“Where Catharine-street descends into the Strand;”
“Where Catharine-street descends into the Strand;”
“Where Catharine-street descends into the Strand;”
and as far as recollection of the print serves, it was erected opposite to the site of sir Walter Stirling and Co’s. present banking-house. In a compilation respecting “London and Middlesex,” it is stated that this May-pole having decayed, was obtained of the parish by sir Isaac Newton, in 1717, and carried through the city to Wanstead, in Essex; and by license of sir Richard Child, lord Castlemain, reared in the park by the rev. Mr. Pound, rector of that parish, for the purpose of supporting the largest telescope at that period in the world, given by Mons. Hugon, a French member of the Royal Society, as a present; the telescope was one hundred and twenty-five feet long. This May-pole on public occasions was adorned with streamers, flags, garlands of flowers and other ornaments.
It was near the May-pole in the Strand that, in 1677, Mr. Robert Perceval was found dead with a deep wound under his left breast, and his sword drawn and bloody, lying by him. He was nineteen years of age, had fought as many duels as he had lived years, and with uncommon talents was an excessive libertine. He was second son to the right hon. sir Robert Perceval, bart. Some singular particulars are related of him in the “History of the House of Yvery.” A stranger’s hat with a bunch of ribbons in it was lying near his body when it was discovered, and there exists no doubt of his having been killed by some person who, notwithstanding royal proclamations and great inquiries, was never discovered. The once celebrated Beau Fielding was suspected of the crime. He was buried under the chapel of Lincoln’s-inn. His elder brother, sir Philip Perceval, intent on discovering the murderers, violently attacked a gentleman in Dublin, whom he declared he had never seen before; he could only account for his rage by saying he was possessed with a belief that he was one of those who had killed his brother; they were soon parted, and the gentleman was seen no more.
The last poet who seems to have mentioned it was Pope; he says of an assemblage of persons that,—
Amidst the area wide they took their stand,Where the tall May-pole once o’er-look’d the Strand.
Amidst the area wide they took their stand,Where the tall May-pole once o’er-look’d the Strand.
Amidst the area wide they took their stand,Where the tall May-pole once o’er-look’d the Strand.
A native of Penzance, in Cornwall, relates to the editor of theEvery-Day Book, that it is an annual custom there, on May-eve, for a number of young men and women to assemble at a public-house, and sit up till the clock strikes twelve, when they go round the town with violins, drums, and other instruments, and by sound of music call upon others who had previously settled to join them. As soon as the party is formed, they proceed to different farmhouses, within four or five miles of the neighbourhood, where they are expected as regularly as May morning comes; and they there partake of a beverage called junket, made of raw milk and rennet, or running, as it is there called, sweetened with sugar, and a little cream added. After this, they take tea, and “heavy country cake,” composed of flour, cream, sugar, and currants; next, rum and milk, and then a dance. After thus regaling, they gather the May. While some are breaking down the boughs, others sit and make the “May music.” This is done by cutting a circle through the bark at a certain distance from the bottom of the May branches; then, by gently and regularly tapping the bark all round, from the cut circle to the end, the bark becomes loosened, and slips away whole from the wood; and a hole being cut in the pipe, it is easily formed to emit a sound when blown through, and becomes a whistle. The gathering and the “May music” being finished, they then “bring home the May,” by five or six o’clock in the morning, with the band playing, and their whistles blowing. After dancing throughout the town, they go to their respective employments. Although May-day should fall on a Sunday, they observe the same practice in all respects, with the omission of dancing in the town.
On the first Sunday after May-day, it is a custom with families at Penzance to visit Rose-hill, Poltier, and other adjacent villages, by way of recreation. These pleasure-parties usually consist of two or three families together. They carry flour and other materials with them to make the “heavy cake,” just described, at the pleasant farm-dairies, which are always open for their reception. Nor do they forget to take tea, sugar, rum, and other comfortable things for their refreshment, which, by paying a trifle for baking, and for the niceties awaiting their consumption, contents the farmers for the house-room and pleasure they afford their welcome visitants. Here the young ones find delicious “junkets,” with “sour milk,” or curd cut in diamonds, which is eaten with sugar and cream. New made cake, refreshing tea, and exhilarating punch, satisfy the stomach, cheer the spirits, and assist the walk home in the evening. These pleasure-takings are never made before May-day; but the first Sunday that succeeds it, and the leisure of every other afternoon, is open to the frugal enjoyment; and among neighbourly families and kind friends, the enjoyment is frequent.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,
There still exists among the labouring classes in Wales the custom of May-dancing, wherein they exhibit their persons to the best advantage, and distinguish their agility before the fair maidens of their own rank.
About a fortnight previous to the day, the interesting question among the lads and lasses is, “Who will turn out to dance in the summer this year?” From that time the names of the gay performers are buzzed in the village, and rumour “with her hundred tongues” proclaims them throughout the surrounding neighbourhood. Nor is it asked with less interest, “Who will carry the garland?” and “Who will be theCadi?” Of the peculiar offices of these two distinguished personages you shall hear presently.
About nine days or a week previous to the festival, a collection is made of the gayest ribbons that can be procured. Each lad resorts to his favoured lass, who gives him the best she possesses, and uses her utmost interest with her friends or her mistress to obtain a loan of whatever may be requisite to supply the deficiency. Her next care is to decorate a new white shirt of fine linen. This is a principal part of her lover’s dress. The bows and puffs of ribbon are disposed according to the peculiar taste of each fair girl who is rendered happy by the pleasing task; and thus the shirts of the dancers, from the various fancies of the adorners, form a diversified and lively appearance.
During this time the chosen garland-beareris also busily employed. Accompanied by one from among the intended dancers, who is best known among the farmers for decency of conduct, and consequent responsibility, they go from house to house, throughout their parish, begging the loan of watches, silver spoons, or whatever other utensils of this metal are likely to make a brilliant display; and those who are satisfied with the parties, and have a regard for the celebration of this ancient day, comply with their solicitation.
When May-day morn arrives, the group of dancers assemble at their rendezvous—the village tavern. From thence (when permission can be obtained from the clergyman of the parish,) the rustic procession sets forth, accompanied by the ringing of bells.
The arrangement and march are settled by the Cadi, who is always the most active person in the company; and is, by virtue of his important office, the chief marshal, orator, buffoon, and money collector. He is always arrayed in comic attire, generally in a partial dress of both sexes: a coat and waistcoat being used for the upper part of the body, and for the lower petticoats, somewhat resembling Moll Flagon, in the “Lord of the Manor.” His countenance is also particularly distinguished by a hideous mask, or is blackened entirely over; and then the lips, cheeks, and orbits of the eyes are sometimes painted red. The number of the rest of the party, including the garland-bearer, is generally thirteen, and with the exception of the varied taste in the decoration of their shirts with ribbons, their costume is similar. It consists of clothing entirely new from the hat to the shoes, which are made neat, and of a light texture, for dancing. The white decorated shirts, plaited in the neatest manner, are worn over the rest of their clothing; the remainder of the dress is black velveteen breeches, with knee-ties depending halfway down to the ancles, in contrast with yarn hose of a light grey. The ornaments of the hats are large rosettes of varied colours, with streamers depending from them; wreaths of ribbon encircle the crown, and each of the dancers carries in his right hand a white pocket handkerchief.
The garland consists of a long staff or pole, to which is affixed a triangular or square frame, covered with strong white linen, on which the silver ornaments are firmly fixed, and displayed with the most studious taste. Silver spoons and smaller forms are placed in the shape of stars, squares, and circles. Between these are rows of watches; and at the top of the frame, opposite the pole in its centre, their whole collection is crowned with the largest and most costly of the ornaments: generally a large silver cup or tankard. This garland, when completed, on the eve of May-day, is left for the night at that farmhouse from whence the dancers have received the most liberal loan of silver and plate for its decoration, or with that farmer who is distinguished in his neighbourhood as a good master, and liberal to the poor. Its deposit is a token of respect, and it is called for early on the following morning.
The whole party being assembled, they march in single file, but more generally in pairs, headed by the Cadi. After him follows the garland-bearer, and then the fiddler, while the bells of the village merrily ring the signal of their departure. As the procession moves slowly along, the Cadi varies his station, hovers about his party, brandishes a ladle, and assails every passenger with comic eloquence and ludicrous persecution, for a customary and expected donation.
When they arrive at a farmhouse, they take up their ground on the best station for dancing. The garland-bearer takes his stand; the violin strikes up an old national tune uniformly used on that occasion, and the dancers move forward in a regular quick-step to the tune, in the order of procession; and at each turn of the tune throw up their white handkerchiefs with a shout, and the whole facing quickly about, retrace their steps, repeating the same manœuvre until the tune is once played. The music and dancing then vary into a reel, which is succeeded by another dance, to the old tune of “Cheshire Round.”
During the whole of this time, the buffoonery of the Cadi is exhibited without intermission. He assails the inmates of the house for money, and when this is obtained he bows or curtsies his thanks, and the procession moves off to the next farmhouse. They do not confine the ramble of the day to their own parish, but go from one to another, and to any country town in the vicinity.
When they return to their resident village in the evening, the bells ringing merrily announce their arrival. Themoney collected during the day’s excursion is appropriated to defray whatever expenses may have been incurred in the necessary preparations, and the remainder is spent in jovial festivity.
This ancient custom, like many others among the ancient Britons, is annually growing into disuse. The decline of sports and pastimes is in every age a subject of regret. For in a civil point of view, they denote the general prosperity, natural energy, and happiness of the people, consistent with morality,—and combined with that spirit of true religion, which unlike the howling of the dismal hyæna or ravening wolf, is as a lamb sportive and innocent, and as a lion magnanimous and bold!
I am, Sir,Yours sincerely,H. T. B.April 14, 1825.
For the Every-Day Book.
Extractfrom a letter dated Hitchin, May 1st, 1823.
On this day a curious custom is observed here, of which I will give you a brief account.
Soon after three o’clock in the morning a large party of the town-people, and neighbouring labourers, parade the town, singing the “Mayer’s Song.” They carry in their hands large branches of May, and they affix a branch either upon, or at the side of, the doors of nearly every respectable house in the town; where there are knockers, they place these branches within the handles; that which was put into our knocker was so large that the servant could not open the door till the gardener came and took it out. The larger the branch is, that is placed at the door, the more honourable to the house, or rather to the servants of the house. If, in the course of the year, a servant has given offence to any of the Mayers, then, instead of a branch of May, a branch of elder, with a bunch of nettles, is affixed to her door: this is considered a great disgrace, and the unfortunate subject of it is exposed to the jeers of her rivals. On May morning, therefore, the girls look with some anxiety for their May-branch, and rise very early to ascertain their good or ill fortune. The houses are all thus decorated by four o’clock in the morning. Throughout the day parties of these Mayers are seen dancing and frolicking in various parts of the town. The group that I saw to-day, which remained in Bancroft for more than an hour, was composed as follows. First came two men with their faces blacked, one of them with a birch broom in his hand, and a large artificial hump on his back; the other dressed as a woman, all in rags and tatters, with a large straw bonnet on, and carrying a ladle: these are called “mad Moll and her husband:” next came two men, one most fantastically dressed with ribbons, and a great variety of gaudy coloured silk handkerchiefs tied round his arms from the shoulders to the wrists, and down his thighs and legs to the ancles; he carried a drawn sword in his hand; leaning upon his arm was a youth dressed as a fine lady, in white muslin, and profusely bedecked from top to toe with gay ribbons: these, I understood, were called the “Lord and Lady” of the company; after these followed six or seven couples more, attired much in the same style as the lord and lady, only the men were without swords. When this group received a satisfactory contribution at any house, the music struck up from a violin, clarionet, and fife, accompanied by the long drum, and they began the merry dance, and very well they danced, I assure you; the men-womenlooked and footed it so much likerealwomen, that I stood in great doubt as to which sex they belonged to, till Mrs. J.—— assured me that women were not permitted to mingle in these sports. While the dancers were merrily footing it, the principal amusement to the populace was caused by the grimaces and clownish tricks of mad Moll and her husband. When the circle of spectators became so contracted as to interrupt the dancers, then mad Moll’s husband went to work with his broom, and swept the road-dust, all round the circle, into the faces of the crowd, and when any pretended affronts were offered (and many were offered) to his wife, he pursued the offenders, broom in hand; if he could not overtake them, whether they were males or females, he flung his broom at them. These flights and pursuits caused an abundance of merriment.
I saw another company of Mayers in Sun-street, and, as far as I could judge from where I stood, it appeared to be ofexactly the same description as that above-mentioned, but I did not venture very near them, for I perceived mad Moll’s husband exercising his broom so briskly upon the flying crowd, that I kept at a respectful distance.
May-day at Hitchin, in Hertfordshire.
May-day at Hitchin, in Hertfordshire.
The “Mayer’s Song” is a composition, or rather a medley, of great antiquity, and I was therefore very desirous to procure a copy of it; in accomplishing this, however, I experienced more difficulty than I had anticipated; but at length succeeded in obtaining it from one of the Mayers. The following is a literal transcript of it:
The Mayer’s Song.Remember us poor Mayers all,And thus do we beginTo lead our lives in righteousness,Or else we die in sin.We have been rambling all this night,And almost all this day,And now returned back againWe have brought you a branch of May.A branch of May we have brought you,And at your door it stands,It is but a sprout,But it’s well budded outBy the work of our Lord’s hands.The hedges and trees they are so greenAs green as any leek,Our heavenly Father He watered themWith his heavenly dew so sweet.The heavenly gates are open wide,Our paths are beaten plain,And if a man be not too far gone,He may return again.The life of man is but a span,It flourishes like a flower,We are here to-day, and gone to-morrow,And we are dead in an hour.The moon shines bright, and the stars give a light,A little before it is day,So God bless you all, both great and small,And send you a joyful May.
The Mayer’s Song.
Remember us poor Mayers all,And thus do we beginTo lead our lives in righteousness,Or else we die in sin.We have been rambling all this night,And almost all this day,And now returned back againWe have brought you a branch of May.A branch of May we have brought you,And at your door it stands,It is but a sprout,But it’s well budded outBy the work of our Lord’s hands.The hedges and trees they are so greenAs green as any leek,Our heavenly Father He watered themWith his heavenly dew so sweet.The heavenly gates are open wide,Our paths are beaten plain,And if a man be not too far gone,He may return again.The life of man is but a span,It flourishes like a flower,We are here to-day, and gone to-morrow,And we are dead in an hour.The moon shines bright, and the stars give a light,A little before it is day,So God bless you all, both great and small,And send you a joyful May.
Remember us poor Mayers all,And thus do we beginTo lead our lives in righteousness,Or else we die in sin.
We have been rambling all this night,And almost all this day,And now returned back againWe have brought you a branch of May.
A branch of May we have brought you,And at your door it stands,It is but a sprout,But it’s well budded outBy the work of our Lord’s hands.
The hedges and trees they are so greenAs green as any leek,Our heavenly Father He watered themWith his heavenly dew so sweet.
The heavenly gates are open wide,Our paths are beaten plain,And if a man be not too far gone,He may return again.
The life of man is but a span,It flourishes like a flower,We are here to-day, and gone to-morrow,And we are dead in an hour.
The moon shines bright, and the stars give a light,A little before it is day,So God bless you all, both great and small,And send you a joyful May.
Milkmaids’ Garland on May-day.
Milkmaids’ Garland on May-day.
In London, thirty years ago,When pretty milkmaids went about,It was a goodly sight to seeTheir May-day Pageant all drawn out:—Themselves in comely colours drest,Their shining garland in the middle,A pipe and tabor on before,Or else the foot-inspiring fiddle.They stopt at houses, where it wasTheir custom to cry “milk below!”And, while the music play’d, with smilesJoin’d hands, and pointed toe to toe.Thus they tripp’d on, till—from the doorThe hop’d-for annual present sent—A signal came, to curtsy low,And at that door cease merriment.Such scenes, and sounds, once blest my eyes,And charm’d my ears—but all have vanish’d!On May-day, now, no garlands go,For milk-maids, and their dance, are banish’d.My recollections of these sights“Annihilate both time and space;”I’m boy enough to wish them back,And think their absence—out of place.May 4, 1825.
In London, thirty years ago,When pretty milkmaids went about,It was a goodly sight to seeTheir May-day Pageant all drawn out:—Themselves in comely colours drest,Their shining garland in the middle,A pipe and tabor on before,Or else the foot-inspiring fiddle.They stopt at houses, where it wasTheir custom to cry “milk below!”And, while the music play’d, with smilesJoin’d hands, and pointed toe to toe.Thus they tripp’d on, till—from the doorThe hop’d-for annual present sent—A signal came, to curtsy low,And at that door cease merriment.Such scenes, and sounds, once blest my eyes,And charm’d my ears—but all have vanish’d!On May-day, now, no garlands go,For milk-maids, and their dance, are banish’d.My recollections of these sights“Annihilate both time and space;”I’m boy enough to wish them back,And think their absence—out of place.
In London, thirty years ago,When pretty milkmaids went about,It was a goodly sight to seeTheir May-day Pageant all drawn out:—
Themselves in comely colours drest,Their shining garland in the middle,A pipe and tabor on before,Or else the foot-inspiring fiddle.
They stopt at houses, where it wasTheir custom to cry “milk below!”And, while the music play’d, with smilesJoin’d hands, and pointed toe to toe.
Thus they tripp’d on, till—from the doorThe hop’d-for annual present sent—A signal came, to curtsy low,And at that door cease merriment.
Such scenes, and sounds, once blest my eyes,And charm’d my ears—but all have vanish’d!On May-day, now, no garlands go,For milk-maids, and their dance, are banish’d.
My recollections of these sights“Annihilate both time and space;”I’m boy enough to wish them back,And think their absence—out of place.
May 4, 1825.
From the preceding lines somewhat may be learned of a lately disused custom in London. The milkmaids’garlandwas a pyramidical frame, covered with damask, glittering on each side with polished silver plate, and adorned with knots of gay-coloured ribbons, and posies of fresh flowers, surmounted by a silver urn, or tankard. Thegarlandbeing placed on a wooden horse, was carried by two men, as represented in the engraving, sometimes preceded by a pipe and tabor, but more frequently by a fiddle; the gayest milkmaids followed the music, others followed the garland, and they stopped at their customers’ doors, and danced. The plate, in some of these garlands, was very costly. It was usually borrowed of the pawnbrokers, for the occasion, upon security. One person in that trade was particularly resorted to for this accommodation. He furnished out the entire garland, and let it at so much per hour, under bond from responsible housekeepers for its safe return. In this way one set of milkmaids would hire the garland from ten o’clock till one, and another set would have the garland from one o’clock till six; and so on, during the first three days of May.
It was customary with milk-people of less profitable walks to make a display of another kind, less gaudy in appearance, but better bespeaking their occupation, and more appropriate to the festival. This was an exhibition of themselves, in their best apparel, and of the useful animal which produced the fluid they retailed. One of these is thus described to the editor of theEvery-Day Book, by an intelligent eye-witness, and admirer of the pleasant sight. A beautiful country girl “drest all in her best,” and more gaily attired than on any other day, with floral ornaments in her neat little hat, and on her bosom, led her cow, by a rope depending from its horns, garlanded with flowers and knots of ribbons; the horns, neck, and head of the cow were decorated in like manner: a fine net, like those upon ladies’ palfreys, tastefully stuck with flowers, covered Bess’s back, and even her tail was ornamented, with products of the spring, and silken knots. The proprietress of the cow, a neat, brisk, little, matronly body, followed on one side, in holiday-array, with a sprig in her country bonnet, a blooming posy in her handkerchief, and ribbons on her stomacher. This scene was in Westminster, near the old abbey. Ah!thosewere the days.
The milkmaids’ earlier plate-garland was a pyramid of piled utensils, carried on a stout damsel’s head, under which she danced to the violin.
The great May-fair was formerly held near Piccadilly. An antiquary, (shudder not, good reader, at the chilling name—he was a kind soul,) Mr. Carter, describes this place in an interesting communication, dated the 6th of March, 1816, to his valued friend, the venerable “Sylvanus Urban.” “Fifty years have passed away since this place of amusement was at its height of attraction: the spot where the fair was held still retains the name of May-fair, and exists in much the same state as at the above period: for instance, Shepherd’s market, and houses surrounding it on the north and east sides, with White Horse-street, Shepherd’s-court, Sun-court, Market-court. Westwards an open space extending to Tyburn (now Park) lane, since built upon, in Chapel-street, Shepherd’s-street, Market-street, Hertford-street, &c. Southwards, the noted Ducking-pond, house, and gardens, since built upon, in a large Riding-school, Carrington-street, (the noted Kitty Fisher lived in this street,) &c. The market-house consisted of two stories; first story, a long and cross aisle, for butcher’s shops, externally, other shops connected with culinary purposes; second story, used as a theatre at fair-time, for dramatic performances. My recollection serves to raise before me the representation of the ‘Revenge,’ in which the only object left on remembrance is the ‘black man,’ Zanga. Below, the butchers gave place to toy-men and gingerbread-bakers. At present, the upper story is unfloored, the lower ditto nearly deserted by the butchers, and their shops occupied by needy peddling dealers in small wares; in truth, a most deplorable contrast to what once was such a point of allurement. In the areas encompassing the market-building were booths for jugglers, prize-fighters, both at cudgels and back-sword, boxing-matches, and wild beasts. The sports not under cover were mountebanks, fire-eaters, ass-racing, sausage-tables, dice-tables, up-and-downs, merry-go-rounds, bull-baiting, grinning for a hat, running for a shift, hasty-pudding eaters, eel-divers, and an infinite variety of other similar pastimes. Among theextraordinary and wonderful delights of the happy spot, take the following items, which still hold a place within my mind, though I cannot affirm they all occurred at one precise season. The account may be relied on, as I was born, and passed my youthful days in the vicinity, in Piccadilly, (Carter’s Statuary,) two doors from the south end of White Horse-street, since rebuilt (occupied at present by lady Pulteney).—Before a large commodious house, with a good disposure of walks, arbours, and alcoves, was an area, with an extensive bason of water, otherwise ‘Ducking-pond,’ for the recreation of lovers of thatpoliteandhumanesport. Persons who came with their dogs paid a trifling fee for admission, and were considered the chief patrons and supporters of the pond; others, who visited the place as mere spectators, paid a double fee. A duck was put into the pond by the master of the hunt; the several dogs were then let loose, to seize the bird. For a long time they made the attempt in vain; for, when they came near the devoted victim, she dived under water, and eluded their remorseless fangs. Herein consisted theextreme felicityof theinterestingscene. At length, some dog more expert than the rest, caught the feathered prize, and bore it away, amidst the loudest acclamations, to its most fortunate and envied master. This diversion was held in such high repute about the reign of Charles II., that he, and many of his prime nobility, did not disdain to be present, and partake, with their dogs, of theelegant entertainment. In Mrs. Behn’s play of ‘Sir Patient Fancy,’ (written at the above period,) a sir Credulous Easy talks about a cobbler, his dog-tutor, and his expectation of soon becoming ‘the duke of Ducking-pond.’—A ‘Mountebanks’ Stage’ was erected opposite the Three Jolly Butchers’ public-house, (on the east side of the market area, now the King’s Arms.) Here Woodward, the inimitable comedian and harlequin, made his first appearance as merry-andrew; from these humble boards he soon after found his way to Covent-garden theatre.—Then there was ‘Beheading of Puppets.’ In a coal-shed attached to a grocer’s shop, (then Mr. Frith’s, now Mr. Frampton’s,) one of these mock executions was exposed to the attending crowd. A shutter was fixed horizontally; on the edge of which, after many previous ceremonies, a puppet laid its head, and another puppet then instantly chopped it off with an axe. In a circular staircase-window, at the north end of Sun-court, a similar performance took place by another set of puppets. The condemned puppet bowed its head to the cill which, as above, was soon decapitated. In these representations, the late punishment of the Scotch chieftain (lord Lovat) was alluded to, in order to gratify the feelings of southern loyalty, at the expense of that farther north.—In a fore one-pair room, on the west side of Sun-court, a Frenchman submitted to the curious the astonishing strength of the ‘Strong Woman,’ his wife. A blacksmith’s anvil being procured from White Horse-street, with three of the men, they brought it up, and placed it on the floor. The woman was short, but most beautifully and delicately formed, and of a most lovely countenance. She first let down her hair, (a light auburn,) of a length descending to her knees, which she twisted round the projecting part of the anvil, and then, with seeming ease, lifted the ponderous weight some inches from the floor. After this, a bed was laid in the middle of the room; when, reclining on her back, and uncovering her bosom, the husband ordered the smiths to place thereon the anvil, and forge upon it a horse-shoe! This they obeyed; by taking from the fire a red-hot piece of iron, and with their forging hammers completing the shoe, with the same might and indifference as when in the shop at their constant labour. The prostrate fair one appeared to endure this with the utmost composure, talking and singing during the whole process; then, with an effort which to the by-standers seemed like some supernatural trial, cast the anvil from off her body, jumping up at the same moment with extreme gaiety, and without the least discomposure of her dress or person. That no trick or collusion could possibly be practised on the occasion was obvious, from the following evidence:—The audience stood promiscuously about the room, among whom were our family and friends; the smiths were utter strangers to the Frenchman, but known to us; therefore the several efforts of strength must have proceeded from the natural and surprising power this foreign dame was possessed of. She next put her naked feet on a red-hot salamander, without receiving the leastinjury: but this is a feat familiar with us at this time. Here this kind of gratification to the senses concluded.—Here, too, was ‘Tiddy-doll.’
Tiddy Diddy Doll—loll, loll, loll.
Tiddy Diddy Doll—loll, loll, loll.
This celebrated vender of gingerbread, from his eccentricity of character, and extensive dealings in his way, was always hailed as the king of itinerant tradesmen.[127]In his person he was tall, well made, and his features handsome. He affected to dress like a person of rank; white gold laced suit of clothes, laced ruffled shirt, laced hat and feather, white silk stockings, with the addition of a fine white apron. Among his harangues to gain customers, take this as a specimen:— ‘Mary, Mary, where are younow, Mary? I live, when at home, at the second house in Little Ball-street, two steps under ground, with a wiscum, riscum, and a why-not. Walk in, ladies and gentlemen; my shop is on the second-floor backwards, with a brass knocker at the door. Here is your nice gingerbread, your spice gingerbread; it will melt in your mouth like a red-hot brickbat, and rumble in your inside like Punch and his wheelbarrow.’ He always finished his address by singing this fag end of some popular ballad:—
music
Playmusic.
Hence arose his nickname of ‘Tiddy-doll.’ In Hogarth’s print of the execution of the ‘Idle ’Prentice,’ at Tyburn,Tiddy-dollis seen holding up a gingerbread cake with his left hand, his right being within his coat, and addressing the mob in his usual way:—‘Mary, Mary,’ &c. His costume agrees with the aforesaid description. For many years, (and perhaps at present,) allusions were made to his name, as thus:—‘You are so fine, (to a person dressed out of character,) you look like Tiddy-doll. You are as tawdry as Tiddy-doll. You are quite Tiddy-doll,’ &c.—Soon after the late lord Coventry occupied the house, corner of Engine-street, Piccadilly, (built by sir Henry Hunlocke, Bart., on the site of a large ancient inn, called the Greyhound;) he being annoyed with the unceasing uproar, night and day, during the fair, (the whole month of May,) procured, I know not by what means, the entire abolition of this festival of ‘misrule’ and disorder.”
Theengravinghere given is from an old print ofTiddy-doll; it is presumed, that the readers of theEvery-Day Bookwill look at it with interest.
In the reign of king Henry VIII., a great jealousy arose in the citizens of London towards foreign artificers, who were then called “strangers.” By the interference of Dr. Standish, in a Spital sermon, at Easter, this was fomented into so great rancour, that it violently broke forth in the manner hereafter related by Stow, and occasioned the name of “Evil May-day” to the first of May, whereon the tumult happened. It appears then from him that:—
“The 28th day of April, 1517, divers yong-men of the citie picked quarels with certainestrangers, as they passed along the streets: some they smote and buffetted, and some they threw in the channell: for which, the lord maior sent some of the Englishmen to prison, as Stephen Studley, Skinner, Stevenson, Bets, and other.
“Then suddenly rose a secret rumour, and no man could tell how it began, that on May-day next following, the citie would slay all the aliens: insomuch that divers strangers fled out of the citie.
“This rumour came to the knowledge of the kings councell: whereupon the lord cardinall sent for the maior, and other of the councell of the citie, giving them to understand what hee had heard.
“The lord maior (as one ignorant of the matter) told the cardinall, that he doubted not so to governe the citie, but as peace should be observed.
“The cardinall willed him so to doe, and to take good heed, that if any riotous attempt were intended, he should by good policy prevent it.
“The maior comming from the cardinals house, about foure of the clocke in the afternoone on May eve, sent for his brethren to the Guild-hall, yet was it almost seven of the clocke before the assembly was set. Vpon conference had of the matter, some thought it necessary, that a substantial watch should be set of honest citizens, which might withstand the evill doers, if they went about any misrule. Other were of contrary opinion, as rather thinking it best, that every man should be commanded to shut in his doores, and to keepe his servants within. Before 8 of the clock, master recorder was sent to the cardinall, with these opinions: who hearing the same, allowed the latter. And then the recorder, and sir Thomas More, late under-sheriffe of London, and now of the kings councell, came backe againe to the Guild-hall, halfe an houre before nine of the clock, and there shewed the pleasureof the kings councell: whereupon every alderman sent to his ward, that no man (after nine of the clocke) should stir out of his house, but keepe his doores shut, and his servants within, untill nine of the clocke in the morning.
“After this commandement was given, in the evening, as sir Iohn Mundy, alderman, came from his ward, hee found two young-men in Cheape, playing at the bucklers, and a great many of young-men looking on them, for the command seemed to bee scarcely published; he commanded them to leave off; and because one of them asked him why, hee would have him sent to the counter. But the prentices resisted the alderman, taking the young-man from him, and cryed prentices, prentices, clubs, clubs; then out at every doore came clubs and other weapons, so that the alderman was forced to flight. Then more people arose out of every quarter, and forth came servingmen, watermen, courtiers, and other, so that by eleven of the clocke, there were in Cheape, 6 or 7 hundred, and out of Pauls church-yard came about 300. From all places they gathered together, and brake up the Counter, took out the prisoners, which had been committed thither by the lord maior, for hurting the strangers: also they went to Newgate, and tooke out Studley and Bets, committed thither for the like cause. The maior and sheriffes were present, and made proclamation in the kings name, but nothing was obeyed.
“Being thus gathered into severall heaps, they ran thorow saint Nicholas shambles, and at saint Martins gate, there met with them sir Thomas More, and other, desiring them to goe to their lodgings.
“As they were thus intreating, and had almost perswaded the people to depart, they within saint Martins threw out stones and bats, so that they hurt divers honest persons, which were with sir Thomas More, perswading the rebellious rout to cease. Insomuch as at length, one Nicholas Dennis, a serjeant at arms, being there sore hurt, cryed in a fury, Downe with them: and then all the unruly persons ran to the doores and windowes of the houses within St. Martins, and spoiled all that they found. After that they ran into Cornehill, and so on to a house east of Leadenhal, called the Green-gate, where dwelt one Mewtas a Piccard or Frenchman, within whose house dwelled divers French men, whom they likewise spoyled: and if they had found Mewtas, they would have stricken off his head.
“Some ran to Blanchapleton, and there brake up the strangers houses, and spoiled them. Thus they continued till 3 a clocke in the morning, at which time, they began to withdraw: but by the way they were taken by the maior and other, and sent to the Tower, Newgate and Counters, to the number of 300. The cardinall was advertised by sir Thomas Parre, whom in all haste he sent to Richmond, to informe the king: who immediately sent to understand the state of the city, and was truely informed. Sir Roger Cholmeley Lievtenant of the Tower, during the time of this business, shot off certaine peeces of ordnance against the city, but did no great hurt. About five of the clock in the morning, the earles of Shrewsbury and Surrey, Thomas Dockery, lord prior of saint Iohns, George Nevill, lord Aburgaveny, and other, came to London with such powers as they could make, so did the innes of court; but before they came, the business was done, as ye have heard.
“Then were the prisoners examined, and the sermon of doctor Bell called to remembrance, and hee sent to the Tower. A commission of oyer and determiner was directed to the duke of Norfolke, and other lords, for punishment of this insurrection. The second of May, the commissioners, with the lord maior, aldermen, and iustices, went to the Guildhall, where many of the offenders were indicted, whereupon they were arraigned, and pleaded not guilty, having day given them till the 4. of May.
“On which day, the lord maior, the duke of Norfolke, the earle of Surrey and other, came to sit in the Guildhall. The duke of Norfolke entred the city with one thousand three hundred men, and the prisoners were brought through the streets tyed in ropes, some men, some lads but of thirteen or foureteene yeeres old, to the number of 278 persons. That day Iohn Lincolne and divers other were indicted, and the next day thirteen were adjudged to be drawne, hanged, and quartered: for execution whereof, ten payre of gallowes were set up in divers places of the city, as at Aldgate, Blanchapleton, Grasse-street, Leaden-hall, before either of the counters, at Newgate, saint Martins, at Aldersgate and Bishopgate. And these gallowes were set upon wheels, to bee removed from street to street, and fromdoore to doore, whereas the prisoners were to be executed.
“On the seventh of May, Iohn Lincoln, one Shirwin, and two brethren, named Betts, with divers other were adjudged to dye. They were on the hurdles drawne to the standard in Cheape, and first was Lincolne executed: and as the other had the ropes about their neckes, there came a commandement from the king, to respit the execution, and then were the prisoners sent againe to prison, and the armed men sent away out of the citie.
“On the thirteenth of May, the king came to Westminster-hall, and with him the lord cardinall, the dukes of Norfolke, and Suffolke, the earles of Shrewsbury, Essex, Wiltshire, and Surrey, with many lords and other of the kings councell; the lord maior of London, aldermen and other chiefe citizens, were there in their best liveries, by nine of the clocke in the morning. Then came in the prisoners, bound in ropes in a ranke one after another, in their shirts, and every one had a halter about his necke, being in number 400 men, and 11 women.
“When they were thus come before the kings presence, the cardinall laid sore to the maior and aldermen their negligence, and to the prisoners he declared how justly they had deserved to dye. Then all the prisoners together cryed to the king for mercy, and there with the lords besought his grace of pardon: at whose request, the king pardoned them all. The generall pardon being pronounced, all the prisoners shouted at once, and cast their halters towards the roofe of the hall. The prisoners being dismissed, the gallowes were taken downe, and the citizens tooke more heed to their servants: keeping (for ever after) as on that night, a strong watch in Armour, in remembrance of Evill May-day.
“These great Mayings and Maygames made by the governours and masters of this city, with the triumphant setting up of a great shaft (a principall May-pole in Cornehill, before the parish of saint Andrew) therefore called Vndershaft, by meane of that insurrection of youths, against aliens on May-day, 1517. the 6. of Henry the eighth, have not been so freely used as before.”
There was formerly a May-pole put up by a “smith” at the north end of little Drury-lane, to commemorate his daughter’s good fortune, who being married to general Monk, while a private gentleman, became duchess of Albemarle, by his being raised to the dukedom after the Restoration. The May-pole is only mentioned here on account of its origin. It appears, from a trial at bar on action of trespass, that the name of this “smith” was John Clarges, that he was a farrier in the Savoy, and farrier to colonel Monk, and that the farrier’s daughter, Anne, was first married in the church of St. Laurence Pountney to Thomas Ratford, son of Thomas Ratford, late a farrier, servant to prince Charles, and resident in the Mews. She had a daughter, who was born in 1634, and died in 1638. Her husband and she “lived at the Three Spanish Gipsies in the New Exchange, and sold wash-balls, powder, gloves, and such things, and she taught girls plain work. About 1647, she, being a sempstress to colonel Monk, used to carry him linen.” In 1648, her father and mother died. In 1649, she and her husband “fell out, and parted.” But no certificate from any parish register appears reciting his burial. In 1652, she was married in the church of St. George, Southwark, to “general George Monk;” and, in the following year, was delivered of a son, Christopher (afterward the second and last duke of Albemarle abovementioned), who “was suckled by Honour Mills, who sold apples, herbs, oysters,” &c. One of the plaintiff’s witnesses swore, that “a little before the sickness, Thomas Ratford demanded and received of him the sum of twenty shillings; that his wife saw Ratford again after the sickness, and a second time after the duke and duchess of Albemarle were dead.” A woman swore, that she saw him on “the day his wife (then called duchess of Albemarle) was put into her coffin, which was after the death of the duke,” her second husband, who died Jan. 3, 1669-70. And a third witness swore, that he saw Ratford about July 1660. In opposition to this evidence it was alleged, that “all along, during the lives of duke George and duke Christopher, this matter was never questioned”—that the latter was universally received as only son of the former—and that “this matter had been thrice before tried at the bar of the King’s Bench, and the defendant had had three verdicts.” The verdict on the trial was in favour of sir Walter Clarges, a grandson of the farrier, whowas knighted when his daughter, from the selling of wash-balls, became duchess of Albemarle. This sir Walter Clarges was created a baronet October 30, 1674, and was ancestor to the baronets of this name.[128]
Chimney Sweepers on May-Day.
Chimney Sweepers on May-Day.
Here they are! The “sweeps” are come! Here is the garland and the lord and lady! Poor fellows! this is their great festival. Their garland is a large cone of holly and ivy framed upon hoops, which gradually diminishes in size to an apex, whereon is sometimes a floral crown, knots of ribbons, or bunches of flowers; its sides are decorated in like manner; and within it is a man who walks wholly unseen, and hence the garland has the semblance of a moving hillock of evergreens. The chimney-sweepers’ jackets and hats are bedizened with gilt embossed paper; sometimes they wear coronals of flowers in their heads; their black faces and legs are grotesquely coloured with Dutch-pink; their shovels are scored with this crimson pigment, interlaced with white chalk. Their lord and lady are magnificent indeed; the lord is always the tallest of the party, and selected from some other profession to play this distinguished character: he wears a huge cocked hat, fringed with yellow or red feathers, or laced with gold paper: his coat is between that of the full court dress, and the laced coat of the footman of quality; in the breast he carries an immense bunch of flowers; his waistcoat is embroidered; his frill is enormous; his “shorts” are satin, with paste knee-buckles; his stockings silk with figured clocks; his shoes are dancing pumps, with large tawdry buckles; his hair is powdered, with a bag and rosette; he carries in his right hand a high cane with a shining metal knob, and in his left a handkerchief held by one corner, and of a colour once white. His lady is sometimes a strapping girl, though usually a boy in female attire, indescribablyflaunty and gaudy; her head in full dress; in her right hand a brass ladle, in her left a handkerchief like to my lord’s. When the garland stops, my lord and lady exhibit their graces in a minuetde la cour, or some other grave movement; in a minute or two they quicken into a dance, which enables my lord to picture his conceptions of elegance; the curvilinear elevation of his arm, with his cane between his finger and thumb, is a courtly grace, corresponding with the stiff thrown-back position of his head, and the strait fall of the handkerchief in the other hand. My lady answers these inviting positions by equal dignity; they twirl and whirl in sight of each other, though on opposite sides of the dancing garland, to the continued clatter of the shovel and brush held by each capering member of the sooty tribe. The dance concluded, my lord and my lady interchange a bow and a curtsy; my lord flings up his cane-arm, displaces his magnificent hat with the other hand, and courteously bends, with imploring looks, to spectators at the adjacent windows or in the street; the little sootikins hold up their shovels, my lady with outstretched arm presents the bowl of her ladle, and “the smallest donations are thankfully received” by all the sable fraternity. This is the chimney-sweepers’ London pageant on May-day 1825; but for the first time, there was this year added a clown, a-la-Grimaldi, to one or two of the sweeping processions; he grimaces with all his might, walks before Jack-in-the-green on his hands or his feet, as may be most convenient, and practises every antic and trick that his ingenuity can devise, to promote the interest of his party.
It is understood, however, that the offerings on the festival are not exclusively appropriated to the receivers; masters share a certain portion of their apprentices’ profits from the holiday; others take the whole of the first two days’ receipts, and leave to the worn-out, helpless objects, by whom they profit all the year round, no more than the scanty gleanings of the third day’s performance.
Elia, the noble heart ofElia, responds to these humble claimants upon humanity; they cry and have none to help them; he is happy that a personal misfortune to himself can make one of them laugh; he imagines “all the blood of all the Howards” in another; he conceives no degradation by supping with them in public at “Bartlemy Fair.” Kind feelings and honesty make poets and philosophers. Listen to what Elia says:—
“I have a kindly yearning toward these dim specks—poor blots—innocent blacknesses—
“I reverence these young Africans of our own growth—these almost clergy imps, who sport their cloth without assumption; and from their little pulpits (the tops of chimnies), in the nipping air of a December morning, preach a lesson of patience to mankind.
“When a child, what a mysterious pleasure it was to witness their operation! to see a chit no bigger than one’s-self enter, one knew not by what process, into what seemed thefauces Averni—to pursue him in imagination, as he went sounding on through so many dark, stifling caverns, horrid shades!—to shudder with the idea that ‘now, surely, he must be lost for ever’—to revive at hearing his feeble shout of discovered day-light—and then (O, fulness of delight) running out of doors, to come just in time to see the sable phenomenon emerge in safety, the brandished weapon of his art victorious like some flag waved over a conquered citadel! I seem to remember having been told, that a bad sweep was once left in a stack with his brush, to indicate which way the wind blew. It was an awful spectacle certainly; not much unlike the old stage direction in Macbeth, where the ‘Apparition of a child crowned with a tree in his hand rises.’
“Reader, if thou meetest one of these small gentry in thy early rambles, it is good to give him a penny. It is better to give him two-pence. If it be starving weather, and to the proper troubles of his hard occupation, a pair of kibed heels (no unusual accompaniment) be superadded, the demand on thy humanity will surely rise to a tester.
“I am by nature extremely susceptible of street affronts; the jeers and taunts of the populace; the low-bred triumph they display over the casual trip, or splashed stocking, of a gentleman. Yet can I endure the jocularity of a young sweep with something more than forgiveness.—In the last winter but one, pacing along Cheapside with my accustomed precipitation when I walk westward, a treacherous slide brought me upon my back inan instant. I scrambled up with pain and shame enough—yet outwardly trying to face it down, as if nothing had happened—when the roguish grin of one of these young wits encountered me. There he stood, pointing me out with his dusky finger to the mob, and to a poor woman (I suppose his mother) in particular, till the tears for the exquisiteness of the fun (so he thought it) worked themselves out at the corners of his poor red eyes, red from many a previous weeping, and soot-inflamed, yet twinkling through all with such a joy, snatched out of desolation, that Hogarth—but Hogarth has got him already (how could he miss him?) in the March to Finchley, grinning at the pie-man—there he stood, as he stands in the picture, irremovable, as if the jest was to last for ever—with such a maximum of glee, and minimum of mischief, in his mirth—for the grin of a genuine sweep hath absolutely no malice in it—that I could have been content, if the honour of a gentleman might endure it, to have remained his butt and his mockery till midnight.
“I am by theory obdurate to the seductiveness of what are called a fine set of teeth. Every pair of rosy lips (the ladies must pardon me) is a casket, presumably holding such jewels; but, methinks, they should take leave to ‘air’ them as frugally as possible. The fine lady, or fine gentleman, who show me their teeth, show me bones. Yet must I confess, that from the mouth of a true sweep a display (even to ostentation) of those white and shining ossifications, strikes me as an agreeable anomaly in manners, and an allowable piece of foppery. It is, as when