“Scotland, the birthplace of valour—the country of worth.”“Scottish heroes; and may their fame live for ever.”
“Scotland, the birthplace of valour—the country of worth.”
“Scottish heroes; and may their fame live for ever.”
A popular toast of the past was:—
“The independence of Greece and the memory of Byron.”
The dislike to France by our fathers is plainly indicated in several sentiments:—
“May French principles never corrupt English manners.”
It would appear from many of the toasts that the nation was weary of war and wanted peace and liberty. The plea for liberty occurs in many of the sentiments; it is the closing wish of the following:—
“May peace o’er Britain spread her wing,And commerce fill her ports with gold;May arts and science comfort bring,And liberty her sons enfold.”
The naval and military toasts, as befits a nation that has gained glory in battles on sea and land, are on the whole good. A few examples onlymust suffice. How out of date our first appears in this age of ironclads:—
“Old England’s wooden walls.”
Here is a punning toast:—
“Sir Home Popham—and pop-home to all our enemies.”
A nautical toast is:—
“To Nelson’s memory here’s a health,And to his gallant tars,And may our British seamen bold,Despite both wounds and scars,Make France and Spain,And all the mainAnd all the foes to know,Britons reign o’er the main,While the stormy winds do blow.”
Says another toast:—
“May the deeds never be forgot that were done at Trafalgar and Waterloo.”
Wellington is not neglected in the toasts, but he is not so popular as Nelson. The feats of the Life Guards at Waterloo are remembered:—
“The Life Guards: that washed out in blood the blots of Piccadilly.”
Another famous regiment is thus toasted:—
“The Scotch Greys: that made the Eagles look black.”
Half a century ago was a toast which will find to-day a response in many hearts:—
“The Greeks: may they never fall under Turkish bondage.”
Many of the masonic sentiments are fine; they are amongst the best in the book. Here is good teaching:—
“May we never condemn that in a brother which we pardon in ourselves.”“May the evening’s diversions bear the morning’s reflections.”“May every society instituted for the promotion of virtue—flourish.”
“May we never condemn that in a brother which we pardon in ourselves.”
“May the evening’s diversions bear the morning’s reflections.”
“May every society instituted for the promotion of virtue—flourish.”
Other toasts are equally good, but the masonic allusions make them more suitable for the perusal of members of the craft than for the public.
Next in order come Bacchanalian toasts. Some of the sentiments would not meet with favour in well regulated society at the present period, but we doubt not were hailed with delight in the hard drinking days of old. The first toast under this head is:—
“A friend and a bottle of wine to give him.”
Wine and women find a place in not a few of the sentiments:—
“A full purse, a fresh bottle, and a pretty face.”“Beauty, wit, and wine.”“Wine, women, and wit.”
“A full purse, a fresh bottle, and a pretty face.”
“Beauty, wit, and wine.”
“Wine, women, and wit.”
The foregoing are brief, and are perhaps the best toasts which link women with wine. The next is not a bad toast:—
“May our love of the glass never make us forget decency.”
Punning examples are included, such as the two following:—
“May good fellows be found in every port, and all bad ones obliged to sherry out.”“May we never be out of spirits.”
“May good fellows be found in every port, and all bad ones obliged to sherry out.”
“May we never be out of spirits.”
On the whole, the toasts under this heading are not equal in merit to many of the others in the volume.
We find amatory toasts next in order, and of this class quote three examples:—
“The fairest work of nature—women.”“The village maid, may she remain so till she gets a good husband.”“Love without deceit, and matrimony without regret.”
“The fairest work of nature—women.”
“The village maid, may she remain so till she gets a good husband.”
“Love without deceit, and matrimony without regret.”
Sporting sentiments are by no means numerous; only four pages are devoted to them. The following are specimens:—
“May the thirst of blood never disgrace a British sportsman.”“May the love of the chase never interrupt our attention to the welfare of the country.”“The huntsman’s pleasures—the field in the morning, the bottle at night.”
“May the thirst of blood never disgrace a British sportsman.”
“May the love of the chase never interrupt our attention to the welfare of the country.”
“The huntsman’s pleasures—the field in the morning, the bottle at night.”
Some are in rhyme, and the following is a favourable example:—
“May jovial hunters in the mornPrepare them for the chase;Rise at the sounding of the horn,And health with sport enhance.”
Under the heading of political toasts are a number free from party sentiment, advocating more the glory of our country than the praise of a particular party. We can quite understand how favourably a toast like the following would be received:—
“The British Lion, may he never rise in anger and sit down in fear.”
The next is brief:—
“Death or Liberty.”
A popular toast is as follows:—
“Here’s to England, the ruler and queen of the waves,May she ever be found to give freedom to slaves.May she always extend to the weak and oppressed,Those blessings with which her own have been blessed.
Lastly, let us quote one that in our day might be taken to heart by those in office:—
“May Ministers while they are servants of the Crown never forget that they are representatives of the people.”
Next in order come sentimental toasts. Examples of these may almost be culled at random to represent the whole, for there is a great sameness about them:—
“May our great men be good and our good men great.”“May goodness prevail where beauty fails.”“May we never be lost to hope.”“Our friends, our country, our laws, home, love, and liberty.”
“May our great men be good and our good men great.”
“May goodness prevail where beauty fails.”
“May we never be lost to hope.”
“Our friends, our country, our laws, home, love, and liberty.”
Two pages are devoted to flash toasts, but as far as we are able to judge are without interest.
The work closes with a varied and interesting collection of toasts under the heading of “Miscellaneous,” and contains excellent examples of the wit and wisdom of bygone times. The celebrated Roxburghe Club of book-lovers was founded in 1812, and has given to the world many valuable volumes. The social side of the society was well sustained, and the following are the ten bibliomania toasts which were honoured at the festive gatherings:—
1. “The immortal memory of Christopher Valdarfer, printer of the Boccaccio of 1471.”2. “The memory of William Caxton, founder of the British Press.”3. “To the memory of Wynkyn de Worde, Pynson, and Notary, successors of Caxton.”4. “The memory of John, Duke of Roxburghe.”5. “The memory of Lady Juliana Barnes and the St. Albans’ Press.”6. “The memory of Gutenberg, Fust, and Schœffer, fathers of the art of printing.”7. “The Aldine family of Venice.”8. “The Giunti family of Florence.”9. “The prosperity of the Roxburghe Club, and in all cases the cause of Bibliomania all over the world.”10. “The Society of the Bibliophiles Français.”
1. “The immortal memory of Christopher Valdarfer, printer of the Boccaccio of 1471.”
2. “The memory of William Caxton, founder of the British Press.”
3. “To the memory of Wynkyn de Worde, Pynson, and Notary, successors of Caxton.”
4. “The memory of John, Duke of Roxburghe.”
5. “The memory of Lady Juliana Barnes and the St. Albans’ Press.”
6. “The memory of Gutenberg, Fust, and Schœffer, fathers of the art of printing.”
7. “The Aldine family of Venice.”
8. “The Giunti family of Florence.”
9. “The prosperity of the Roxburghe Club, and in all cases the cause of Bibliomania all over the world.”
10. “The Society of the Bibliophiles Français.”
By-the-way, in St. Margaret’s Church,Westminster, is a memorial to the first English printer, bearing the following inscription:—
“To the memory ofWilliam Caxton,Who first introduced into Great BritainThe Art of Printing;And, who, A.D. 1477 or earlier, exercised that art in theAbbey of Westminster,This Tablet,In remembrance of one to whom the literature of thiscountry is so largely indebted, was raisedAnno Domini MDCCCXXBy the Roxburghe Club.Earl Spencer, K.G., President.”
Professional sentiments are rather plentiful. The surgeon’s toast is:—
“The man that bleeds for his country.”
The schoolmaster’s toasts are rather numerous, but not without point:—
“Addition to patriots,Subtraction to placemen,Multiplication to the friends of peace,Division to its enemies,Reduction to abuses,Rule of three to king, lords, and commons,Practice to reformation,Fellowship to Britons,Discount to the National Debt,Decimal fractions to the clergy.”
Toasts of musicians are included:—
“May a crotchet in the head never bar the utterance of good notes.”
A second sentiment is:—
“May the lovers of harmony never be in want of a note, and its enemies die in a common chord.”
Tradesmen’s toasts are very plentiful, and several include puns. Here is the hatter’s sentiment:—
“When the rogue naps it, may the lesson be felt.”
Respecting the baker is the following:—
“May we never be done so much as to make us crusty.”
The glazier’s toast is:—
“The praiseworthy glazier who takes pains to see his way through life.”
A rather longer toast is that of the greengrocer:—
“May we spring up like vegetables, have turnip noses, reddish cheeks, and carroty hair—and may our hearts never be hard like those of cabbages, nor may we be rotten at the core.”
The sentiment of the pawnbroker is:—
“When we lend our cash to a friend, may it be to his interest to pay the principal, and his principle to pay the interest.”
The shoemaker’s toast is:—
“May the cobbler’s lapstones never fail him.”
In another toast we have an allusion to shoes:—
“May the enemies of Great Britain always have long corns and short shoes.”
Here we close this curious collection of toasts, feeling thankful that such a book is no longer required for the every-day use of the people. A great change for the better has come over the manners and customs of our countrymen. Turning over the pages of this publication has given us pleasure, and we trust the quotations culled from it may not fail to interest our readers.
“Theonly true history of a country,” said Lord Macaulay, “is to be found in its newspapers.” Sir George Cornewall Lewis expressed his conviction that the historian of the future will find all his materials in theTimes. The American historian Mr. Bancroft seldom saw a newspaper without drawing from it materials for his works. The story-teller often obtains from the daily and weekly press suggestive notes. Charles Reade made excellent use of the romantic episodes recorded in the newspapers. His scrapbooks containing clippings from the papers were numerous and valuable, and amongst his most cherished treasures. Many modern men of letters might be mentioned who are alive to the importance of preserving facts drawn from the journals of the day.
Professor James Davie Butler,LL.D., a few years ago wrote an amusing and at the same time a valuable paper on Scrap-books. He related how he had corrected, through seeing in an old Connecticut newspaper an advertisement,statements made by the leading historians of America. It was respecting the horse of General Stark, a hero in the American War, who broke Burgoyne’s left wing. Headley says, “Stark’s horse sank under him.” Everett states, “The General’s horse was killed in the action.” Irving writes, “The veteran had his horse shot under him.” They were led to make the statement from a postscript of a letter the General wrote saying, “I lost my horse in the action.” Here is the advertisement referred to:—
“Twenty Dollars Reward.—Stolen from me, the subscriber, in the time of action, the 16th of August last, a Brown Mare, five years old; had a star in her forehead. Also a doeskin seated saddle, blue housing trimmed with white, and a curbed bridle.—It is earnestly requested of all Committees of Safety, and others in authority, to exert themselves to recover the said Mare, so that the thief may be brought to justice and the Mare brought to me; and the person, whoever he be, shall receive the above reward for both; and for the Mare alone, one-half that sum. How scandalous, how disgraceful and ignominious, must it appear to all friendly and generous souls to have such sly, artful, designing villains enter into the field of action in order to pillage, pilfer, and plunder from their brethren when engaged in battle!John Stark, B.D.G.Bennington, 11th Sept., 1777.”
“Twenty Dollars Reward.—Stolen from me, the subscriber, in the time of action, the 16th of August last, a Brown Mare, five years old; had a star in her forehead. Also a doeskin seated saddle, blue housing trimmed with white, and a curbed bridle.—It is earnestly requested of all Committees of Safety, and others in authority, to exert themselves to recover the said Mare, so that the thief may be brought to justice and the Mare brought to me; and the person, whoever he be, shall receive the above reward for both; and for the Mare alone, one-half that sum. How scandalous, how disgraceful and ignominious, must it appear to all friendly and generous souls to have such sly, artful, designing villains enter into the field of action in order to pillage, pilfer, and plunder from their brethren when engaged in battle!
John Stark, B.D.G.
Bennington, 11th Sept., 1777.”
The foregoing may be regarded as a goodproof of the value of historical facts gleaned from newspapers.
In recent years several interesting works have been compiled from old newspapers. Perhaps the most important is a set of volumes entitled “The Olden Times Series,” prepared by Mr. Henry M. Brooks, a painstaking antiquary, and published in Boston, Massachusetts. Not the least interesting of the volumes is one devoted to theNew England Sunday. The opening page proves that neither the rich nor the poor were permitted to break the strict Sabbath regulations. In Connecticut, in 1789, General Washington was stopped by the officer representing the State authorities for riding on Sunday. The circumstances were reported in the columns of theColumbian Centinelfor December of that year. “The President,” it is stated, “on his return to New York from his late tour through Connecticut, having missed his way on Saturday, was obliged to ride a few miles on Sunday, in order to gain the town, at which he had previously proposed to attend divine service. Before he arrived, however, he was met by a Tythingman, who, commanding him to stop, demanded the occasion of his riding; and it was not until the President had informed him of everycircumstance, and promised to go no farther than the town intended, that the Tythingman would permit him to proceed on his journey.”
In the old days, little attempt was made to render the places of worship attractive, or even to warm the rooms in which the preachers delivered their long sermons, although the people were obliged by law to attend the services unless they were sick. It was a serious matter not to be a “meeting-goer,” it was, as Mr. Brooks says, to be ranged with thieves and other outlaws. Mr. Felt, the compiler of theAnnals of Salem, has brought together some items of interest bearing on the introduction of stoves into the churches of the district. “For a long period,” writes Mr. Felt, “the people of our country did not consider that a comfortable degree of warmth while at public worship contributed much to a profitable hearing of the gospel.” He states that the first stove heard of in Massachusetts for a meeting-house was put up by the first Congregation of Boston in 1773. Two stoves were placed in the Friends’ Society meeting-house at Salem in 1793, and one in the North Church, Salem in 1809. “Not a few remember,” writes Mr. Brooks, “the general knocking of feet oncold days and near the close of long sermons. On such occasions, the Rev. Dr. Hopkins used to say now and then: ‘My hearers, have a little patience, and I will soon close.’”
One of Mr. Brook’s volumes deals withStrange and Curious Punishments, and it gives particulars of many harsh and cruel laws. It appears, from an address delivered before the Essex Bar Association in 1885, that the old-time punishments in America were much milder than the criminal laws of England at the time, and the number of capital offences was greatly reduced. Persons were frequently whipped. The following is an example drawn from the Essex County Court Records: “In 1643, Roger Scott, for repeated sleeping in meeting on the Lord’s Day, and for striking the person who waked him, was, at Salem, sentenced to be severely whipped.”
Whipping appears to have been a common means of punishing offenders who transgressed the laws. In the month of January, 1761, we see it stated that four men for petty larceny were publicly whipped at the cart’s tail through the streets of New York. We gather from another newspaper report that a man named Andrew Cayto received forty-nine stripes at the publicwhipping-post for house-robbery—namely, for robbing one house, thirty-nine stripes; and for robbing the other, ten stripes. It appears in some instances prisoners had, as part of their sentence, to sit on the gallows with ropes about their necks. We read: “At Ipswich, Massachusetts, June 1763, one Francis Brown for stealing a large quantity of goods, was found guilty; and it being the second conviction, he was sentenced by the Court to sit on the gallows an hour with a rope round his neck, to be whipt thirty stripes, and pay treble damages.” The man was a native of Lisbon, and described as a great thief. “We hear from Worcester,” says theBoston Chronicle, November 20th, 1769, “that on the 8th instant one Lindsay stood in the pillory there one hour, after which he received thirty stripes at the public whipping-post, and was then branded on the hand; his crime was forgery.” It appears that it was the custom to brand by means of hot iron the letter F on the palm of the right hand.
We find that at this period persons found guilty of passing counterfeit dollars were sentenced to have their ears cropped.
To illustrate his subject Mr. Brooks draws fromFelt’sAnnals of Salemnot a few quaint items. It is stated that “in 1637, Dorothy Talby, for beating her husband, is ordered to be bound to and chained to a post.” It is recorded that “in 1649 women were prosecuted in Salem for scolding,” and probably in many cases whipped or ducked. The ducking-stool appears to have been frequently employed. Under date of May 15th 1672, we find it stated: “The General Court of Massachusetts orders that scolds and railers shall be gagged or set in a ducking stool, and dipped over head and ears three times.”
We find particulars of one Philip Ratclif for making “hard speeches against Salem Church, as well as the Government,” sentenced to pay “forty pounds, to be whipped, to have his ears cropped, and to be banished.” The date of this case is 1631. In theAnnals of Salem, under date for May 3rd, 1669, it is recorded that “Thomas Maule is ordered to be whipped for saying that Mr. Higgenson preached lies, and that his instruction was ‘the doctrine of devils.’”
The Quakers were very severely dealt with. At Salem, for making disturbances in the meeting-house, etc., Josiah Southwick, Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Buffum, and other Quakers, were whipped at thecart’s tail through the town. After being banished, Southwick returned to Salem, and for this offence was whipped through the towns of Boxton, Roxbury, and Dedham.
In bygone times, hanging the remains of persons executed was general in England; in America it was an uncommon practice. Mr. Brooks, however, gives particulars of a few instances. At Newport, Rhode Island, on March 12th, 1715, a man named Mecum, was executed for murder; and his body hung in chains on Miantonomy Hill, where the bodies of some Indians executed three years previously were then hanging. A negro hanged at Newport in 1769 was gibbetted on the same hill.
A few lighter passages than those we have studied brighten up the records of American punishments, which were very severe. A prisoner in February, 1789, escaped through the jail chimney at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and wrote on the wall as follows: “The reason of my going is because I have no fire to comfort myself with, and very little provision. So I am sure if I was to stay any longer I should perish to death. Look at that bed there! Do you think it fit for any person to lie on?
“If you are well, I am well;Mend the chimney, and all’s well!”
To the gentlemen and officers of Portsmouth, from your humble servant,
William Fall.
“N.B.—I am very sorry that I did not think of this before, for if I had, your people should not have had the pleasure of seeing me take the lashes.”
Curiosities of the Lotteryis the title of another volume of Mr. Brooks’s “Olden Time Series.” Selling lottery tickets was regarded as a respectable calling. “The better the man,” says Mr. Brooks, “the better the agent. Indeed, it was generally thought to be just as respectable to sell lottery tickets as to sell Bibles; and we have them classed together in the same advertisement.” In England, we must not forget the fact that the business was conducted on the same lines in bygone times. The first lottery in this country was drawn day and night at the west door of St. Paul’s Cathedral, London, from the 11th of January to May 6th, 1569. The profit, which was considerable, was devoted to the repair of harbours. The prizes consisted of pieces of plate.
In the United States, lotteries were instituted for a variety of objects, including building bridges, cleaning rivers, rebuilding Faneuil Hall, raising money to successfully carry on the work of Dartmouth College, Harvard College, and other seats of learning. The advertisements were extremely quaint, illustrated with crudely drawn but effective pictures, and supplied “a speedy cure for a broken fortune.” Rhymes as well as pictures were largely employed in advertisements for lotteries. Much has been spoken and written against lotteries; but, nevertheless, in some of the States of the Union they are still lawful.
With a dip into a volume calledDays of the Spinning Wheel, we bring our old-time gleanings to a close. The items we cull relate to a trade once very general in the United States, but happily now a thing of the past. Advertisements similar to the following appeared in all the American newspapers; not a few of the publishers took an active part in the trade of buying and selling human beings. “To be sold,” advertises theBoston Evening Gazette, 1741, “by the printer of this paper, the very best negro woman in this town, who has had the small pox and measles; is as hearty as a horse, as brisk asa bird, and will work like a beaver.” The same publisher stated that he also had on sale “a negro man about thirty years old, who can do both town and country business very well, but will suit the country best, where they have not so many dram-shops as we have in Boston. He has worked at the printing business fifteen or sixteen years; can handle axe, saw, spade, hoe, or other instrument of husbandry as well as most men, and values himself and is valued by others for his skill in cookery.”
In theGazetteof May 12, 1760, is offered for sale “a negro woman about twenty-eight years of age; she is remarkably healthy and strong, and has several other good qualities; and is offered for sale for no other reason than her being of a furious temper, somewhat lazy. Smart discipline would make her a very good servant. Any person minded to purchase may be further informed by inquiring of the printer.” It will be gathered from the foregoing that the faults of the slaves were clearly stated.
Children were often given away; and many announcements like the following, drawn from thePostboy, February 28, 1763, appeared:—“To be given away, a male negro child of good breed,and in good health. Inquire of Green and Russell.”
Runaway slaves gave considerable trouble to their owners, and the papers include numerous advertisements, details respecting appearance, speech, dress, etc., of the missing persons. After describing his runaway slave, the owner concluded his announcement thus: “All masters of vessels and others are cautioned against harbouring, concealing, or carrying off the said negro, if they would avoid the rigour of the law.”
ToNorthamptonshire belongs the honour of giving birth to the first woman poet who produced a volume of poetry in America. Her name was Anne Bradstreet. She was born in the year 1612. The place of her birth is not absolutely certain. “There is little doubt,” says Helen Campbell, the author of “Anne Bradstreet, and Her Time,” “that Northampton, England, was the home of her father’s family.” At an early age she sailed with her father, Thomas Dudley, to Massachusetts Bay, he being one of the earliest settlers in New England. For some years he had been steward to the Earl of Lincoln. He was a man of means, and belonged to a good family, claiming kinship with the Dudleys and Sidneys of Penshurst. Literature had for him many charms; he wrote poetry, and, says his daughter, he was a “magazine of history.” He left his native country and braved the perils of sea and land to settle in a distant clime where he might worship God according to his conscience.This stern, truth-speaking Puritan soon had his sterling merits recognised, and held the governorship of Massachusetts from 1634 to 1650. He closed at the age of seventy-seven years a well-spent life. After death, in his pocket were found some of his recently written verses. His daughter Anne was a woman of active and refined mind, having acquired considerable culture at a time when educational accomplishments were possessed by few. She suffered much from ill-health; in her girlhood she was stricken with small pox, and was also lame. Her many trials cast a tinge of sadness over her life and writings.
She grew up to be a winsome woman, gaining esteem from the leading people of her adopted country, and her fame as a writer of poetry reached the land of her nativity.
She married, in 1629, Simon Bradstreet, Secretary, and afterwards Governor, of the Colony.
Her first volume, published at Boston in 1640, was dedicated to her father. The title is very long, and is as follows: “Several Poems, compiled with great variety of wit and learning, full of delight, wherein especially is contained aComplete Discourse and Description of the Four Elements, Constitutions, Ages of Man, and Seasons of the Year; together with an exact Epitome of the Three First Monarchies, viz.: the Assyrian, Persian, and Grecian, and the Beginning of the Roman Commonwealth to the end of their last King; with divers other pleasant and serious Poems. By a Gentlewoman of New England.” The book met with much favour, and soon passed into a second edition. In the third edition, issued in 1658, her character is thus sketched: “It is the work of a woman honoured and esteemed where she lives, for her gracious demeanour, her eminent parts, her pious conversation, her courteous disposition, her exact diligence in her place, and discreet management of her family occasions; and more so, these poems are the fruits of a few hours curtailed from her sleep, and other refreshments.” The work was reprinted and published in London in 1650, with the high-sounding title of “The Tenth Muse, lately sprung up in America.” Compared with much that was written in the age in which she lived, her poetry is entitled to a foremost rank, but it is not sufficiently good to gain for it a lasting place in literature. It mainly attractsattention in our time as being the first collection of poetry published in America.
Professor Charles F. Richardson, one of the soundest American critics, speaks of some of the poems as by “no means devoid of merit, though disfigured by a paucity of words and stiffness of style.” The estimable writer of this volume won words of praise from her leading countrymen. President Rogers, of Harvard College, himself a poet, thus addressed her:—
“Madam, twice through the Muses’s grove I walkedUnder your blissful bowers—Twice have I drunk the nectar of your lines.”
All her critics were not so complimentary as President Rogers. Some did not think that a woman had a right to produce poetry and to such she adverts in the following lines:—
“I am obnoxious to each carping tongueWho says my hand a needle better fits,A poet’s pen all scorn I should thus wrong,For such despite they cast on female wits:If what I do prove well, it won’t advance;They’ll say it’s stol’n, or else it was by chance.”
Here are four lines on “The Vanity of all Worldly Things,” which, give a favourable example of her poetic power:—
“As he said vanity, so vain say I,Oh vanity, O vain all under sky;Where is man can say, lo! I have foundOn brittle earth a consolation sound?”
The next specimen of her poetry is an “Elegy on a Grandchild”:—
“Farewell, sweet babe, the pleasure of mine eye;Farewell, fair flower, that for a space was lent,Then ta’en away into eternity.Blest Babe, why should I once bewail thy fate,Or sigh the days so soon were terminate,Sith thou art settled in an everlasting state?”“By nature trees do rot when they are grown,And plums and apples thoroughly ripe do fall,And corn and grass are in their season mown,And time brings down what is both strong and tall;But plants new set to be eradicate,And buds new-bloom to have so short a date,’Tis by His hand alone that nature guides, and fate.”
The lines which follow were written in the prospect of death, and addressed to her husband:—
“How soon, my dear, death may my steps attend,How soon ’t may be thy lot to lose thy friend,We both are ignorant. Yet love bids meThese farewell lines to recommend to thee,That, when that knot’s untied that made us oneI may seem thine, who in effect am none.“And, if I see not half my days that’s due,What Nature would God grant to yours and you.The many faults that well you know I have,Let be interred in my oblivious grave;If any virtue is in me,Let that live freshly in my memory;And when thou feel’st no griefs, as I no harms,Yet live thy dead, who long lay in thine arms;And, when thy loss shall be repaid with gains,Look to my little babes, my dear remains,And, if thou lov’st thyself or lovest me,These, oh protect from step-dame’s injury!And, if chance to thine eyes doth bring this verse,With some sighs honour my absent hearse,And kiss this paper, for thy love’s dear sake,Who with salt tears this last farewell doth take.”
In the year 1666, her house at Andover was consumed by fire, and her letters and papers destroyed, which put an end to one of her literary projects. Six years later she died, at the age of sixty years. It is said of her by an American author: “Her numbers are seldom correct, and her ear had little of Milton’s tenderness or Shakespeare’s grace; yet she was the contemporary of England’s greatest poets, the offspring of that age of melody which had begun with Spenser and Sidney, an echo, from the distant wilderness of the period of universal song.” Several of her descendants are amongst the most gifted of American poets; they include Channing, Dana, Holmes, and others. Her husband nearly reached the age of a hundred years, and was termed “the Nestor of New England.”
Severallasting contributions were made to poetical literature by Miss Catherine Maria Fanshawe. In the literary and artistic circles of London in the closing years of the last century, and for more than three decades of the present century she was popular.
Miss Fanshawe was born in 1775, and came of a good old English family. At an early age she displayed literary gifts full of promise. The following sonnet, written at the age of fourteen and addressed to her mother, has perhaps not been excelled by any youthful writer:—
“Oh thou! who still by piercing woe pursued,Alone and pensive, pour’st thy sorrows here,Forgive, if on thy griefs I dare intrudeTo wipe from thy lov’d cheek the falling tear.Dear mourner, think!—thy son will weep no more;His life was spotless, and his death was mild,And, when this vain delusive life is o’er,He’ll shine a seraph, whom thou lost a child.Then, as we bend before th’ eternal throne,Oh may’st thou, with exulting accents boast,‘Now shall my children ever be my own,For none of those thou gavest me are lost.’With rapture then thou’lt meet th’ angelic boy,And she who sow’d in tears shall meet in joy.”August, 1789.
A long playful poem composed at the age of sixteen, was addressed to the Earl of Harcourt, on his wishing to spell her name, Catherine, with a K. It displays much erudition, but it is too long to quote in full. We give a few of the lines pleading for the letter C:—
“And can his antiquarian eyes,My Anglo-Saxon C despise?And does Lord Harcourt day by day,Regret the extinct initial K?And still with ardour unabated,Labour to get it reinstated?I know, my lord, your generous passion,For every long exploded fashion;And own the Catherine you delight in,Looks irresistibly inviting,Appears to bear the stamp and mark,Of English used in Noah’s Ark;‘But all that glitters is not gold,’Not all things obsolete are old.Would you but take the pains to look,In Dr. Johnson’s quarto book(As I did, wishing much to see,Th’ aforesaid letter’s pedigree),Believe me, ’twould a tale unfold,Would make your Norman blood run cold;My lord, you’ll find the K’s no better,Than an interpolated letter;A wand’ring Greek, a franchis’d alien,Derived from Cadmus or Deucalion;And why, or wherefore, none can tell,Inserted ’twixt the J and L.The learnèd say, our English tongueOn Gothic beams is built and hung.Then why the solid fabric piece,With motley ornaments from Greece?Her lettered despots had no bowels,For northern consonants and vowels;The Roman and the Greek grammarianDeem’d us, and all our words barbarian;’Till those hard words, and harder blows,Had silenced all our haughty foes;And proud they were to kiss the sandals(Shoes we had none) of Goths and Vandals.”
She wrote a satire on William Cobbett, M.P., for Oldham, which was extremely popular amongst politicians at the period it was penned. This is not surprising, for it contains some most amusing lines. It is entitled “The Speech of the Member for Odium.”
In the lighter vein she produced some verses in imitation of the poetry of Wordsworth.
“There is a river clear and fair,’Tis neither broad nor narrow;It winds a little here and there,It winds about like any hare;And then it takes as straight a courseAs on the turnpike road a horse,Or through the air an arrow.The trees that grow upon the shore,Have grown a hundred years or more,So long, there is no knowing.Old Daniel Dobson does not know,When first these trees began to grow;But still they grew, and grew, and grew,As if they’d nothing else to do,But ever to be growing.The impulses of air and skyHave reared their stately stems so high,And clothed their boughs with green;Their leaves the dews of evening quaff,—And when the wind blows loud and keen,I’ve seen the jolly timbers laugh,And shake their sides with merry glee—Wagging their heads in mockery.Fix’d are their feet in solid earth,Where winds can never blow;But visitings of deeper birthHave reached their roots below.For they have gained the river’s brink,And of the living waters drink.There’s little Will, a five year’s child—He is my youngest boy;To look on eyes so fair and wild,It is a very joy:—He hath conversed with sun and shower,And dwelt with every idle flower,As fresh and gay as them.He loiters with the briar rose,The blue-bells are his play-fellows,That dance upon their slender stem.And I have said, my little WillWhy should not he continue stillA thing of Nature’s rearing?A thing beyond the world’s control—A living vegetable soul,—No human sorrow fearing.It were a blessed sight to seeThat child become a willow tree,His brother trees among.He’d be four time as tall as me,And live three times as long.”
It was related by the Rev. William Harness, who did much to make known the merits of Miss Fanshawe’s works, that when the foregoing lines were read to a distinguished admirer of Wordsworth’s poetry, she thought them beautiful, and wondered why the poet had never shown them to her!
Miss Fanshawe’s fame rests on the authorship of the celebrated riddle on the letter H, which has frequently been attributed to Byron, and appeared in more than one edition of his poems. At a party held one evening at the house of her friend, Mr. Hope, of Deep Dene, the conversation turned upon the abuse of the aspirate. After the guestshad withdrawn, Miss Fanshawe retired to her room and composed her noted poem. Next morning she read it at the breakfast table, much to the surprise and delight of the company. It is as follows:—
“’Twas in heaven pronounced, and ’twas muttered in hell,And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell;On the confines of earth ’twas permitted to rest,And the depths of the ocean its presence confest.’Twill be found in the sphere, when ’tis riven asunder,Be seen in the lightning, and heard in the thunder.’Twas allotted to man with his earliest breath,Attends at his birth, and awaits him in death,Presides o’er his happiness, honour, and health,Is the prop of his house, and the end of his wealth.In the heaps of the miser ’tis hoarded with care,But is sure to be lost on his prodigal heir,It begins every hope, every wish it must bound,With the husbandman toils, and with monarchs is crown’d,Without it the soldier, the seaman may roam,But woe to the wretch who expels it from home!In the whispers of conscience its voice will be found,Nor e’en in the whirlpool of passion be drown’d,’Twill not soften the heart; but though deaf to the ear,It will make it acutely and instantly hear.Yet in shade let it rest like a delicate flower,Ah, breathe on it softly—it dies in an hour.
Some other riddles and charades appear in her collected poems, but none are of equal merit to the riddle on the letter H.
Our next example bears the title of an “Ode”:—
“Lo! where the gaily vestur’d throng,Fair learning’s train, are seen,Wedg’d in close ranks her walls along,And up her benches green.[2]Unfolded to their mental eyeThy awful form, Sublimity!The moral teacher shows—Sublimity of Silence born,And Solitude ’mid caves forlornAnd dimly vision’d woes;Or Stedfast Worth, that inly greatMocks the malignity of faith.While whisper’d pleasure’s dulcet soundMurmurs the crowded room around,And Wisdom, borne on Fashion’s pinions,Exulting hails her new dominions.Oh! both on me your influence shed,Dwell in my heart and deck my head!Where’er a broader, browner shadeThe shaggy beaver throws,And with the ample feather’s aidO’er canopies the nose;Where’er with smooth and silken pile,Ling’ring in solemn pause awhile,The crimson velvet glows;From some high benches giddy brink,Clinton with me begins to think(As bolt upright we sit)That dress, like dogs, should have its day,That beavers are too hot for May,And velvets quite unfit.Then taste, in maxims sweet, I drawFrom her unerring lip;How light, how simple are the straw,How delicate the chip!Hush’d is the speaker’s powerful voice,The audience melt away,I fly to fix my final choiceAnd bless th’ instructive day.The milliner officious poursOf hats and caps her ready stores,The unbought elegance of spring;Some wide, disclose the full round face,Some shadowy, lend a modest graceAnd stretch their sheltering wing.Here clustering grapes appear to shedTheir luscious juices on the head,And cheat the longing eye;So round the Phrygian monarch hungFair fruits that from his parchèd tongueFor ever seem’d to fly.Here early blooms the summer rose;Her ribbons wreathe fantastic bows;Here plays gay plumage of a thousand dyes—Visions of beauty, spare my aching eyes!Ye cumbrous fashions, crowd not on my head!Mine be the chip of purest white,Swan-like, and as her feathers lightWhen on the still wave spread;And let it wear the graceful dress,Of unadornèd simpleness.Ah! frugal wish; ah! pleasing thought;Ah! hope indulged in vain;Of modest fancy chiefly boughtA stranger yet to Payne.[3]With undissembled grief I tell,—For sorrow never comes too late,—The simplest bonnet in Pall MallIs sold for £1 8s.To Calculation’s sober view,That searches ev’ry plan,Who keep the old, or buy the new,Shall end where they began.Alike the shabby and the gayMust meet the sun’s meridian ray;The air, the dust, the damp.This, shall the sudden shower despoil;That slow decay by gradual soil;Those, envious boxes cramp.Who will, their squander’d gold may pay;Who will, our taste deride;We’ll scorn the fashion of the dayWith philosophic pride.Methinks we thus, in accents low,Might Sydney Smith address,‘Poor moralist! and what art thou,Who never spoke of dress!’‘Thy mental hero never hungSuspended on a tailor’s tongue,In agonising doubt;Thy tale no flutt’ring female show’d,Who languish’d for the newest mode,Yet dar’d to live without.’”
In Miss Mary Russell Mitford’s “Recollections of a Literary Life” are some genial allusions to Miss Fanshawe. “Besides,” wrote Miss Mitford, “her remarkable talent for graceful and polished pleasantry, whether in prose or verse, Miss Catherine Fanshawe was admirable as a letter-writer, and as a designer in almost every style.” Her drawings and etchings met with praise from those capable of judging their merits.
After Miss Fanshawe’s death, in 1834, her friend, the Rev. William Harness, printed for private circulation a small collection of her poems, expressing his wish “that some enduring memorial may exist of one who, in her varied accomplishments, her acute perception of the beautiful, her playful fancy, her charming conversation, her gentle and retiring manners, her lively sympathy with the sorrows and joys of others, and above all, her simple piety, was so cherished a member of a society, not very extended but intimately united by a common love of literature, and art, and science, which existed in London at the close of the last and the opening of the present century, and which, perhaps, taken for all in all, has never been surpassed.” In 1876, Mr. Basil Montagu Pickering issued “TheLiterary Remains of Catherine Maria Fanshawe,” with notes by the Rev. William Harness. Doubtless his admiration of the productions of the author prompted him to publish the volume. Only two hundred and fifty copies were printed. Mr. Pickering is entitled to the gratitude of lovers of choice poetry for publishing the charming volume.
Thename of Mrs. John Hunter stands high on the roll of English song writers. She is one of the most gifted women in her particular literary field Hull has produced, and it is most remarkable that she is not noticed in any local work devoted to history or biography. Her maiden name was Anne Home, and she was the eldest daughter of Robert Home, of Greenlaw, Berwickshire, surgeon of Burgoyne’s Regiment of Light Horse, and subsequently a physician in Savoy. He greatly displeased his parents by marrying at an early age, and on this account they declined to assist him in the outset of his professional career. He proceeded to Hull, and practised as a surgeon. In the year 1742, Anne, his eldest daughter, was born. She received a liberal education, and at an early age displayed considerable poetical gifts. Her early work found its way into the periodicals, and in one entitled theLark, published at Edinburgh, at the age of twenty-three years, she contributedher well-known song, “The Flowers of the Forest,” and a song we quote as a specimen of her style:—
“Adieu, ye streams that smoothly glideThrough mazy windings o’er the plain;I’ll in some lonely cave reside,And ever mourn my faithful swain.Flower of the forest was my love,Soft as the sighing summer’s gale;Gentle and constant as the dove,Blooming as roses in the vale.Alas! by Tweed my love did stray,For me he searched the banks around;But, ah! the sad and fatal day,My love, the pride of swains, was drown’d.Now droops the willow o’er the stream;Pale stalks his ghost in yonder grove;Dire fancy paints him in my dream;Awake I mourn my hopeless love.”
Such is one of her many songs, several of which were set to music by Haydn. Her best known song is, perhaps, “My Mother bids me bind my Hair”:—
“My mother bids me bind my hairWith bands of rosy hue,Tie up my sleeves with ribbons rare,And lace my bodice blue.“For why,” she cries, “sit still and weep,While others dance and play?”Alas! I scarce can go or creepWhile Lubin is away.’Tis sad to think the days are goneWhen those we love were near;I sit upon this mossy stone,And sigh when none can hear.And while I spin my flaxen thread,And sing my simple lay,The village seems asleep or deadNow Lubin is away.”
In July, 1771, Miss Home was married to John Hunter, the famous anatomist, who step by step rose from the bench of a cabinet-maker to one of the highest positions in the medical profession. He was a native of Long Calderwood, Kilbride parish, Lanarkshire. After working some time as a cabinet-maker, he proceeded to London, and obtained an appointment as an anatomical assistant. He was student at Chelsea Hospital in 1748, a year later undertook the charge of the dissecting room, and in the same year entered St. Mary’s Hall, Oxford, as a gentleman commoner. He did not remain there very long. In 1750 he was a surgeon-pupil at St. George’s Hospital. His brother made his mark in London as a surgeon, and John joined him as lecturer in 1754. Ten years’ toil in the dissecting room broke downhis health. With a view of obtaining a change of work and climate, he joined the army, and in 1761 was made staff-surgeon. He was at the siege of Belle Isle in his first year, and was afterwards with the army in Portugal. He returned home in 1763, and commenced practising as a surgeon. He read many able papers before the members of the Royal Society; in 1767, he was elected a fellow of that distinguished body. In 1787 he was awarded the Copleyan gold medal. He wrote some important medical works. His death was sudden, and occurred in the Board-room of St. George’s Hospital, on the 16th October, 1793, at the age of 64 years. His father died when he was ten years of age, and his early education was neglected. At the age of twenty he could simply read and write, knowing no other language than his own. He was most diligent. His museum contained 10,563 specimens and preparations illustrative of human and comparative anatomy, physiology, pathology, and natural history. It was two years after his death purchased by the Government for £15,000, and presented to the Royal College of Surgeons. Dr. Hunter won fame but not wealth, and died a comparatively poor man. In marriage he was most fortunate;his wife had a beautiful face, and handsome person. She entertained the doctor’s guests with delightful conversation, and her amiability and simple manners endeared her to all with whom she came in contact, many of whom were men of world-wide reputation. Some of Mrs. Hunter’s friends did not always meet with the approval of her husband. The following story is well known, but will bear repeating:—“On returning home late one evening, after a hard day’s fag, Hunter unexpectedly found his drawing-room filled with musical professors, connoisseurs, and other idlers, whom Mrs. Hunter had assembled. He was greatly irritated, and walking straight into the room, addressed the astonished guests pretty much in the following strain: ‘I know nothing of this kick-up, and I ought to have been informed of it beforehand; but as I am now returned home to study, I hope the present company will retire.’ This intimation was, of course, speedily followed by anexeunt omnes.” Mrs. Hunter was both a skilful musician and a graceful singer. The greater part of her poetry displays much sweetness of expression and force. A volume of her poems was issued in 1802, and attracted much favourable notice.
Mrs. Hunter wrote the following epitaph for a monument to her husband to be placed in St. Martin’s Church, London, where he was buried. The then rector of the parish, however, stated it was contrary to the rules to have any memorial placed in the church:—
“Here rests in awful silence, cold and still,One whom no common spark of genius fir’d;Whose reach of thought Nature alone could fill,Whose deep research the love of truth inspired.Hunter, if years of toil and watchful care,If the vast labours of a pow’rful mindTo soothe the ills humanity must share,Deserve the grateful plaudits of mankind.Then to each human weakness buried hereEnvy would raise, to dim a name so bright,Those specks which on the orb of day appear,Take nothing from his warm and welcome light.”
In the year 1860, the remains of John Hunter were removed from the church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields and placed in Westminster Abbey, to rest with the dust of England’s most famous sons. The Council of the Royal College of Surgeons erected a tablet bearing a suitable inscription.
Mrs. Hunter retired from society after the death of her husband, and found much enjoyment in literature. She had two children, a sonand a daughter. On the 7th January, 1821, she died in London after a lingering illness, being nearly eighty years of age. Her name will long remain, and recall the life of one who added several popular songs to our literature. In popular anthologies her productions usually find a place.
Scotlandis a land of song. It has been the birthplace of many poets who have added glory to our literary annals. Its list of authors includes the names of a large number of men and women in the humbler walks of life, who took up literature under difficulties, and won honourable places in the world of letters. Burns at the plough, Hogg tending his sheep on the hillside, Hugh Miller in the quarry, Allan Cunningham with chisel in hand, William Thom and Robert Tannahill at the shuttle, and Janet Hamilton in her humble home are familiar figures to every reader of Scottish biography.
Amongst the lesser known names is that of Mary Pyper, who, under severe trials, read a great deal and produced poems of considerable merit for a self-taught writer. She was born at Greenock, on the 27th of May, 1795. Her father was a clockmaker, named Alexander Pyper, who had married a worthy woman, Isabella Andrews, both of whom were natives of Edinburgh. Failingto obtain regular employment in their native city, the parents of our heroine moved westwards in search of work. Mary Pyper, in an autobiographical letter, addressed to the Rev. Charles Rogers,LL.D., states that “her father enlisted in the 42nd Highlanders on account of failing to find employment.” Says Mr. D. H. Edwards, in hisModern Scottish Poets, “it was a time of war when recruits were often made in an unscrupulous manner, and one day Alexander Pyper found a shilling in his pocket, and was told to his astonishment that he had enlisted in His Majesty’s service.” His regiment, shortly after he joined it, received orders to march from Perth across the Sheriffmuir, a distance of sixteen miles. Poor Mrs. Pyper walked, carrying her infant in her arms, the rain coming down in torrents. After a weary tramp the poor mother sat down nearly broken-hearted, fearing that her baby had perished. On the arrival of the baggage carts, warm clothing and other necessaries were procured, and happily the child began to revive.
The regiment subsequently proceeded to Ireland. Pyper, on leaving Dublin for England, stumbled and fractured his leg. The accident rendered him unfit for active service, and he was discharged.He did not long survive, and at the age of six months, Mary Pyper was left fatherless.
Her mother then returned to her native city. Here she had to struggle for bread, gaining a scanty living as a boot-binder. She devoted much time to the education of her child, who proved an apt scholar. Mother and daughter delighted in the study of history, but Mary’s chief pleasure was derived from the works of the poets. She was familiar with the poetry of Shakespeare, Milton, Scott, Cowper, and other celebrated authors. As a child she was puny; she was always little, and might be called a dwarf. In her early years she suffered much from ill-health. She was troubled with jaundice, and on three occasions had severe attacks of fever, each lasting from six to eight weeks. Her mother, too, was often sick, and when other children of her age were enjoying childish games Mary Pyper was busy with her needle helping to add to the slender income of her mother.
After being confined to her bed for six years, Mrs. Pyper died on the 27th of March, 1827. It was during the attendance on her mother that Mary first thought of composing verses. The poor woman had been obliged to run into debt tothe extent of £9. This amount was paid by her daughter out of her wages of six shillings per week, obtained from a shop-keeper who employed her to make buttons and fringes. Hoping to earn more, she left her situation, and obtained a small basket containing fancy goods, which she hawked for sale, but this did not prove a satisfactory means of making a living. It was uncertain, and the walking fatiguing. In later years she had a continual struggle, and met with numerous misfortunes. Writing to Dr. Rogers, in 1860, she said: “As I was working in our church-school, I fell and broke my arm, some ten years since. Eight months after this, I was painting my house and, over-reaching myself, ricked my back, and the year before I fell on the frost and severely hurt my head.” Kind friends helped to lighten her troubles, which she bore with Christian fortitude.
A small volume of her poems was published in 1860, mainly through the assistance of Mr. T. Constable. The work met with a favourable reception, and a couple of the hymns were reproduced in the pages ofLyra Britannica. Mr. Henry Wright, the compiler of the work entitledLays of Pious Minstrels, includes in it examplesof Mary Pyper’s poetry. In the preface to his volume he wrote: “The attention of my readers is especially directed to the pieces ‘Let me go,’ ‘Servant of God,’ and ‘We shall see Him as He is,’ the composition of Miss Mary Pyper, a resident in one of the closes or alleys in the Old Town of Edinburgh, who is in extreme old age, quite alone in the world, totally blind, and in deep poverty. Since the notice of Miss Pyper appeared in the last edition of this work, many benevolent persons have sent me donations for her in postage stamps, and otherwise. I shall be glad to be the medium of alleviating in any degree the very painful circumstances in which she is placed.” It will be seen from the foregoing that in addition to other afflictions she lost her eyesight in her old age.
We give a few specimens of her verses, which are chiefly of a religious and devotional character. The first poem is entitled “The Christian’s View of Death”:
“Let me go! the Day is breakingMorning bursts upon mine eye,Death this mortal frame is shaking,But the soul can never die!Let me go! the Day-Star, beaming,Gilds the radiant realms above;Its full glory on me streaming,Lights me to the Land of Love.”
The last stanzas of her “Servant of God” are as follow:—
“There Flowers immortal bloomTo charm the ravished sight;And palms and harps await for thoseWho walk with Him in white.For they shall sing the songOf Moses, long foretold,When they have passed those pearly gatesAnd streets of burnished gold.The glories of the LambTheir rapturous strains shall raise—Eternal ages shall recordHis love, His power, His praise.”
The following are the concluding lines of “We shall see Him as He is”:—
“When we pass o’er death’s dark riverWe shall see Him as He is—Resting in His love and favourOwning all the glory His;There to cast our crowns before Him—Oh! what bliss the thought affords!There for ever to adore Him—King of Kings and Lord of Lords.”
One of her best hymns is entitled “What has Jesus done?” The little gem we next reproduce is perhaps her best known production. It has been widely quoted and much admired:—