Please see the [Transcriber’s Notes] at the end of this text.

Please see the [Transcriber’s Notes] at the end of this text.
The cover image has been created for this e-text and is placed in the public domain.

PETRARCH’S INKSTAND.
In the Possession of Miss Edgeworth, presented to her by a Lady.

By beauty won from soft Italia’s land,
Here Cupid, Petrarch’s Cupid, takes his stand.
Arch suppliant, welcome to thy fav’rite isle,
Close thy spread wings, and rest thee here awhile;
Still the true heart with kindred strains inspire,
Breathe all a poet’s softness, all his fire;
But if the perjured knight approach this font,
Forbid the words to come as they were wont,
Forbid the ink to flow, the pen to write,
And send the false one baffled from thy sight.

Miss Edgeworth.

THE
EVERY-DAY BOOK
AND
TABLE BOOK;
OR,
EVERLASTING CALENDAR OF POPULAR AMUSEMENTS,
SPORTS, PASTIMES, CEREMONIES, MANNERS,
CUSTOMS, AND EVENTS,
INCIDENT TO
Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days,
IN PAST AND PRESENT TIMES;
FORMING A
COMPLETE HISTORY OF THE YEAR, MONTHS, AND SEASONS,
AND A
PERPETUAL KEY TO THE ALMANAC;
INCLUDING
ACCOUNTS OF THE WEATHER, RULES FOR HEALTH AND CONDUCT, REMARKABLE AND
IMPORTANT ANECDOTES, FACTS, AND NOTICES, IN CHRONOLOGY, ANTIQUITIES, TOPO-
GRAPHY, BIOGRAPHY, NATURAL HISTORY, ART, SCIENCE, AND GENERAL LITERATURE;
DERIVED FROM THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES, AND VALUABLE ORIGINAL COMMUNI-
CATIONS, WITH POETICAL ELUCIDATIONS, FOR DAILY USE AND DIVERSION.

BY WILLIAM HONE.

I tell of festivals, and fairs, and plays,
Of merriment, and mirth, and bonfire blaze;
I tell of Christmas-mummings, new year’s day,
Of twelfth-night king and queen, and children’s play;
I tell of valentines, and true-love’s-knots,
Of omens, cunning men, and drawing lots:

I tell of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bowers,
Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers;
I tell of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes;
I tell of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The court of Mab, and of the fairy king.

Herrick.

WITH FOUR HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SIX ENGRAVINGS.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. III.

LONDON:
PRINTED FOR THOMAS TEGG,
73, CHEAPSIDE.

J. HADDON, PRINTER, CASTLE STREET, FINSBURY.

PREFACE.

On the close of the Every-Day Book, which commenced on New Year’s Day, 1825, and ended in the last week of 1826, I began this work.

The only prospectus of the Table Book was the eight versified lines on the title-page. They appeared on New Year’s Day, prefixed to the first number; which, with the successive sheets, to the present date, constitute the volume now in the reader’s hands, and the entire of my endeavours during the half year.

So long as I am enabled, and the public continue to be pleased, the Table Book will be continued. The kind reception of the weekly numbers, and the monthly parts, encourages me to hope that like favour will be extended to the half-yearly volume. Its multifarious contents and the illustrative engravings, with the help of the copious index, realize my wish, “to please the young, and help divert the wise.” Perhaps, if the good old window-seats had not gone out of fashion, it might be called a parlour-window book—a good name for a volume of agreeable reading selected from the book-case, and left lying about, for the constant recreation of the family, and the casual amusement of visitors.

W. HONE.

Midsummer, 1827.

THE FRONTISPIECE.
PETRARCH’S INKSTAND.

Miss Edgeworth’s lines express her estimation of the gem she has the happiness to own. That lady allowed a few casts from it in bronze, and a gentleman who possesses one, and who favours the “Table Book” with his approbation, permits its use for a [frontispiece] to this volume. The engraving will not be questioned as a decoration, and it has some claim to be regarded as an elegant illustration of a miscellany which draws largely on art and literature, and on nature itself, towards its supply.

“I delight,” says Petrarch, “in my pictures. I take great pleasure also in images; they come in show more near unto nature than pictures, for they do but appear; but these are felt to be substantial, and their bodies are more durable. Amongst the Grecians the art of painting was esteemed above all handycrafts, and the chief of all the liberal arts. How great the dignity hath been of statues; and how fervently the study and desire of men have reposed in such pleasures, emperors and kings, and other noble personages, nay, even persons of inferior degree, have shown, in their industrious keeping of them when obtained.” Insisting on the golden mean, as a rule of happiness, he says, “I possess an amazing collection of books, for attaining this, and every virtue: great is my delight in beholding such a treasure.” He slights persons who collect books “for the pleasure of boasting they have them; who furnish their chambers with what was invented to furnish their minds; and use them no otherwise than they do their Corinthian tables, or their painted tables and images, to look at.” He contemns others who esteem not the true value of books, but the price at which they may sell them—“a new practice” (observe it is Petrarch that speaks) “crept in among the rich, whereby they may attain one art more of unruly desire.” He repeats, with rivetting force, “I have great plenty of books: where such scarcity has been lamented, this is no small possession: I have an inestimable many of books!” He was a diligent collector, and a liberal imparter of these treasures. He corresponded with Richard de Bury, an illustrious prelate of our own country, eminent for his love of learning and learned men, and sent many precious volumes to England to enrich the bishop’s magnificent library. He vividly remarks, “I delight passionately in my books;” and yet he who had accumulated them largely, estimated them rightly: he has a saying of books worthy of himself—“a wise man seeketh not quantity but sufficiency.”

Petrarch loved the quiet scenes of nature, and these can scarcely be observed from a carriage or while riding, and are never enjoyed but on foot; and to me—on whom that discovery was imposed, and who am sometimes restrained from country walks, by necessity—it was no small pleasure, when I read a passage in his “View of Human Nature,” which persuaded me of his fondness for the exercise: “A journey on foot hath most pleasant commodities; a man may go at his pleasure; none shall stay him, none shall carry him beyond his wish; none shall trouble him; he hath but one labour, the labour of nature—to go.”

In “The Indicator” there is a paper of peculiar beauty, by Mr. Leigh Hunt, “on receiving a sprig of myrtle from Vaucluse,” with a paragraph suitable to this occasion: “We are supposing that all our readers are acquainted with Petrarch. Many of them doubtless know him intimately. Should any of them want an introduction to him, how should we speak of him in the gross? We should say, that he was one of the finest gentlemen and greatest scholars that ever lived; that he was a writer who flourished in Italy in the fourteenth century, at the time when Chaucer was young, during the reigns of our Edwards; that he was the greatest light of his age; that although so fine a writer himself, and the author of a multitude of works, or rather because he was both, he took the greatest pains to revive the knowledge of the ancient learning, recommending it every where, and copying out large manuscripts with his own hand; that two great cities, Paris and Rome, contended which should have the honour of crowning him; that he was crowned publicly, in the metropolis of the world, with laurel and with myrtle; that he was the friend of Boccaccio the father of Italian prose; and lastly, that his greatest renown nevertheless, as well as the predominant feelings of his existence, arose from the long love he bore for a lady of Avignon, the far-famed Laura, whom he fell in love with on the 6th of April, 1327, on a Good Friday; whom he rendered illustrious in a multitude of sonnets, which have left a sweet sound and sentiment in the ear of all after lovers; and who died, still passionately beloved, in the year 1348, on the same day and hour on which he first beheld her. Who she was, or why their connection was not closer, remains a mystery. But that she was a real person, and that in spite of all her modesty she did not show an insensible countenance to his passion, is clear from his long-haunted imagination, from his own repeated accounts, from all that he wrote, uttered, and thought. One love, and one poet, sufficed to give the whole civilized world a sense of delicacy in desire, of the abundant riches to be found in one single idea, and of the going out of a man’s self to dwell in the soul and happiness of another, which has served to refine the passion for all modern times; and perhaps will do so, as long as love renews the world.”

At Vaucluse, or Valchiusa, “a remarkable spot in the old poetical region of Provence, consisting of a little deep glen of green meadows surrounded with rocks, and containing the fountain of the river Sorgue,” Petrarch resided for several years, and composed in it the greater part of his poems.

The following is a translation by sir William Jones, of

AN ODE, BY PETRARCH,
To the Fountain of Valchiusa

Ye clear and sparkling streams!
(Warm’d by the sunny beams)
Through whose transparent crystal Laura play’d;
Ye boughs that deck the grove,
Where Spring her chaplets wove,
While Laura lay beneath the quivering shade;
Sweet herbs! and blushing flowers!
That crown yon vernal bowers,
For ever fatal, yet for ever dear;
And ye, that heard my sighs
When first she charm’d my eyes,
Soft-breathing gales! my dying accents hear.
If Heav’n has fix’d my doom,
That Love must quite consume
My bursting heart, and close my eyes in death
Ah! grant this slight request,—
That here my urn may rest,
When to its mansion flies my vital breath.
This pleasing hope will smooth
My anxious mind, and soothe
The pangs of that inevitable hour;
My spirit will not grieve
Her mortal veil to leave
In these calm shades, and this enchanting bower
Haply, the guilty maid
Through yon accustom’d glade
To my sad tomb will take her lonely way
Where first her beauty’s light
O’erpower’d my dazzled sight,
When love on this fair border bade me stray:
There, sorrowing, shall she see,
Beneath an aged tree,
Her true, but hapless lover’s lowly bier;
Too late her tender sighs
Shall melt the pitying skies,
And her soft veil shall hide the gushing tear
O! well-remember’d day,
When on yon bank she lay,
Meek in her pride, and in her rigour mild;
The young and blooming flowers,
Falling in fragrant showers,
Shone on her neck, and on her bosom smil’d
Some on her mantle hung,
Some in her locks were strung,
Like orient gems in rings of flaming gold;
Some, in a spicy cloud
Descending, call’d aloud,
“Here Love and Youth the reins of empire hold.”
I view’d the heavenly maid
And, rapt in wonder, said—
“The groves of Eden gave this angel birth,”
Her look, her voice, her smile,
That might all Heaven beguile,
Wafted my soul above the realms of earth
The star-bespangled skies
Were open’d to my eyes;
Sighing I said, “Whence rose this glittering scene?”
Since that auspicious hour,
This bank, and odorous bower,
My morning couch, and evening haunt have been.
Well mayst thou blush, my song,
To leave the rural throng
And fly thus artless to my Laura’s ear,
But, were thy poet’s fire
Ardent as his desire,
Thou wert a song that Heaven might stoop to hear

It is within probability to imagine, that the original of this “ode” may have been impressed on the paper, by Petrarch’s pen, from the inkstand of the [frontispiece].

Vol. I.—1.

THE
TABLE BOOK.

Formerly, a “Table Book” was a memorandum book, on which any thing was graved or written without ink. It is mentioned by Shakspeare. Polonius, on disclosing Ophelia’s affection for Hamlet to the king, inquires

“When I had seen this hot love on the wing,
—————————— what might you,
Or my dear majesty, your queen here, think,
If I had play’d the desk, or table-book?”

Dr. Henry More, a divine, and moralist, of the succeeding century, observes, that “Nature makes clean the table-book first, and then portrays upon it what she pleaseth.” In this sense, it might have been used instead of a tabula rasa, or sheet of blank writing paper, adopted by Locke as an illustration of the human mind in its incipiency. It is figuratively introduced to nearly the same purpose by Swift: he tells us that

“Nature’s fair table-book, our tender souls,
We scrawl all o’er with old and empty rules,
Stale memorandums of the schools.”

Dryden says, “Put into your Table-Book whatsoever you judge worthy.”[1]

I hope I shall not unworthily err, if, in the commencement of a work under this title, I show what a Table Book was.

Table books, or tablets, of wood, existed before the time of Homer, and among the Jews before the Christian æra. The table books of the Romans were nearly like ours, which will be described presently; except that the leaves, which were two, three, or more in number, were of wood surfaced with wax. They wrote on them with a style, one end of which was pointed for that purpose, and the other end rounded or flattened, for effacing or scraping out. Styles were made of nearly all the metals, as well as of bone and ivory; they were differently formed, and resembled ornamented skewers; the common style was iron. More anciently, the leaves of the table book were without wax, and marks were made by the iron style on the bare wood. The Anglo-Saxon style was very handsome. Dr. Pegge was of opinion that the well-known jewel of Alfred, preserved in the Ashmolean museum at Oxford, was the head of the style sent by that king with Gregory’s Pastoral to Athelney.[2]

A gentleman, whose profound knowledge of domestic antiquities surpasses that of preceding antiquaries, and remains unrivalled by his contemporaries, in his “Illustrations of Shakspeare,” notices Hamlet’s expression, “My tables,—meet it is I set it down.” On that passage he observes, that the Roman practice of writing on wax tablets with a style was continued through the middle ages; and that specimens of wooden tables, filled with wax, and constructed in the fourteenth century, were preserved in several of the monastic libraries in France. Some of these consisted of as many as twenty pages, formed into a book by means of parchment bands glued to the backs of the leaves. He says that in the middle ages there were table books of ivory, and sometimes, of late, in the form of a small portable book with leaves and clasps; and he transfers a figure of one of the latter from an old work[3] to his own: it resembles the common “slate-books” still sold in the stationers’ shops. He presumes that to such a table book the archbishop of York alludes in the second part of King Henry IV.,

“And therefore will he wipe his tables clean
And keep no tell tale to his memory.”

As in the middle ages there were table-books with ivory leaves, this gentleman remarks that, in Chaucer’s “Sompnour’s Tale,” one of the friars is provided with

“A pair of tables all of ivory,
And a pointel ypolished fetishly,
And wrote alway the names, as he stood,
Of alle folk that yave hem any good.”

He instances it as remarkable, that neither public nor private museums furnished specimens of the table books, common in Shakspeare’s time. Fortunately, this observation is no longer applicable.

A correspondent, understood to be Mr. Douce, in Dr. Aikin’s “Athenæum,” subsequently says, “I happen to possess a table-book of Shakspeare’s time. It is a little book, nearly square, being three inches wide and something less than four in length, bound stoutly in calf, and fastening with four strings of broad, strong, brown tape. The title as follows: ‘Writing Tables, with a Kalender for xxiiii yeeres, with sundrie necessarie rules. The Tables made by Robert Triple. London, Imprinted for the Company of Stationers.’ The tables are inserted immediately after the almanack. At first sight they appear like what we call asses-skin, the colour being precisely the same, but the leaves are thicker: whatever smell they may have had is lost, and there is no gloss upon them. It might be supposed that the gloss has been worn off; but this is not the case, for most of the tables have never been written on. Some of the edges being a little worn, show that the middle of the leaf consists of paper; the composition is laid on with great nicety. A silver style was used, which is sheathed in one of the covers, and which produces an impression as distinct, and as easily obliterated as a black-lead pencil. The tables are interleaved with common paper.”

In July, 1808, the date of the preceding communication, I, too, possessed a table book, and silver style, of an age as ancient, and similar to that described; except that it had not “a Kalender.” Mine was brought to me by a poor person, who found it in Covent-garden on a market day. There were a few ill-spelt memoranda respecting vegetable matters formed on its leaves with the style. It had two antique slender brass clasps, which were loose; the ancient binding had ceased from long wear to do its office, and I confided it to Mr. Wills, the almanack publisher in Stationers’-court, for a better cover and a silver clasp. Each being ignorant of what it was, we spoiled “a table-book of Shakspeare’s time.”

The most affecting circumstance relating to a table book is in the life of the beautiful and unhappy “Lady Jane Grey.” “Sir John Gage, constable of the Tower, when he led her to execution, desired her to bestow on him some small present, which he might keep as a perpetual memorial of her: she gave him her table-book, wherein she had just written three sentences, on seeing her husband’s body; one in Greek, another in Latin, and a third in English. The purport of them was, that human justice was against his body, but the divine mercy would be favourable to his soul; and that, if her fault deserved punishment, her youth at least, and her imprudence, were worthy of excuse, and that God and posterity, she trusted, would show her favour.”[4]

Having shown what the ancient table book was, it may be expected that I should say something about

My
Table Book.

The title is to be received in a larger sense than the obsolete signification: the old table books were for private use—mine is for the public; and the more the public desire it, the more I shall be gratified. I have not the folly to suppose it will pass from my table to every table, but I think that not a single sheet can appear on the table of any family without communicating some information, or affording some diversion.

On the [title-page] there are a few lines which briefly, yet adequately, describe the collections in my Table Book: and, as regards my own “sayings and doings,” the prevailing disposition of my mind is perhaps sufficiently made known through the Every-Day Book. In the latter publication, I was inconveniently limited as to room; and the labour I had there prescribed to myself, of commemorating every day, frequently prevented me from topics that would have been more agreeable to my readers than the “two grains of wheat in a bushel of chaff,” which I often consumed my time and spirits in endeavouring to discover—and did not always find.

In my Table Book, which I hope will never be out of “season,” I take the liberty to “annihilate both time and space,” to the extent of a few lines or days, and lease, and talk, when and where I can, according to my humour. Sometimes I present an offering of “all sorts,” simpled from out-of-the-way and in-the-way books; and, at other times, gossip to the public, as to an old friend, diffusely or briefly, as I chance to be more or less in the giving “vein,” about a passing event, a work just read, a print in my hand, the thing I last thought of, or saw, or heard, or, to be plain, about “whatever comes uppermost.” In short, my collections and recollections come forth just as I happen to suppose they may be most agreeable or serviceable to those whom I esteem, or care for, and by whom I desire to be respected.

My Table Book is enriched and diversified by the contributions of my friends; the teemings of time, and the press, give it novelty; and what I know of works of art, with something of imagination, and the assistance of artists, enable me to add pictorial embellishment. My object is to blend information with amusement, and utility with diversion.

My Table Book, therefore, is a series of continually shifting scenes—a kind of literary kaleidoscope, combining popular forms with singular appearances—by which youth and age of all ranks may be amused; and to which, I respectfully trust, many will gladly add something, to improve its views.

[1] Johnson.

[2] Fosbroke’s Encyclopædia of Antiquities.

[3] Gesner De rerum fossilium figuris, &c. Tigur. 1565. 12mo.

[4] Glossary by Mr. Archd. Nares.

Ode to the New Year
From the Every Day Book: set to Music for the Table Book,
By J. K.

All hail to the birth of the Year! See golden-hair’d
Phœbus afar, Prepares to renew his career, And is
mounting his dew-spangled car. Stern Winter congeals every
brook, That murmur’d so lately with glee, And places a
snowy peruke On the head of each bald-pated tree.

Play music:
[midi] (3 kB)

⁂ For the remaining verses, see the Every-Day Book, vol ii. p. 25.

The New Year.

HAGMAN-HEIGH.

Anciently on new year’s day the Romans were accustomed to carry small presents, as new year’s gifts, to the senators, under whose protection they were severally placed. In the reigns of the emperors, they flocked in such numbers with valuable ones, that various decrees were made to abolish the custom; though it always continued among that people. The Romans who settled in Britain, or the families connected with them by marriage, introduced these new year’s gifts among our forefathers, who got the habit of making presents, even to the magistrates. Some of the fathers of the church wrote against them, as fraught with the greatest abuses, and the magistrates were forced to relinquish them. Besides the well-known anecdote of sir Thomas More, when lord chancellor,[5] many instances might be adduced from old records, of giving a pair of gloves, some with “linings,” and others without. Probably from thence has been derived the fashion of giving a pair of gloves upon particular occasions, as at marriages, funerals, &c. New year’s gifts continue to be received and given by all ranks of people, to commemorate the sun’s return, and the prospect of spring, when the gifts of nature are shared by all. Friends present some small tokens of esteem to each other—husbands to their wives, and parents to their children. The custom keeps up a cheerful and friendly intercourse among acquaintance, and leads to that good-humour and mirth so necessary to the spirits in this dreary season. Chandlers send as presents to their customers large mould candles; grocers give raisins, to make a Christmas pudding, or a pack of cards, to assist in spending agreeably the long evenings. In barbers’ shops “thrift-box,” as it is called, is put by the apprentice boys against the wall, and every customer, according to his inclination, puts something in. Poor children, and old infirm persons, beg, at the doors of the charitable, a small pittance, which, though collected in small sums, yet, when put together, forms to them a little treasure; so that every heart, in all situations of life, beats with joy at the nativity of his Saviour.

The Hagman Heigh is an old custom observed in Yorkshire on new year’s eve, as appertaining to the season. The keeper of the pinfold goes round the town, attended by a rabble at his heels, and knocking at certain doors, sings a barbarous song, beginning with—

“Tonight it is the new year’s night, to-morrow is the day;
We are come about for our right and for our ray,
As we us’d to do in old king Henry’s day:
Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman Heigh,” &c.

The song always concludes with “wishing a merry Christmas and a happy new year.” When wood was chiefly used as fuel, in heating ovens at Christmas, this was the most appropriate season for the hagman, or wood-cutter, to remind his customers of his services, and to solicit alms. The word hag is still used in Yorkshire, to signify a wood. The “hagg” opposite to Easby formerly belonged to the abbey, to supply them with fuel. Hagman may be a name compounded from it. Some derive it from the Greek Αγιαμηνη, the holy month, when the festivals of the church for our Saviour’s birth were celebrated. Formerly, on the last day of the year, the monks and friars used to make a plentiful harvest, by begging from door to door, and reciting a kind of carol, at the end of every stave of which they introduced the words “agia mene,” alluding to the birth of Christ. A very different interpretation, however, was given to it by one John Dixon, a Scotch presbyterian minister, when holding forth against this custom in one of his sermons at Kelso. “Sirs, do you know what the hagman signifies? It is the devil to be in the house; that is the meaning of its Hebrew original.”[6]

SONNET
ON THE NEW YEAR.

When we look back on hours long past away,
And every circumstance of joy, or woe
That goes to make this strange beguiling show,
Call’d life, as though it were of yesterday,
We start to learn our quickness of decay.
Still flies unwearied Time;—on still we go
And whither?—Unto endless weal or woe,
As we have wrought our parts in this brief play.
Yet many have I seen whose thin blanched locks
But ill became a head where Folly dwelt,
Who having past this storm with all its shocks,
Had nothing learnt from what they saw or felt:
Brave spirits! that can look, with heedless eye,
On doom unchangeable, and fixt eternity.

[5] Every-Day Book, i. 9.

[6] Clarkson’s History of Richmond, cited by a correspondent, A. B.

Antiquities.

Westminster Abbey.

The following letter, written by Horace Walpole, in relation to the tombs, is curious. Dr. ——, whom he derides, was Dr. Zachary Pearce, dean of Westminster, and editor of Longinus, &c.

Strawberry-hill, 1761.

I heard lately, that Dr. ——, a very learned personage, had consented to let the tomb of Aylmer de Valence, earl of Pembroke, a very great personage, be removed for Wolfe’s monument; that at first he had objected, but was wrought upon by being told that hight Aylmer was a knight templar, a very wicked set of people as his lordship had heard, though he knew nothing of them, as they are not mentioned by Longinus. I own I thought this a made story, and wrote to his lordship, expressing my concern that one of the finest and most ancient monuments in the abbey should be removed; and begging, if it was removed, that he would bestow it on me, who would erect and preserve it here. After a fortnight’s deliberation, the bishop sent me an answer, civil indeed, and commending my zeal for antiquity! but avowing the story under his own hand. He said, that at first they had taken Pembroke’s tomb for a knight templar’s;—observe, that not only the man who shows the tombs names it every day, but that there is a draught of it at large in Dart’s Westminster;—that upon discovering whose it was, he had been very unwilling to consent to the removal, and at last had obliged Wilton to engage to set it up within ten feet of where it stands at present. His lordship concluded with congratulating me on publishing learned authors at my press. I don’t wonder that a man who thinks Lucan a learned author, should mistake a tomb in his own cathedral. If I had a mind to be angry, I could complain with reason,—as having paid forty pounds for ground for my mother’s funeral—that the chapter of Westminster sell their church over and over again: the ancient monuments tumble upon one’s head through their neglect, as one of them did, and killed a man at lady Elizabeth Percy’s funeral; and they erect new waxen dolls of queen Elizabeth, &c. to draw visits and money from the mob.

Biographical Memoranda.

Cometary Influence.

Brantome relates, that the duchess of Angoulême, in the sixteenth century, being awakened during the night, she was surprised at an extraordinary brightness which illuminated her chamber; apprehending it to be the fire, she reprimanded her women for having made so large a one; but they assured her it was caused by the moon. The duchess ordered her curtains to be undrawn, and discovered that it was a comet which produced this unusual light. “Ah!” exclaimed she, “this is a phenomenon which appears not to persons of common condition. Shut the window, it is a comet, which announces my departure; I must prepare for death.” The following morning she sent for her confessor, in the certainty of an approaching dissolution. The physicians assured her that her apprehensions were ill founded and premature. “If I had not,” replied she, “seen the signal for death, I could believe it, for I do not feel myself exhausted or peculiarly ill.” On the third day after this event she expired, the victim of terror. Long after this period all appearances of the celestial bodies, not perfectly comprehended by the multitude, were supposed to indicate the deaths of sovereigns, or revolutions in their governments.

Two Painters.

When the duke d’Aremberg was confined at Antwerp, a person was brought in as a spy, and imprisoned in the same place. The duke observed some slight sketches by his fellow prisoner on the wall, and, conceiving they indicated talent, desired Rubens, with whom he was intimate, and by whom he was visited, to bring with him a pallet and pencils for the painter, who was in custody with him. The materials requisite for painting were given to the artist, who took for his subject a group of soldiers playing at cards in the corner of a prison. When Rubens saw the picture, he cried out that it was done by Brouwer, whose works he had often seen, and as often admired. Rubens offered six hundred guineas for it; the duke would by no means part with it, but presented the painter with a larger sum. Rubens exerted his interest, and obtained the liberty of Brouwer, by becoming his surety, received him into his house, clothed as well as maintained him, and took pains to make the world acquainted with his merit. But the levity of Brouwer’s temper would not suffer him long to consider his situation any better than a state of confinement; he therefore quitted Rubens, and died shortly afterwards, in consequence of a dissolute course of life.

Representation of a Pageant Vehicle and Play.

Representation of a Pageant Vehicle and Play.

The state, and reverence, and show,
Were so attractive, folks would go
From all parts, ev’ry year, to see
These pageant-plays at Coventry.

This [engraving] is from a very curious print in Mr. Sharp’s “Dissertatien on the Pageants or Dramatic Mysteries, anciently performed at Coventry.”

Coventry is distinguished in the history of the drama, because, under the title of “Ludus Coventriæ,” there exists a manuscript volume of most curious early plays, not yet printed, nor likely to be, unless there are sixty persons, at this time sufficiently concerned for our ancient literature and manners, to encourage a spirited gentleman to print a limited number of copies. If by any accident the manuscript should be destroyed, these plays, the constant theme of literary antiquaries from Dugdale to the present period, will only be known through the partial extracts of writers, who have sometimes inaccurately transcribed from the originals in the British Museum.[7]

Mr. Sharp’s taste and attainments qualifying him for the task, and his residence at Coventry affording him facility of research among the muniments of the corporation, he has achieved the real labour of drawing from these and other unexplored sources, a body of highly interesting facts, respecting the vehicles, characters, and dresses of the actors in the pageants or dramatic mysteries anciently performed by the trading companies of that city; which, together with accounts of municipal entertainments of a public nature, form his meritorious volume.

Very little has been known respecting the stage “properties,” before the rise of the regular drama, and therefore the abundant matter of that nature, adduced by this gentleman, is peculiarly valuable. With “The Taylors’ and Shearemens’ Pagant,” complete from the original manuscript, he gives the songs and the original music, engraved on three plates, which is eminently remarkable, because it is, perhaps, the only existing specimen of the melodies in the old Mysteries. There are ten other plates in the work; one of them represents the club, or maul, of Pilate, a character in the pageant of the Cappers’ company. “By a variety of entries it appears he had a club or maul, stuffed with wool; and that the exterior was formed of leather, is authenticated by the actual existence of such a club or maul, discovered by the writer of this Dissertation, in an antique chest within the Cappers’ chapel, (together with an iron cresset, and some fragments of armour,) where it had probably remained ever since the breaking up of the pageant.” The subject of the Cappers’ pageant was usually the trial and crucifixion of Christ, and the descent into hell.

The pageant vehicles were high scaffolds with two rooms, a higher and a lower, constructed upon four or six wheels; in the lower room the performers dressed, and in the higher room they played. This higher room, or rather, as it may be called, the “stage,” was all open on the top, that the beholders might hear and see. On the day of performance the vehicles were wheeled, by men, from place to place, throughout the city; the floor was strewed with rushes; and to conceal the lower room, wherein the performers dressed, cloths were hung round the vehicle: there is reason to believe that, on these cloths, the subject of the performance was painted or worked in tapestry. The higher room of the Drapers’ vehicle was embattled, and ornamented with carved work, and a crest; the Smiths’ had vanes, burnished and painted, with streamers flying.

In an engraving which is royal quarto, the size of the work, Mr. Sharp has laudably endeavoured to convey a clear idea of the appearance of a pageant vehicle, and of the architectural appearance of the houses in Coventry, at the time of performing the Mysteries. So much of that engraving as represents the vehicle is before the reader on the [preceding page]. The vehicle, supposed to be of the Smiths’ company, is stationed near the Cross in the Cross-cheaping, and the time of action chosen is the period when Pilate, on the charges of Caiphas and Annas, is compelled to give up Christ for execution. Pilate is represented on a throne, or chair of state; beside him stands his son with a sceptre and poll-axe, and beyond the Saviour are the two high priests; the two armed figures behind are knights. The pageant cloth bears the symbols of the passion.

Besides the Coventry Mysteries and other matters, Mr. Sharp notices those of Chester, and treats largely on the ancient setting of the watch on Midsummer and St. John’s Eve, the corporation giants, morris dancers, minstrels, and waites.

I could not resist the very fitting opportunity on the opening of the new year, and of the Table Book together, to introduce a memorandum, that so important an accession has accrued to our curious literature, as Mr. Sharp’s “Dissertation on the Coventry Mysteries.”

[7] By a notice in Mr. Sharp’s “Dissertation,” he proposes to publish the “Coventry Mysteries,” with notes and illustrations, in two vols. octavo: 100 copies on royal paper, at three guineas; and 25, on imperial paper, at five guineas. Notwithstanding he limits the entire impression to these 125 copies, and will commence to print as soon as the names of sixty subscribers are sent to his publishers, it appears that this small number is not yet complete. The fact is mentioned here, because it will be a reproach to the age if such an overture is not embraced.

“The Thing to a T.”

A young man, brought up in the city of London to the business of an undertaker, went to Jamaica to better his condition. Business flourished, and he wrote to his father in Bishopsgate-street to send him, with a quantity of black and grey cloth, twenty gross of black Tacks. Unfortunately he had omitted the top to his T, and the order stood twenty gross of black Jacks. His correspondent, on receiving the letter, recollected a man, near Fleet-market, who made quart and pint tin pots, ornamented with painting, and which were called black Jacks, and to him he gave the order for the twenty gross of black Jacks. The maker, surprised, said, he had not so many ready, but would endeavour to complete the order; this was done, and the articles were shipped. The undertaker received them with other consignments, and was astonished at the mistake. A friend, fond of speculation, offered consolation, by proposing to purchase the whole at the invoice price. The undertaker, glad to get rid of an article he considered useless in that part of the world, took the offer. His friend immediately advertised for sale a number of fashionable punch vases just arrived from England, and sold the jacks, gaining 200 per cent.!

The young undertaker afterwards discoursing upon his father’s blunder, was told by his friend, in a jocose strain, to order a gross of warming-pans, and see whether the well-informed correspondents in London would have the sagacity to consider such articles necessary in the latitude of nine degrees north. The young man laughed at the suggestion, but really put in practice the joke. He desired his father in his next letter to send a gross of warming-pans, which actually, and to the great surprise of the son, reached the island of Jamaica. What to do with this cargo he knew not. His friend again became a purchaser at prime cost, and having knocked off the covers, informed the planters, that he had just imported a number of newly-constructed sugar ladles. The article under that name sold rapidly, and returned a large profit. The parties returned to England with fortunes, and often told the story of the black jacks and warming-pans over the bottle, adding, that “Nothing is lost in a good market.”

Books.

—————————————— Give me
Leave to enjoy myself. That place, that does
Contain my books, the best companions, is
To me a glorious court, where hourly I
Converse with the old sages and philosophers;
And sometimes for variety, I confer
With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels;
Calling their victories, if unjustly got,
Unto a strict account; and in my fancy,
Deface their ill-placed statues. Can I then
Part with such constant pleasures, to embrace
Uncertain vanities? No: be it your care
To augment a heap of wealth: it shall be mine
To increase in knowledge.

Fletcher.

Imagination.

Imagination enriches every thing. A great library contains not only books, but “the assembled souls of all that men held wise.” The moon is Homer’s and Shakspeare’s moon, as well as the one we look at. The sun comes out of his chamber in the east, with a sparkling eye, “rejoicing like a bridegroom.” The commonest thing becomes like Aaron’s rod, that budded. Pope called up the spirits of the Cabala to wait upon a lock of hair, and justly gave it the honours of a constellation; for he has hung it, sparkling for ever, in the eyes of posterity. A common meadow is a sorry thing to a ditcher or a coxcomb; but by the help of its dues from imagination and the love of nature, the grass brightens for us, the air soothes us, we feel as we did in the daisied hours of childhood. Its verdures, its sheep, its hedge-row elms,—all these, and all else which sight, and sound, and association can give it, are made to furnish a treasure of pleasant thoughts. Even brick and mortar are vivified, as of old at the harp of Orpheus. A metropolis becomes no longer a mere collection of houses or of trades. It puts on all the grandeur of its history, and its literature; its towers, and rivers; its art, and jewellery, and foreign wealth; its multitude of human beings all intent upon excitement, wise or yet to learn; the huge and sullen dignity of its canopy of smoke by day; the wide gleam upwards of its lighted lustre at night-time; and the noise of its many chariots, heard, at the same hour, when the wind sets gently towards some quiet suburb.—Leigh Hunt.

Actors.

Madame Rollan, who died in 1785, in the seventy-fifth year of her age, was a principal dancer on Covent-garden stage in 1731, and followed her profession, by private teaching, to the last year of her life. She had so much celebrity in her day, that having one evening sprained her ancle, no less an actor than Quin was ordered by the manager to make an apology to the audience for her not appearing in the dance. Quin, who looked upon all dancers as “the mere garnish of the stage,” at first demurred; but being threatened with a forfeiture, he growlingly came forward, and in his coarse way thus addressed the audience:

“Ladies and Gentlemen,

“I am desired by the manager to inform you, that the dance intended for this night is obliged to be postponed, on account of mademoiselle Rollan having dislocated her ancle: I wish it had been her neck.”

In Quin’s time Hippesley was the Roscius of low comedy; he had a large scar on his cheek, occasioned by being dropped into the fire, by a careless nurse, when an infant, which gave a very whimsical cast to his features. Conversing with Quin concerning his son, he told him, he had some thoughts of bringing him on the stage. “Oh,” replied the cynic, “if that is your intention, I think it is high time you should burn his face.”

On one of the first nights of the opera of Cymon at Drury-lane theatre, when the late Mr. Vernon began the last air in the fourth act, which runs,

“Torn from me, torn from me, which way did they take her?”

a dissatisfied musical critic immediately answered the actor’s interrogation in the following words, and to the great astonishment of the audience, in the exact tune of the air,

“Why towards Long-acre, towards Long-acre.”

This unexpected circumstance naturally embarrassed poor Vernon, but in a moment recovering himself, he sung in rejoinder, the following words, instead of the author’s:

“Ho, ho, did they so,
Then I’ll soon overtake her,
Then I’ll soon overtake her.”

Vernon then precipitately made his exit amidst the plaudits of the whole house.

Home Department.

Potatoes.

If potatoes, how much soever frosted, be only carefully excluded from the atmospheric air, and the pit not opened until some time after the frost has entirely subsided, they will be found not to have sustained the slightest injury. This is on account of their not having been exposed to a sudden change, and thawing gradually.

A person inspecting his potato heap, which had been covered with turf, found them so frozen, that, on being moved, they rattled like stones: he deemed them irrecoverably lost, and, replacing the turf, left them, as he thought, to their fate. He was not less surprised than pleased, a considerable time afterwards, when he discovered that his potatoes, which he had given up for lost, had not suffered the least detriment, but were, in all respects, remarkably fine, except a few near the spot which had been uncovered. If farmers keep their heaps covered till the frost entirely disappears, they will find their patience amply rewarded.

London.

Lost Children.

The Gresham committee having humanely provided a means of leading to the discovery of lost or strayed children, the following is a copy of the bill, issued in consequence of their regulation:—

To the Public.

London.

If persons who may have lost a child, or found one, in the streets, will go with a written notice to the Royal Exchange, they will find boards fixed up near the medicine shop, for the purpose of posting up such notices, (free of expense.) By fixing their notice at this place, it is probable the child will be restored to its afflicted parents on the same day it may have been missed. The children, of course, are to be taken care of in the parish where they are found until their homes are discovered.

From the success which has, within a short time, been found to result from the immediate posting up notices of this sort, there can be little doubt, when the knowledge of the above-mentioned boards is general, but that many children will be speedily restored. It is recommended that a bellman be sent round the neighbourhood, as heretofore has been usually done.

Persons on receiving this paper are requested to fix it up in their shop-window, or other conspicuous place.

The managers of Spa-fields chapel improving upon the above hint, caused a board to be placed in front of their chapel for the same purpose, and printed bills which can be very soon filled up, describing the child lost or found, in the following forms:—

The severe affliction many parents suffer by the loss of young children, should induce parish officers, and others, in populous neighbourhoods, to adopt a plan so well devised to facilitate the restoration of strayed children.

Ticket Porters.

By an Act of common council of the city of London, Heygate, mayor, 1823, the ticket porters are not to exceed five hundred.

A ticket porter, when plying or working, is to wear his ticket so as to be plainly seen, under a penalty of 2s. 6d. for each offence.

No ticket porter is to apply for hire in any place but on the stand, appointed by the acts of common council, or within six yards thereof, under a penalty of 5s.

A ticket porter not to take more than one job at a time, penalty 2s. 6d.

Seven, or more, rulers of the society, to constitute a court.

The governor of the society, with the court of rulers, to make regulations, and annex reasonable penalties for the breach thereof, not exceeding 20s. for each offence, or three months’ suspension. They may discharge porters who persist in breach of their orders.

The court of rulers to hear and determine complaints in absence of the governor.

Any porter charging more than his regular fare, finable on conviction to the extent of 20s., by the governor, or the court of rulers.

Persons employing any one within the city, except their own servants or ticket porters, are liable to be prosecuted.

Manners.

Oliver Cromwell.

The following is an extract from one of Richard Symons’s Pocket-books, preserved amongst the Harleian MSS. in the British Museum, No. 991. “At the marriage of his daughter to Rich, in Nov. 1657, the lord protector threw about sack-posset among all the ladyes to soyle their rich cloaths, which they tooke as a favour, and also wett sweetmeats; and daubed all the stooles where they were to sit with wett sweetmeats; and pulled off Rich his peruque, and would have thrown it into the fire, but did not, yet he sate upon it.”

Old Women.

De Foe remarks in his “Protestant Monastery,” that “If any whimsical or ridiculous story is told, ’tis of an Old Woman. If any person is awkward at his business or any thing else, he is called an Old Woman forsooth. Those were brave days for young people, when they could swear the old ones out of their lives, and get a woman hanged or burnt only for being a little too old—and, as a warning to all ancient persons, who should dare to live longer than the young ones think convenient.”

Duel with a Bag.

Two gentlemen, one a Spaniard, and the other a German, who were recommended, by their birth and services, to the emperor Maximilian II., both courted his daughter, the fair Helene Scharfequinn, in marriage. This prince, after a long delay, one day informed them, that esteeming them equally, and not being able to bestow a preference, he should leave it to the force and address of the claimants to decide the question. He did not mean, however, to risk the loss of one or the other, or perhaps of both. He could not, therefore, permit them to encounter with offensive weapons, but had ordered a large bag to be produced. It was his decree, that whichever succeeded in putting his rival into this bag should obtain the hand of his daughter. This singular encounter between the two gentlemen took place in the face of the whole court. The contest lasted for more than an hour. At length the Spaniard yielded, and the German, Ehberhard, baron de Talbert, having planted his rival in the bag, took it upon his back, and very gallantly laid it at the feet of his mistress, whom he espoused the next day.

Such is the story, as gravely told by M. de St. Foix. It is impossible to say what the feelings of a successful combatant in a duel may be, on his having passed a small sword through the body, or a bullet through the thorax, of his antagonist; but might he not feel quite as elated, and more consoled, on having put his adversary “into a bag?”

“A New Matrimonial Plan.”

This is the title of a bill printed and distributed four or five years ago, and now before me, advertising “an establishment where persons of all classes, who are anxious to sweeten life, by repairing to the altar of Hymen, have an opportunity of meeting with proper partners.” The “plan” says, “their personal attendance is not absolutely necessary, a statement of facts is all that is required at first.” The method is simply this, for the parties to become subscribers, the amount to be regulated according to circumstances, and that they should be arranged in classes in the following order, viz.

“Ladies.

“1st Class. I am twenty years of age, heiress to an estate in the county of Essex of the value of 30,000l., well educated, and of domestic habits; of an agreeable, lively disposition and genteel figure. Religion that of my future husband.

“2d Class. I am thirty years of age, a widow, in the grocery line in London—have children; of middle stature, full made, fair complexion and hair, temper agreeable, worth 3,000l.

“3d Class. I am tall and thin, a little lame in the hip, of a lively disposition, conversable, twenty years of age, live with my father, who, if I marry with his consent, will give me 1,000l.

“4th Class. I am twenty years of age; mild disposition and manners; allowed to be personable.

“5th Class. I am sixty years of age; income limited; active, and rather agreeable.

“Gentlemen.

“1st Class. A young gentleman with dark eyes and hair; stout made; well educated; have an estate of 500l. per annum in the county of Kent; besides 10,000l. in the three per cent. consolidated annuities; am of an affable disposition, and very affectionate.

“2d Class. I am forty years of age, tall and slender, fair complexion and hair, well tempered and of sober habits, have a situation in the Excise of 300l. per annum, and a small estate in Wales of the annual value of 150l.

“3d Class. A tradesman in the city of Bristol, in a ready-money business, turning 150l. per week, at a profit of 10l. per cent., pretty well tempered, lively, and fond of home.

“4th Class. I am fifty-eight years of age; a widower, without incumbrance; retired from business upon a small income; healthy constitution; and of domestic habits.

“5th Class. I am twenty-five years of age; a mechanic, of sober habits; industrious, and of respectable connections.

“It is presumed that the public will not find any difficulty in describing themselves; if they should, they will have the assistance of the managers, who will be in attendance at the office, No. 5, Great St. Helen’s, Bishopgate-street, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, between the hours of eleven and three o’clock.—Please to inquire for Mr. Jameson, up one pair of stairs. All letters to be post paid.

“The subscribers are to be furnished with a list of descriptions, and when one occurs likely to suit, the parties may correspond; and if mutually approved, the interview may be afterwards arranged. Further particulars may be had as above.”

Such a strange device in our own time, for catching would-be lovers, seems incredible, and yet here is the printed plan, with the name and address of the match-making gentleman you are to inquire for “up one pair of stairs.”

Topographical Memoranda.

Clerical Longevity.

The following is an authentic account, from the “Antiquarian Repertory,” of the incumbents of a vicarage near Bridgenorth in Shropshire. Its annual revenue, till the death of the last incumbent here mentioned, was not more than about seventy pounds per annum, although it is a very large and populous parish, containing at least twenty hamlets or townships, and is scarcely any where less than four or five miles in diameter. By a peculiar idiom in that country, the inhabitants of this large district are said to live “in Worfield-home:” and the adjacent, or not far distant, parishes (each of them containing, in like manner, many townships, or hamlets) are called Claverly, or Clarely-home, Tatnall-home, Womburn-home, or, as the terminating word is every where pronounced in that neighbourhood, “whome.”

“A list of the vicars of Worfield in the diocese of Lichfield and Coventry, and in the county of Salop, from 1564 to 1763, viz.

“Demerick, vicar, last popish priest, conformed during the six first years of Elizabeth. He died 1564.

Only 4 vicars in 199 years.”

Spelling for a Wake.

Proclamation was made a few years ago, at Tewkesbury, from a written paper, of which the following is a copy:—

“Hobnail’s Wake—This his to give notis on Tusday next—a Hat to be playd at bac sord fore. Two Belts to be tuseld fore. A plum cack to be gump in bags fowr. A pond of backer to be bold for, and a showl to danc lot by wimen.”

THE BEAUTIES OF SOMERSET.
A BALLAD.

I’m a Zummerzetzhire man,
Zhew me better if you can,
In the North, Zouth, East, or West;
I waz born in Taunton Dean,
Of all places ever seen
The richest and the best.

Old Ballad

Tune, Alley Croker.

That Britain’s like a precious gem
Set in the silver ocean,
Our Shakspeare sung, and none condemn
Whilst most approve the notion,—
But various parts, we now declare,
Shine forth in various splendour,
And those bright beams that shine most fair,
The western portions render;—
O the counties, the matchless western counties,
But far the best,
Of all the rest,
Is Somerset for ever.

For come with me, and we’ll survey
Our hills and vallies over,
Our vales, where clear brooks bubbling stray
Through meads of blooming clover;
Our hills, that rise in giant pride,
With hollow dells between them,
Whose sable forests, spreading wide,
Enrapture all who’ve seen them;
O the counties, &c.

How could I here forgetful be
Of all your scenes romantic,
Our rugged rocks, our swelling sea,
Where foams the wild Atlantic!
There’s not an Eden known to men
That claims such admiration,
As lovely Culbone’s peaceful glen,
The Tempe of the nation;
O the counties, &c.

To name each beauty in my rhyme
Would prove a vain endeavour,
I’ll therefore sing that cloudless clime
Where Summer sets for ever;
Where ever dwells the Age of Gold
In fertile vales and sunny,
Which, like the promis’d land of old,
O’erflows with milk and honey;
O the counties, &c.

But O! to crown my county’s worth,
What all the rest surpasses,
There’s not a spot in all the earth
Can boast such lovely lasses;
There’s not a spot beneath the sun
Where hearts are open’d wider.
Then let us toast them every one,
In bowls of native cider;
O the counties, &c.

Weather.

A new Hygrometer.

A new instrument to measure the degrees of moisture in the atmosphere, of which the following is a description, was invented by M. Baptist Lendi, of St. Gall:

In a white flint bottle is suspended a piece of metal, about the size of a hazle nut, which not only looks extremely beautiful, and contributes to the ornament of a room, but likewise predicts every possible change of weather twelve or fourteen hours before it occurs. As soon as the metal is suspended in the bottle with water, it begins to increase in bulk, and in ten or twelve days forms an admirable pyramid, which resembles polished brass; and it undergoes several changes, till it has attained its full dimensions. In rainy weather, this pyramid is constantly covered with pearly drops of water; in case of thunder or hail, it will change to the finest red, and throw out rays; in case of wind or fog, it will appear dull and spotted; and previously to snow, it will look quite muddy. If placed in a moderate temperature, it will require no other trouble than to pour out a common tumbler full of water, and to put in the same quantity of fresh. For the first few days it must not be shaken.

Omniana.

Calico Company.

A red kitten was sent to the house of a linen-draper in the city; and, on departing from the maternal basket, the following lines were written:—

The Red Kitten.

O the red red kitten is sent away,
No more on parlour hearth to play;
He must live in the draper’s house,
And chase the rat, and catch the mouse,
And all day long in silence go
Through bales of cotton and calico.

After the king of England fam’d,
The red red kitten was Rufus nam’d.
And as king Rufus sported through
Thicket and brake of the Forest New,
The red red kitten Rufus so
Shall jump about the calico.

But as king Rufus chas’d the deer,
And hunted the forest far and near,
Until as he watch’d the jumpy squirrel,
He was shot by Walter Tyrrel;
So, if Fate shall his death ordain,
Shall kitten Rufus by dogs be slain,
And end his thrice three lives of woe
Among the cotton and calico.

Twelfth-Day

SONNET
TO A PRETTY GIRL IN
A PASTRY-COOK’S SHOP.

Sweet Maid, for thou art maid of many sweets,
Behind thy counter, lo! I see thee standing,
Gaz’d at by wanton wand’rers in the streets,
While cakes, to cakes, thy pretty fist is handing.

Light as a puff appears thy every motion,
Yet thy replies I’ve heard are sometimes tart;
I deem thee a preserve, yet I’ve a notion
That warm as brandied cherries is thy heart.

Then be not to thy lover like an ice,
Nor sour as raspberry vinegar to one
Who owns thee for a sugar-plum so nice,
Nicer than comfit, syllabub, or bun.

I love thee more than all the girls so natty,
I do, indeed, my sweet, my savoury Patty.

“Holly Night” at Brough.

For the Table Book.

The ancient custom of carrying the “holly tree” on Twelfth Night, at Brough in Westmoreland, is represented in the accompanying [engraving].

Formerly the “Holly-tree” at Brough was really “holly,” but ash being abundant, the latter is now substituted. There are two head inns in the town; which provide for the ceremony alternately, though the good townspeople mostly lend their assistance in preparing the tree, to every branch of which they fasten a torch. About eight o’clock in the evening, it is taken to a convenient part of the town, where the torches are lighted, the town band accompanying and playing till all is completed, when it is removed to the lower end of the town; and, after divers salutes and huzzas from the spectators, is carried up and down the town, in stately procession, usually by a person of renowned strength, named Joseph Ling. The band march behind it, playing their instruments, and stopping every time they reach the town bridge, and the cross, where the “holly” is again greeted with shouts of applause. Many of the inhabitants carry lighted branches and flambeaus; and rockets, squibs, &c. are discharged on the joyful occasion. After the tree is thus carried, and the torches are sufficiently burnt, it is placed in the middle of the town, when it is again cheered by the surrounding populace, and is afterwards thrown among them. They eagerly watch for this opportunity; and, clinging to each end of the tree, endeavour to carry it away to the inn they are contending for, where they are allowed their usual quantum of ale and spirits, and pass a “merry night,” which seldom breaks up before two in the morning.

Carrying the “Holly Tree” at Brough, Westmoreland.

To every branch a torch they tie,
To every torch a light apply;
At each new light send forth huzzas
Till all the tree is in a blaze;
And then bear it flaming through the town,
With minstrelsy, and rockets thrown.

Although the origin of this usage is lost, and no tradition exists by which it can be traced, yet it may not be a strained surmise to derive it from the church ceremony of the day when branches of trees were carried in procession to decorate the altars, in commemoration of the offerings of the Magi, whose names are handed down to us as Melchior, Gaspar, and Balthasar, the patrons of travellers. In catholic countries, flambeaus and torches always abound in their ceremonies; and persons residing in the streets through which they pass, testify their zeal and piety by providing flambeaus at their own expense, and bringing them lighted to the doors of their houses.

W. H. H.

Note.

Communications for the Table Book addressed to me, in a parcel, or under cover, to the care of the publishers, will be gladly received.

Notices to Correspondents will appear on the wrappers of the monthly parts only.

The Table Book, therefore, after the present sheet, will be printed continuously, without matter of this kind, or the intervention of temporary titles, unpleasant to the eye, when the work comes to be bound in volumes.

Lastly, because this is the last opportunity of the kind in my power, I beg to add that some valuable papers which could not be included in the Every-Day Book, will appear in the Table Book.

Moreover Lastly, I earnestly solicit the immediate activity of my friends, to oblige and serve me, by sending any thing, and every thing they can collect or recollect, which they may suppose at all likely to render my Table Book instructive, or diverting.

W. Hone.

Vol. I.—2.

Emigration of the Deer from Cranbourn Chase, 1826.

Emigration of the Deer from Cranbourn Chase, 1826

The genial years increase the timid herd
Till wood and pasture yield a scant supply;
Then troop the deer, as at a signal word,
And in long lines o’er barren downs they hie,
In search what food far vallies may afford—
Less fearing man, their ancient enemy,
Than in their native chase to starve and die.

The deer of Cranbourn chase usually average about ten thousand in number. In the winter of 1826, they were presumed to amount to from twelve to fifteen thousand. This increase is ascribed to the unusual mildness of recent winters, and the consequent absence of injuries which the animals are subject to from severe weather.

In the month of November, a great number of deer from the woods and pastures of the Chase, between Gunvile and Ashmore, crossed the narrow downs on the western side, and descended into the adjacent parts of the vale of Blackmore in quest of subsistence. There was a large increase in the number about twelve years preceding, till the continued deficiency of food occasioned a mortality. Very soon afterwards, however, they again increased and emigrated for food to the vallies, as in the present instance. At the former period, the greater part were not allowed or were unable to return.

The tendency of deer to breed beyond the means of support, afforded by parks and other places wherein they are kept, has been usually regulated by converting them into venison. This is clearly more humane than suffering the herds so to enlarge, that there is scarcely for “every one a mouthfull, and no one a bellyfull.” It is also better to pay a good price for good venison in season, than to have poor and cheap venison from the surplus of starving animals “killed off” in mercy to the remainder, or in compliance with the wishes of landholders whose grounds they invade in their extremity.

The emigration of the deer from Cranbourn Chase suggests, that as such cases arise in winter, their venison may be bestowed with advantage on labourers, who abound more in children than in the means of providing for them; and thus the surplus of the forest-breed be applied to the support and comfort of impoverished human beings.

Cranbourn.

Cranbourn is a market town and parish in the hundred of Cranbourn, Dorsetshire, about 12 miles south-west from Salisbury, and 93 from London. According to the last census, it contains 367 houses and 1823 inhabitants, of whom 104 are returned as being employed in trade. The parish includes a circuit of 40 miles, and the town is pleasantly situated in a fine champaign country at the north-east extremity of the county, near Cranbourn Chase, which extends almost to Salisbury. Its market is on a Thursday, it has a cattle market in the spring, and its fairs are on St. Bartholomew’s and St. Nicholas’ days. It is the capital of the hundred to which it gives its name, and is a vicarage valued in the king’s books at £6. 13s. 4d. It is a place of high antiquity, famous in the Saxon and Norman times for its monastery, its chase, and its lords. The monastery belonged to the Benedictines, of which the church at the west end of the town was the priory.[8]

Affray in the Chase.

On the night of the 16th of December, 1780, a severe battle was fought between the keepers and deer-stealers on Chettle Common, in Bursey-stool Walk. The deer-stealers had assembled at Pimperne, and were headed by one Blandford, a sergeant of dragoons, a native of Pimperne, then quartered at Blandford. They came in the night in disguise, armed with deadly offensive weapons called swindgels, resembling flails to thresh corn. They attacked the keepers, who were nearly equal in number, but had no weapons but sticks and short hangers. The first blow was struck by the leader of the gang, it broke a knee-cap of the stoutest man in the chase, which disabled him from joining in the combat, and lamed him for ever. Another keeper, from a blow with a swindgel, which broke three ribs, died some time after. The remaining keepers closed in upon their opponents with their hangers, and one of the dragoon’s hands was severed from the arm, just above the wrist, and fell on the ground; the others were also dreadfully cut and wounded, and obliged to surrender. Blandford’s arm was tightly bound with a list garter to prevent its bleeding, and he was carried to the lodge. The Rev. William Chafin, the author of “Anecdotes respecting Cranbourn Chase,” says, “I saw him there the next day, and his hand in the window: as soon as he was well enough to be removed, he was committed, with his companions, to Dorchester gaol. The hand was buried in Pimperne church-yard, and, as reported, with the honours of war. Several of these offenders were labourers, daily employed by Mr. Beckford, and had, the preceding day, dined in his servants’ hall, and from thence went to join a confederacy to rob their master.” They were all tried, found guilty and condemned to be transported for seven years; but, in consideration of their great suffering from their wounds in prison, the humane judge, sir Richard Perryn, commuted the punishment to confinement for an indefinite term. The soldier was not dismissed from his majesty’s service, but suffered to retire upon half-pay, or pension; and set up a shop in London, which he denoted a game-factor’s. He dispersed hand-bills in the public places, in order to get customers, and put one into Mr. Chafin’s hand in the arch-way leading into Lincoln’s-inn-square. “I immediately recognised him,” says Mr. Chafin, “as he did me; and he said, that if I would deal with him, he would use me well, for he had, in times past, had many hares and pheasants of mine; and he had the assurance to ask me, if I did not think it a good breeding-season for game!”

Buck-hunting.

Buck-hunting, in former times, was much more followed, and held in much greater repute, than now. From letters in Mr. Chafin’s possession, dated in June and July 1681, he infers, that the summers then were much hotter than in the greater part of the last century. The time of meeting at Cranbourn Chase in those days seems invariably to have been at four o’clock in the evening; it was the custom of the sportsmen to take a slight repast at two o’clock, and to dine at the most fashionable hours of the present day. Mr. Chafin deemed hunting in an evening well-judged, and advantageous every way. The deer were at that time upon their legs, and more easily found; they were empty, and more able to run, and to show sport; and as the evening advanced, and the dew fell, the scent gradually improved, and the cool air enabled the horses and the hounds to recover their wind, and go through their work without injury; whereas just the reverse of this would be the hunting late in a morning. What has been mentioned is peculiar to Buck-hunting only.

Stag-hunting is in some measure a summer amusement also; but that chase is generally much too long to be ventured on in an evening. It would carry the sportsman too far distant from their homes. It is absolutely necessary, therefore, in pursuing the stag, to have the whole day before them.

It was customary, in the last century, for sportsmen addicted to the sport of Buck-hunting, and who regularly followed it, to meet every season on the 29th day of May, king Charles’s restoration, with oak-boughs in their hats or caps, to show their loyalty, (velvet caps were chiefly worn in those days, even by the ladies,) and to hunt young male deer, in order to enter the young hounds, and to stoop them to their right game, and to get the older ones in wind and exercise, preparatory to the commencement of the buck-killing season.

This practice was termed “blooding the hounds;” and the young deer killed were called “blooding-deer,” and their venison was deemed fit for an epicure. It was reported, that an hind quarter of this sort of venison, which had been thoroughly hunted, was once placed on the table before the celebrated Mr. Quin, at Bath, who declared it to be the greatest luxury he ever met with, and ate very heartily of it. But this taste seems not to have been peculiar to Mr. Quin; for persons of high rank joined in the opinion: and even judges, when on their circuits, indulged in the same luxury.

The following is an extract from a steward’s old accompt-book, found in the noble old mansion of Orchard Portman, near Taunton, in Somersetshire

“10th August
1680.
Delivered Sr William, in the
higher Orial, going a hunting
with the Judges£2. 0s. 0d.”

From hence, therefore, it appears, that in those days buck-hunting, for there could be no other kind of hunting meant, was in so much repute, and so much delighted in, that even the judges could not refrain from partaking in it when on their circuits; and it seems that they chose to hunt their own venison, which they annually received from Orchard park at the time of the assizes. “I cannot but deem them good judges,” says Mr. Chafin, “for preferring hunted venison to that which had been shot.”