels to persons to whom they desired to show a token of regard. Andrew Marvell, the incorruptible patriot, represented the place in Parliament from 1658 until his death in 1678. He was in close touch with the leading men of the town, and wrote long and interesting letters, detailing the operations of the House of Commons, to the Mayor and Aldermen. In one of his epistles to the Burgesses of Hull he refers to a gift of ale. “We must,” says Marvell, “first give thanks for the kind present you have been pleased to send us, which will give occasion to us to remember you often; but the quantity is so great that it might make sober men forgetful.” Marvell’s father was master of the Hull Grammar School, and it was there the patriot was educated.

ANDREW MARVELL.

Hull ale finds a place in proverbial lore, and is named by Ray and others. Taylor, the water poet, visited the town in 1622, and was the guest of George Pease, landlord of the “King’s Head” Inn, High Street. In Taylor’s poem, entitled “A Very Merrie Ferry Voyage; or, Yorke for My Money,” he thus averts to Hull ale:—

“Thanks to my loving host and hostess, Pease,
There at mine inne each night I took mine ease;
And there I got a cantle of Hull Chesse.”

The poet, in a foot-note, says:—“Hull cheese is much like a loaf out of the brewer’s basket; it is composed of two samples, mault and water in one compound, and is cousin german to the mightiest ale in England.” Ray quotes the proverb, “You have eaten some Hull cheese,” as equivalent to an accusation of drunkenness.

Rebel Heads on City Gates.

The barbarous custom of spiking heads on city gates, and on other prominent places, may be traced back to the days of Edward I. His wise laws won for him the title of “the English Justinian,” but he does not appear to have tempered justice with mercy. In his age little value was set upon human life. His scheme of conquest included the subjugation and annexation of Scotland and Wales.

David, the brother of Llewellyn the Welsh Prince, had been on the side of the English, and at the hands of Edward had experienced kindness, but in return he showed little gratitude. In 1282 he made an unprovoked attack on Hawarden Castle. Subsequently his brother Llewellyn joined in the rising, and undertook the conduct of the war in South Wales, while David attempted to defend the North of the country. In a skirmish on the Wye, Llewellyn was slain by a single knight. David soon fell into the hands of the English, and was sent in chains to Shrewsbury. Here he was tried by Parliament, consisting of “the first national convention in which the Common had any share by legal authority, and the earliest lawful trace of a mixed assembly of Lords and Commons.” Guilty of being a traitor was the verdict returned, and David was condemned to a new and cruel mode of execution, viz., “to be dragged at a horse’s tail through the streets of Shrewsbury, and to be afterwards hung and cut down while alive, his heart and bowels burnt before his face, his body quartered and his head sent to London.” The head of Llewellyn was also to be sent to London, to be spiked on the Tower encircled with a crown of ivy.

On the gates of old London Bridge have been spiked the heads of many famous men—not a few whose brave deeds add glory to the annals of England and Scotland. The heroic deeds of Sir William Wallace have done much to increase the dignity of the history of North Britain. After rendering gallant service to his native land, he was betrayed into the hands of the English by his friend and countryman, Sir John Menteith, at Glasgow. He was conveyed to London, was tried and condemned as a rebel, and on August 23rd, 1305, suffered a horrible death, similar to the fate of David, Prince of Wales. His body was divided and sent into four parts of Scotland, and his head set up on a pole on London Bridge. Edward I. degraded himself by this cruel revenge on a patriotic man. In the following year the head of another Scotch rebel, Simon Frazer, was spiked beside that of Wallace.

OLD LONDON BRIDGE, SHEWING HEADS OF REBELS ON THE GATE.

In the reign of Edward II., Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, rose to almost supreme power, but his rule was most distasteful to the people. It was oppressive and ended in disaster. In 1316, when the Earl was at the height of his fame, he discovered that a knight formerly in his household had been induced by the King of England to carry to the King of Scotland a letter asking that some of his soldiers might slay him. The Earl was then at Pontefract and had the knight brought before him, and by his orders he was speedily executed, and his head spiked on the walls of the castle.

The Barons met the forces of Edward II. at Boroughbridge, in 1322, and were totally routed, and their leaders, the Earl of Hereford was slain, and the Earl of Lancaster was taken prisoner, and afterwards executed at Pontefract. About thirty knights and barons suffered death on the scaffold in various parts of the country, so that terror might be widely spread. Some of the bodies were suspended for long periods in chains, and amongst the number were those of Sir Roger de Clifford, Sir John Mowbray, and Sir Jocalyn D’Eyville. They were hanged at York, and for three years their bodies were hung in chains, and then the Friar Preachers committed them to the ground. Another rebel, Sir Bartholomew de Badlesmere, was executed at Canterbury, and his head was cut off and spiked on the city gate at Canterbury.

At Boroughbridge Sir Andrew de Harcla displayed courage of a high order, and was rewarded with the title of the Earl of Carlisle, and military duties of a more important order were entrusted to him, but he did not long enjoy his honours. The Scots advanced into this country and met the English at the Abbey of Byland, and completely overpowered them; the Earl remaining inactive at Boroughbridge with 2,000 foot and horse soldiers. On a writ dated at Knaresborough, February 27th, 1323, he was tried for treachery, his collusion with the Scotch was clearly proved, and the following sentence was passed upon him:—“To be degraded both himself and his heirs from the rank of earl, to be ungirt of his sword, his gilded spurs hacked from his heels—said to be the first example of its kind—to be hanged, drawn, and beheaded, his heart and entrails torn out and burnt to ashes, and the ashes scattered to the winds; his carcase to be divided into four quarters, one to be hung on the top of the Tower at Carlisle, another at Newcastle, the third on the bridge at York, and the fourth at Shrewsbury, while his head was to be spiked on London Bridge.” “You may divide my body as you please,” said the Earl, “but I give my soul to God.” On March 3rd, 1323, the terrible sentence was carried out.

Under the year 1397, John Timbs, in his “Curiosities of London,” records that the heads of four traitor knights were spiked on London Bridge.

On Bramham Moor, Yorkshire, on Sunday, February 19th, 1408, Sir Thomas Rokeby, high sheriff of the county, fighting for Henry IV., completely defeated an army raised by the Earl of Northumberland, and other nobles who had revolted against the king. The Earl was slain on the field, and his chief associate, Lord Bardolf, was mortally wounded and taken prisoner, but died before he could be removed from the scene of the battle. The heads of these two noblemen were cut off, and that of the Earl placed upon a hedge-stake, and carried in a mock procession through the chief towns on the route to London, and finally found a resting-place on London Bridge. He was popular amongst his friends, and they greatly grieved at his death. It was indeed a sore trial to those who had loved him well to see his mutilated head, full of silver hairs, carried through the streets of London, a gruesome exhibition for a heartless public. The head of Lord Bardolf was also spiked on London Bridge.

Some passages in the life of Eleanor Cobham, first mistress and afterwards wife of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, furnish an insight into the superstitions of the period. She was tried in 1441 for treason and witchcraft. The chief charge against her was that she and her accomplices had made a waxen image of the reigning monarch, Henry VI., and placed it before a slow fire, believing that as the wax melted the king’s life would waste away. She was found guilty and had to do public penance in the streets of London, and was imprisoned for life in the Isle of Man. Three persons who had assisted her crimes suffered death. One Margaret Jourdain, of Eye, near Westminster, was burned in Smithfield. Southwell, a priest, died before execution in the Tower, and Sir Roger Bolinbroke, a priest, and reputed necromancer, was hanged, drawn and quartered at Tyburn, and his head was fixed on London Bridge. The Duchess, in the event of Henry’s death, expected that the Duke of Gloucester, as nearest heir of the house of Lancaster, would be crowned king.

The details of Jack Cade’s insurrection are well-known, and perhaps a copy of an inscription on a roadside monument at Heathfield, near Cuckfield in Sussex, will answer our present purpose:—

In 1496 two heads were placed on London Bridge; one was Flammock’s, a lawyer, and the other that of a farmer’s who had suffered death at Tyburn, for taking a leading part in a great Cornish insurrection.

John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, was tried, and executed on June 22nd, 1535, nominally for high treason, but, as a matter of fact, because he would not be a party to the king’s actions. Shortly before his execution the Pope sent to him a Cardinal’s hat. Said the king when he heard of the honour to be conferred upon the aged prelate, who was then about seventy-seven years old, “’Fore heaven, he shall wear it on his shoulders then, for by the time it arrives he shall not have a head to place it upon.”

Fisher met his death with firmness. At five o’clock in the morning of his execution he was awakened and the time named to him. He turned over in bed saying: “Then I can have two hours more sleep, as I am not to die until nine.” Two hours later he arose, dressed himself in his best apparel, saying, this was his wedding day, when he was to be married to death, and it was befitting to appear in becoming attire. His head was severed from his body, and after the executioner had removed all the clothing, he left the corpse on the scaffold until night, when it was removed by the guard to All Hallows Churchyard, and interred in a grave dug with their halberds. It was not suffered to remain there, but was exhumed and buried in the Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula in the Tower. The head was spiked on London Bridge. Hall and others record that the features became fresher and more comely every day, and were life-like. Crowds were attracted to the strange sight, which was regarded as a miracle. This annoyed the king not a little, and he gave orders for the head to be thrown into the river.

A similar offence to that of Fisher’s brought to the block a month later the head of a still greater and wiser man, Sir Thomas More. He was far in advance of his times, and his teaching is bearing fruit in our day. His head was placed on London Bridge, until his devoted daughter, Margaret Roper, bribed a man to move it, and drop it into a boat in which she sat. She kept the sacred relic for many years, and at her death it was buried with her in a vault under St. Dunstan’s Church, Canterbury.

AXE, BLOCK, AND EXECUTIONER’S MASK.
(From the Tower of London.)

We learn from the annals of London Bridge, that in the year 1577, “several heads were removed from the north end of the Drawbridge to the Southwark entrance, and hence called Traitors’ Gate.”

Heads of priests and others heightened the sickening sight of the bridge. We may here remark that Paul Hentzner in his “Travels in England,” written in 1598, says in speaking of London Bridge:—“Upon this is built a tower, on whose top the heads of such as have been executed for high treason are placed on iron spikes; we counted about thirty.”

Hentzner’s curious and interesting work was reprinted at London in 1889.

Sir Christopher Wren completed Temple Bar, March 1672-3, and in 1684 the first ghastly trophy was fixed upon it. Sir Thomas Armstrong was accused of being connected with the Rye House Plot, but made his escape to Holland, and was outlawed. He, however, within a year surrendered himself, demanding to be put on his trial. Jefferies in a most brutal manner refused the request, declaring that he had nothing to do but to award death. Armstrong sued for the benefit of the law, but without avail. The judge ordered his execution “according to law,” adding, “You shall have full benefit of the law.” On June 24th, 1683, Armstrong was executed, and his head set up on Westminster Hall; his quarters were divided between Aldgate, Aldersgate, and Temple Bar, and the fourth sent to Stafford, the borough he had formerly represented in Parliament.

MARGARET ROPER TAKING LEAVE OF HER FATHER, SIR THOMAS MORE, 1535.

Sir John Friend and Sir William Perkins, on April 9th, 1696, suffered death at Tyburn for complicity in a conspiracy to assassinate William III., and on the next day their heads crowned Temple Bar. John Evelyn in his Diary wrote, “A dismal sight which many pitied.”

In May, 1716, the head of Colonel Henry Oxburg was spiked above the Bar. He had taken part in the rising of Mar.

The head of Councillor Layer was placed on the Bar in 1723, for plotting to murder King George. For more than thirty years Layer’s head looked sorrowfully down on busy Fleet Street. A stormy night at last sent it rolling into the Strand, and it is recorded it was picked up by an attorney, and taken into a neighbouring tavern, and according to Nicholls, it found a resting place under the floor. It is stated that Dr. Rawlinson “paid a large sum of money for a substitute foisted upon him as a genuine article.” He died without discovering that he had been imposed upon, and, according to his directions, the relic was placed in his right hand and buried with him.

The Rebellion of ’45 brought two more heads to Temple Bar. On July 30th, 1746, Colonel Towneley and Captain Fletcher were beheaded on Kennington Common, and on the following day their heads were elevated on the Bar. Respecting their heads Walpole wrote on August 15th, 1746, “I have been this morning to the Tower, and passed under the new heads at Temple Bar, where people made a trade of letting spying-glasses at a halfpenny a look.” The fresh heads were made the theme of poetry and prose. One of the halfpenny loyal sightseers penned the following doggerel:—

“Three heads here I spy,
Which the glass did draw nigh,
The better to have a good sight;
Triangle they are placed,
And bald and barefaced;
Not one of them e’er was upright.”

We reproduce a curious print published in 1746 representing “Temple Bar” with three heads raised on tall poles or iron rods. The devil looks down in triumph and waves the rebel banner, on which are three crowns and a coffin, with the motto, ‘A crown or a grave.’ Underneath was written some wretched verses.

COPY OF A PRINT PUBLISHED IN 1746.

It is recorded in the “Annual Register” that on “January 20th (between two and three a.m.), 1766, a man was taken up for discharging musket bullets from a steel cross-bow at the two remaining heads upon Temple Bar. On being examined he affected a disorder in his senses, and said his reason for doing so was his strong attachment to the present Government, and that he thought it was not sufficient that a traitor should merely suffer death; that this provoked his indignation, and that it had been his constant practice for three nights past to amuse himself in the same manner. And it is much to be feared,” says the recorder of the event, “that he is a near relation to one of the unhappy sufferers.” On being searched, about fifty musket bullets were found on the man, and these were wrapped up in a paper with a motto—“Eripuit ille vitam.”

Dr. Johnson says that once being with Goldsmith in Westminster Abbey, “While we surveyed the Poets’ Corner, I said to him:—

‘Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur illis.’

(Perhaps some day our names may mix with theirs). When we got to Temple Bar he stopped me, pointed to the heads upon it, and slyly whispered:—

‘Forsitan et nostrum ... miscebitur Istis.’”

One of the heads was blown down on April 1st, 1772, and the other did not remain much longer. The head of Colonel Towneley is preserved in the chapel at Townely Hall, near Burnley. It is perforated, showing that it had been thrust upon a spike. During a visit on May 21st, 1892, to Towneley Hall by the members of the Lancashire and Cheshire Antiquarian Society, the skull was seen, and a note on the subject appears in the Transactions of the Society.

TEMPLE BAR IN DR. JOHNSON’S TIME.

The heads of not a few Scotchmen were spiked on the gates of Carlisle, and some romantic stories have come down to us respecting them. One of these we related in our “Bygone England,” and to make this account more complete we may perhaps be permitted to reproduce it. “A young and beautiful lady,” so runs the tale, “came every morning at sunrise, and every evening at sunset, to look at the head of a comely youth with long yellow hair, till at length the lady and the laddie’s head disappeared.” The incident is the subject of a song, in which the lovesick damsel bewails the fate of her lover. Here are two of the verses:—

“White was the rose in my lover’s hat
As he rowled me in his lowland plaidie;
His heart was true as death in love,
His head was aye in battle ready.
His long, long hair, in yellow hanks,
Wav’d o’er his cheeks sae sweet and ruddy;
But now it waves o’er Carlisle yetts
In dripping ringlets, soil’d and bloody.”